In the middle of the night, a magic animal appears. What is its mission, dark or white?
An authentical ghost story from Sarawak,
where the nights are roamed by shadows, the unexplained, and superstition...
The Ghost Bird
What was that strange noise? I woke up and rubbed my eyes. Had I been dreaming? Our bedroom lay silent, immersed in gloomy darkness, reflected by Maureen's makeup mirror in the corner of the freshly painted dry wall. I looked around. Maureen and the kids were sleeping peacefully. But what about that sweet, melodious sound I had felt in my head? I must have been dreaming.
Now, suddenly, a light ray penetrated through torn blinds, together with the rattling sound of jingling redwood planks, taram taram tatam the music's beat spilled over, squeaking brakes. Then the noise vanished, followed by silence, again.
Another pissed drunkard had rumbled over the nightly wooden bridge, I thought.
Sometimes it happened that the drivers returning from karaoke bars and clubs got so drunk that they couldn’t even find the bridge, ending up drowning in the murky waters of the Miri River.
I looked at my watch, and the pale green light shone from the digits indicating 2 a.m. The hour of the ghosts, I mused, and rolled to my right into a large fluffy comfortable pillow. I closed my eyes and was about to fall asleep, when suddenly a shrieking, yet melodious sound echoed through the nightly park. I jumped up, fully awake. This wasn't normal. I waited and listened into the wide- open space.
There it was again! A piercing soft, yet melodious sound, an animal’s cry originated from a mysterious, distant world. It was coming closer. The eerie regular flapping of wings became stronger. Now it was here, right on the balcony, fluttering. The magic bird’s wings scratched over the open window’s mosquito screen. It sat right there, on the window board lining, and kept watching us.
I tried to be as silent as I could, and I watched the dark shade looming beyond the screen. Was it an owl? I wasn't so sure; certainly it was a big bird. It flapped its wings, and then flew off out of a sudden.
I remained in silence for a while, until sleep caught up with me.
I woke up at 6 a.m., as cars rattled over the nearby wooden bridge, at the onset of the morning rush hour. I washed and shaved and got ready for work. The nightly experience came back to my mind, as I sat in front of a steaming tom yam noodle breakfast, that Maureen had prepared for me.
"Did you hear the bird, last night," I asked.
"Which bird? No. Good birds don't come to one's house after 10 p.m. Tell me what you heard and saw," she said.
I explained my nightly experience, and Maureen listened carefully. As I ended my story, she said: "Why didn't you wake me up?"
She paused and gave me a thoughtful glance. " What you saw, was no bird! We call it the 'ghost bird.' It's an evil spirit that takes the form of a bird. It flies out into the night, to hunt for blood and souls."
"I didn't feel anything bad," I protested. "Actually, it sounded rather nice. It made me feel curious, and perhaps even good. Yes, something came to visit us, but without any evil intention."
Maureen shook her head, and replied: "No, no, no! The 'ghost bird' is out for blood. It tries to catch a soul, such as our young daughter's. We better watch out!"
"Don't be so superstitious," I mumbled, stood up, gave a kiss to Maureen, grabbed my bag, car keys and took the staircase. It was time to go to work.
I came home at 6 p.m. It had been a long day, my head was full of work-related stuff, and I had already forgotten the mysterious bird event. At 10 p.m. I watched (I rarely do these days) TV in the company of Maureen. That's when both of us heard a shrieking sound.
"Was it that sound you heard last night," whispered Maureen. I nodded. Maureen stood up and opened the balcony door. I followed her in silence. In front of our eyes, a large owl fluttered away.
"It's the ghost bird," she said after an uneasy pause. “It's hunting blood. Someone in our area is connected to this spirit. The bird needs blood, if it didn’t receive sacrifices in due time. Someone around here is attracting the bird." Saying this she gave me a doubtful glance. "Let me call my queen. Come and follow me."
We went to our bedroom. Maureen sat down on the wooden floor, lit a candle, and after a few moments fell in trance. Shivers ran through her body, with rattling sounds emanating from her arms as the great powerful Naga spirit took possession of her. Her hands jointed shivered like in deep emotion or prayer. I observed her in silence from a few feet of skeptic distance.
"Tell me to which direction my hands are pointing," she suddenly shouted. "Straight, south-east," I mumbled.
It took a while of deep silence until she re-emerged from her trance. "It's her, I knew it," she whispered.
“Our (“ama”) caretaker lady?" I inquired.
Maureen nodded and whispered: "yes, it's her. But I have to find out more. We cannot keep her in our house."
We went to bed and had a bit of uneasy sleep. At first sunlight I took my breakfast, alone this time, and went to work.
At noon, I came back home for lunch.
"Where is the ama," I asked, looking around.
"I sent her away already," said Maureen. "She finally admitted with many tears, that she was associated to the ‘ghost bird’ spirit. She cried a lot, and promised that she would never harm our baby. But she also understood that we couldn't keep her with us. I'm really sorry but I cannot admit a person like her in my house."
"I feel sorry for her, too" I said. "Spirit or not, she was kind of a good person. I don't think she ever could have harmed our kids."
"Probably not," said Maureen, "but we simply can't take the risk."
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The Ghost Bird
