Beyond Rangkasbitung

THE STATION

I woke up to the metallic squeals of the braking train.

For years, as a Commuter Line loyal passenger, I have never missed my stop. I should have been very tired during the trip—so all the lurches and sways didn't stop me from getting a sound sleep on the train seat that night. Bleary-eyed, I looked around. Not a single soul but me in the car. Cisauk was my destination—judging from the lack of remaining passengers, I may be carried to stations far away from it already. I looked at my watch, 2.15 AM. No wonder there was nobody. I began to trace back my trip: I departed from Sudirman at 10 PM, then transferred to a train bound for Rangkasbitung in Tanah Abang, probably half an hour later. I knew it only took around two hours to reach Rangkasbitung, I should have reached it around midnight. So, where am I?

The train had made a complete stop, I noticed. I was waiting for the announcements on the PA when the sound of the car's doors opening—louder than I expected—startled me. It was pitch dark outside. I rose to my feet, I could feel my neck was stiff from the sleep, and realized I was still so tired. I've slept less than four hours a day in the last five days. I genuinely thought that being sick would be the ultimate outcome of that kind of lifestyle (when I was in college, I skipped sleeps for three days straight due to my thesis, I woke up in the hospital in the fourth day), but turned out it led me to be stranded in the utterly wrong place during the post-midnight hours. Surely, it was not my choice to be sleep deprived, it was my boss'. He thought working 14 hours a day everyday was a run-of-the-mill job. Well, maybe it was if you rented an apartment located five minutes' walk from the office (like he did), but it absolutely wasn't for people who live in Jakarta's satellite city like me; it took me a total of five hours just to commute every day.

I walked out of the train's car. The only illumination were the train's dazzling light and the silvery dim moonlight. I looked around and shivered—It was so cold I could see my breath—and started to be astounded by the nothingness that was presented on the location where the train stop. There was no platform, no sign boards, no tap in-tap out gates, and most surprisingly, no buildings around the station—bushes and dark trees were all I can see. Maybe the train stop on its route due to some problems, my own train of thought started to unnerve me, but why did they open the doors?

From a distance, I could hear indistinct footsteps. I could see some people, though dimly, stepped out from the cars behind mine, then started walking toward me. At least, my worries were lightened a bit, knowing there were some people I could talk to. Just before I started to walk toward them, my eyes captured some things that were out of ordinary. I could not describe it in a simple way, but I glimpsed some kinds of deformity: their longer-than-usual arms drooping in a peculiar way beside their body, their way of walk which were as slouchy as a frail elderly person, their uncannily short pair of legs, and their absurd body size: nearly twice mine. Then there were the misshapen heads—the countenance, the colour, and the features were all wrong. My feet were frozen with fright as my mind reasoned that maybe they were not human after all. Fortunately, the horror ended when those people—six in total, I observed—stopped their steps midway when they see me, and then, in a bizarre way, turned around and scurried away. Eventually, they were gone to the dark of the night, leaving me mouth agape with incredulity.

For the second time, I was startled by the doors—they were closing. In an instant, I regretted my action to step out of the train. Also, I was upset on the nonexistence of announcement, it was so unlike the Commuter Line I knew. The train started to move, but not eastbound toward Tanah Abang, which left me wonder whether there were still stations ahead. Or maybe the train was going for the depot and call it a night. Dumbfounded, I stared helplessly on the accelerating trains and could not help but to notice that the train were completely empty, there were no passengers nor officers. Strange.

The departure of the train rendered my surrounding devoid of light. The moon disappeared from the night sky, engulfed by thick dark clouds. I took my phone from my jeans pocket and turned on the flashlight. Hope filled up my chest when I caught the sight of the familiar icons: the online ojek apps. I was sure there were still a lot of drivers at these hours. I tapped it, the app didn't load, then I realized the sign of "No Service". Hope fled; anxiety grew. I started to consider whether I should wait here for any other trains to stop or went someplace else. A recollection of the "people" I encountered before came up in my mind, it sent a shiver down my spine. The more I thought about it, the more abnormal my perception of them. If they were actual ghosts, it would have made one hell of a story—I had never seen a ghost before—to tell other people.

I checked my messages; one is from Pak Kemal, my boss. The UAT scheduled for next week is moved to tomorrow, be ready at client's office at 8 AM. My response to that was a resigned shrug of the shoulders. Not even once the messages from Pak Kemal did not instil a sense of uneasiness on me. He was a perfect embodiment of the worst Project Manager imaginable: highly demanding to his team, easily crumbled before client's pressure, and was simply unpleasant person to work with.

It was almost half past three, if I could get home at four, I could catch an hour of sleep. But what good did it do? Just when I thought it could not get any worse, rain started to fall. Hurriedly, I put the hood on my hoodie and started to walk slowly at the same direction where the ghostly people went—hoping to find some kind of shelter. Mud started to cover my sneakers, my hoodie jacket began to get soaked, followed by a shudder which ran down my back. I could not imagine if someone suffered the same fate as mine, and not wearing a jacket, it should have been extremely tormenting. On my path, I stumbled upon an old wooden sign. I directed my flashlight on it to read the words. I could not figure out all letters—it reads GN K_____NA. I had no idea what it was, but I was sure that it was not the name of one of the Commuter Line's stations.

"Are you lost, son?" a faint whisper which sounded like an old man's voice somehow managed to be heard over the rain.

I looked around and didn't replied, hence the follow up question: "Are you lost? Come here, I can help you." The voice became slightly clearer and louder, as if he was inching closer to me. My initial reaction was relief, because finally I found someone who might be able to help me. But in a split second, relief turned into dread. What was the probability of an old man who wandered around during rainfall, with no light in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, had a penchant to help stranger, and was a human being?

From behind the wooden sign, without making any sound, an old man emerged. I resisted the urge to turn back and bolted right away because, upon my brief inspection, he looked human enough. His shrewd wrinkle-covered face, his sinewy and slender posture, and the unusually formal clothing gave an air of a retired officer. He was as drenched as I, yet he seemed to pay no attention to it.

The old man spoke, "Sorry if I scared you. I saw you wandering around and thought you may need help. Did you miss your stop?"

I had a slight notion that those sentences had been uttered many times. I answered, "Yes, I did. I should have got off the Commuter Line at Cisauk. Will there be any train toward Jakarta soon?"

"The earliest train will be at six in the morning. If you want, you can take a shelter on my house and wait there until morning come. My house is just five minutes' walk from here."

I weighed the offer. Pros: I could dry myself off, spared from freezing to death, and I might even be able to have a bit of rest. Cons: I put myself to the risk of kidney thefts or human trafficking or worse. A sudden cold blast of wind made me made up my mind. I accepted the old man's help.