Chapter 24: The Meeting of Two Realms
—Where silence speaks louder than war drums—
The porch of the village chief's house was modest but warm—aged wood panels, weather-worn chairs, and flower pots cradling wilting marigolds. Here, beneath the still night sky, Ardian sat beside Doctor Herlambang after his burned arm being treated. Two steaming cups of black coffee rested between them, their bittersweet aroma curling into the fog.
The silence felt earned. Earned through battles fought in the unseen. Earned through prayers whispered in dark rooms. Earned by the survival of four village boys who had nearly been lost to the void.
Inside, Rendy handled logistics—calculating fees with the village head. While he often came off as impulsive and loud, when it came to paperwork and payment? No one was sharper.
The cleric remained in the back room, reciting verses from the Qur'an beside the boys' families. The sacred words flowed gently, like a stream over stones—purifying, softening, healing.
"You've grown well," Doctor Herlambang murmured, breaking the silence. His deep voice carried the warmth of a father, though it trembled ever so slightly. "The last time I saw you… you saved my wife and son. Since then, just a few phone calls... And now here you are again."
Ardian smiled faintly, brushing a thumb over the rim of his cup. "That was years ago, Doc. I just did what anyone would've done—with the right tools."
"You're too humble." The doctor chuckled softly. "But I understand. Even with all our knowledge, we're still only instruments. God moves the strings."
Ardian nodded. "Exactly."
The air was calm. Too calm.
Then came the whoosshhh—
A cold gust swept in, dry leaves rustling like brittle whispers. Branches groaned as they swayed, and the frangipani trees released their bittersweet perfume—an omen of something ancient.
Ardian stiffened. The hairs on his arms rose like warning sirens.
He stood, setting the coffee aside untouched. Eyes narrowed toward the treeline. Something was approaching.
Something immense.
Doctor Herlambang rose as well, his expression darkening. "You feel that?"
"Yeah," Ardian murmured. "They're here."
Footsteps clomped behind them—Rendy burst out of the house, rolling his sleeves up instinctively. "Bro, the air just dropped ten degrees. You feel it too?"
"Get ready," Ardian replied, already stepping toward the yard.
The spirit barrier pulsed faintly—an invisible dome that protected the house and the villagers inside. But whatever was coming... wasn't going to stop there.
The village chief emerged next, followed by the cleric, their faces pale but resolute.
From the forest's shadowed edge, fog began to roll in—thick, gray, and unnatural. It clung to the earth like fingers, hiding something monstrous behind it.
Silhouettes.
Dozens of them.
Pocong. Kuntilanak. Tuyul. Genderuwo. Gundul Pringis. Banaspati. Barongan. Every kind of nocturnal nightmare slithered forward, their distorted forms wreathed in mist.
Rendy let out a low whistle. "Damn… what is this, a monster parade?"
"Maybe they're here for rendang," Ardian muttered, eyes locked on the figures. "Like those orange-jacket organisation from before."
Rendy snorted. "Watch out, next they'll ask for empal and teh botol."
From the center of the procession, one spirit floated forward—short, regal, ancient. The same old man Ardian had met at Lingkar Pinus.
But this time, he brought an army, or he thought it so.
Mr. Poci appeared behind Ardian, tall and grim. Ucil squirmed nervously. Kinarsih stood like a flame—her red glow pulsing like a heartbeat.
The fog seemed to part around her, as if it too feared her wrath.
This was no illusion. This was no trick of spiritual vision. Even Doctor Herlambang and the chief could see the beings for what they were.
Two realms had collided temporarily—and for the first time, no veil hid them.
"What do you want?" Ardian called out, voice firm, resonant.
The old spirit gave a slight nod. Then, from behind his robe, he tossed something to the ground.
A pocong, bound in tattered white cloth, landed with a soft thud. His face was a wreck—swollen, bruised, twisted like melted wax. He sniffled.
"I came to apologize," the pocong whined through his nose. "Didn't mean to cause all that trouble. I was just passing through! Got attacked outta nowhere by four delinquents with zero spiritual training. Are they nuts!?"
"I feel you, bro," Mr. Poci said, nodding in understanding . "Some humans are feral, like this guy." said him as using his head tied to point at Ardian.
"I just wanted to scare them a little," the pocong continued, sobbing now. "Now look at me. My soul hurts. My spirit got smacked around like tofu in a mortar!"
Ardian stepped forward, eyes narrowing. He sensed something behind the tears—layers of manipulation, half-truths. Someone had orchestrated this whole mess.
His gaze flicked toward the old man.
That one knows more.
"What do you think, Chief?" Ardian asked, turning to the village head. "This guy caused some real trauma for those young man. But he also looks like he's been punished pretty badly."
The chief was silent for a moment. He stared at the sobbing pocong, then sighed.
"As a father, I'm furious," he said. "But as a leader… I know this wasn't all his doing."
He turned to the pocong. "My son is safe. Let's not drag this further."
"Waaaaah!" the pocong cried out in joy, launching forward. "Can I hug you!?"
"Get away from me!" the chief barked, stepping back. "You smell like dead shrimp!"
"Aww, you're missing out on premium pocong warmth!"
"Warmth!? You smell like a clogged drainpipe!"
Laughter rippled through the agency team. Even Ucil giggled.
Ardian turned back to the old spirit.
"If you and your people want peace, the forest's eastern ridge has sanctified ground. Uninhabited. Protected. You can settle there."
The old man smiled faintly. "A kind offer. We will consider it."
But Ardian's voice dropped, low and sharp. "One more thing."
He took a breath.
"Eyang Ismoyo. Do you know that name?"
A silence fell like a stone.
Several spirits gasped. Others dropped to their knees. A few vanished entirely. Even Kinarsih and Mr. Poci froze.
But the old man?
He laughed.
A booming, ancient laugh.
"Ahh… young Ardian," he said. "That is not a question for me to answer. You'll understand… when you're ready."
Then he began to fade.
The fog swallowed him, one wraith after another vanishing behind him. The spirits retreated into the unseen. The clash of realms dissolved like mist under sunlight.
"I take my leave. Until we meet again, Ghost Detective."
And just like that, he was gone.
Ardian turned back toward the house, the tension in his shoulders loosening—but the stunned expressions on his friends' faces stopped him in his tracks.
"You… really don't know who Eyang Ismoyo is!?" Kinarsih gasped.
"No way!" Ucil's jaw dropped. "He doesn't know?!"
"Bruh," Om Poci groaned, smacking his forehead. "This guy can name all the Goetia demons but not Eyang Ismoyo?"
"You serious right now?" Rendy added. "You're my boss! My smart boss! My sneaky, sharp-witted, emotionally stunted boss! And you don't know that name?"
"Okay, okay!" Ardian growled. "So I missed one! You think I'm dumb or something?"
The four exchanged a look… and shouted in perfect unison:
"OF COURSE YOU ARE!"
Ardian's eye twitched. "I hate you all."
He started to walk away.
But the opportunity was too good to pass up.
The four began dancing in a circle around him, singing:
"Oh what a shock, what a surprise—
Ardian's a dummy~ Ardian's a flunky~
Hey, Ardian's a dummy~ Ardian's a flunky~!"
"AGAIN!"
"Mind's infected~ Thoughts misdirected~
Bro's brain is glitched~ Memory's ditched~
Circuits fried, wisdom denied~!"
"SHUT UP!!" Ardian roared, lunging after them.
Their laughter echoed across the village yard, cutting through the remnants of the morning fog.
Just another day...
…at the Ghost Detective Agency.