The Midnight Food Order That Came From the Grave

[Music] Hey, beauties! Welcome back to Beauty and the Beasts, where self-care meets scary real-life stories. So tonight, while we unwind with skincare and a little glowtime, we will also step into the shadows together for a story that will send chills down your spine. Tonight's tale takes us to Jakarta, Indonesia, a city buzzing with life, food, and endless deliveries. But sometimes, at the orders that arrive at your door are in for the living. This is the chilling story of Eddie, a driver who picked up what seemed like a normal late-night order, only to realize that his customer might not have been human at all. So get comfortable, settle in, and let's begin our story. [Music] These days, everyone's busy, right? Nobody has time to cook. So what do we do? We just order, close, bags, food, drinks, all from our phone. In some countries, like the US, Uber Eats has become almost a daily thing for people who don't cook or don't have the time. Now, Indonesia is something similar, but even bigger. It's called GoJack. Think of it like Uber, but instead of just cars, it's also motorcycles, couriers, food delivery, you name that. Inside GoJack, they've got this feature called GoFood, which is basically their version of Uber Eats. Almost everybody in Indonesia has this app. You can order food or even ask for a pickup by bike or car anytime. But here is the question, what if the dead also use it? Tonight's story is a pretty interesting one I want to tell you about Eddie's story. So we cannot say for sure if this is real or is just some made-up tale. But this was written on cascos. That's like Indonesia's version of Reddit, where people share real stories. And interestingly, thousands of people saw his post and many even commented saying, "Hey, something similar happened to me or to someone I know." In Eddie's case, it all started with food, an app and one very strange video call. Now, Eddie wasn't originally from Jakarta, the capital. He came from Central Java, a place where people still hold on to traditional beliefs, spirits, rituals, all that. But small towns don't always give you opportunities. And Eddie, he had big dreams. So he packed up and moved to Jakarta. Living there alone wasn't easy. It's a tough city and everyone's fighting for the same chance. Eddie bounced from one job to another, always searching, but nothing seemed to stick. Then one day, he saw a recruitment ad for Gojack. And it sounded so simple. All you needed was a smartphone and a vehicle. That's it. So he applied, went through the online registration, then an offline interview. Any past. They gave him the iconic green jacket that every Gojack driver wears. And just like that, Eddie finally had a steady job. Enough to cover his daily needs. But let me tell you, being a Gojack driver is not easy. Customers can be rude. Delivery sometimes get broken. And then, there's the dreaded fake orders. When someone makes you pick up food but disappears without paying. Still, Eddie stayed positive. Every morning, he woke up with a smile, telling himself something good would happen one day. And one evening, he decided to take night orders. Usually at night, most requests are food deliveries. So he rode around the city looking for a good spot to wait. Along the way, he passed by other drivers, all wearing that same green jacket. And whenever they saw each other, they would greet by honking their horns. A little show of solidarity. And that's when Eddie's real story begins. That night, the air had that special smell. You know, the one after rain, damp asphalt, grass still wet. The rain had stopped maybe an hour ago, and the streets were slick, shining under the dim street lights. It was cold, yes, but to Eddie, it wasn't unpleasant. It was the kind of cold that felt nostalgic, like warm chocolate and winter, comforting almost like home. And there was nothing spooky about it. The clock was creeping toward midnight when his phone buzzed, ding, a new order. Eddie perked up happy. He typed quickly in the app's chat, "Please wait for the order." Then he rushed to the restaurant. The order was "me aiam," which is chicken noodles. Imagine springy noodles in a sweet and savory broth topped with chunks of seasoned chicken. Classic street food, cheap and beloved in Indonesia. The customer had left a little note in the order, "Less sambal please." "Sambal, of course, is chili sauce." "Indonesians love it, but not everyone wants it too spicy." By that hour, the restaurant was nearly empty. It was almost midnight after all. Eddie waited patiently scrolling on his phone. And out of curiosity, he tapped on the customer's profile. And her name popped up, "Irmas et yenning ron." "Beautiful name," he thought. It made him smile because it reminded him of his own little daughter back in his hometown. Her name was Risma. To pass the time, he hopped onto social media, posting one of his usual jokes. "I waited a long time for the order, but please don't make me wait for your love." And I don't know what that even means, but yeah, his friends immediately commented and teased him. And then he shivered. For some reason, a chill ran down his spine. Sure, it was a cool night, but this felt colder than the air. He pulled his green gojek jacket tighter around himself, almost hugging it. And finally, his number was called. The Miaiyam was ready. With these deliveries, the driver usually pays first. Then the customer reimburses, cash or e-wallet at the door. The staff handed him the bag. There you go, sir. Eddie thanked them, carried the food to the parking lot. But that strange chill had had left him. If anything, it was worse now. Like eyes boring into his back. He stopped, turned, scanned the dark lot. But just a few motorcycles parked. No people. Empty. He frowned, trying to think, was tonight a sacred day. In the Nisjans, believe certain days, according to the Javanese calendar, attracts spirits. Or had he maybe offended something, stepped on a sacred place without realizing? That's what he thought. But no, it was just an ordinary Wednesday and nothing unusual. So he just shook it off. Just my imagination, he thought. He strapped on his helmet, messaged the customer. I'm on the way. The pinpoint is correct, right? Then he revved the bike and started toward Irmas location. The destination wasn't far, about 15 minutes by motorcycle. The address led to a village, a cluster of houses mostly lived by merchants. And here, don't imagine skyscrapers or high-rise apartments. This was Jakarta, yes, but the older side of it. Where old buildings, empty lots, and simple houses all crowded together. On the roadside, big trees loomed, especially cotton trees. And in daylight, that place would have looked charming. The kind of scene people post on Instagram with the word "esthetic." But at night, those trees looked different. Tall shadows, branches hanging low. Like they were hiding something. Or someone. And Eddie's slowed his speed a little. The road itself wasn't bad. Wide enough for two cars, no potholes. But because of the earlier rain, it was slick and slippery. So carefully, eyes fixed on his Google map, he followed the winding path deeper into the village. So Eddie followed the map deeper in. The streets narrowed smaller and smaller until finally he was on a lane that only one motorbike could pass through at a time. And then, there it was. The house. It was an old house. The kind you see a lot in older Jakarta neighborhoods. The walls were a faint fading light blue, and there were overgrown bushes in the garden. Outside, a dim porch light was glowing, but the inside was completely dark. Look like the family had already gone to bed. He knocked gently on the door. Hello, excuse me, anybody's home? And there it was again. That feeling, someone behind him, eyes on his back. So he turned quickly, but nothing empty. But this time, he was sure he caught a glimpse of a shadow moving behind the tall bushes. His heart skipped, but he brushed it off. Maybe it's just the branches moving in the wind, maybe the street light making funny shapes. He told himself not to be silly. And after a moment, a light flicked on inside the house. The door creaked open. An older man, maybe in his 60s, stepped out. He wore a plain white t-shirt and a seroon. That's like a checkered cloth, men wrap around their ways to common in Indonesia. He looked at Eddie, scanning him from head to toe. And then the moment his eyes landed on that bright green go check jacket, the man let out a deep, heavy sigh. He closed his eyes for a second and said, "Is it me, Ayam?" Eddie thought, "Oh, so he must be the customer." Yes, sir, ordered by Miss Irma Satanningerun, the old man cut him off. The lady said her name fast, sharp, almost too loud. It made Eddie's chest tighten. He froze for a second. He didn't have plenty of bad encounters before, angry customers, scams, even people refusing to pay. Was this about to turn into one of those nights, he thought, but instead of anger, the old man's face softened. He smiled faintly, tiredly, and said nothing else. He just took the bag of noodles from Eddie and told him to sit in front of the house. Then he went inside, carrying the food. Eddie sat down, trying to relax. From where he was, he had a full view of the garden. It was big, wider than most city homes. A white tent was set up beside the house, with stacks of plastic chairs piled up neatly underneath. It looked like they just hosted an event. In Indonesia, especially in villages or older neighborhoods, it's common to hold ceremonies right at home. Weddings, funerals, even circumcisions, with big tent chairs, sometimes flower arrangements. So when Eddie noticed flower petals scattered on the ground, his first thought was, aw, maybe they just had a wedding in the family. Lost in his thoughts, he suddenly caught the sound of a man's voice, the same old man. He was speaking inside the house, his words muffled. It sounded like he was talking to someone in the bedroom. Maybe it was Irma, Eddie assumed. Not long after, the man returned. He handed Eddie a crisp bill, 100,000 rupee, and that's a lot more than the price of the food. The noodles were only about 15,000. And Eddie started fumbling through his pockets, embarrassed. Aw, wait, sir, I'll get you some change. But the old man shook his head. "Please, son, keep the change." And Eddie blinked, confused. That was more than six times the cost. Are you sure, sir? The man smiled sadly. It's just a thank you. You're out here, working hard, delivering food in the middle of the night. Not many young men these days would do that. Eddie felt a warmth in his chest at the compliment. He smiled. But then, the man's expression changed. The smile faded. His voice grew lower, heavier. I'm sorry, he said quietly. If my only daughter pulled a prank on you. The moment the old man said those words, "I'm sorry if my only daughter pulled a prank on you." The whole mood shifted. The night got colder. Not the soft, cozy cold from the rain earlier. This was sharp. This was the kind of cold that bites at your bones. And the old man's expression changed too. His face hardened, eyes unreadable. Then suddenly, he smiled again, almost forcing it. He shoved the money into Eddie's hand, and he kept refusing, shaking his head, but the man wouldn't take now. In the end, he pushed the bill deep into Eddie's pocket and muttered that he was sleepy. Then, the door closed. And Eddie, exhaled, finally, relaxing. He smiled to himself. A huge tip like that, on his last order of the day, he felt lucky. He got on his bike, already thinking about what kind of good meal he'd treat himself to tomorrow. But as he reached the main road, his smile vanished, because there it was. A yellow flag. In Indonesia, that flag means only one thing. Someone died in that neighborhood that day. But that wasn't what froze his blood. Beside the flag, he saw a placard, just cardboard, handwritten in big, bold letters, the name of the deceased. Irma setyending room. Eddie's stomach dropped. That was the exact same name as the girl who had just ordered noodles. His hands tightened on the handlebars, hard pounding. He turned, staring back toward the house he just left. It wasn't far at all. And then, he saw him. The old man standing there in front of the house, staring back at Eddie. Slowly, the man raised his hands and waved them back and forth like he was urging Eddie to leave. His lips moved, forming words, but from that distance, Eddie couldn't make them out. But one thing was clear. The old man wanted him gone immediately. A shiver ran down Eddie. And this time, it wasn't just the night chill. It was something else. The cold, sacked deeper, cutting through his jacket, through his skin. His legs started to feel numb. He tried to move, to ride, but his muscles just wouldn't respond. The old man, seeing him frozen there, slipped on his sandals and began to rush toward Eddie. But he was elderly. His steps were slow, too slow. And that is when it happened. Eddie's phone vibrated in his pocket once, twice, then again and again buzzing violently. The ringtone echoed in the quiet night. It was a call from the Go Check app. And on the screen, the name that made his blood run cold, earmaster chanting room. It was a video call. Eddie's hands trembled. He tried to decline swiping at the red button. But no matter how he moved, only the green button slid across. As if someone else was controlling his phone, forcing him to answer. And then the screen lit off. And what Eddie saw burned into his mind forever. On the screen, he saw a figure wrapped in a white burial shroud tied at the head and feet. A putt chone. The traditional form that Eddie buried in under Islamic rights. It was her, Irma. Her face was pale. Her eyes sockets sunken and black, empty as if her eyes had been taken. Her nose was stuffed with cotton. She leaned close to the camera, lips stretching unnaturally wide into a grin that reached ear to ear. And then she began to laugh. Not a normal laugh. It was broken, jagged, echoing through the speaker. The sound rattled in Eddie's skull. Eddie's hands shook so badly he almost dropped the phone. The image of Irma, that pale face, those dark, empty eyes, that shroud, it was too much. His chest tightened. His breath came out shallow. And before he knew it, the world spun. The last thing he remembered was the old man rushing toward him. Then nothing. Darkness. When Eddie opened his eyes, he was lying on the side of the main road. His bike was parked neatly nearby as if someone had placed it there. The traffic had started to pick up. Dawn wasn't far. He sat up, dizzy, heart still racing. His phone was in his pocket. The screen dark, no calls logged, no video saved. So for a moment he thought, maybe I dreamed it. Maybe it was just exhaustion. Just my brain playing tricks on me. But then he reached into his jacket pocket. And there it was. A crisp 100,000 rupee note. The same one the old man had shoved into his pocket. Eddie froze. If it was just a dream, how was the money still there? He never went back to that neighborhood again. Even today, when he tells the story, he himself questions it. Was it real or was it something else? We will never know. But what we do know is Eddie's story isn't the only one. Many drivers in Indonesia have talked about similar tales. Worders that vanish from the app pickups that lead to empty houses, customers who didn't quite seem alive. So what do you think? Could something from the other side really use an app? Ordering food, booking a ride, reaching across into our modern world. Do you believe it? Or do you think it's just tired minds and late night fear playing tricks? Maybe it's all just coincidences. But sometimes when the night is quiet enough, the dead might find a way to slip into our world. That is a wrap for today. And I will see you guys in our next episode. Good night, guys.