Nestled in the heart of Semarang, Indonesia, stands a looming relic of the Dutch colonial era—a sprawling building known as Lawang Sewu, meaning "A Thousand Doors." Its walls are weathered, its windows cracked, and its corridors echo with the footsteps of a time long past. The locals speak of it with a mixture of fear and reverence, avoiding its shadow at night. They say the building is haunted, cursed by the restless souls of those who died there during the Japanese occupation in World War II.
But for Arya, it was just an old building.
As a travel blogger in his late twenties, Arya thrived on seeking out dark tourism sites across Southeast Asia. Haunted forests, cursed temples, ghostly ruins—he had seen it all and written about it for his growing audience. When his followers suggested he explore Lawang Sewu, Arya was skeptical. Yes, there were legends—about the headless Dutch soldiers and tortured prisoners—but to him, it was just another story.
Or so he thought.
One humid evening in July, Arya found himself standing before the towering facade of Lawang Sewu, its thousand doors eerily silent. The air felt heavy, as though the building itself was alive, watching him. His heart fluttered with excitement more than fear. He had planned to spend the night inside, capturing photos and writing a detailed blog entry on the legends of the building.
With a final glance at his camera, Arya pushed open the creaking wooden door. The air inside was thick and stagnant, as if no fresh breeze had touched it in years. He flicked on his flashlight and started exploring the long, empty hallways. Faded Dutch inscriptions lined the walls, and doorways seemed to stretch on forever. As he moved deeper into the building, the soft echo of his footsteps felt unsettling. There was no wind, yet he could hear faint whispers carried through the corridors.
He passed several rooms, snapping photos as he went, narrating his experience into his voice recorder for his blog. The building was enormous, and though parts of it had been restored, large areas were still untouched, crumbling under the weight of neglect.
After an hour of exploration, Arya found the staircase leading down to the infamous basement. The basement was said to be the most haunted part of Lawang Sewu—a place where prisoners of war had been held, tortured, and executed. Locals believed that the spirits of those prisoners still roamed the halls, seeking revenge for their brutal deaths. Some claimed to have heard their screams echoing through the night, while others had seen shadowy figures lingering near the old cellars.
Arya hesitated at the top of the stairs, his flashlight casting long, twisted shadows against the stone walls. A chill ran down his spine, but he brushed it off. He had been to countless "haunted" places before, and this was no different. The basement, he thought, would make for the perfect climax to his blog post.
He descended the steps, each one creaking under his weight. The deeper he went, the colder it became, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat above. The walls here were damp, and the air smelled of mildew and decay. Water dripped from somewhere unseen, creating a steady, rhythmic sound that seemed to mimic the ticking of a clock.
At the bottom of the stairs, Arya found himself in a narrow corridor lined with rusted metal doors. These were the old holding cells. His flashlight flickered as he swept it across the stone floor, revealing ancient shackles still bolted to the walls. He knelt down to inspect them, his camera clicking as he captured the eerie scene.
And then, he heard it.
A faint sound. A whisper, low and breathy, coming from behind one of the cell doors.
Arya froze. He strained his ears, listening intently. For a moment, there was only silence. He told himself it was just the wind, or perhaps his mind playing tricks on him. But then the whisper came again, louder this time, unmistakable.
It was a woman's voice.
"Tolong…"
The word sent a shiver down his spine. He knew what it meant: Help.
The sound was soft, almost pleading, but filled with sorrow. Arya stood, his pulse quickening. This had to be some kind of prank, he thought. Perhaps a local had snuck in to scare off nosy tourists. He had heard of that happening before at other haunted locations.
But deep down, something told him this was different.
He approached the cell door from where the whisper seemed to have come. His flashlight flickered again, casting the hallway in and out of darkness. He gripped the door handle, hesitating for a moment before pulling it open.
The door groaned as it swung inward, revealing a small, dark cell. The air was even colder here, and the smell of damp stone was overpowering. Arya swept the flashlight across the room. It was empty.
But then, as his beam passed over the far corner, he saw it—a figure.
A woman, sitting huddled in the shadows. Her hair was long and matted, obscuring her face, and her clothes were torn and dirty, clinging to her thin, gaunt frame. She was rocking back and forth, her head bowed.
Arya's breath caught in his throat.
"Hey," he called out, his voice trembling. "Are you okay?"
The woman didn't respond. She continued to rock back and forth, whispering the same word over and over again: "Tolong… Tolong…"
Something wasn't right. Every instinct told Arya to turn and run, to get out of the building, but his curiosity overpowered his fear. He took a cautious step closer, keeping his flashlight trained on her.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The woman stopped rocking. Slowly, she raised her head, her hair falling away to reveal her face.
Arya's blood ran cold.
Her eyes were hollow, deep black voids that seemed to swallow the light. Her skin was pale and stretched tight over her skull, and her mouth—her mouth was twisted into a grotesque grin, lips cracked and bleeding. She stared at him with an intensity that made his heart pound in his chest.
"Tolong…" she whispered again, her voice barely audible.
Arya stumbled backward, his flashlight shaking in his hand. The temperature in the room plummeted, and the woman's grin widened, stretching impossibly far across her face. She stood, her movements unnatural, her bones cracking with every step as she approached him.
Panic surged through Arya. He turned and bolted out of the cell, his feet slipping on the damp stone as he raced back down the hallway. He didn't dare look back, but he could hear her—footsteps echoing behind him, getting closer with every second.
His breath came in ragged gasps as he reached the stairs, his legs burning from the effort. He didn't stop until he burst through the door at the top, slamming it shut behind him. For a moment, the building was silent again, save for his labored breathing.
He leaned against the door, trying to catch his breath, when he heard it.
Tap.
Tap.
A soft knock from the other side of the door.
Arya's heart raced, his hands trembling as he fumbled with his phone, trying to turn on the flashlight. His own reflection in the cracked screen looked as terrified as he felt.
And then, from behind the door, the woman's voice came again, clearer this time:
"Tolong… buka pintunya…"
Help… open the door.
Arya stumbled back, nearly dropping his phone. The air around him seemed to thicken, growing colder with each passing second. He could feel it—her presence on the other side of the door. She wasn't done with him yet.
He turned and ran through the corridors of Lawang Sewu, the thousand doors around him blurring into the darkness. His footsteps echoed off the walls, but no matter how far he went, the woman's voice followed him, growing louder, more insistent.
"Tolong…"
Her voice was in his head now, filling every corner of his mind. He could feel her eyes on him, watching, waiting. The building twisted around him, the doors stretching on endlessly, leading him in circles. There was no escape.
Finally, he found himself back where he had started—at the main entrance. The door, the only exit, stood before him, but when he tried to push it open, it wouldn't budge. His fingers scraped at the wood, his breath coming in frantic gasps.
"Tolong…"
The voice was right behind him now.
Arya turned, his back pressed against the door. The woman stood in the hallway, her hollow eyes fixed on him, her grin wide and unnatural. Her head tilted to one side as she took a slow, deliberate step forward.
He couldn't move. He couldn't scream. All he could do was stare as the figure approached, her cold, dead eyes locking onto his.
The last thing Arya saw was her face, inches from his, her lips curling into a smile that would haunt him forever.
Days later, Arya's body was found in the basement of Lawang Sewu, huddled in one of the old cells. His face was frozen in a twisted expression of terror, his eyes wide open as if he had seen something that had driven him mad.
No one knew how he had gotten there. The building had been locked, and there were no signs of a break-in.
But the locals didn't question it. They knew the truth.