Kuntilanak (A Comedy of Horrors)

Just a Living Boy and a Dead Girl

         "My mother warned me of girls like you."

            I stand across the road from him, my palm resting on the banana tree. Black hair draped past my shoulders. A white sun-dress I stole from a clothesline.

            "Do I look all that evil?"

"Mm, you look like Pevita Pearce mashed up with that singer who sang Sambalado. Except for the blood. You're Kuntilanak, aren't you?"

             "Blood? No! It's just lipstick." That was a lie. "Well, what else do they say about me?"

            "That you fly around as a black bird, drinking people's plasma." He points to the banana tree. "And that's your home. You died in childbirth, and you seek people's organs to make a dead baby."

             "Vicious hearsay."

            "And you scream ke, ke, ke. And you..."

            "You don't talk to girls much, do you?"

            "You're very beautiful..."

            I smile.

            "...that's another thing about Kuntilanak that my mother warned me about."

            The smile disappears.

"Well, boy, why are you on this road at midnight?"

            He points to the banana tree. "I work at a warung during the day. I'm studying hard to go to university in Jakarta."

            "How does the banana tree factor into that?"

            He smiles, taking out a couple sweets wrapped in banana leaves. Dripping in oil. "Pisang goreng. We fry a lot of bananas at the warung. My specialty."

            I hold out my hand, nodding at the deep-fried, sugary treats. "May I have one?"

            He looks at me, eyes narrowed. Soft hair framing a sharp face. Not too bad looking, even if he's human. "And my hand too? No thanks."

            I scowl, crossing my arms over my chest. "Well, look at that. Somebody's clever, isn't he?"

            He shrugs. "I cook a lot. Cooking is chemistry. I bike to school every day, and that's physics. Counting money for the bus to see my grandma is math." He pulls out a cellphone. "And I use a lot of social media. There's my language-learning skills for the day."

            "A student from the school of life."

             "Better than the school of death." He swivels around on his heel, ready to leave again.    

            "Hey, wait!" I call, pointing to the food still in his hand. "I changed my mind. Toss one over." He hesitates, but I kneel on the ground, hands over my head. "Come on, I won't touch you."

            He leans back, and then swings forward to pitch it across the river. I catch it with a smile. "Terima kasih."

            He inspects me for a bit, rubbing sugar and oil from his hands. "Iya, see you, Kuntilanak."

***

            A little while later, someone else walks down the road. A different young man, whistling Sambalado. I smile, wink at him, then wave.

            "No way!" He gasps. "Are you Ayu Ting Ting? Could I have a selfie?"

            My smile widens as I unfold my hand to reveal the pisang goreng.

            "Sure." I reply, my hunger growing as he walks even nearer, waving his cellphone around excitedly. "You want a free snack?"