A Rainy Night in Central Java: When the Past Came Alive

That night, my three friends and I were caught in a heavy downpour on our way to a small village. The village was our destination for a community service project—we had volunteered to teach at an underprivileged school there.

My name is Ayu, and my three friends are Ajeng, Rangga, and Sadam. We all graduated from the same university, studied in the same faculty of education, and shared the same passion: teaching. This journey was part of our commitment to serve and share knowledge with children in remote areas of Central Java.

We traveled from Bekasi by train, which took about eight hours. Finally, we arrived at a station in Central Java. Just as we were about to get off the last train, the sky opened up—a sudden heavy rain poured down, accompanied by strong winds. We ran quickly to a small food stall nearby to take shelter.

The clock struck 8:30 PM, yet the rain continued to fall mercilessly. A thick fog lingered around the station, making everything feel oddly surreal. As I looked around, I noticed something strange. The entire place seemed frozen in the past.

The station building looked old and worn. The coffee stalls were made of bamboo walls, and the people who passed by in the rain were dressed as though they belonged to another era. Some wore traditional kebaya and batik sarongs, while others carried woven hats, their clothes faded and muddy. Their faces looked unfamiliar—different somehow.

I leaned closer to Ajeng and whispered,

“Hey Jeng, don’t you feel like something is off here? Look at the people.”

Ajeng shook her head lightly.

“Not really. Why?” she asked casually.

“Nothing… never mind,” I replied, letting out a small sigh.

Still uneasy, I turned to Rangga, who had been staring quietly at the rain.

“Rangga, can I ask you something? Doesn’t this place feel strange to you?” I whispered.

He looked at me sharply, as though holding back something.

“Not really. Why? Do you feel something strange?” he asked.

“Yes… don’t you?” I pressed.

“No. Maybe it’s just because you’ve never been to a village like this. My hometown actually looks pretty similar,” Rangga said with a soft smile.

I stayed silent, staring back at the rain and the gusts of wind, though the uneasy feeling in my chest only grew stronger. Maybe it was just my imagination.

Suddenly, Sadam called me over. He had been busy with his phone, even though there was no signal.

“Ayu, come here a sec!” he shouted from the corner of the stall.

The food stall was closed, and we were only using the front porch to stay dry.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Can I borrow your phone? Maybe yours still has signal,” Sadam said.

I handed him my phone, but the screen showed the same thing.

“No signal at all,” I said.

“Yeah, same here. None of our phones are working. This is bad. How long are we supposed to wait here for the rain to stop?” Sadam muttered anxiously.

Ajeng and Rangga joined us as we discussed what to do. Then, suddenly, we all heard it—hooves clattering against the wet ground.

We turned toward the narrow path near the station. Three horse-drawn carriages appeared, stopping right in front of the stall. People stepped down from the carriages, their silhouettes blurred by rain.

Ajeng broke the silence.

“Should we just take one of those? At this rate, if we wait for the rain to stop, it’ll be midnight. This is getting creepy.”

“That makes sense. Let’s ask the driver,” Sadam suggested.

Without much thought, we ran toward an empty carriage. An old man was holding the reins of the horse.

“Excuse me, sir,” Rangga asked politely. “Could you take us to the next village? We’re looking for the elementary school—SD Negeri 1 Sumber.”

The old man gave a brief nod.

“Yes. Get in.”

And so, without knowing what awaited us, we stepped into the carriage.