Haunting Aura

Bayu was no stranger to the paranormal. As a seasoned ghost investigator, he had visited haunted houses, graveyards, and abandoned hospitals. He had heard screams in the night, felt unseen hands graze his skin, and even caught glimpses of figures darting between shadows. But there was something about the house in the forest that felt different—it didn’t just feel haunted; it felt alive.

The locals avoided it at all costs. The house had been empty for over two decades after the previous occupants vanished without a trace. Rumors of spirits, screaming at midnight, and glowing red eyes kept even the bravest away. Children were warned never to wander near it. Elders whispered about a curse that could seep into your soul if you stayed too long. That only intrigued Bayu more.

One misty afternoon, Bayu ventured into the forest, his camera and voice recorder in hand. The deeper he went, the quieter everything became. The usual chirping of birds and rustling of leaves vanished, swallowed by an oppressive silence. When the house finally appeared through the thick fog and trees, it looked as though it had been waiting for him—like a predator patiently watching its prey.

Vines crept up the cracked walls. The door creaked open with just a touch. Dust covered every surface, yet the air inside felt unnaturally cold—as if something was breathing with him. His breath fogged up immediately. A strong, musty scent filled the air—wood rot, mildew, and something faintly metallic, like old blood.

He began recording.

As Bayu walked through the decaying rooms, he felt a presence. It wasn’t visible, but it was heavy. Like someone—or something—was watching from every corner. He called out, “If anyone’s here, show yourself.”

Nothing.

He moved to the second floor, flashlight cutting through the shadows. The staircase groaned under his weight, each step echoing like a warning. In one of the bedrooms, the temperature dropped sharply. The mirror on the wall began to fog up, though the window was closed and no drafts passed through.

Then, words slowly appeared on the glass: “YOU FOUND ME.”

Bayu stepped back. His voice recorder crackled to life, and a low whisper followed: “Go... away…”

Instead, he stayed.

He sat in the center of the room, closed his eyes, and tried to connect. It was something he had done before—allowing the spirit’s energy to manifest through him. His fingers trembled slightly as he whispered a chant he had learned from a shaman in Bali.

But this time, something went wrong.

Suddenly, images flooded his mind—of a woman in white, screaming as dark hands pulled her into shadows; a man crying in the corner, his face twisted in horror; a child standing in the hallway, staring with lifeless eyes. He could hear their cries, feel their pain. It wasn’t just a vision. It was a memory—and it was forcing itself into his soul.

Bayu opened his eyes, gasping. The room was no longer empty.

A dark figure stood across from him. Its form was blurry, constantly shifting, but its aura was overwhelming. Anger. Pain. Loneliness.

“What do you want?” Bayu asked, his voice trembling.

The figure raised a hand and pointed toward the floor. Beneath the wooden boards, he found an old box. Inside were photographs, a diary, and a pendant. The photographs showed a happy family, slowly descending into terror in each subsequent image. Faces once full of life became gaunt and hollow.

The diary told the story of a family that once lived there. They were tormented by an unseen force—an aura that possessed each member one by one, feeding on their fear and sorrow. The final entry was from the mother, saying, “We can’t escape it. It wants to be remembered.”

Bayu realized then—it wasn’t just a ghost. It was the aura of suffering that still lingered, feeding off emotions, waiting to be acknowledged. A residual spirit, more powerful than anything he had encountered.

He whispered, “I remember you.”

The figure began to fade, its edges softening. The air warmed slightly, and for a moment, the house felt… peaceful. Almost… grateful.

But as Bayu packed up to leave, he noticed something in the mirror.

His reflection blinked—out of sync with him.

And he knew the aura hadn’t vanished.

It had followed him.