The Curse of Hantu Kum-Kum

In the heart of Kalimantan’s thick rainforest, in a small Dayak village nestled by the banks of the Mahakam River, lived a midwife named Nek Tini. Known for her herbal knowledge and powerful mantras, she was both respected and feared. Rumors whispered that she once dabbled in black magic — using spells from the old days, when shamans would speak to spirits and sacrifice animals to keep peace between the worlds.

Nek Tini had a secret: in her youth, desperate to retain her beauty, she made a pact with an unseen entity that haunted the jungle swamps. It promised her eternal beauty — but with a price. She had to drink a sacred potion called kum-kum, made of flower water and blood, every full moon. And she must never be seen.

Years passed. One night, a curious girl named Sari followed Nek Tini into the woods, hoping to catch her in the act. Hidden behind the ferns, she watched as the old woman removed her veil — and gasped. Nek Tini’s face twisted and melted like wax, revealing a sunken, eyeless visage dripping black sludge. She dipped her head into a jar and drank. The skin re-tightened. Her face glowed with youth. But she heard Sari’s breath.

The curse was broken.

The spirit who gave her the power turned on her, enraged that she had been seen. Nek Tini vanished that night, and with her, the spirit she once communed with was unleashed — Hantu Kum-Kum — a headless, blood-thirsty ghost who searches for the eyes of those who see what they shouldn’t.

Since then, every few years in that region, people report a woman’s figure roaming the village at night. She wears a long white veil, and her feet float above the ground. You hear her whisper first — a soft chant in an old Dayak dialect, followed by a wet dripping sound. If you see her face, she takes yours.

They say if you smell frangipani flowers at midnight but there’s no tree nearby — run. Hantu Kum-Kum is near.