Nightghast

“Come, child,” says the old man to his grandson. “Sit with me awhile. Do you often hear stories in sparkling Kuala Lumpur?”

“Yes, datuk,” says the child. He tells his grandfather of wondrous stories, involving spaceships, and cowboys, and adventures of clever Englishmen with bows and arrows. He tells him of giant benevolent robots who transform into vehicles at will, of scary tales told by an animated green corpse by the name of ‘Crypt-keeper’, and of humorous antics revolving around a family by the name of ‘Simpson’.

The old man listens to this, and regards the child for some time before saying, not without a degree of severity, “Child, this will not do, not do at all. It sounds to me as if all you have heard so far have been stories from anywhere but your own home! While I feel them necessary in their own part, for a child must know the stories of the other lands if he is to grow wise and learned, I ask you this: how is a child to attain any grounding if he does not hear the stories of his homeland?”

At this the child is silent, and merely looks down thoughtfully.

The old man smiles his best smile and tells his grandson, “You are in luck, child, for I know many stories of our country, and if you are willing to listen, I shall tell them to you.”

The child looks up at his grandfather happily and nods.

The old man clears his throat and says, “What I am about to tell you happened more than forty years ago—that’s more than four times all your years alive!—picture, if you can, a much younger version of myself. My hair back then was black as midnight, my skin rather less wrinkled.”

The child giggles at this. The old man goes on, “It was on the drive back to my home village of Kampung Malam, through the darker parts of the jungle, that I met her.”

“Who, datuk?”

“Patience, child. We all learn it, you must have it.” He clears his throat again and continues:

“There was I,” continues the old man, “huddled behind the awkwardly large wheel of the accursed contraption Hassan had only too wilfully lent to me. It was pitch black now, save for the car’s headlights that stuttered unnervingly every so often, and I had gotten to picturing Hassan’s face and cursing it in every way that I knew.

“In part I cursed myself for not knowing better than to trust the old fool’s assurances of the quality of his vehicle. A dependable contraption indeed! ‘Japanese-made cars,’ he had said, ‘will someday be the cultural norm, just you wait and see.’

“I was now beginning to suspect that he knew perfectly well that the car’s engine had required some form of servicing, debilitating the impotent metal beast enough to force upon me the indignity of dealing with those mechanics.

“Oh, how they had regarded me with those absurdly thin, bespectacled eyes and felt of their payment with those horrible pale fingers. The payment itself I did not mind, monstrous and unfair though it was. No, it was the waiting I had been subjected to in their tiny room, shutting out their heretic scents and attempting to ignore their incessant quacking vernacular.

“I shuddered, quickly and violently, and went back to cursing Hassan’s repugnant face. Anything to take my mind off the surrounding blackness.

“The further I travelled down the dirt road, however, the more the distraction seemed wholly fruitless. Yes I admit now that I was afraid, but I assure you I had prudent reason. The blackness of the jungle lay before me, the trees raised and seeming to writhe in the faint headlights like overgrown worms.

“It was in spite of my best efforts that my mind began to drift to the things I had been told about the jungle, where dark, unnatural things lurk and where, if you’re not careful, you’re sure to meet a dreadful end indeed.

“For instance, the Manananggal, which separates from its lower torso and flies about at night in search of solitary jungle trekkers, a grotesque thing with huge bat wings. Or the Manticore, with its spiked tail, capable of devouring a man whole—flesh, bones, clothing and all. Or the Langsuir, the screaming spirit of a dead mother of a stillborn child. Or the Aswang, or the Toyol, or the Jinn.

“None so occupied my mind that night, however, than the most terrifying of them all: the Pontianak. With every flick of the eye and a hiccup of the heart I fancied I would see it – only for the headlights to reveal it to be nothing more than a bush or a tangle of twigs.

“Curse Hassan’s ears, thought I, may his man-parts shrivel and decay and never yield a son. It was his fault I was to take the road by night, his fault, and the undependable mobile death-trap he had leant me.

“Here the road grew unsteady, and more than once I was afraid the car had taken on a life of its own as the wheels bounced and thudded against the unkempt dirt road.

“I must be getting close, surely, I thought. Allah be merciful, let me be close.

“A few minutes later the headlights sputtered and went out completely, plunging me into darkness, but not before flashing against something white, something moving.

“There came a tingling rush that spread from the small of my back to my ears as the hairs on the back of my neck and along my forearms stuck out. In a panic my foot sank against the brake pedal and the car came to a swift halt.

“I silently willed my breathing to slow, for my heart to cease its dreadful, almost painful pounding. Blackness everywhere, and me trapped inside this accursed metal coffin and there was something out there.

“I swallowed and began praying. I prayed to Allah to protect me, and to the spirits to give me strength, and mustering all the courage and willpower I possessed I released the clutch handle and pressed gently on the accelerator.

“The car gave a sickening lurch and, to my horror, stopped completely, the engine suddenly silent.

“Of the Pontianak, there are a few things of which one must be to be mindful. Most significantly is that there is only one way to ward it away, and that is with a sharp, penetrating object. Feeling around the darkness with one hand I located the glove compartment and hastily opened it, hoping against hope that Hassan kept something, anything, that might do.

“My fingers rifled through papers, probed something soft and organic and finally brushed against something small, metal, rusty and pointed at the end. My prayers answered, I seized the little nail and with my other hand turned the key frantically.

“The engine coughed, shuddered and the headlights suddenly sprang forth, as welcome as the lights of Paradise. They bathed the rough ground before me in illumination that, while faint and flickering slightly, lit up completely the figure before me.

“There it stood, a horrible pale grotesque thing, clad in a tattered white gown, its black hair like the tendrils of Hell, its unnaturally long red tongue slithering out of a cruelly misshapen mouth filled with horrible needle-like fangs, its long white fingers ending in talons, and, most terrible of all, the dangling mass that was its own intestines hanging loosely from its belly and trailing against the ground—the sign of a Pontianak’s wish to feed.

“It lasted only an instant, and in my terror my hands fumbled and dropped the nail into the black abyss that was the floor of the car. The lights quickly dimmed, and all but died altogether, leaving only the faint silhouette of the creature as it approached.

“I knew that the only way I was going to survive this was to scrabble about for the nail, but that would require bending down and taking my eyes off the approaching form.

“It was coming closer and I watched, entranced. I imagined it scooping me effortlessly out of the accursed automobile and draining me of all the blood in my body. I imagined my dried corpse tossed aside and left to rot, the subject of this horrific spirit’s vengeful curse.

“Perhaps it was due to this image, or perhaps it was due to the will of Allah (may He be praised above all else), but I found then the strength to bend down and sweep my hands about frantically for the nail.

“A few slow, agonizing seconds later, my hands touched metal and I emerged, victorious, lifting my head and recoiling suddenly to see the outlined form of the creature staring into the window at me.

“I maintained my fierce grip on the little nail, not caring now if it dug into my flesh.

“A moment of heart-pounding, breath-catching silence passed as we stared at each other through the thin sheet of glass, and then the Pontianak rapped on the window and said:

“‘Assalamualaikum?’

“I blinked, but was otherwise frozen.

“It rapped on the window again and repeated, in a woman’s voice, ‘Assalamualaikum?’

“I squinted at it, unsure of what to do.

“Once more it rapped against the glass, gently, as if obeying some sort of moral code.”

“A trick!” squeals the child, breaking his silence. “Maybe she was tricking you, datuk!”

The old man smiles. “Ah, you are wise, child, and indeed, a Pontianak is known for its ability to appear as a beautiful young woman to seduce men into submission—only to rip at their flesh and drain their blood! ‘A trick’, said a voice in my head. ‘It is only using the Muslim greeting to fool you into opening the window, to feast on you. Drive, now!’

“And yet I did not. I do not know why. The creature backed away from the window and stepped in front of the headlights, waving curiously.

“I saw then that what I had at first taken to be its dangling intestines was, in fact, a wrinkle in the sarong it was wearing, that the slithering, red tongue was a scarf tied around its neck, and its mouth and fingers did not seem misshapen in the slightest.

“It was, in fact, one of the more beautiful women I had ever seen.

“‘Assalamualaikum?’ she said once more. Still a little wary from the lingering panic, I wound down the window and answered:

“‘Waalaikumsalam?’

“She moved around to the window with an urgent grace.

“‘Safe evening, sir,’ she said.

“‘Safe evening,’ I replied quietly.

“‘Forgive me, but I am lost, sir,’ said she. ‘I have been on the road to Kampung Malam all day, but I quickly lost my way and night came far too swiftly.’ I should also mention to you, child, that her Malay was absolutely impeccable. It contained neither a hint nor a whisper of outside influence that you must so regularly hear in Kuala Lumpur.

“Still cautious, I told her I was, in fact, heading there myself.”

“But datuk!” cries the child suddenly. “What if she were a Pontianak in disguise?”

“Ah,” says the old man, “the thought did occur to me. That is why in my other hand I held the nail at the ready, in case she sprang at me.

“She looked relieved now, and if this were a farce then she was a superbly convincing actor, for an evil spirit.

“‘Allah be praised,’ she said, ‘I am on the right road!’ Her tone quickly dropped and her beautiful face looked at me hopefully, ‘But sir, after the day’s walking my legs are starting to cramp. I wonder if perhaps you could grant me the favour of a lift?’

“This gave me pause. If I were to grant her this favour, I would be letting my guard down and she would surely attack me. On the other hand, Allah teaches us to be charitable, and to be brave. If she were in fact as she seemed, a beautiful young woman, and if I were to drive away now in fear of what she wasn’t, then I would be abandoning her to whatever else in the jungle hungers for human flesh and blood.

“I decided finally on a middle ground. I would grant her this favour, but I would keep hold of the nail firmly, in case she transformed into that grotesque creature.

“‘Very well, sister,’ I said to her. ‘By all means, get in.’

“‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, moving around the car to the passenger side. ‘I will not forget your kindness.’

“We drove along the uneven road in relative silence. Where I was being jerked around in the seat by the bumpy ride, when I glanced at her I noticed she seemed unperturbed. She seemed to maintain an almost unnatural balance about her, and kept her head level throughout the journey.

“I began to grow increasingly worried. What if, as you say, she was merely in disguise? With every passing moment I grew more and more restless, until it became unbearable. I had to know if this maiden was human, or if I was transporting a servant of the devil.”

“But how, datuk?” asks the child. “How could you find out?”

“It just so happened that I had thought of a way. It was simple in its design, so simple that I felt foolish for not having thought of it immediately when she had climbed into the car.

“‘Sister,’ I said to her. ‘I have something here I would like to place back in the glove compartment. Could you oblige?’

“‘Of course,’ she said. ‘What is it?’

“‘This.’ I held the nail up to her, making sure she saw it.

“The car slowed, and there was a moment of silence.

“‘Of course,’ she said again, and her face was unchanged—she was every bit as beautiful as before. And, now that she had passed my little test, she seemed even more beautiful still.

“‘If I may ask,’ she said, placing the nail in the glove compartment, ‘why were you holding, of all things, a nail in your hand while driving?’”

“What did you tell her, datuk?” asks the child.

“I told her what I shall now tell you: that one must always be prepared, in every way, regardless of how small the means, for size matters not. She thought me merely odd, and we said no more of it.”

The child frowns. “So she was not a real Pontianak?”

“I could not be certain,” says the old man. “She seemed human, and a very fine specimen I might add. But she did not attack me. No, we drove on afterwards as if nothing had happened, and bade farewell when we arrived at Kampung Malam.”

“Did you ever see her again?” asks the child.

“Oh, yes,” says the old man. “Many times, and I see her often still.”

“Really?” The child’s eyes widen. “Who is she?”

“Why, who else but your grandmother, child? No one else was as pretty and as graceful. It was a few years after that journey that we were married.”

“So she really wasn’t a Pontianak, then,” says the child, and he sounds slightly disappointed.

“I did not say that,” says the old man. The child looks startled.

“But you married her, didn’t you, datuk? That must have been because you were sure.”

“I married her because I loved her, child, and I love her still. But to this day, I cannot say that I am completely sure that this is not all some elaborate disguise, some clever means of getting me to let my guard down. One must be cautious, and mindful of all potential dangers. I might one day wake up to find her hair a black, writhing mess, her fingernails and teeth needle-like and sharp, her tongue long and blood-red, and worst of all, her intestines hanging out and trailing along the floor. That is why, dear child, if you were to rummage about in one of the drawers in our bedroom you will find, kept away quietly and in secrecy amidst my personal belongings for more than forty years, a small, slightly rusty, iron nail.”