Ghost
SURAYALAYCURLED up in her bed, and she couldn't stop shaking.
Pink was worried about her, and it just about killed him that he
had no idea how to help her. "What were they?" she asked, over and
over again. "What were those . . . those creatures?"
Pink sat quiet and unmoving on the windowsill, watching as
ribbons of sunlight slowly began to lick the corners of the
neighboring houses, thinking about those muffled whispers, the
pointed stare of hundreds of beady little eyes.
All manner of dark things,he said quietly. There was a bajang—
that's the civetyou saw, that's the shape it takes. It can cause a type
of madness, a delirium, to whoever its master sends it to torment.
"Its master?" Suraya stared at him. "You mean the pawang?"
Yes. And it was not the only one. There were more.Pink sighed.
The owl is another form taken by the langsuir. She isa type of
banshee, preying on pregnant mothers, though I suppose if you have
the right skill, she can prey on whoever you want her to. The baby,
that was a toyol, a child spirit who can be used by itsmaster to
cause all sorts of mischief.
"And the little one?"
That was a polong. A spirit bound by blood, like me. It canrender
its victims deaf and blind to their surroundings, totally unconscious of
their own actions, ranting and raving like a lunatic. And there was
more than one of those, more than I could count.
Suraya buried her head in her hands. "I don't understand. Why is
he doing this? What does he want with those . . . those creatures?"
It seems to me that the man is a Collector,Pink said calmly. I
have heard of his kind. They are not content with small, petty bad
magics as your grandmother was. They desire greater things, and
they use their spirits like slaves.
"What kind of things do they want?" Suraya asked. Her voice
trembled.
Pink's sigh was long and weary. Anything you could think of,
really,he said. Theft. Assault. Murder. Imagine being in control of
polongs and pelesits, toyols and bajangs and langsuirs. An army of
ghosts and monsters. You would be almost unstoppable.
"But what doeshe want you for? Doesn't he have enough?" she
said, her voice rising and tinged with frustration. "And you're bound
by blood too. How can he do that? I thought that was the whole
point, that you couldn't belong to anyone else."
Power is an addiction. A small taste is often enough for people to
crave another, and then another, and then another, and those who
have it will do anything to get more of it.
"And hecalled himself RELIGIOUS!" She drove her fist into the
mattress, pounding it over and over again, punctuating her words
with their soft, satisfying thumps. "How can he just USE religion like
that? What kind of monster does that?"
He is not the first, nor will he be the last.Pink turned to look at
her, his voice gentle. You will find, child, that there are many
monsters in this world who hide their darkness beneath a mask of
piety. Call yourself a religious man and nobody will question you; do
it well enough and you can stab them in the back, again and again
and again, while they nod and say it is all for their own good.
Suraya shuddered. "We can't let him collect you too."
How do you propose we stop him?
"We'll think of something."
Pink shook his head, but said nothing. He just kept staring out at
the world, now alive with fresh morning sunlight and new
possibilities.
In the distance, they heard the front door slam shut; Mama, off to
the village school for another day of teaching.
"We could run away."
No. He didn't even bother to look at her.
"Why not? If we ran away, somewhere he couldn't find us, you'd
be safe. You wouldn't be part of his nasty old collection. And I could
take care of you. We could take care of each other."
There was a long pause. Suraya, that is no life for a child. A life
spent hiding and running, a life spent scraping and scrambling just to
survive each day. You cannot be serious.
She sether little chin and looked straight at him, his brave, brave
girl, his master. "I am," she told him firmly. "I don't see howthere can
be any other way."
And what about food? Whatabout a place to live? What about
money? Whatabout school? What about Jing? What about your
mother?Hefired the questions at her rapidly, never waiting for an
answer. Please, Suraya. No more foolishness.
When she spoke again, her voice was small and sad. "And what
about you?"
Before he could answer, the tinny ding of the doorbell echoed
through the house.
Suraya frowned. "Who can that be? Nobody ever comes around
this time of day."
Or at all, mumbled Pink caustically, rubbing his aching head.
Pretending not to hear him, Suraya made her way to the front
door and opened it just the tiniest of cracks.
It was Jing.
"Hullo," Jing said, then stopped, rubbing the cast on one arm
awkwardly with her other hand. She was dressed in her school
pinafore, her backpack slung over her shoulder, a white-robed
Princess Leia keychain dangling off the zipper.
What is she doing here?Pink hissed. Surely even in their
troubles, they need not include her as well?
"What are you doing here?" Suraya echoed.
"I waited for Ma to leave after dropping me off at school, then I
took the bus here. You weren't kidding, man, it really takes damn
long." Jing peered at her anxiously. "You okay? You haven't been in
school so long already. I was getting worried."
"I'm . . ." Suraya hesitated.
Tell heryou're fine,Pink said quietly, straight into her ear. Tell her
to go home.
"Why don't you come in?" she said instead, opening the door
wider and gesturing inside.
Pink sighed.
Inside, Jing spent an inordinate amount of time walking around
Suraya's small room, runningher hands and eyes over everything,
from the little bookshelf beneath the window, to the bed with its faded
floral sheets, to the wooden desk covered in pots of pens and
pencils, though the notebook was now firmly locked away in a
drawer.
Suraya stood by the door, her arms crossed tight across her
chest. Nobody ever came into her room, and Pink knew how
vulnerable it made her feel tolet Jing in, taking in everything with her
sharp little eyes.
"Let's go get a snack," she said finally, holding the door open.
"You must be hungry." It was a safe bet, Pink thought. As far as he
could tell, Jing was always hungry.
"Okay," Jing said.
"Come on."
"Okay! I'm coming." Jing made her way hurriedly to the door.
"Hurry up," Suraya tossed behind her shoulder to Pink.
"What are you talking about? I'm already out here." Jing's face
wore a frown of confusion, and she was so busy staring at Suraya
that she never noticed the little grasshopper leaping past her toward
the kitchen, where the snacks were waiting.
Outside, the storm clouds began to gather.
They sat together on the coldconcrete of the porch, passing a jar of
iced gem biscuits back and forth between them, listening to the
crash of thunder and watching the rain pelt and pound the earth. The
biscuits had been Suraya's favorite ever since she was a little girl, and they always had them at home; Pink could still remember the old
days when she'd called them biskut aiskrim, thick vanilla discs the
size of a button covered in a pure sugar swirl of green or white or
pink that looked exactly like a dollop of ice cream.
"So what's going on?" Jing had to yell over the drummingof the
rain on the porch's tin roof. "I know something's wrong."
"How do you know?" Suraya yelled back.
"It's written all over your face."
There was a rumble of thunder, farther away now than it had
been just a few minutes ago. The storm was moving on.
"It's . . . complicated."
"So what." Jing shrugged, taking a handful of biscuits and
passing the jar back. "Look, if I can make it through reading all three
Lord of the Rings books and still keep the characters straight without
my head exploding, then I can handle your life." She bit off a swirl of
pink icing and chewed it thoughtfully. "Especially if your story has
any Aragorn types."
Pink thought itfelt good to hear Suraya laugh. It felt good to see
her smile. What didn't feel good was the realization that she hadn't
been like this with him, not for a good long while.
He sidled up to her ear. Tell her, he said.
"Are you sure?"
"Sure about what?" She'd barely been here half an hour, and
already the look of confusion on Jing's face was becoming a
permanent feature.
Tell her. Maybe she can help.
"But what if she doesn't believe me?"
Jing wasn't chewing anymore, and her confusion was tinged with
worry.
"What's going on, Sooz? Who're you talking to?"
The storm was almost goneby now; all that was left was a
stubborn drizzle and a chill in the air that made Suraya shiver.
"You're going to think I'm crazy," she said, half laughing.
In an instant, Jing was next to her, her arm around Suraya's
shoulder. "You can tell me anything," she said seriously, her eyes
earnest behindher glasses. "I am your friend lah, silly. The Chewie
to your Han. Let me help you."
Pink didn't know what Chewies and Hans were. He just knew he
wanted to be Suraya's friend too. And that meant letting Jing in, no
matter how much it hurt.
Suraya took a deep breath. "Okay," she said. "Here goes."
She talked for what felt like a long time, until the chill inthe air
had long disappeared.
A shadow fell across Jing's face, making it hard to read.
"Well?" The nervousness in Suraya's voice was palpable.
"Where is he now?" Jing asked. Her tone gave nothing away.
"Here." Pink hopped from her shoulder onto Suraya's open palm.
"That's him?" Jing's hand went to her cast almost protectively.
"That's your . . . your friend?"
"You don't believe me?" Suraya bit down hard on her bottom lip
to keep it fromtrembling, and Pink watched as a drop of blood
welled up from beneath her teeth.
This is ridiculous.The air shimmered around him, and for an
instant there he was, in all his monstrous glory, scaled and horned.
The glow of the late afternoon sun made it look as if his skin flickered
with fire.
Then the moment was over, and there was nothing but the tiny
green grasshopper on Suraya's palm.
Jing blinked. "Okay," she said quietly. "Okay. I'm convinced."
Suraya sucked in a deep, noisy breath, as if someone had let go
of their iron grip on her lungs and she could finally take in some
desperately needed air. "Oh thank goodness, because I don't think
we can do this on our own."
"That's me." Jing smiled a nervous smile, still cradling her injured
arm. "The third musketeer." Her eyes never left Pink, who stayed
perfectly still in Suraya's hand.
"Well then." Suraya looked from one best friend to the other and
took a deep breath. "Let's get to work."