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The Unseen Hunger
A faint shiver ran through Iwan's fingers as he arranged shallots on each windowsill, his hands hovering a second too long, almost reluctant to let go. In the muted glow seeping into the room, his chest rose and fell in quick, unsteady breaths.
Sari, his wife, sat nearby, cradling their newborn son in her arms, her eyes darkened by exhaustion and worry. The air was thick with tension, and the silence inside their modest wooden home in Sungai Biru, deep within the heart of Kalimantan, felt unnatural.
“Iwan, do you think this is enough?” Sari’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper, her eyes flitting nervously toward the door.
Iwan didn’t answer immediately. He was focused, driven by fear, hanging talismans from the roof beams and spreading salt in a protective circle around the baby’s crib. They had heard stories all their lives, but now, with their son lying so small and helpless, the tales seemed too real, too close.
“It has to be,” he muttered finally, the weight of desperation thick in his voice. “We’ve done everything we can.”
For years, Iwan and Sari had longed for a child. Their prayers had been answered, but in a way that brought terror along with joy. The kuyang — a dark force of Kalimantan’s ancient lore — fed on the blood of newborns. Villagers spoke in hushed tones of her, too fearful to say her name after dusk. They feared drawing her attention.
The kuyang was no ghost, no lingering spirit, but a dark sorceress who had chosen immortality through unholy rituals. At daylight, she was a woman like any other, her human appearance concealing the evil that lurked within. But at night, she transformed into something grotesque — her head detached from her body, trailing entrails like a mass of writhing, bloody vines as she floated in the darkness. Her mouth opened unnaturally wide, sharp teeth bared, eager to drink the life from babies to strengthen her dark magic.
It was said she was once human, long ago. She had traded her soul for power, delving into the darkest arts, driven by jealousy and greed. The people of Kalimantan feared her because they knew she was beyond salvation, beyond reason — a creature not merely supernatural, but demonic in her intent. She didn’t kill out of hunger or malice alone. She killed for power, to defy death, and because she enjoyed the terror she inspired. The kuyang was clever, manipulative, and patient. She stalked her prey, biding her time before striking with deadly precision.
Every village in the area had lost infants to her terror over the generations. Sungai Biru was no exception, and the dread that blanketed the villagers grew with every birth. The parents knew they had to protect their child, but the odds felt stacked against them. There were charms, rituals, and sacred objects passed down to ward off the kuyang, but no one truly knew if they were enough.
Sari looked down at her son, tears brimming in her eyes. “He’s so small, Iwan,” she whispered, her voice trembling with a deep, aching fear. “How can we protect him from something so evil?”
Iwan knelt beside her, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his eyes filled with a fierce determination. “I won’t let anything happen to him,” he said. “We have the mandau. We’ve prepared. We’ll fight her if we have to.”
The mandau, a sacred blade handed down from Iwan’s ancestors, lay gleaming on the table, its edge honed to a deadly sharpness and blessed with powerful rituals. Its blade, forged from a rare iron ore only found in Kalimantan’s deep mountains, was tempered in secret rites to make it not only strong but feared by malevolent spirits. Intricate Dayak symbols were engraved along its length, marking it as a weapon of spiritual power.
The hilt, carved from the rich, dark wood of the kayu ulin tree—believed to be nearly indestructible—was decorated with tufts of hair, red cloth, and beads, each symbolizing protection and courage. Smooth from generations of handling, it rested comfortably in his grip, carrying with it the strength of every ancestor who had wielded it before him. Legends spoke of its power to slice through both flesh and spirit alike, a blade that could cleave the darkness itself. Iwan had never had reason to wield it until now. It was his only hope, and he prayed its strength would be enough.
The night stretched on, thick with tension and an eerie stillness that settled over the house like a shroud. Deep in the dense jungles of Kalimantan—the Indonesian part of Borneo, an ancient, sprawling island known for its mystery and impenetrable forests—silence took on an unsettling edge. The vast jungle, usually alive with the sounds of chirping cicadas, rustling leaves, and distant animal calls, had grown unnaturally quiet, as though every creature was hiding from something unseen.
***
A faint rustling sound, barely audible, came from outside the house. At first, it was so soft that Iwan thought he had imagined it. But then it grew louder, a sickening slithering noise that sent ice through his veins. He stood, tightening his grip on the mandau, his eyes locked on the door.
Then, the door creaked open, though no wind had touched it. A low, whispering voice filled the room, an eerie sound that made Sari freeze in place.
"I can smell him," the voice said, soft and deadly.
Iwan’s heart thundered in his chest as he stepped forward, blocking the entrance with his body. He could see her now, just beyond the doorway. The kuyang, floating silently, her eyes glowing a sickly yellow in the darkness. Her head swayed unnervingly in the air, her long, black hair trailing behind her like a cloak. Beneath her floating head hung the tangle of her organs, pulsing and throbbing, dripping with blood. She was a vision of horror, her face twisted into a grotesque parody of a smile.
"Get away!" Iwan roared, raising his mandau.
But the kuyang’s laughter was like nails scraping against glass. "You think your charms and weapons can stop me?" she hissed, her voice dripping with malice. "Foolish man. I am older than your ancestors. I hunger for what you love most."
In a sudden, horrifying movement, the kuyang lunged. Iwan swung the mandau, the blade slicing through the air, but it passed harmlessly through the shadow of her form. She laughed, her voice shrill and mocking, as her tendrils of hair wrapped around his arm, pulling him down with supernatural strength.
Sari screamed, rushing forward, but the kuyang flicked her head flipping her hair, sending Sari crashing into the wall. Iwan watched in horror as the demon hovered over his wife. Sari tried to stand, tried to protect their son, but with a cold, indifferent gesture, the kuyang slashed her throat with a strand of her hair. Blood spilled onto the floor as Sari crumpled, her body lifeless.
“Pathetic! You cannot protect him.” A smirk spreading across the kuyang’s blood-stained lips.
Iwan’s scream tore through the night, filled with grief and anger. He was frozen in place, unable to comprehend that Sari, his beloved, lay dead at the hands of this monstrous creature. His grip on the mandau tightened as he charged at the kuyang, but she merely evaded him with an eerie grace, her laugh echoing through the room.
"You’re no match for me, mortal," she whispered. "But you can join me." She floated closer, her face inches from his, her eyes gleaming with a twisted invitation. "Give yourself to me, and I’ll spare the child." Her words were honeyed, seductive, yet lined with malice.
Iwan’s heart wavered. His mind was clouded with loss, confusion, and a desire to protect his son. The kuyang’s offer held a strange allure – anything to ensure his child’s safety. But something within him recoiled at the thought, sensing the darkness that would consume him.
He shook his head, stepping back, trying to shield the cradle with his body. "NEVER!" he spat, defiance burning through his despair.
The kuyang’s smile twisted into a sneer. "Then suffer," she whispered, her voice like venom.
With a final, furious cry, Iwan scooped his baby into his arms and fled from the house. The kuyang’s laughter echoed behind him, haunting him as he stumbled through the thick jungle. He ran with no direction, no destination, driven only by the need to escape the creature that had taken everything from him. His only goal now was to keep his son safe.
But terror clawed at his mind. Sari was dead, and the villagers would never believe the truth. He would be branded a murderer, driven out, leaving his son defenseless. And without Sari, how would he care for his newborn, who now whimpered in his arms, the cries growing louder, more insistent? The baby needed milk, warmth, shelter – everything he was now unable to provide.
Desperate, exhausted, and overwhelmed, Iwan stumbled into a clearing, his feet sinking into the mud. He fell to his knees, clutching his child close, muttering apologies through his tears. The jungle seemed to press in around him, the trees watching, whispering.
And then, as if in answer to his despair, the kuyang appeared once more. She drifted silently from the shadows, her face contorted in twisted satisfaction.
"You could have saved yourself," she whispered, her voice mocking. "Now, I will take what’s mine."
Iwan held the baby tighter, his heart pounding as he watched the kuyang inch closer, her hair stretching out like a thousand serpents, reaching toward him.
With a final surge of terror, Iwan tried to raise his mandau to strike her, but her hair, sharp as blades, coiled around his neck, cutting off his breath. He gasped, struggling, but the grip tightened, drawing the life from him as his vision darkened. He glimpsed her, the kuyang’s grotesque head lowering over the baby, her teeth sinking into his son’s soft skull.
“This is mercy,” she whispered coldly as she drained the last bit of life from him. “He’ll live just long enough to meet you both again — in the afterlife.”
As the kuyang finished, her laughter dissolved into the silence of the jungle, leaving behind only the cries of a fading life, lost and alone.
Written by: Lulu Utami
BMS Librarian
First place - short story competition in the Fantasy category - Dec 2024
Source: Andromeda Magazine
