A Ghost Lost Her Child… and Found YOU—A Girl Loved By the Kuntilanak

[Music] Welcome back to Beauty and the Beasts, where we do a little skincare, a little makeup, and tell spooky stories under the blankets. And if you've been slacking on self-care this week, don't worry. Now's the perfect time to unwind, glow up, and get spooked, while something a little creepy keeps us company in the dark. Tonight's story comes from my writer, Sikhar, in Indonesia, but it's not really about her, it's about her cousin, Via. And it involves a female spirit, deeply feared, across Southeast Asia. So, Indonesia is mostly Muslim, but like in many cultures, a spiritual beliefs linger. Just like Koreans might seek shamans, Indonesians have their own ways of dealing with the unseen. And maybe what's most chilling is that no matter where you're from, spirits always seem to find their way to us. Okay, so let's begin the story. [Music] Sikhar and her cousin, Via, used to live under the same roof, in a small city called Pemana. It's a place hugged by both the mountains and the sea, one of those peaceful villages where life feels slow and familiar. Not isolated, but still surrounded by trees and traditions. For every neighbor knows your name and whispers travel faster than the wind. This was some time in the early 2000s, and Via was just a toddler then. Now, in Indonesia, especially in smaller towns, it's common for people to leave their hometowns in search of better work. And that's what Via's father did. He worked far away in Bandung, while her mother stayed behind to carry the pregnancy. But she wasn't alone. She lived with her in-laws, Via's paternal grandmother, aunts, uncles, all in one house. A typical big family home in the village, full of noise, laughter, simple joys. They didn't have much money, but they had each other. And in that house, traditions lived on just as strongly as religion. So, the village practiced Islam. But like many parts of Indonesia, especially in rural areas, people still held on to pre-Islamic spiritual beliefs, passed down from generations. So, even though they prayed five times a day, they always made sisagean, offerings of food, flowers, or incense placed at certain corners of the house. These were for spirits, especially ancestors who were believed to linger, watching over the village, not necessarily evil, but powerful and very real to them. During her pregnancy, Via's mother was given a necklace. At the end of the chain wasn't a charm or a locket. It was a small pair of scissors. So, why scissors instead of anything else? Because of something called the kuntilanak. A kuntilanak is one of the most feared spirits in Southeast Asian folklore, believed to be the ghost of a woman who died during childbirth. She's then to appear in white with long black hair covering her face, and a terrifying habit of stealing unborn babies from inside their mother's wounds. Villagers believe that metal objects, especially sharp ones, can repel spirits like her. So, pregnant women often wear scissors or safety pins on their clothing as protection. Thankfully, Via's mother delivered safely. It was early morning and a local bidan, a traditional midwife often called upon in villages, helped bring baby Via into the world. Via was the kind of child who made everyone smile just by being in the room. Light followed her. But that piece didn't last. When Via was about two years old, she suddenly fell ill, and not in a way that made sense. Her tiny body trembled. She felt cold, but she wouldn't stop sweating. She cried, but not like a normal child cries. It was endless, like she was trying to tell them something, something she didn't have the words for. Her family rushed her to the local doctor, but after the check-up, nothing, no fever, no virus, she was perfectly normal. So, the doctor shrugged, gave her medicine for the cold, and told them to let her rest. For a few days, it seemed to help. She finally slept. But then, something strange happened. Every evening, exactly 6 p.m., she would wake up and scream. It wasn't a tantrum. She would wail until her voice gave out, as if she saw something the rest of them couldn't. And that's when the family began to suspect. This wasn't just an illness. This was something else. So, Sikar's mother, who had seen enough in her years, didn't waste time. She went straight to one of the village elders, and these elders, often carrying knowledge, passed down through a world tradition of spirits, rituals, and how to deal with the unseen. Even today, people in many parts of Indonesia still seek their guidance when modern medicine fails. The elder listened carefully, then he spoke. "There is a spirit in your house. It's stock, and it's drawn to the child." He said it was small, childlike, but twisted. It had one eye bulging from its face. Its tongue was so long, it dragged across the floor behind it. And it carried a long wooden stick, which it used to blindly bump into walls and furniture, as it wandered around the house. It didn't mean to stay, but it got lost inside, and now it couldn't leave. Vers yet, Vio was what they called Wangi. In spiritual belief, some children are said to be fragrant to spirits. Not literally, but their energy, pure, warm, innocent, is said to be irresistible to wandering entities. In this spirit, it latched on to her. That's why no doctor could explain her symptoms. She wasn't sick in the way we understand. She was being drained, slowly and silently. The elder gave them only one instruction. Every time the clock strikes an odd number, read Surah Asin, the 36th chapter of the Quran, seven times. Surah Asin is often recited in Islam during times of hardship. It's believed to bring peace, drive away evil, and protect the vulnerable. So, they did what they had to do. They called the local mosque staff and gathered the village boys, who often pray together. And the day came. The clock struck the first odd hour. And just like they were told, the village boys began chanting Surah Asin seven times in unison. Their voice says, echoing through the walls like a wave of sound crashing over something unseen. They did it again at the next odd hour and again. That's when V.S. Father, who had just arrived from Bandung, heard the prayers from outside the house. And he froze. In the village, this kind of chanting repeated, rhythmic, heavy with sorrow, it usually meant only one thing. Someone had died. So, he thought something terrible had happened to his daughter while he was gone. Tears, welled in his eyes. He dropped his bag and ran. His feet hit the ground faster than his thoughts. He didn't want to believe it, but his heart was already sinking. And when he burst through the front door, he saw the boys kneeling in a circle holding open carons. But nobody, no white shroud, no funeral set-up. So, he ran to the back room. And there, he found his daughter. Little V.A. once always the first to greet him with a grin and a hug was lying on the bed soaked in sweat. Her body was twitching slightly and she was frowning in pain. Around her, the women of the family were whispering prayers, gently rubbing her arms, trying to soothe her. Her mother was at her head, whispering her name again and again. But after hours of prayer, something shifted. V.A.'s breath grew steadier. Her face relaxed. And finally, for the first time in days, she slept a peaceful, heavy sleep. And the next day, she woke up smiling, healthy and normal. As if nothing had happened. It was over or so they thought. Because that night something changed. From then on, V.A. could see them. Not always, not everywhere, but once in a while. In flashes and moments like a crack in reality, she'd catch them. Spirits, ghosts, shadows that didn't belong. Years passed, but they didn't leave her alone. As a teenager, she began to have dreams. Not nightmares exactly, but strange vivid dreams of a woman. Long hair, white gown, pale, but elegant. Someone who resembled with many feared. The kuntilinak. But the strange thing, this woman wasn't always frightening. Sometimes she was gentle, smiling like a friend. Then came the exam day. V.A. wasn't high school taking an important test. She sat in the back corner of a classroom with 30 other students. The teacher overseeing them was from the religious studies department. So he was always serious, quiet, stern, and no nonsense. So when the test ended and it was time to submit, the teacher walked up to her desk, looked her in the eye and said, "Why did you bring her here?" "V.A. Blint, excuse me?" "That woman," he said. "She's always with you." Her blood ran cold. She hadn't said a word to anyone. She laughed it off, but deep inside she knew it wasn't a joke. And later that day, she went to her aunt's workplace, just a short walk from school. Her phone had been confiscated all day for the exam, so she hadn't even checked its sense. But when she arrived, her aunt frowned and said, "Why did you message me like that? You don't have to be so formal." Confused, V.A. asked what she meant. Her aunt showed her the phone. A text message sent mid afternoon. "I'm still in the class," short and cold. So she used text people with a lot of emojis, and in a very friendly way, her texts were always long. V.A. never texts like that, especially not to family. And she certainly hadn't touched her phone that day. Her smile faded. She told her aunt what the teacher had said earlier that day, the woman, the one who followed her. And for the first time, her aunt went quiet. The family had believed V.A. has healed years ago, but it seemed something had stayed. They asked her again. Did she want to go through another cleansing? But V.A. refused. "It's just my imagination," she said. "Nothing special." But things got worse. One afternoon, while preparing decorations for a school festival, V.A. was in the school auditorium. It was almost 4 p.m. A few students stayed behind, scattered across the room, working quietly. She was drawing something on a poster when a cold breeze brushed her neck. She shrugged it off, probably just wind from the open window. But then she felt it again, colder, closer. The air suddenly grew heavy. She looked around. Everyone was working. No one was looking at her. No one else seemed to feel it. Then, without warning, a white cloth floated in front of her face, and vanished before she could see it properly. Not thin, not transparent. It looked solid, like a curtain. But all the auditorium curtains were red. She gasped, so did her friend beside her. They both sighed. But when they looked around, there was nothing white in the room. No cloth, no one nearby. And that night, the woman returned in her dreams. She combed V.A.'s hair. She sat beside her on the swings. She smiled and asked her to play. Every night she came, and if he refused, if she pulled away, the woman's face would change. The smile would stretch, the eyes would darken. And suddenly, she wasn't a friend. The dreams turned to dread. And in real life, be a change. She grew angrier, irritable, explosive. She would scream without warning. Throw objects across the room, hurt herself. Even she didn't know why. Something was wrong. And deep down, she knew the woman wasn't just in her dreams anymore. Just like before, V.A.'s aunt went back to the only person who would help them once before. The village elder. But this time, the answer she received wasn't just frightening. It was shocking. The elder looked her in the eyes and said, "She is loved by a Quantila knock. She sees V.A. as her child. You've had dreams of a crying baby, haven't you? That's her baby. She lost it. And now, she's adopted V.A. as her own." The aunt's face went pale. And V.A. she had never told anyone not a soul about the dream, the same dream that haunted her night after night. In it, this woman would be holding a newborn, small and fragile. The baby would cry in her arms. And every time she'd wake up with a sound still ringing in her ears. It was just a dream. She told herself that over and over again. But it kept coming back. The same scene, the same baby, over and over again. Like a video stuck on repeat. And now the older had just spoken it word for word as if he had washed her dream herself. V.A. couldn't breathe. She couldn't even ask how to stop all this. Because the elder had no solution. When the time comes, he said, the spirit will leave her. But the sight, the ability will remain. She will always see them. And that was it. They went home. From then on, the dreams returned every night. V.A. would wake up in her dream only to find the same woman sitting beside her bed. Sometimes, brushing her hair. Sometimes whispering. Come play with me. Sometimes, just staring. If V.A. refused, if she realized it was a dream and tried to escape, the woman would change. Her skin would drain of all color. Her black hair would unravel messy and wild. Her mouth would stretch too wide. And her eyes, black, hollow, like there was nothing inside. And then, she would scream, loud, ear splitting right into V.A.'s face. V.A. would try to pray. She would force herself to recite Suraya's say in or anything she could remember. But every time, her mouth would freeze halfway. She could only repeat the same line over and over again. As if something was pressing down on her chest, choking the rest of the prayer out of her. She couldn't move. She couldn't speak. Couldn't wake up. From the outside, it looked like ordinary sleep paralysis. But she knew it was not. That's why she began sleeping beside her aunt every night. So someone could shake her awake, pull her out of her nightmare, bring her back. And then, one night, it all changed. She was near the end of high school. In the dream, she woke up again. The woman was there as usual. But this time, she wasn't angry. She wasn't smiling either. She was crying. In her arms was a baby. She looked at V.A. one last time. And without saying word, she turned. And flew toward an abandoned well hidden behind overgrown bushes. A place V.A. had never seen before. And the dream ended. The next day, curiosity got the better of her. So she walked behind the house, passed the rice fields, passed the overgrowth. And just like in the dream, there it was. An old, unused well covered by thorny vines. Forgotten, hidden behind the piles of trash and tall grass. She had never noticed it before. No one in the family had mentioned that. And from that day on, the dream stopped. The spirit had seemed to finally let go. But the sight that never left, even now V.A. still see them. Not as often, not as clearly, but they're there. In shadows, reflections, the corner of our eye. She never figured out why she was chosen. She never played games to some in spirits. She never stepped where she wasn't supposed to. It just happened. Some people might say she's indigo. Someone born with a gift or curse of seeing the other side. But what about you? What would you do if this happened to you? If a ghost loved you, like a mother, if every night was a battle to wake up, and every room could be hiding something no one else could see. If you had any experiences like this, if you have this kind of special ability to see things that other people can't see, let me know in the comments below. And I guess we learned today that some spirits aren't here to harm. They're just looking for someone they lost. Okay, that is the end of today's story. And until next time, sleep tight. Bye-bye.