Melvyn's chronicler is taking a brief pause

Melvyn's chronicler is taking a brief pause. Melvyn, Just-Abangah, Ms Geek will be back in February.

Farewells

The time had arrived for Melvyn to begin his journey.

Melvyn, Just-Abangah and the Geek had gathered in the room Melvyn had been using, saying their goodbyes with the requisite amount of tears and well wishing. Melvyn turned to the geek.

Tell me, just out of curiosity, Geeks do have names don’t they

Err, yes said the Geek very cautiously,

Well said an insistent Melvyn,

What is your name

You want to know my name, after all this time, you really want to know my name, why.

Oh call me sentimental, I’m curious, that’s all, and I don’t know when I will see you both again, and I just thought that it might be nice to know your name.

Susan.

Pardon.

Susan, that’s err, my name

Melvyn scratched his head a little.

You mean like in a boy called Sue

No, I mean my name is Susan.

But Susan, said Melvyn

That’s a girl’s name, why would you be called a girl’s name.

The Geek called Susan just stood in front of Melvyn, tilted her head slightly down, raised both eyebrows and made a funny face.

Maybe it’s because I am a girl she said.

For once Melvyn was a little stuck for words, while a smile began to grow on Just-Abangah’s face, becoming broader by the second. It didn’t take much to guess what he was thinking, but Melvyn’s face was blank, unreadable.

But this means that you’ve been a girl all this time said Melvyn, still trying to work it out.

And you were a girl when Just-Abangah and I went skinny dipping in the river, and you were a girl when I stood and.........oh dear the full impact of the Geek being Ms Geek was beginning to strike home with Melvyn, and embarrassment was beginning to take hold.

Sure enough a crimson blush coloured Melvyn’s neck and flushed over his face, until anyone daring, or foolhardy enough, could have called him beetroot face, none did however.

The Geek, called Susan, reached out and held Just-Abangah’s hand and gave it a little squeeze. Just-Abangah smiled a boyish, coy smile, and squeezed back. They looked at each other and Melvyn felt a little travel sick even though he had yet to travel anywhere.

A procession had lined up and the princess Sri Ayu, Bomoh Clark, Dom, the old sage from the onion patch and several Bunian escorted Melvyn, followed my Just-Abangah and Susan, along the winding rock hewn corridors to a large cave entrance, which ended at a platform jutting out into the bright blue equatorial sky.

There, hovering outside the cave, slightly below the platform, was the enormous Garuda, a small prayer mat placed between his shoulders.

Bomoh Clark explained that the prayer mat would not only be more comfortable for Melvyn but would look better should anyone see him.

Better, what exactly do you mean, better said a greatly puzzled Melvyn

Well, as you know, began Clark

Ordinary people will not see the Garuda, like the hantu, he is invisible to mortals and non-bomoh, but people might think it odd if they saw you flying, cross-legged, through the air. Therefore, if you are sitting on a prayer mat, people might think it was a flying carpet.

There was something a little dubious about this line of logic. Melvyn opened his mouth as if to speak, knowing that there was an unasked question and a much needed answer, but decided to let it go, just this once.

The princess handed Melvyn a large, heavy, leather satchel.

Some victuals, balms, unguents and salves to nurture you and keep you in health for your journey - there and back again........and some small trinkets which may prove useful to you.

Bunian blessings go with you Melvyn the bomoh, and return with you.

Dom’s butterfly arms wrapped themselves around Melvyn, then reformed. The old sage, now looking even more sagacious but less old, shook Melvyn’s hand firmly, Bomoh Clark hugged his friend as did Just-Abangah, until Melvyn shoed him away.

Silly sod said a teary Melvyn.

Then Susan, aka the geek, rushed to hug Melvyn’s knees – it was all she could reach.

Carefully Melvyn eased himself onto the back of the Garuda, positioned himself and his satchel as the great bird-man levitated away from the platform, soaring into the fluffy white clouds, and was quickly lost from sight.

Far away, in the potentially Lost World of Lenyap, Djinba once again was peering into his ornamental brass basin of mountain stream water, observing the Garuda and its passenger taking flight to the north of the country.

Turning to a small dome made entirely of solid crystal, Djinba waved his wizened hands rather like a stage show magician, but didn’t say abracadabra, but something more sinister and left-handed. Inside the dome small, black, flying creatures appeared by the hundreds. Djinba uttered a spell, and they were gone.

Fly my beauties fly, rend and tear, rip and slash called a slightly demented Djinba to no one in particular, it seemed appropriately dramatic and like the thing to do at that moment.

If he were not scared of heights Melvyn would have enjoyed the view from the back of the Garuda. The fluffy cumulus clouds merged into stratocumulus as they few above them, the blue of the sky occasionally reflected in the minute water particles they contained, otherwise the clouds appeared in varying shades of soft grey.

Below, the equatorial landscape revealed mountains, lakes and long winding rivers. In between them nestled the kampungs (villages) of the country folk. Chickens pecked, ducks waddled, cats hunted and humankind busied themselves doing what they felt they needed to do on a daily basis.

Generally the lives of ordinary people continued, mostly unaware of the machinations and manipulations of the bomoh wizards, the manoeuvrings of the supernatural, and the games played out trying to protect the natural order of things, against those who sought to disrupt it.

Fish were fried, rice cooked, papayas cut and all eaten, calmly unaware of the need for Melvyn’s flight, his terror of being off the ground and his distinct lack of comfort being perched on the back of a large, golden flying man, with a beak for a face. Melvyn was far from comfortable.

Melvyn was even less comfortable when he witnessed a large flock of black looking birds approaching on a collision course with himself and the Garuda.

The Garuda angled to pass over the birds, but they changed course. Then he tried to pass under them, but once again they changed course. He veered off to the right, hoping to fly past the flock, but he was matched at every turn. That was when Melvyn started to get suspicious.

As the flock got closer Melvyn began to realise that this was not, after all, a flock of black birds but a colony of large foxbats (fruit bats), acting most uncharacteristically. The closer they came, the better Melvyn could see their fox like faces with protruding jaws, their long leather wings and large claw like hands with fingers used for ripping open fruit. Melvyn had a suspicion that he had become fruit.

It wasn’t long before the bats were upon them. Despite the avoidance techniques of the Garuda, the bats were smaller and more agile, and it was obvious that he and Melvyn would be swamped with them before long.

Bravely the Garuda hit bats for six with his wings, while Melvyn tried shoeing them away with his hands, but to little avail. The Garuda was now bleeding from several gashes while Melvyn had taken a belt from the top band of his jeans and was lashing out at the bats, with some little success. But there were too many, and Melvyn was harbouring a little despair, when, all of a sudden, the leather satchel burst open and Schrödinger leapt into the air.

Technically Schrödinger couldn’t fly, but no one had actually told him that, so, as far as he was concerned – he could. Schrödinger hurled himself from the satchel onto the nearest bat, ripping its throat out then, using that falling carcass as a platform, propelled himself to the next bat, and so on.

Melvyn, once again, set about thrashing bats with his belt, now with a renewed vigour. Together Schrödinger, Melvyn and the Garuda managed to deter the bulk of the first bat attack – the bats few off to re-group, as if controlled by some guiding force other than natural instinct.

Schrödinger sat licking bat blood off of his patchwork fur, and, with barely a breathing space, a second wave of flapping, ripping, vicious bats descended upon the man and cat perched on the back of the giant man-bird. The three prepared themselves for the battle of their lives as the foul malevolent bats swooped in for the kill, a second lethal time.

Then, as soon as it had started, it was all over. The bats simply disappeared in a hundred puffs of, quite pretty, pink smoke.

Well big boy, you didn’t think I was going to let you be roughed up by some stupid fruit-eating bats, did you - said a very self satisfied Shakira.

That’s my prerogative.

Fly Garuda

The guests had gone. The hall was practically empty. Melvyn stood apprehensive and a little anxious with a select group of interested parties, discussing Melvyn’s forthcoming journey. Bomoh Clark had been given the unenviable task of explaining what was to happen to a slightly disgruntled, and somewhat bushwhacked Melvyn.

So you see we must grab that phial, before Djinba does, otherwise, Melvyn, it will mean disaster for us all. Clark was saying

Ok Clark I can get that, but I don’t see why it has to be me

You are the only one Melvyn, it’s difficult to explain but none of us have your abilities, and quite frankly, your luck

Luck, luck, what’s luck to do with it

Melvyn, for some reason you seem to be protected, lucky we call it, charmed some might say

Not charming then, just charmed. Melvyn just couldn’t help quip.

Come of it Melvyn you are the luckiest man I know

Lucky, is it - I’m so lucky to have my wife kidnapped and my surgery turned upside down.

Melvyn it could have been worse, and no doubt if it wasn’t for us all – your friends, it would have been much worse, think about that.

And think Melvyn did, while Clark explained the details of Melvyn’s forthcoming little trip. Then suddenly, as the realisation hit him.

Garuda, that’s a fish isn’t it. You want me to fly to this island and rescue a bottle on the back of some sort of damn fish.

Actually it’s not a fish Melvyn, you’re thinking of garoupa, Garuda - it’s a sort of large mythological bird – bit like an eagle.

Ah I now remember, hold on, hold on, you’re joking right - right, the last was said as Melvyn’s tone went up a pitch

Next thing you’ll be telling me is that you’re going to send a king of bloody monkeys with me and together we’re going to rescue a Princess on the way.

Clark gave Melvyn a blank stare.

Sorry Melvyn I’m not with you.

Rama, Sita, Hanuman, duh! No.

By the sound of it you won’t be with me on my little trip either.

Clark still remained blank.

So let me get this absolutely, One hundred and one percent straight Melvyn was saying.

You’re going to send me to a mythical island, on the back of some sort of mythical bird, and all I have to do there is rescue a small bottle which seems to hold the fate of the world in its glassy little hands, (mmm glass doesn’t have hands, does it)

– what have you all been smoking. Said Melvyn in a much raised, incredulous, voice.

Princess Sri Ayu and the old sage, who had been talking together, both turned at Melvyn’s exclamation, looked, realised it was Melvyn, and continued with their intense conversation.

Yep, that’s about the size of it. Said a chirpier than he felt, Clark.

Bizarre, absolutely bloody bizarre said Melvyn under his breath.

Er, said Melvyn.

Won’t this Garuda bird thing be kind of obvious, a big thing like that flying through the air.

Its invisible said Clark.

Invisible Melvyn raised one eyebrow and a quirky smile fluttered over his lips.

Yes, it’s like the hantu, people only see what they want to see.

Melvyn’s expression could only be described as - yeah right, a term he picked up from Just-Abangah.

Come, Melvyn, it’s time you saw the bird.

And, with that, Clark tugged at Melvyn’s sleeve, encouraging him to follow.

As with other Bunian passages the way was long, and, as they were going uphill, they both found it a bit exhausting. After half-an-hour they came face to face with a larger than usual door, guarded by four Bunian.

Clark proffered a small scroll bearing a seal, which was inspected by one of the Bunian, quite possibly of higher rank than the others, then the guards stood aside allowing Clark to open the moss and leather clad door. Inside the rock passageway, towering above them the ceiling was much taller, like the hall they had just come from, and the light little dimmer, so Clark and Melvyn eased forward carefully.

After a minute or two they came to a corner. Clark motioned for Melvyn to flatten against the wall then the two of them peeked around the corner.

There was a huge cave opening. In the distance, at the very entrance to the cave and framed against the eternal blue of the morning sky, was a large man-like being - maybe thirty feet tall, its body shone a rich golden colour and was naked.

As it turned at a sound Melvyn could see a white face with a large parrot like beak, and noticed that red feathered wings hung from this creature where arms might be on an ordinary man. But this was no ordinary man, this was the Garuda. Some people said that once there was whole race of such beings originating in a place called Lanka, but now, many centuries later, this was the one surviving being of that lost race of half men.

The sun glinting off its body gave the appearance of golden statue, but there was nothing petrified about this being, as it stood they gazing across the landscape its huge muscles flexing and twitching as if eager to be gone.

Melvyn was at once a little terrified and in awe of this creature. He had never seen anything quite like this before, and found the creature was slightly more fascinating than it was scary. Melvyn took one last look, as if to burn this image into some part of his memory, then turned and followed Clark back down the corridor, through the door and out. Throughout the short journey back to his room, Melvyn was very thoughtful.

The Garuda had been conscious of being watched, but being so deep into his despair and depression he gave it no thought. It had been eons since his race had disappeared from the earth, and eons he had carried the weight of it, the longing to be with his kind, the misery of his loneliness.

In torturously vivid dreams he would still recall the splendour as he flew above Lanka, his friends and family flying with him, or seen majestically in the distance revelling in the winds and warm thermals.

In those times bright palaces of the Garuda race adorned with spires, cupolas and minarets sparkled in the constant sun, reflecting the splendour of the isle, blending in with nature, creatively enhancing the scenery in a delicate balance.

Incandescent rugs lined their marble walls and jewels hung from silks and satins. All finery was theirs. Gold, silver, onyx, shiny precious metals, glistening jewels from across the oceans all gave beauty to their palaces and courts. They sang ethereal songs to the moon, composed sonnets to the sun and greeted every day as a gift from the eternal maker of all.

It was time before man, before the history of man had begun, a time of freedom and peace. But then came man with his wars and his violence, and the hunt began. Gradually the creatures of the time before man dwindled and disappeared, leaving only a fraction hidden, like the Bunian and he.

He was, as far as he knew, the last of his noble kind, now too far into his depression, too subservient to care about the world and what happened to it. The Bunian fed him, gave him shelter, sometimes company, and in return he did what they requested, which, often, wasn’t much.

Today he would take the trip that he had promised the princess, to the north, carry whomsoever she wished him to carry on his big, strong, back, and not think about the past.

Gathering

Er hellooo,

Hellooo there,

Oooi, Oooi, likum Mr Butterfly man

Hey, you can’t just abduct someone and whisk them off to who knows where, just like that.

Well you can, but you really shouldn’t.

I’d like to know just what you......................

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Well I must say...........

Mrs Melvyn the bomoh please, shhhhhhhhhh.

Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much.

Well I ..................

Thank you, said Dom.

Aisah was standing amongst an orchard of Durian trees trying to take it all in. To punctuate her spinning thoughts a large durian dropped with a heavy ‘thunk’. Aisah looked at the split durian and immediately thought of coconut milk and sticky rice – she wasn’t quite sure why.

The last few days, and certainly the last few hours had been somewhat traumatic for her, culminating is her being whisked away to this forested place. This place, this forested land to one side of everyone’s reality, was where Dom lived - his rural retreat as it were.

All will become clear Mrs Melvyn the bomoh, and I am very sorry, but, right now, I must leave you.

I leave you in the good hands, er, paws of my housekeeper.

Housekeeper but it’s a..................

Excuse me, said a slightly miffed Gladys

May I finish that sentence for you.

Monkey perhaps, animal maybe

No, no I am sorry spurted Aisah, a little perplexed that she should be arguing with a, ahem, monkey.

Maybe you’d also care to refer to the size of my nose, most people do, why should you be any different, sniffed Gladys her wounded pride showing through.

Gladys was a proboscis monkey, so called because of their slightly larger than usual nose - for monkeys that is. The fact that a proboscis monkey could talk was neither here nor there, for this was Perdak after all, and many things were usual in Perdak, which may, or may not be elsewhere – people entirely composed of butterflies for instance.

Aisah opened her mouth to apologise then closed it again, her hands resting a little defensively on her hips.

The grand Bunian hall was just that- grand and Bunian.

From somewhere hundreds of Bunian had emerged draping the hall with cloth, bunting, little twinkling lights and all manner of accessories to give the overall effect of a very, very special occasion.

The domed ceiling radiated golden once more, while open-topped jars full of fireflies were arranged to light up the entire hall. Several fireflies had wandered from the jars and added specks of stars to the ambience. Everywhere golden light spread across the hall radiating a calm yet very regal feel to the atmosphere.

The truth was that the Bunian loved a bit of a do, but rarely had the opportunity to flex their interior design muscles. So, given the opportunity they went all out to impress, and impress they did. Just-Abangah stood in awe. The Geek’s jaw dropped a little, and Melvyn started to mentally calculate how much it must have all cost. The final figure he came up with was – a lot.

Dignitaries are dignitaries no matter what race or species, and they tended to preen and puff themselves up way beyond their actual importance, and so were easy to recognise. Melvyn noticed tens of Bunian dignitaries sitting in a semi circle. They were at the very front of a hall full of Bunian, facing a dais, in what Melvyn might refer to as the nob seats, facing a cream semi-circular table - behind the table where a number of chairs. On the now glittering wall hung long banners, almost from the ceiling to the floor, containing a letter script which was unfamiliar to Melvyn. Intertwined with the script were images of what appeared to be stylistic cats. A slight perplexity came over Melvyn as he noticed the cats.

Melvyn, Just-Abangah and the Geek were shown to seats on the dais. They were at one end of the crescent of seats, behind the crescent table. As they took their places several important looking Bunian seemed to glide over the floor to take up seats opposite.

A familiar voice practically whispered in Melvyn’s ear as he took the chair on the left, next to him. Bomoh Clark was wearing a very smart, crisply ironed, black and white chequered sarong, a black mandarin collar shirt and a black songkok (hat), almost identical to the ones the Bunian had laid out for Melvyn and his companions - though the songkok on Just-Abangah, seated to Melvyn’s right, and the Geek, seemed to slope at strange angles, both threatening to fall.

Melvyn leered a big grin at Bomoh Clark and relaxed just a little, and was just about to speak when the dais appeared to fill with butterflies. The butterflies whirled and swept across the stage and, eventually, after he was sure that he had made a grand enough entrance, Dom pulled himself together and took the seat next to Clark. A stray butterfly, which may, or may not have been Iron, flew past Melvyn’s nose causing him to sneeze. The indignant dignitaries opposite gave a little scowl, and pushed their noses back up into the air.

An elderly gentleman, also wearing the black and white sarong and black shirt walked past Melvyn, stopped briefly and said in Melvyn’s mind.

I heard that,

and that

It was the sage from the onion patch, now in formal clothing. Melvyn was too shocked to say anything back, not even his usually caustic repartee. The sage winked, as if to say - no problem. He seated himself next to Dom and was immediately caught up in conversation.

Finally, having given her guests time to settle, Princess Sri Ayu, dressed in what could only be described as blue gossamer silks which seemed just to float around her, glided onto the dais and placed herself in the centre seat, slightly raised from the others, completing the semi circle.

The Princess Sri Ayu stood, raised her hands, and welcomed all present. At some point she had memorised the list of those participating and reeled it off with great aplomb remembering the correct forms of address for all the dignitaries, and giving each their due title. This was followed by much formal talk welcoming the most high this, and the grand that, to the proceedings, and Melvyn, Just-Abangah, the Geek and Bomoh Clark all fidgeted, looked at each other, at everyone else, up and down, and grew bored.

Just-Abangah began to find his nose very interesting as Melvyn, like the substitute father he had become, quickly slapped Just-Abangah’s arm with a noise which made Princess Sri Ayu briefly stop talking, and glance a chilling glance in their direction. Like a naughty schoolboy Melvyn shrank into his quite comfortable seat.

Melvyn was not sure at which point he had fallen asleep, but a dig in the ribs by a very apologetic Just-Abangah stirred Melvyn, just as the order of business was concerning the three of them.

While Melvyn had chosen the luxury of sleep over the arduous task of actually listening to the proceedings, a discussion had taken place. The events of the past year were aired, with due deference to the abduction of Aisah, murder of hantu and increasing presence of the supernatural and other worldly beings within the auspices of Tea Mountain and the domain of Bunian.

Time was taken discussing the growing threat of Lost World of Lenyap and in particular - Djinba, the reality of a Nrawa alliance, and what that might mean within the council of wizard bomohs and the worlds of men and kampung. Melvyn, awaking to sore ribs, vaguely heard his name mentioned in connection to the magical Oil of Petra.

Mm, what, oh, er, yes, uttered a slightly confused and dopily sleepy Melvyn. But it was enough, and timely.

Good it is settled then, the Princess Sri Ayu was saying

Melvyn has agreed to speed northerly and rescue the magical oil of Petra, to prevent it being held by Djinba and the menace from Lenyap, and Dom will keep Aisah safe from all possible harm. Melvyn is to choose his mode of transport, but we have services at our disposal which we might render. No doubt Melvyn might wish to have his present companions accompany him on his journey, however if they feel their usefulness is at an end, they will be returned from whence they came.

That just about concludes the general business. We thank you all for attending in such difficult times. The inner council will attend to the particulars, and final strategies employed. Again thank you all for coming.

Melvyn looked at Bomoh Clark, then at Just-Abangah and was about to say something when a voice appeared inside his head.

The broader picture Melvyn, think of the broader picture

I heard that.

Melvyn looked on, wide-eyed.

Thirteen Cats

The Bunian rock cave, its corridors and rooms being underground, are naturally cool, and Melvyn slipped off into a deep sleep as soon as his head touched the pillow of the four-poster bed.

Some sleep filled hours later Melvyn awoke, stretched, yawned, and expelled a little air from his nether region.

Quickly fanning the bed with a bed-cover, to dispel unwanted fumes, a rested Melvyn found that he was back home hearing the sounds of his dear wife, Aisah, cooking a particularly mouth wateringly, pungently succulent nasi lemak, for breakfast.

Shaking the persistently clinging sleep from his head, Melvyn took a moment to reflect.

Was it all some nasty nightmare – how bizarre.

Relief spread over Melvyn like a cool shower, revitalising those parts other emotions cannot reach.

So it was all a dream, whew, hmmm I thought so, pink jeeps indeed.

Through the open bedroom doorway of his secreted hillside home, Melvyn saw Just-Abangah and the Geek tucking into his wife’s cooking, and did a double think.

Odd, distinctly odd Melvyn muttered, scratched his head, puzzled.

He drew his pink and white chequered sarong about him, and, throwing on a loose shirt Melvyn mooched into the kitchen, glad to be home after all, and delighted to know it was all a nasty dream.

But still Melvyn felt a little bit puzzled about which bits were dream, and which were real.

Feeling a little buoyant Melvyn greeted his friends, if friends they were, and playfully patted his wife’s bottom. His wife, Aisah, turned to face him, and Melvyn stopped, just stood stared at her, his mouth a little open, not, incidentally, intending to catch flies - but in shocked surprise.

Although Melvyn instinctively knew that Aisah was Aisah, and somewhere in the far reaches of his mind there was a little synapse which flagged her name up as Aisah being Aisah, she nevertheless stood before Melvyn with Ali the djinn’s beard and moustache. At first Melvyn wanted to laugh,

It’s a joke right, he said to no one in particular, then realised that something was very, very wrong.

Though part of Melvyn wanted to grab the beard and yank it off, another part realised that this was no mere theatrical appendage, but real, or at least it appeared to be very real, and, in some weird way, natural.

Melvyn had an explosion of senses, not knowing what to believe or disbelieve. A very puzzled, and slightly annoyed, Melvyn looked about him, and there, out the window, in what should have been his garden, was a tree. On the tree were thirteen cats, all sitting in the branches of the tree with their tails hanging down.

Oh no not again, Melvyn exclaimed under his breath.

With a start Melvyn woke up. To say that he was wide-eyed and perspiring a little, would be a huge understatement, but....he took breath, and began comforting himself with a feeling of great relief that it was all a dream, and that even the dream was a dream.

Melvyn, a little edgy, looked around him. Yes, phew, it was all a dream. He was back in the Bunian cave, in the bedroom he was assigned last night. Melvyn sighed with relief, but as he sighed the bedroom door opened and a figure walked towards Melvyn.

Ali the djinn, dressed in Aisah’s clothes, replete with headscarf, greeted Melvyn with Aisah’s voice.

Melvyn, sayang, you’re safe, so very good to see you at last, here’s a little present, just for you.

Bug-eyed, Melvyn just stared as Ali grinned a malevolent grin, and held up thirteen cats which he had, hanging by their tails. The cats just hung there, limp, not dead- just unmoving. Ali’s smile broadened, like something between The Joker and Carroll’s Cheshire cat, as he suddenly disappeared in a theatrical puff of smoke.

For a third time Melvyn woke up. Cautiously he sat up in bed and opened his eyes. Anxiously Melvyn looked around the Bunian bedroom. The large teak wardrobe was there, as was the bedside cupboard and dressing-table mirror opposite. No one appeared to be hiding under the bed, when he looked, only a curious little pot with a handle inscribed with the letter ‘P’.

Melvyn sat still for a minute, listening to the sound of his heart beating a little faster than usual. He heard the odd scuttling of Bunian in the corridors, decided that might be natural. Then Melvyn quickly looked around again. No Aisah. No Ali the djinn. Almost breaking his neck with the severity of his neck turn, Melvyn looked around swiftly, as if trying to catch someone, or something, off-guard, nothing.

Melvyn reached up and held his nose between his right forefinger and thumb, then blew hard, and looked around again. As if clearing his sinuses would also clear the room of any being with evil intent. Satisfied that nothing else was going to happen, cautiously Melvyn planted his feet, one foot after another, onto to the bedroom floor. Slowly, crouching and creeping Melvyn made his way across the expanse of floor between his bed and the bathroom. He flung open the bathroom door and jumped inside, his body in a pseudo silat posture, standing on one leg, arms posed as if ready to strike.

Melvyn stood, looked at his face and posture in the mirror and raised one quizzical eyebrow.

Satisfied that no one was hiding; Melvyn used the bathroom for its intended purposes, and performed his ablutions.

A rapping on the bedroom door broke into Melvyn’s consciousness. The Bunian had come to take him, and his companions, to breakfast.

Melvyn decided not to share his dreams with Just-Abangah and the Geek - the mere thought of relating them sent a little shiver down his spine, and, for the moment, Melvyn was quite happy to forget it ever happened.

Somewhere to the north there is an island devoted to sea eagles, and, is known for its innumerable beauties. No one is quite sure if this is a historical/geographical reference to the wondrous islands which surround it, or the reputation of the female inhabitants – it is also known as the land of men’s smiles, which may be just a coincidence. The island has just recovered from a two hundred year old curse.

On the island sits a small kampung surrounded by fruit trees of all descriptions. Within the kampung there are many houses classically built, on wooden stilts. Around the area of one such house the black sand soil is mixed in a 50/50 ratio with black rice (nasi hitam).

Inside the cool, darkened house, in a room just off from the main hall and its wooden floor, lays an old mahogany chest, dusty and telling a tale of time. Unusual carvings have been etched into the side of the chest, looking very much like trees, with animals, possibly cats, sitting in the branches, their tails hanging down. There appears to be thirteen cats.

Inside the chest is a velvet cloth. Nestled in the velvet cloth is a black, polished, ebony box. Resting on a bed of white silk, within the box, is a glass phial containing a liquid sought by many, and, as yet, possessed by none.

There are no guardians for the chest. Save for one house cat, whose patchwork fur is coloured white and black and answers to the name of tompok – Pok for short. Pok waits. Even Pok knows not for which he waits. But he waits nevertheless, the same he has done for the past two hundred years.

The sky is blue. A slight breeze comes off the swelling sea. A geyser or to pop in the distance spraying jets of hot water into the air, for a few moments, then they rest, gathering enough energy to pop again. A monitor lizard monitors.

Another Direction

Technically a knee to the nether regions should not have taken a trained assassin off guard, but it did.

Eric of Melbourne had not expected his quarry to fight back.

Luckily he had come prepared. Old Cobbler’s finest Australian cricket (personal padding) protector had come to the rescue, shielding the more delicate areas of Eric’s toned anatomy from the full force of Aisah’s astonishing knee attack. It was one wicket Eric was glad that he had a keeper for, and despite nearly being caught out and being bowled over by a maiden, he was pleased that his googlies were, in fact, soundly intact.

Ego bruised, but otherwise undamaged, Eric straightened his body to teach his captive a lesson. Eric tensed his right-arm muscles, swung his right palm back to his left shoulder then sent the back of his right hand with all his deft force towards Aisah’s cheek, readying the back of this hand for the stinging of intimate contact with Aisah’s check bone.

All Eric’s hand contacted was air. Well, air, and the brief brushing of butterflies. Eric gave out a huh of genuine surprise.

In true dramatic style, and left to the very last minute, Dom, appearing as a thousand and one butterflies, materialised right in front of Eric’s face, then smartly dematerialised taking Aisah with him back to the land of Perdak.

Eric and Aisah were equally surprised by this outcome, and, truth be told, Eric was more than a little upset by this turn of events.

Being surprised twice in a very short space of time took its toll on Eric, and, somewhat shocked by the sudden appearance of so many butterflies right in front of his face, he, literally, fell over backwards. Unfortunately for him, one of his special fountain pens had loosened itself and fell at the very same time, embedding itself in the soft earth just behind where Eric was about to fall. The net result being that the sleeping draught within the fountain pen injected itself into Eric’s gluteus maximus (bottom), causing him to quickly slip into a deep, deep, sleep.

Melvyn too was sleeping. It had not, so far, been the very best of nights and Melvyn, as anxious as he was, also needed sleep.

The weary trio, due mostly to Melvyn’s stubbornness, had encamped outside the Bunian cave and the Geek eventually agreed to stand guard. All had been well with both Melvyn and Just-Abangah snoring towards an MTV award, until the Geek saw bright bursts of light coming from trees not too far off. With avid concentration, the Geek realised that it was bursts of flame, and immediately woke Just-Abangah. A groggy Just-Abangah took a few moments to clear the ever present sleep form his mind and sat looking at all the pretty lights in the sky, then realised that natural skies do not have such pretty lights in them. That was when, together, Just-Abangah and the Geek decided on waking Melvyn.

This was an exercise that they had learned to be very, very cautious about. Melvyn had carefully crafted a reputation for being quite violent when suddenly awoken, and the couple were very well aware of this reality. Eventually Just-Abangah grabbed a handy dead-tree branch, and, standing well clear of Melvyn, prodded him a few times in the ribs. Just-Abangah looked at the Geek, as if to say now what, while the Geek mimed further stabbing motions, while simultaneously keeping well clear. Melvyn slept on. A nervous Just-Abangah prodded one more time and was shocked when Melvyn sprang to his feet, yanked the branch and broke it over Just-Abangah’s head.

Oh, sorry, said Melvyn,

Automatic reaction to being rudely awoken by a bloody idiot.

Just-Abangah got up from the ground and pointed to where the trees were still alight, rubbing his head as he did so.

There, look, over there, fire, what do you think it is

Considering that I was asleep until a few moments ago, I have absolutely no idea, but it doesn’t look good replied Melvyn

Come

The three gathered their sleeping mats, quickly rolled them and started out in the direction of the fires to determine just what was happening. At that very moment Bunian came from out of the bushes in front of them, stopping the trio dead in their tracks. One, possibly in charge, beckoned for Melvyn to bend, then whispered. Melvyn went alternatively white, then red and broke into a big smile.

They’ve found her

Who the Geek and Just-Abangah said in unison, the way that married couples often do

Why Aisah, they’ve found her, they’ve got her, safe.

This was a slight exaggeration on behalf of the Bunian, but they were told, by their princess, that they were to be diplomatic, and, as many diplomats were known to bend the truth somewhat, so did the Bunian. Who turned, and looked a little wide eyed at each other, shrugged and continued to impart their news to Melvyn.

We’ve to go back, into the cave, and meet with Princess Sri Ayu again, she has some very important news, and, perhaps, I’ll get to see my Aisah again said a hopeful, and maybe just a little gullible, Melvyn.

A little excitedly the three of them trudged back into the Bunian cave, escorted by the small troop of Bunian. They travelled back down the rock corridors, where earnest Bunian were repairing damage caused by Ali the djinn and his abduction of Aisah, and along the very route they had traversed not that very long before.

Once more Melvyn, Just-Abangah and the Geek were ushered into the splendid big hall, gracefully lit by the presence of Princess Sri Ayu, princess of the mountain, de facto leader of the Bunian, who appeared none-the-less radiant, despite her recent troubles.

On listening to the princess waffle her polite and welcoming greetings, for no more than a minute, Melvyn’s impatience won out.

Ok so where exactly is my wife

It was a direct enough statement, deserving, Melvyn thought, of an equally direct answer, but received more small talk.

What do you mean you don’t actually have her?

Melvyn raised his voice - several Bunian moved a little closer to him with spear like implements.

I was told that Aisah would be here; that she was safe, now where is she

Melvyn was turning all macho and had taken a stance, which those in the know would observe as a bomoh or wizard casting-of-spells-stance, very dramatic, and perhaps just a tad showy – but enormously effective.

The Bunian inched back a little as Melvyn’s voiced boomed in the Bunian hall.

Patience, Mustapha Ali aka Mr Melvyn the bomoh, patience is what is required here, today.

Said a vaguely stressed princess.

We implore you to reduce your aggression, sheath your anger and let reason win out

I er I ....was all that Melvyn was able to get out before the princess continued.

We are living in grave times, and matters of utmost seriousness are taking place, matters of which you have no inkling at present, and, in the normal course of events, neither would you have known. But, as we say, these are not normal times, and there are matters which must now be imparted to you, matters we would have preferred not to speak of.

But you will have to exercise more patience than you have demonstrated up until now, for we, and that is not now the royal we, have need of your services. If you will kindly wait all will be revealed, in due course.

Your wife is safe. She is no longer a captive of those who seek to gain control of the realms of spirit and man, but secure with an old friend of yours, and there she shall remain for the time being.

In the morning we shall meet, the Persekutuan will come together and we shall discuss the way forward, but, until then, please do not show your ill manners and uncouthness, accept our offer of rooms for the night and meet with us after break fasting, thank you.

Melvyn, for once was a little speechless. He turned to gain moral support from his two companions who appeared to be extremely busy looking at cobwebs, the backs of their hands, their fingernails, in fact anything other than Melvyn’s eyes.

Death by Moonlight

It was a bright moonlight night. The silver orb moon stuck to the ink dark heavens like a super-glued platinum disc, sounded by sparkling glitter stars. Shafts of harsh moonlight stabbed through forest openings illuminating forest bushes, tree trunks and the restless sleeping form of Melvyn the bomoh’s re-abducted wife Aisah.

A darker shadow released itself from the background and glided closer to the three forms in the mountainous forest. Aisah turned in her sleep, tired but agitated after her recapture, dreaming shallow dreams darker than the baleful forest.

The darker darkness eased closer and melded into the tree-line.

Both Ali the djinn and the one remaining hantu raya, were alert and protective over their captive. There was unease in the night and both felt it. The moon did not shine romantically but hostile, glaring down on Aisah’s wardens.

Ali was observant of the still night. It was as if a pensive night held its breath in anticipation - waiting for some grand game to play itself out, before it could once again breathe easily, giving calm back to this night forest.

A black object swiftly cut its path, with minimal sound, slicing through the night to imbed itself into the ectoplasm of the one remaining hantu raya. It was a skilful shot. The hantu deflated and dissolved, leaving a pool of gooey substance, briefly reflecting the full moon before it leaked into the countryside.

Ali shot a bolt of fire at the spot he imagined the object to have originated. It hit tree and bush, but nothing more deadly, the darker darkness had moved on.

A second and third bursts of fire singed trees to either side, but incinerated nothing more than a resting owl, too slow to escape premature cremation.

Ali flickered from human to djinn flame, quickly. All an onlooker would be able to see was a flickering humanoid form, indistinct, but seemingly comprised of various densities of flame. It was a defensive measure. Ali was more vulnerable in human form. As a human he could be killed like a human and in the very same ways that a human could be killed. As supernatural djinn flame he couldn’t be killed, as such, but merely banished, but he was less dexterous in djinn flame and so flickered back again - right now he needed to garner his energy and keep his wits about him.

Another projectile came from nowhere, but Ali was ready and caught it in midair with a deft burst of flame, long before it was to reach him. But it was a ruse, a decoy.

Two dark projectiles, sequentially launched, whisked past Ali as, last moment, he dissolved from his human form into djinn fire. Quickness saved his life. The missiles were so close to dispatching him that the space could only be measured in microns. Ali couldn’t reflect on that, he was under attack, something so rare that his reactions were slow.

More bursts of flame illuminated the forest, until it seemed that practically all the local trees were afire, but still no assailant caught. Ali turned to see Aisah waking, and momentarily flickered back into human form. It was enough.

A deftly placed fountain pen, tipped with a silver nib on which was written minuscule but poignant Arabic words, pierced Ali’s head just above his right temple. Ali was between his incandescent djinn form and his more vulnerable human form, and the object was unable to kill him, but instead sent him back to the land of djinn, near to the circles of demon, away from the world of man.

Ali’s form exploded in djinn fire bright enough to briefly expose Eric of Melbourne as, still smoking from a near miss, he crouched behind a durian tree, a grin spreading on his face. The grin, however, was short lived. Eric cast his night vision around expecting to pick up Aisah’s form - nothing. She was gone.

Eric could feel his shoulders slump in disappointment. He really wasn’t in the mood for a chase. Running round trees, he felt, was best left to those film actresses and actors who were paid to do such things, he however was a hit-man, an assassin and not one to play hide-and-go-seek.

Aisah was, of course, not far away. She was too immobilised by fear of the fight she had just witnessed, to go too far. She feared that this murderer could actually hear her heart pounding, teeth chattering and her knees knocking as she hid behind a charred bush.

Aisah had momentarily frozen when the attacker looked in her direction, but luckily for her his heat sensitive glasses just picked up what he supposed was the heat from the newly incinerated bush, not her body heat.

Eric gave a little frown. Where was she then, he questioned himself as he peered here and there looking for signs of Aisah.

In a bizarre way Aisah wanted to shout out

Here I am

To the assailant, just to get it over and done with.

Even through the mad adrenaline rush coursing through her veins, Aisah was getting more than fed-up with being a pawn in someone else’s game. Enough was enough. Abducted, bound, gagged, freed, re-abducted, freed this was getting ridiculous, she felt. I might just as well end this stupid boys’ game right now, and, as she prepared to surrender herself to the assassin, there was a tiny tug on her sarong.

A Bunian, looking almost as scared as she was, held a solitary index finger to its lips, signalling for Aisah to be quiet - to wait.

Eric, following clues he imagined finding in the undergrowth, moved away from where Aisah and the Bunian were hiding, giving Aisah a little breathing space. She turned to say something to the Bunian, but once again it held its finger to its lips, in caution.

The two of them stayed behind the charred bush for what seemed like hours, until the little Bunian was positive that it was safe to venture out. Day was breaking and the full moon was sliding towards the tree-line. An early sun had just stretched its arms, and shared a little pre-dawn light, enough for Aisah and the Bunian to see by. With a great deal of caution they emerged from behind the bush, continuously looking around to make sure it was safe – it wasn’t.

It was an ancient hunter’s trick. You let your quarry see you go away, they relax and eventually come out of hiding - that is when you catch them, or so the theory went. For the assassin Eric of Melbourne it worked every time.

No theatrical nice to see you my dear as some other villain might say, but a simple bag over the head and a thrifty knock with a dead branch and Aisah was, once again caught. The Bunian was as quickly dispatched with the very same dead branch. Eric wiped the blood off onto waiting grass before throwing the branch away. It was habit.

Eric readjusted his dress. His suit wasn’t badly singed, but it did smell of charred fibres and any disarrangement, no matter how small, caused him distress. Eric was quite a fastidious assassin, aware that the smallest details counted both in planning and in dress sense. It was the look you see, it had to be the look. The look gave the assassin the edge over his opponents, the ninja knew this, and Eric tried to practise the accomplished arts of assassination and kidnapping with the utmost panache. He always wore his suit and tie, even when not officially working, for you never knew when you were, or were not working in his line of business.

To say that Eric was not a gentleman was to call a snake illogical, it simply did not apply. Eric was not a gentleman - no gentleman would have so successfully mastered the skills of the trained, professional murderer. No gentleman would have come first in the class for bribery, corruption and skilled kidnapping, no, Eric was no gentleman - he was a professional, one who took pride in being the very best in his trade, even if his trade was a dirty one.

Aisah groaned. The sun rose. Birds began to sing in the trees and Eric was feeling a little pleased with himself. All had gone, more or less, according to plan. He had got rid of the hantu guard, dispatched the djinn and got the girl, and would soon be on his way to collect his not unreasonable fee.

But it is the little things which tend to catch us all out – little details like sparing a second or two to be proud of our accomplishments. Seconds, small as they are, take on a huge significance after the fact. And the fact was that Eric, for once, had been a little careless.

Eric took the bag from the weary Aisah’s head. Stood her upright, checked that the binding still held her arms behind her back, and received a quite unexpected, viciously sharp, female knee to his testicles.

And There She Was - Gone

Go on, go on

Say it.

Say it.....

No he’s a bit cranky.

Oh gone on, just say it, I dare you.

Well, if you’re sure.

Yeah, go on see what he says

Ok.

Giving a little cough to clear his voice Just-Abangah, clear and loud says....

Are we........

Melvyn turns his head, and gives a very cold stare to Just-Abangah

There yet..... The last part barely dribbled out of Just-Abangah’s mouth as he realised that Melvyn was, yet again, not in the mood for play.

Just-Abangah, if you ask me that... just... one... more... time, I swear I shall personally take you out of this jeep, hold you over the nearest ravine, and drop you in it.

Then, muttering, Melvyn drives on.

Damn cartoons, fill these kid’s heads with nonsense, no wonder they don’t have any room for proper thought.

A few minutes ago Melvyn had been happy at the thought of getting his wife back. Finally he had, practically, caught up with her, and, as soon as he reached the Bunian caves he would be reunited with his love. It was enough to make any man whistle and sing a little song to himself. And Melvyn had - for a few minutes.

However, Melvyn knew that life was seldom easy, and that the best laid plans etc etc etc, so he stopped whistling, ceased the singing and started thinking. Once he had Aisah back, then what. He couldn’t just go back, rebuild the surgery and pretend that nothing had happened - hence the thinking.

Told you, Just-Abangah said quietly to the Geek, who proffered a mischievous grin in return.

Melvyn was grateful to the Bunian for herding that great big Orang Asli dog into the road. If it hadn’t been for them he would never have swerved the jeep and nearly killed all its occupants. Yes Melvyn was grateful indeed that the dog, once it saw Melvyn made to rush to bite him - that really, really was great fun. But all sarcasms aside Melvyn was pleased that the Bunian had gone to such trouble to inform Melvyn that his wife was alive, well and waiting for him in the Bunian mountain stronghold. It was a great relief for him to know that she was safe, at last.

Yet Melvyn was a bomoh, he had a bomoh’s intuition, even if, temporarily, he had none of the other accoutrements of a bomoh. So something deep-down worried at Melvyn, as if that big Orang Asli dog had somehow jumped inside him and was beginning to feast on his bone marrow.

They drove the pink Rocstar jeep, as instructed by the Bunian, up the mountain, along several small side tracks, and Melvyn was very careful not to let the jeep, and passengers, tumble into the ravine. Eventually the track ended at sheer rock-face. A small group of Bunian were waiting to escort Melvyn and his party into the mountain.

Through miraculously hewn passage-ways and tunnels hacked out of solid rock the party – Melvyn, Just-Abangah and the Geek wandered, being lead by the mountain Bunian. In and out of caverns, some small and cosy, others more cavernously splendid, the travellers walked until they all were becoming very, very, tired and weary.

Melvyn, sensing a poignant moment, turned to just-Abangah and said.

Just one word, go on, I dare you, just one word

A little wide-eyed and wary Just-Abangah shrugged to the Geek, who, once again had that mischievous look in its eye.

The more the group travelled the more Melvyn became aware that all was not well. The Bunian started to whisper together, appearing concerned, but when Melvyn asked one, straight-out, if things were ok, he was reassured that everything was under control.

This answer, of course, told Melvyn exactly the opposite. The Bunian appeared flustered, not at all like their normally cool, collected selves, very much in control and radiating sereneness. These Bunian were panicking and Melvyn sensed their panic.

The little group rounded one of the many bends, and saw Bunian people running about as if their backsides were on fire. It was a chaos close to pandemonium. Melvyn had to flatten himself against a rock wall lest he be bowled over in the Bunian panic. Melvyn shot out a hand and caught a Bunian by the arm, then questioned the creature. It looked at him, realised who he was, struggled to be free, and, as it ran away shouted - sorry, sorry, we are very, very, sorry. This did not engender too much confidence from Melvyn.

Suddenly the hall they were in hushed, fingers to lips, and Princess Ayu, in all her radiance glided into the room. She still looked every inch a princess, but Melvyn could detect the worry lines on her face, even at that distance, and knew that all was not well.

Schrödinger, the princess’s zombie, patch-work cat, followed her, and started to rub its re-animated body against her legs, so there was a pause between entrance and greeting, as the princess extracted Schrödinger from her appendages. Then, seeing Melvyn and his friends, the princess gave a gesture somewhere between a wave and a beckoning hand. Schrödinger screeched his hello too.

A small group of Bunian, different from the ones who had escorted Melvyn through the tunnels, motioned for Melvyn and his followers to go with them, forwards, to meet with the princess.

There, in the middle of the great hall, golden light continuing to radiate from the ceiling, and surrounded by countless Bunian, Princess Ayu told Melvyn how they had misplaced his wife, Aisah. How Aisah had been abducted from the Bunian halls, amidst a tragic loss of Bunian lives, and how the princess felt personally responsible to Melvyn, for this disaster.

Melvyn’s face took on the appearance of being slapped by a very large, wet, smelly, fish. He went red, and, as he knew it was probably not best to explode with anger at the princess, he swallowed his anger – hence the fish slapped face. Melvyn was not in the right mood to just shrug it off and say.... you’ve lost my only love, the one being I love most in all this, and no doubt any other worlds, well that’s ok then, no problem, carry on being radiant.

The princess was full of apologies, and genuine sorrow, at Aisah’s loss, but, as she was a princess, apologies could only go so far.

Melvyn was welcomed to stay the night, but preferred to move out of the Bunian halls. He wanted time to think, and while he was accepting the hospitality of those who had just lost his wife, Melvyn was not able to think, so, despite grumblings from his two companions, Melvyn opted to set up camp just on the very same spot where Aisah was re-abducted by Ali the djinn. But of course Melvyn was not to know that. Melvyn was also not to know that he was being watched again, and this time not by the Bunian.

A shape, darker than the shadows, silently detached itself from a nearby tree and slid into the night. Its presence noticed only by an absence - absence of sound - absence of depth and an absence of life.

Eric of Melbourne merged with the darkness as no ninja could. He was stealth itself, quicker and slyer than any of the other breeds of assassins, for he was the assassin supreme - the one they called when a job needed doing that no ordinary man could do.
For Eric was no ordinary man.

Eric, a tall, slim, anaemic looking man, wore a medium grey, polyester and nylon suit, white shirt and grey tie and looked every inch the accountant he was. His reputation preceded him. He was known variously as The Lone Arranger, The Balance Keeper and simply as The Accountant - as that is what he did, he settled overdue accounts.

Of all the names Eric had been known by, secretly he favoured the name given mostly by his enemies, or those who feared him – His Nibs, which, as it turns out, was very appropriate.

Eric was an assassin renowned for throwing a steel tipped fountain pen quicker than a ninja could unsheathe a samurai sword - proving the old adage that the pen is mightier than the sword, especially if the former is sticking out of your jugular vein at the time, and the later falling from a dead hand.

He was a man of few words, and didn’t believe in wasting the few he had on gloating over his victories.

The shadow within a shadow, which was Eric, saw what he had wanted to see and melded back into the night.

Schrödinger

We are terribly sorry

Our eyes are not what they used to be, we are afraid.

Aisah wondered just what the Princess’s eyes used to be if they weren’t eyes, and why would she be afraid, she had all these Bunian guarding her, then the thought crossed her slightly frazzled mind, it must be what Melvyn once explained as a figure of speech.

But my, doesn’t she talk posh.

When I refer to we, continued the Princess,

I, of course, refer to my constant companion Schrödinger, as well.

As if on cue, a largish patchwork tom cat appeared from behind the Princess and gave a curious meow, sounding a little like fingernails being scratched across a very dry blackboard.

Schrödinger, has been with us for a very long time, well, pieces of him have.
With that Aisah gave Al a quizzical look as the Princess went on to explain.
In many respects I am cursed. I am doomed to live forever and cannot die. My constant companions, my cats, tended to live very short lives and their departure always saddened me. My friends the Bunian researched for me and came up with the perfect solution, and Schrödinger is he.

Once more Aisah looked to Al and they both looked a little more carefully at the Princess’s cat Schrödinger. True he was a patchwork cat, but each patch seemed to belong to a different cat, and had been, somehow, stitched together. One patch was ginger with short hair, another was brown with long hair, another white, another tortoise shell and the stitches were quite obvious on closer inspection.

Aisah had an obvious question upon her lips when the Princess held up her hand, and said,

You will, of course, have noticed that our dear Schrödinger is a very special cat; practically made to measure you might say.

And the Princess gave what could only be called a bizarre little chuckle, which Aisah found a little disconcerting and not a little eerie.

Al whispered, but perhaps not softly enough.

It’s a zombie cat, I’ve heard of these, once they were very popular, a long long time ago, but very rarely seen these days - can’t get the parts.

You are sadly right djinn, retorted the Princess, a modicum of sniffyness in her voice

Our dear Schrödinger is a re-animation, as we like to call those whom nature has blessed with a second, longer life, and those pieces that have worn, have, simply, been replaced.

Unkindly, Aisah had the briefest of thoughts about the pieces of Melvyn she should like to have simply, replaced, then the thought was gone and the horror of the cat was before her.

This edition of Schrödinger is a mere two hundred years old, but he seems to have more potential than his forebears

And then, to the cat

Don’t you our ding ding

For Aisah there was something just marginally odd about the whole premise of a zombie cat, and something even worse about it being called by an endearing name.

Introductions over, the princess offered Aisah, and Al the djinn, quarters to rest in, and the Bunian kindly helped, carefully, escort the couple to their rooms, just in case they got lost and accidently saw more than was good for them. The Bunian were very caring like that.

Aisah’s room, she felt, was as large as one of the caverns they had passed through recently, but in reality it was a mere twenty foot square room, lined with gold and white cupboards, a gold and white four poster bed with sundry accoutrements. The en suite bathroom contained a bath the size of a small swimming pool and the whole bathroom could have held Melvyn’s entire surgery, then some.

A suddenly quite shy Aisah imagined feeling very lonely, and very vulnerable, while performing various calls of nature, as the toilet, situated as it was in the centre of one wall, seemed very exposed, but then, who was to see, she thought . Certainly there was no one to see, especially not those little, almost insignificant, seeing devices, practically hidden all over the bed and bath rooms - Bunian liked to keep an eye on all things.

For those people who enjoyed such things, the bedroom and bathroom could be considered luxurious, but to Aisah they were too massive for her to feel comfortable in, she was longing for her husband to come and extract her from this place.

The Princess Sri Ayu was engaged in arranging just that. Messages were send out to all the Bunian on the mountain to locate and inform Melvyn the bomoh that his wife had been found, was safe and was waiting for him to come for her. Absolutely no mention was made of a finder’s fee, that would have been churlish, that could be added to the bill for her keep.

Meanwhile, in another sector of the mountain, what remained of several Bunian were laying next to another secret entrance to the Bunian caves. A medium sized wooden door hung off its charred hinges, and a whole sector of seeing devices were fused and not working.
A figure stalked the Bunian corridors, hiding in shadows, striking when necessary but always moving on, closer and closer to where Aisah and Al were trying to rest, its senses drawing it towards its ultimate goal – Aisah.

There was a mild panic among the Bunian.

Seldom did a whole sector of seeing devices go down at once, and rarely did the Bunian lose contact with so many of their number. Those in charge, including the Princess, began to be unnerved. Losing control was unnatural for the Bunian, so their reaction to it was felt in edginess and tenseness, the first signs of serious panic.

The Princess was desperately trying to hold things together, she issued suggestions that all corridors be fortified and extra guards placed along those corridors experiencing lack of observation devices. But she knew that a breach this serious in their security meant that someone, or something, was earnestly out for trouble, and the Bunian were relatively inexperienced with trouble, for they tended to have control and thus avoid trouble, but trouble was coming for them this time.

Aisah could hear the running of several pairs of little feet, and voices in the corridor outside her room. It didn’t take a genius to guess that there was something wrong, which was just as well, so Aisah bent and put her ear to the door.

The knocking made her jump.

Good grief Al, you made me jump. Aisah said opening the bedroom door.

For a few seconds Al said nothing, he just stood and looked at Aisah, then quietly, almost seductively said.

It is such a pleasure to meet with you again. You have no idea the trouble I have gone through just to be with you, my dear.

A cold chill ran down Aisah’s spine. She knew that voice, that eerie manner of speaking and it did not belong to Al the soft drink can djinn, but to another, darker and ultimately more dangerous being – Ali the djinn.

Yes my dear, the only difference between Ali and Al is I, and I am here to renew our acquaintance.

Just then Aisah did something very girlie, and totally out of character – she fainted.

With his djinn powers Ali had ceased the opportunity to send Al the djinn back to his soft drink can, and ensured that Al could not help Aisah in any practical, or indeed impractical, way. Then it was a small matter to disguise his moustache, and hey presto Ali became Al. Such was the way of djinn, their powers increased the further up the metaphorical djinn ladder they rose, and Al had all but lost his powers, and therefore had been no match for Ali.

The Princess and the Bunian, accompanied by Schrödinger the zombie cat, burst into the bedroom which had contained Aisah, only to find it empty. There was literally no trace of what had become of Melvyn the bomoh’s wife, and Princess Sri Ayu was left feeling very guilty, and embarrassed that she had lost one of her few guests. Now she had to face Melvyn and tell him that, once again, his wife has gone missing.

On another side of Tea Mountain Ali disintegrated yet another wooden door and stepped outside into lush greenery with an unconscious Aisah slung across his shoulder. The one remaining hantu raya took Ali’s burden and stuffed her under his arm.

They were through the mountain and now had a clear run down to the, potentially, Lost World of Lenyap.

Finally Ali allowed himself a little, evil, grin, his moustache resembling that of Clark Gable in Gone with the Wind, and soon they were.

In the Hall of the Mountain

When she heard, there appeared to be no stopping the flow of Aisah’s tears. Her heart went out to that poor, sad, creature who had been the hantu raya, who, it had turned out, had been a noble and self sacrificing creature. A creature, who had not, despite the agony it must have gone through, revealed what had happen to her, and who had ultimately died trying to keep Aisah safe.

Tears ran down Aisah’s face and mingled with the mucus from her nose. Together the fluids dripped into a small, but growing, puddle of red laterite earth, thoroughly dampening the iron oxides. Aisah hic-cupped little sobs of her sorrow until, eventually, she had to put her head down between her knees, and begin to control the out-flow of her grief, and guilt.

Though it had been Aisah who had been kidnapped, first by Ali the djinn and his support cast of hantu raya, then by one of Ali’s hantu raya, who appeared to have formed some type of affection for her. Aisah nevertheless felt guilty that the creature had died, or simply ceased to exist, because of her. This, she pondered, was the sort of emotional burden which could follow her for the rest of her life, regardless of how long, or how short, it was going to be in actuality, and in fact it was the sort of mental trauma which festered in the mind like a worm in jambu (pink fruit).

Ala Al Din Hamid Malik Farid Jabr Nasir Bin Hind Abd Al Aziz, otherwise known as Al, looked on helplessly at this woman’s grief, and tried desperately to understand what she had been through and was now experiencing. He felt genuinely sad at the news brought by the mountain spirit beings – the Bunian, but in a sense it had softened the blow of their presence, to Aisah, who had had so much to cope with in the past few days.

After Aisha had left the hantu raya, and met Al, it had, in itself, been a strange journey. Al had led her through the shrubs and trees to an area which looked at once familiar yet strange, like being in a parallel world. Al had sat her down and promptly began talking to a bush.

To all intents and purposes the bush was, well –a bush. It was so bush-like in its bush appearance that one could only describe it as a bush, and that, indeed, was exactly what it was. However, hidden, carefully, inside the bush was one of the Bunian, the spirit keepers of the mountain. It was to the Bunian that AL was talking, but of course Aisah was not to know that. Aisah assumed that Al was either a secret toddy drinker, or was mad, or possibly both.

Aisah had heard of the mind disease schizophrenia, where for no apparent reason people start to laugh, even at jokes that weren’t funny, and frequently talked to people who weren’t there, not invisible, just not there. Aisha wondered if being cooped up in a soft drink can, for eons, could give a djinn schizophrenia, and if so what was she to do with this mad genie?

In Melvyn’s surgery he had kept medicines and potions for people suffering from mind diseases, from the fox bat fur ointments, mixed with fermented durian, to cure, or induce paranoia, she wasn’t quite sure which, to the really hard core unguents of smelly bean (petai), belacan (shrimp paste) cincalok (smelly prawn sauce) and fermented fish sauce which you could either eat or spread over your head to cure manic depression. Aisah imagined that the sufferer was, in fact, spending more time worrying over the stench of the unguents than their ailments, so it, sort of, cured itself. Or so she reasoned.

After some long minutes talking to the bush Al had come back to her with a broad smile on his face, and if he hadn’t carefully explained about the Bunian, Aisah would have had no doubt of her previous diagnosis.

But Al had explained about the secret keepers of the mountain, and, after much discussion between Aisah and Al, and Al and the Bunian, two offered to reveal themselves to her. It was a shock, but then recently her life had been full of such shocks, and, for some reason, she still seemed to be sane. Aisah was not sure if being sane was helping in this seemingly insane world, but she seemed to have little choice.

The Bunian escorted Al and Aisah to a large cave. They drew aside fake bushes, which had totally fooled Aisah, and revealed a beautifully carved wooden door. The door was only three feet high, and covered in a form of writing which resembled the Islamic jawi script, but also looked a little like western world runes. Aisah was not an expert, but somewhere, perhaps in one of the twenty-year-old national geographic magazines which Melvyn kept in his surgery, she had seen some writing like this before.

There seemed to be no key, but the Bunian, merely by placing its hands upon the ancient wood, provided the magical key which prompted the door to begin to move. A tunnel was revealed.

Walls, obviously carved a very long time ago, radiated with bizarre greenish yellow light, a sort of bio-luminescence being emitted by fungus and moss lining the tunnel walls. It was enough to light their way, but not light enough for Aisah to see every protruding root, and she slipped and almost fell, many times, as they journeyed further and further down the eerie tunnel.

Eventually the tunnel opened into a kind of hall. It was obviously some sort of larger cave, but something told Aisah that is was carved out of rock, rather than being naturally formed. The walls were covered in writing that had almost disappeared with age, and, in places, what she could only imagine to be words were etched out of the rock.

The cave opening arched upwards to mimic a dome, similar to the inside of a mosque, or the British St. Pauls Cathedral. There, at the top, a larger collection of bio-luminescence made the area where the key stone, of the arch, would have been; glow vividly, like the reflection of sunlight on gold, giving an almost religious feeling to the whole cave.

Momentarily Aisah was awe struck. She had never seen anything like this, before, in her entire life. For a few seconds all the worries and stresses of the last few days just washed away as she gazed at the splendour of the ceiling.
“It was carved about three thousand years ago” Al said as Aisah looked,
“The Bunian told me. It was the work of their ancestors, before they moved to the other place.”

“Other place, what other place” Aisah had enquired.

“Well” said Al

“All I can understand is, that the Bunian actually live across two dimensions”
Aisah raised an obvious eyebrow as high as she could, to project her total scepticism
“No seriously, this is what they believe and what I was just told. Many many years ago their ancestors deserted this realm to live somewhere more suited to them. Some remained and kept to the mountains, especially as we humans became more plentiful. Over time, the Bunian who were left behind took it upon themselves to look after the old caves and tunnels, and therefore the mountains themselves. When the Bunian discovered that not all humans were bad, they began looking out for humans on the mountains too, and developed their system of intercommunication, something like ESP, or telepathy.”

Now Aisah’s eye-brow was so raised it was becoming painful.

“There is more, so much more to these little green folk, but I don’t have time to tell you now, they want us to move on again.”

The small green Bunian led Aisah and Al out of the glowing hall and back into more tunnels. Each tunnel, Aisah noticed, had its own hue or shade of bio-luminescence, so each tunnel was distinct and easy to spot, aiding navigation.

Aisah noticed homeliness about the tunnels. She had been a little preoccupied at the beginning, but now she found that even the very tunnels themselves seemed to radiate friendliness as well as light.

Aisah had no idea how long they travelled, but she was beginning to feel weary, and just as she was about to ask Al about stopping again, they stopped. This time they were facing a door which appeared to be made out of old blackened suede. Heavy, protruding, brass rivets formed a pattern of squares and rectangles on the door, and, like the previous one, swung open at the Bunian touch.

This time, the light Aisah witnessed at the top of the large cave was all over the walls, making them shine so brightly it almost hurt Aisha’s eyes, but it didn’t. Somehow Aisah’s eyes adjusted very quickly to the golden light, and she saw beyond into a huge cavernous hall full of light, reflections, and refractions, jewelled light and soft haziness. It was like slipping into a daydream, a feeling of floating, unreal, and other-worldliness. Aisah’s emotion at seeing the cavern was so intense that she gave a gasp and a little startled cry, which made both Al and the Bunian turn to look at her.

A golden toned, female voice boomed across the cavern, at once warm but very much in command.

“Welcome, my children, welcome to my world”.

Princess Sri Ayu raised herself smoothly from her throne, and practically glided towards them, such was her elegance and grace.

“And you must be Aisah, wife to Melvyn the bomoh”

“Er, no, that would be me” said a slightly confused Aisah stepping out from behind Al the djinn.

Sorry no Melvyn story this week - I am on holiday in Kuala Lumpur, back 1st November

Sorry no Melvyn story this week - I am on holiday in Kuala Lumpur, back 1st November

Not a Happy Bunny

Standing within his stronghold, deep in the lush forests of the potentially Lost World of Lenyap, Djinba was looking into his ornamental brass basin of crystal clear water, used primarily as a far-seeing device, and frequently as a shaving basin too, observing Ali’s latest catastrophe, and Djinba was not a happy bunny. In fact, truth be told, he wasn’t a bunny at all - but that is quite beside the point and a totally different story involving small children with long golden locks, caterpillars who smoke and rabbits with pocket-watches.

Djinba was discovering that ultimately there is a point in forward planning when, despite all your best efforts, the plans so carefully laid, and schemes so craftily constructed start to unravel, seemingly of their own accord with little bits of plan writhing and weaving in quite obscene manners, and through no fault of your own, or, at least, so you think.

So, instead, Invisible, and quite possibly non-existent, or very probably otherwise occupied Gods and Devils are blamed, and matters which occur through poor planning and inept scheming become blamed on the quite ungodly hand, or in this case- iron fist, of Fate - poor Fate, always getting a bad press. Knowing this, however, does not make life any less traumatic, nor does it make you any the less annoyed, as countless kicked cats could, no doubt, testify to, so you simply have to reconcile yourself with the fall-back position of knowing the causality, and, like Djinba, put on the type of happy face which fools absolutely no-one, not even the maniac grinning starkly back at you from the unkindly clear mirror.

Djinba, to give him his full due, had planned well enough. He had taken as many factors into consideration as was possible, considering the endless probabilities and possibilities, before embarking on the final phases of the takeover, of not just the wizard council, but effectively the known, and he hoped, the unknown worlds as well. This is why he had, reasonably carefully, chosen his minions each according to their ability, to work for him and perform the tasks he needed performing, and in their own specialised unique way, according to their chosen skill match get the less than clean job done. This is how the elegant and very resourceful Ali the djinn was recruited by the Arch-Wizard Djinba, potential ruler of all he sees, as well as hopeful ruler of great deal that he doesn’t.

Finally, and at last, all Djinba had needed was the absolute token of magic power – the ancient Phial of the magical Oil of Petra, and he would become supreme bomoh of all supreme bomoh wizards and permanent ruler of, well, everything. In that lofty position his popularity would be assured, a few carefully chosen spells would take care of that, as people loved to be loved, even self-centred ego-maniacal people with a huge lust for domination.

But there were, essentially, two flies in the proverbial ointment, one was that he didn’t have a clue as to where the Phial actually was, and, more urgently, his old nemesis Nrawa was making a comeback – recruiting the bomohs and the few remaining bomoh wizards in an attempt to overthrow Djinba’s powers, oust him from the council, and, no doubt, grab the lot for himself, thought Djinba. That smarmy, easy grinning, do-gooding snake Nrawa might prove to be the very catalyst to galvanise the lesser bomohs, other beings and spirits into an all out rebellion, strip him (Djinba) of his powers and position, and kick him to the proverbial metaphorical curb.

Melvyn the bomoh, as inept as he was, had become a pivotal point in Djinba’s continuing reign. Melvyn had no idea just how crucial he had become in the machinations of ambitious men. Melvyn, or so it now seemed, was the one bomoh that all other bomoh’s respected, regardless of his powers, or lack of them. So, knowing this, Djinba needed a bargaining point to persuade the popular Melvyn to do his bidding and go looking for the Phial of the Oil of Petra, and thereby hasten Djinba’s rise to the final, undisputed, throne of Grand Bomoh Wizard Supreme. The Phial, it was rumoured in legend, held the secret to life eternal, and this just had to belong to Djinba, and no one else.

Ali the djinn’s carelessness in losing Melvyn’s wife Aisah potentially took away the only leverage Djinba had over Melvyn, and could, potentially, ruin Djinba’s overall plans, and this must not be allowed to happen. Djinba thought this viciously to himself, giving himself quite a start over the forcefulness of the thought. So Djinba continued to keep careful track of the latest events via his nicely carved bronze basin.

Nrawa was a growing thorn in Djinba’s side.

Once, a long long time ago they had been friends. Then Nrawa grew a conscience, quite possibly in the dungeons Djinba had cast him into to prevent Nrawa, a well loved bomoh wizard, from a taking over the council, even then. Nrawa had spoken of reform, of the wizard bomohs helping the ordinary powerless people instead of just helping themselves. It was a radical idea, but that was how things had been in the past, in the days people now referred to as the golden age, a time when men, spirits and other beings ate cheese and lived in harmony alongside djinn in a veritable garden of Edam.

At that time, all those years ago, many of the wizards had been primed to execute a takeover of power, and Djinba was aware of his own unpopularity as well as being acutely aware that Nrawa was charismatic, and easily persuaded people to his causes. So Djinba had thrown him into the dungeons, trumping up all kinds of bizarre charges which few people believed, but were, ultimately, unable to do anything about. To control the wizard council was, effectively, to control everything.

The magical power which kept everything in its place, some say the wrong place, came through the wizard council. It was that magical power which corrupted governments, policemen, civil servants and military. As long as there was corruption people were easy to control, and everything was kept in its place. And that was the way that Djinba wanted it to be, forever.

Nrawa sought to change that unnatural order, do away with corruption, diminish the power of the ruling bomoh wizards and let ordinary people do their own thing – a foolish notion. Nrawa wanted to issue in a new order free from magical control, but Djinba had his doubts and really couldn’t see Nrawa being any different from himself. Mainly because Djinba was so corrupted with power he couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting to take all for themselves.

Finally, after many years in the dungeon, Nrawa was free and looking for his own kind of revenge, or so it was believed.

It had reached Djinba’s ears that Nrawa was again recruiting the bomohs, gathering a small force together to influence the remaining doubting wizard bomohs of the council, and, effectively, priming the charge for a takeover. Already Djinba, through various devious means, had spread the word around that Nrawa had unnatural urges and was highly corrupted, but, so far, this totally unbelievable gossip had little effect on Nrawa’s popularity. Some bomoh wizards claimed that Nrawa had the power of hypnotism, and, in fact, hypnotised people over to his side, though there was little proof of this in reality. But Nwara was popular and gaining in popularity again, especially among the better educated bomohs and wizards, and even some supernatural folks were inclined to promote Nwara in his campaign, and this had Djinba worried.

Djinba was left to battle on the two fronts – firstly to stave off advances from Nwara, but also to gain the Phial containing the magical Oil of Petra, longevity, and, quite possibly, immortality. Djinba needed the extra leverage with Melvyn the bomoh, and he needed someone to deliver Melvyn’s wife Aisah as soon as possible, and so far Ali the djinn had failed him.

Persuasion

“Where is she, where is Aisah, where is that bomoh’s wife”

Ali increased the burn of his already searing heat, charring the hantu raya once more with his magic flame.

“What have you done with her, where have you hidden her”

With each question Ali shot the malevolent magic fire at the hantu, burning not just the hantu’s ectoplasmic flesh but deep into what passed for its mind.

The hantu only whimpered. Ali looked close into its mind and saw little but pain and anguish, no hint of where the woman was, and without the woman, without Melvyn the bomoh’s wife Aisah Ali might share a similar fate to this hantu, so he increased the pressure, dug deep into its mind and tortured its flesh to gain his results.

Frustration gnawed at Ali. He had to get the woman back, his own life depended upon it.

“Where is the woman, where is the human, Aisah what have you done with her” Ali persisted with a growing sense of fright in his voice, knowing full well that this hantu was not going to give him the answer he desperately needed.

It had taken time, but eventually Ali had tracked the hantu down amidst the plentiful forests growing on the slopes of Tea Mountain, step by step, track by track, gradually Ali moved in closer to the hantu raya, eventually surprising it in a small, harmless looking glade. The hantu had looked lost, looked as though it was searching for something. It was then that Ali realised that Aisah was missing, again.

Of course the hantu had denied all knowledge of Aisah’s whereabouts, but Ali had lived a long time and understood that the first line of defence was often a lie, he too was good at that. And so the persuasion began. Ali didn’t like to think of it as torture, even though, technically, that is exactly what it was. Ali liked the word persuasion, it was softer, gentler, more gentlemanly, and often Ali considered himself to be a gentleman, if not a gentle man.

The delicate art of persuasion included pegging the hapless hantu to the ground, arms and legs outstretched in much the same way as a hunter might stretch a skin to be dried in the sun, but this was no skin it was a sentient being, albeit a ghost, and having ectoplasm instead of actual skin, but it could feel pain and that was enough for Ali to work on.

Conversation with a hantu raya was always going to be, at the very best, a one-sided affair, as hantus tended not to say much, their minds being reserved for the day to day drudge of being, with very little actual thought taking place. But, on occasions, a thought mixed with an uncomfortable feeling, such as love, makes a powerful cocktail inside a hantu’s mind and leads to all manner of complications.

So Ali was aware that a plain, simple, question and answer session with this hantu was, probably, not going to deliver the results he expected, and Ali had quickly moved on to phase two – manual persuasion. But, so far, that was yielding equally poor results.

Heaving a deep sigh Ali, once more, singed the hantu flesh, giving off a distinct roasted marshmallow smell, yet, despite the agonising pain, all the creature could do was to emit cat-like mewling, and the occasional yelp like some puppy being severely kicked by a very unkind boot, but it gave out no information. The hantu raya’s mind was a cacophony of sounds and shapes, like excited static, but it gave no concise form or shape to any memory, or any trace to where the woman might have gone. This, Ali found more than a little frustrating, it was grossly annoying.

Ali was a more than a little surprised about the hantu’s resilience. If it were he, Ali would have spilled the proverbial beans all over everything in sight long since. There was, after all, no need to get yourself into such a state over another creature, thought Ali, that was ridiculous, the woman could fend for herself, and, as nice as she was, and she was quite nice reflected Ali, no being was worth getting tortured over. An uncomfortable thought flashed across Ali’s mind, about what might happen if he wasn’t successful, but presence of mind shooed it away as quickly as it had come, no point dwelling on such things, he thought.

From random singeing and then to the steady, deliberate, tormenting of what passed for the hantu’s nervous system Ali had progressed to considering limb amputation to get his information, threatened at first, but as threats brought no results Ali had no compunction but to actually begin burning off a hantu limb, one at a time, until it delivered the results Ali so badly needed.

Ali was all too aware that this might be his own fate, or worse, should he arrive back to Djinba empty handed, so to save himself Ali needed to gain as much information as possible from this unfortunate hantu. It was a sickening sight, even Ali was a little sickened by what he was being forced to do, but he had little choice if he wanted to save his own skin. The hantu raya writhed in obvious pain and agony, thrashing what was left of its body about like an eel impaled on the end of some vicious hook, but all Ali got in return was pathetic noises and the irritating sounds of whimpering, but no actual information.

After some time of pain and suffering one complete hantu limb was severed, charred and burnt from the hantu’s body, the remaining stump blackened in a manner resembling plastic extracted from a fire, bubbling and smoking and giving off an acrid stench deeper and more sickening than the previous roasted marshmallow smell, but, of course, there was no blood. Hantus have no blood, only ectoplasm, which in the normal course of events doesn’t burn, except under magic fire like Ali’s.

Even Ali felt a little sick at what he had just done, but that feeling passed as he continued his persuasion onto another limb, causing even more pain and distress. Then suddenly it was over.

What had passed for the hantu’s life was over, finished, gone. The hantu raja had given up the ghost under the cruel torture, its increasingly fragile mind unable to endure the extremes Ali had put it to. And, rather than risk any mention of the woman he had come to love, the hantu had preferred to shut down its body and mind, hopefully saving Aisah from this monster’s clutches.

For a moment Ali showed a small regret at ending the poor creature’s life, a tiny tear welled up at the corner of Ali’s eye, but soon disappeared as Ali realised the true enormity of his situation. A cold shiver ran down Ali’s spine while a bolt of white-hot fright ran in the opposite direction up and into his brain. Now wide-eyed Ali stopped still and thought his situation over.

Meanwhile the second hantu raya looked on in disgust and nervousness at the fate of its fellow being. It had known that Ali could be vengeful, but had never realised the depths that Ali would go to get his own way, and it was torn between running off and staying, each course having its merits and eventual consequences. As the normal hantu mental processes were quite slow it stayed while it too thought what to do next.

From the bushes more than one observing Bunian had fainted during the witnessing of torture, others had been sick – physically as well as mentally, at the things Ali had done. Rarely had such a sight been witnessed on Tea Mountain, and certainly not in the hundreds of years these Bunian had been alive and caring for the mountain and its various inhabitants. The normally quite impartial Bunian actually began to consider meeting in council to discuss their position, with many messages suggesting pledges and the possibility of allegiances and alliances. Things had gone too far, they felt, and a growing disgruntlement was now turning into a real force for opposition.

Messages had been sent all over of the cruelty and shame that visited their mountain, and the Bunian let it be known that they were going to be opposed to any force which may have sanctioned such an abomination. Any force at all. And that is how Djinba got to learn of his servant’s failure.

The Game is Afoot

Giving off a delicate pink puff from its exhaust pipe, the nicely shaded pink jeep began taking its occupants Melvyn the bomoh, Just-Abangah and the Geek on the two hour drive up Tea Mountain, in the hope that they might be able to retrieve Melvyn’s stolen strawberry jam, and his wife Aisah.

“Aha”, said the Geek, as the jeep gently pulled up the mountain, “The game is afoot”

”The what is a what” replied Just Abangah

“The game is afoot”

“How can a game be a foot, what is this, some sort of quiz”

”It’s a quote from a very old detective” chipped in Melvyn “One who, incidentally, never existed”.

“Oh, are you sure” ventured a disillusioned Geek

“Absolutely” replied a grimacing Melvyn

“I’m confused” squeaked Just-Abangah

“Nothing’s changed then” caustically replied Melvyn

“What does it mean – the game is a foot” whispered Just-Abangah to the Geek

“It means that we have started, we are on the trail”

“Ah!” said Just-Abangah, none the wiser, “So why did you say the game was a foot, why not a hand, a bicycle, a lump of cheese - I just don’t understand.”

“No you don’t, do you” said the Geek quietly to itself.

“And you, if you dare say, are we there yet, one more time....” Melvyn said pointedly at Just-Abangah

“I’ll turn you into a donkey”

“Can he do that” Just-Abangah whispered to the Geek

“And, what’s more, think yourself lucky you’re in a nice, pretty, pink jeep” said Melvyn with a huge hint of sarcasm in his voice

“ ....Instead of riding on the back of some huge polar bear, or flying dangerously on some talking dragon or wandering off through ill placed wardrobes” Melvyn continued to no-one in particular, in a voice rapidly losing its tentative grip on reality.

The Geek and Just-Abangah looked at each other wide-eyed, shrugged their shoulders to each other, and thought that they would just pretend they hadn’t heard those last remarks, and might be thankful, one day, in the future to have let them slip away into their mutual unconscious minds, without further questioning.

And with that the rest of the day dragged itself past as did the slow moving up-hill scenery, going down while the travellers were going up Tea Mountain.

Increasingly Melvyn was becoming less and less talkative. And, as time went on, he became internally more anxious about the fate of his wife, but he wouldn’t admit that, not even to himself.

Melvyn was an ‘old school’ man, not a ‘new man’ washing dishes and putting out the washing, no Melvyn was a firm believer in the old order when men were men and women did everything – leaving the men to be men, just that and little else. Melvyn was more than a little perplexed by assertive women, especially pink loving genies, but assertive women in general caused him consternation. For Melvyn assertiveness in women was against the natural order of things, and yet he had always been surrounded by them – but that didn’t make it right.

Melvyn’s mum had always bossed his father around, when he was there, that is, and not wandering off in the forests searching for food which always seemed to escape him, or debating the fate of the country with his mates at the local corner tea shop. Melvyn’s mum just could not understand the very important fact that men needed to gather together, smoke, and drink endless cups of tea or coffee to make sure that the world was spinning in the way it ought to. For some reason Melvyn’s mum thought it a waste of time, and barred Melvyn’s dad from going to the local corner tea shop, which, in all practicality meant that Melvyn’s dad went anyway, but was then doing it illicitly.

Then there was Shakira, the infamous pink-loving genie, not so much a matriarch, but The Matriarch. Shakira had always been larger than life, outspoken, demanding, but somehow she also had another side to her which over-shadowed the bossier side, and, then, as a single man, Melvyn had been quite drawn to her and often found her bossiness a little endearing, especially if it included a whip and high heels. And, finally, there was Aisah, his beloved Aisah, love of his life and darling wife, who desperately tried to keep Melvyn in line, but also gave him his freedom too as she understood that a man must have enough space to feel lonely in. And he sorely missed her.

Another hour into the journey and Melvyn pulled the pink jeep off the road to rest. The journey had been quite taxing for Melvyn, cautiously driving round and round the mountain, avoiding on-coming traffic and red earth avalanches while simultaneously managing not to plunge the jeep several hundred feet down shrubby ravines.

It was quiet. All that could be heard was the distant barking of dogs in the rural villages and the minute variations in mountain birdsong. The spot Melvyn had chosen was a little shady, and the small rest area had been chipped out of the mountain’s rock, giving an alcove a little larger than the jeep, and room enough for three travellers to stretch out in.

Melvyn closed his weary eyes and rested while Just-Abangah had become more fidgety ever since he had seen a river running below the incline. After waiting a few moments the restless Just-Abangah crossed the road and wandered off down the incline to a small river, careful not to run too fast and end up in the river, instead of beside the river. Just-Abangah fiddled around in his cavernous pockets and came up with a length of fishing line and an old battered hook embedded in a bubblegum caked eraser. He looked around and spotted a stone with a small hole and fixed his makeshift fishing line through it. Next Just-Abangah wrestled a bush for one of its straighter branches, and he was all set to go fishing.

There was a noise behind Just-Abangah and the Geek slid to a halt inches away from him.

“Room enough for two”. It seemed like a rhetorical question so Just-Abangah just smiled and cast the line out into the flowing waters.

Melvyn slept the sleep of the middle-aged bomoh while his two companions bonded over a spot of fishing. After a while Just-Abangah’s fishing line grew taught, and almost tugged the makeshift rod from his hands. With a small squeal of delight Just-Abangah whipped the rod sideways to ensure he had snared the catch and began moving slowly backwards away from the river to bring his quarry closer to the land. The Geek waited eagerly by the water’s edge to scoop the fish as it neared the bank. Giggling like a girl, the Geek swept the fish up and out of the water with two hands. It landed flapping and jumping until Just-Abangah sent its soul to fishy heaven with a well place rock to the head.

The slight commotion had woken Melvyn and he sped down the incline just in time to witness the landing of a nicely sized fish, by his two, laughing, travelling companions. Melvyn went off looking for some wild herbs and came back with a wild banana leaf and some green leaves, meanwhile the Geek pulled out a thin bladed knife, from, seemingly, out of nowhere and proceeded to gut the fish and wash away the entrails in the river. As the Geek began to clean the gill and head area something small dropped from the fish’s mouth and rolled along the ground.

Just-Abangah grabbed at the object, discovering it to be a golden coloured ring.

“Hey look what I found, it’s a ring” and, as Just-Abangah spoke, strange fiery writing appeared around the ring, glowing brightly in the afternoon light.

“Wah, it’s very pretty, can I have a look” mentioned the Geek, but Just-Abangah became a little reluctant to release the ring from his grasp.

“Oh come on J.A, let’s see”

and with that Melvyn snatched the ring from Just-Abangah’s hand and threw it back into the water.

“Mmm, looks like trouble to me” said a hasty Melvyn,

“Better it go back where it belongs”.

Somewhere in the back of Just-Abangah’s mind the word ‘precious’ was just beginning to form, and then the ring was gone and so was the word, lost again to the sight of man, Geek and teenager.

Melvyn cooked the succulent fish with fresh wild herbs and small chillies, wrapped in banana leaves slowly over the heated rocks of a hastily formed fire, and the three of them delighted in deliciously, freshly cooked food once more, served on washed banana leaves - all the time being watched by cat-like eyes from the surrounding forest.

After eating, slowly, practically slyly, Melvyn slid away from his companions. Then, suddenly, there was a ruckus amongst the bushes, a squabbling and an explosion of small leaves as Melvyn re-appeared with two strange, green, creatures each caught by a foot in Melvyn’s curled fists. “Bunian” he said.

The two creatures were unused to being seen by other beings and were quite shy, not to mention a little embarrassed and annoyed at being caught so easily by Melvyn. On release they sat on the ground a little dejected, shoulders hunched and expecting the very worse, but all Melvyn did was smile and explain what they were to Just-Abangah and the Geek. To the Bunian he asked if a hantu raja had been seen recently carrying a woman, the he explained who the woman was and the Bunian, after being reflectively quiet a moment or two, told of the recent sightings further up the mountain.

“Good, then we are getting closer” then, un-Melvyn-like Melvyn gave a heartfelt silent prayer for the safety of his wife.

“Come, let’s go”. And, once again, Melvyn was in good spirits and ready to re-enter the chase.

Climbing Tea Mountain

Meanwhile, troubled Aisah, and the escaping hantu raja, were pulling further away from Ali the djinn. They were not following the path originally set out by Ali, but had deviated at the foothills of Tea Mountain, just after the new fire brigade house - making their going a little tougher and rougher but parallel to the only road which goes up the mountain from that side.

The hantu raja, despite now disobeying Ali, was still strangely drawn to obey his master Djinba’s instructions – and they were to bring Aisah to him, in Ghost in the Cloud kampung, within the Forgotten Forests of Lenyap, on the other side of Tea Mountain. Even though the hantu was aching to protect Aisah, due to these uncomfortable romantic feelings he was experiencing, he was not able to break the greater spell which bound him to his master’s wishes – he just reinterpreted them, slightly.

The road going up the mountain was clear and easy to travel, but that could not be said about the countryside either side of the road. The first few kilometres were ok, nothing but small brush, coarse lalang grass and bushes, but the landscape became more undulating the higher they got, and slightly cooler.

Initially the shrubs were covered in small pitcher plants, their green and red pitchers hanging to catch small insects which became entrapped in the fluid inside them - Aisah smiled in memory of the days Melvyn would return home carrying a small collection of pitcher plants, just as any lover might carry flowers, but Melvyn, for all his love for her, just couldn’t bring himself to be seen carrying flowers, so pitcher plants had to do.

Onwards and upwards they raced, climbing ancient boulders and dipping in and out of the equatorial valleys laced with ferns, tumbling thunbergia, lianas and hanging morning glory. They scrambled up rubble inclines next to small, almost imperceptible waterfalls and rivulets bringing the cool rain water down from the mountain’s heights, making their going soft, squelchy and still humid.

Magnificently huge fallen, dead, green moss covered trees gave home to lichens and fungi and a multitude of small creatures which eased out of their way as the duo strived to breach the mountain. Thankfully their passage was relatively dry – there had been no rains for a while now and the forests were mostly crispy underfoot, and leech free. Had the rains come early then Aisah would have been plagued by the small clinging leeches which frequent all the forests, but only thrive in the damp weather.

At one point the hantu took a long detour to avoid the ladang - woven hut settlement of one of the local Semai aboriginal peoples, and even though the local skinny dogs barked and cursed at the smell of the hantu, they thankfully didn’t pass close enough to encounter any of the village people. The Semai (Senqoi Hiiq) peoples also called the Mai Chana (Mountain People), like many of the tribe’s peoples still existing on the fringes of the cultivated lands, were still in touch with Mother Nature and had retained many of the skills that people like Melvyn had to train themselves to use. The tribe’s peoples could see hantu for what they were, oblivious of the masking spells that surround the hantu, and would have tried to attack them both with ancient potions and nature spells. It was these mountain people who supplied many of the herbs and potions that bomohs like Melvyn used, especially the infamous tongkat ali root and the dark wild honey they have to collect from some of the tallest, most dangerous, trees in the forest. So the hantu gave the village a wide enough birth, so as not to cause any unnecessary problems, the necessary problems were bad enough.

Aisha felt that there had been a change in her relationship with the hantu. Although she was still firmly held by him, the pressure his arm asserted on her seemed, somehow, different, endearing and protective now instead of harsh and commanding. Aisah felt safer, even though she was still being carried away to an unknown destination it was a relief not to be urged on by the trickster djinn Ali, him with his sickly smile and ice cold heart. Aisah pondered, brewing just a little more hate for the djinn and what he had done to her and Melvyn, and he was supposed to be a friend of Melvyn’s. Now, having endured the last however many hours in his company, Aisah though that she knew him, knew the cruel devil inside Ali and his race.

What Aisah didn’t know was that they were being watched.

From out of bushes, behind trees and rocks little green creatures with large cat-like eyes watched as the huge hantu raja took the captive human over the mountainous terrain. They noted the human’s bonds, small leaf-like ears listened as the couple trundled on, spindly small legs carried small bodies onwards and upwards, following the couple, close, but not so close as to be noticed by them. The Bunian, officially, were friendly spirits of the forests and mountains, and often moved about secretly, helping and guiding humans if they were lost, or simply misplaced.

It could be said that the Bunian acted like a spirit GPS within the mountains and forests, often helping track things and people too, they were also the eyes and ears of spirits like bomoh Clark’s Narayan, passing back intelligence to the spirit-net.

So the Bunian watched on, observing how the human was helplessly carried by the hantu, whose shape-shifting had no effect of their astute ancient eyes. Bunian messages passed between them until all the Bunian on the mountain knew what was happening, and where, but for the moment they were content to stay back and wait to see what actually was taking place, because they knew, in their ancient wisdom, that often eyes were deceived. The Bunian were a patient folk, not ones to be charging in, they would sooner weigh up the situation then act all together. So, diligently, they watched on.

The hantu stopped again. Let Aisah down slowly, gradually, from beneath his armpit and this time allowed her to take a few steps away from him, and refresh herself in the cool waters of the local stream. The water felt wonderful on her body, it would have been better if she could have dispensed with her clothing, but she dared not. So quickly she bathed, washed her hair, and then sat on the side of the stream letting the water trickle over her feet. After a time she stood, and, being a little bored, Aisah picked up a soft drink can from among the general debris, and was about to throw it into the water when “Oi, what d’yer think yer doin, put me down”.

Aisah stopped and stared down at the can she was holding, “What” she exclaimed “Don’t you what me, put me down”, and, with that, Aisah immediately dropped the drink can, making a soft ‘thunk’ as she did so. “Ow, hey waddaya think yer doin, you could have damaged me fa life, stupid human” said the soft drink can obviously more than a little annoyed. “Who are you, and why do you have to be so rude and disagreeable” reply Aisah also getting annoyed. She had had just about enough the last few days, and was beginning to get some of her old fight back. There was silence, so Aisah gave the can a little rattle with her foot “Oi, stop that, this may not be much, but it’s my home down here” “Home” says Aisah “Doesn’t look much like a home to me, looks more like an old rusty soft drink can, and one for the cheaper ones too might I add””No you might not” said the can. “Just what are you, and why do you live in a soft drink can” demanded Aisah “I, my girl, am a genie” and with that Aisah laughed more than she had laughed for many a day, in fact she was nearly rolling on the floor laughing, as some might say.

On hearing Aisah laugh, the genie became so affronted that he burst out of the soft drink can, much in the way traditional genies came from lamps in old Arabic stories – in a dense cloud of smoke and a few sparkly bits for theatrical effect. “BEHOLD for I am the mighty genie of the soft drink can, Taadda” said the genie, forgetting he wasn’t in the usual 14th century costume with the turban and pointy shoes, but instead was still in his blue striped pyjamas, wearing blue fluffy slippers with little rabbit faces on the front. A blush grew across his face as he realised, and the whole grandiose genie effect was ruined.

“You’re a genie”, said Aisah a little incredulously “Pardon me but you don’t look much like a genie, where’s your costume” the genie’s blush grew a little deeper as he said “Er, sorry, but I forgot, it’s in my other home – I haven’t worn it for so long, I’m just out of practice” “So what’s your name genie, if you have a name that is” “My given name is Ala Al Din Hamid Malik Farid Jabr Nasir Bin Hind Abd Al Aziz - but you can call me Al” said Al almost apologetically. “Then, if you are a genie you should have some magic powers, can you get me out of here” “Er, well, I, er can, I suppose” and with that Al held out his hand. Aisah placed her had in the genie’s expecting to be whisked away in a puff of magic smoke transcending time and space and be made free once more, but Al just took her hand and started walking away down the track she had come from. “Hmm when does the magic kick in, as it were, genie””The name’s Al” said Al “And there is no magic””What do you mean there’s no magic, how do you expect to get me out of here””Walk” said Al.

“Look I was caught playing cards, eating pork and drinking beer with a pack of the lower djinn, by the powers that be, and stripped of most of my powers, all I can do now is reduce myself to hide in my little home and keep out of trouble, ok””Oh” said a very disappointed Aisah “So you don’t have any powers, and I bet you don’t even have that costume, really, do you” Al looked embarrassed and said “No”. “You live here” Aisah said looking into the drink can, “In here, really””Look, it’s all I can afford you know, have you seen the price of those lamps, exorbitant they are, I can’t even afford a ring let alone a lamp, so I live here, it’s quite cosy you know, room enough for one, and that’s all you need, really, isn’t it, an apartment that’s compact and bijou.”

Still, small round eyes watched on.

Aisah is Not Alone

Once again Aisah suffered the tossing and jostling of being held under the hantu rajah’s overly large but not quite so smelly armpit, as she was, once more, whisked away to her destiny.

To be fair, Aisah’s guardian had tried to make his armpit less offensive to Aisah by rubbing lemon grass stalks under his arms, as a sort of underarm deodorant, however the overall effect was now unwashed personal body odour delicately tinged with lemon grass.

Unlike Melvyn, Ali had decided not to follow the roads and byways, but instead went overland. Departing from the old dredge, Ali had headed across the remains of the tin mining pools, observed by large wet round eyed otters, and across the eerie oil palm plantations then through yet more lush and inviting mining pool areas scattered, this time, with men fishing. The journey’s pace had slowed when they reached the outskirts of the large Dragon Fruit orchard. The green, medusa like, plants snaked their bizarre limbs along wires practically unseen at a distance, held by Ts shaped wooden structures, while their large, pink, succulent fruits hung weightily, strange pink tendrils adorning the rubberised skin.

As the dragon fruit plants are grown in regimented rows it would have been easy for a normal sized man to run through the rows, but the hantu raja were much larger, plus carrying such a precious packet Ali was reluctant to risk damage either to the rows or to the package – Aisah.

The hantu wanted to barge their way across, tearing up the Dragon Fruit succulents as they went, but Ali needed to leave as little trail as possible - he didn’t want it to be too obvious they had passed that way, it would make his followers suspicious, so they went round.

Ali wasn’t happy with the pace they were making, and told the hantu to speed up, and speed up they did, however, the hantu carrying Aisah had had enough, and sped up even faster. As the group neared the end of the plantation, Aisah’s hantu had actually disappeared from Ali’s sight. Ali tried to catch the hantu’s mind, but all he got was static, hantu rajas tend not to think unless they needed to, and this one needed all his concentration for running away with Aisah.

For a minute or two Aisah was unaware of what was happening, as far as she was concerned the hantu was running faster, but then she had imagined that they all were running faster, and that Ali, and the other hantu, were close behind. She had no way of knowing that she was being abducted yet again, but this time by her hantu going freelance. It was only when the hantu stopped to catch his breath that Aisah realised they were alone, together, in some mountain, golden, forest glade.

It was the time of day when shafts of golden sunlight filtered down through the tall trees, casting leaf shadows all around and on the grass, making the glade look even more magical and romantic than it already was. The air was filled with tiny insects which caught the light and glowed briefly in the beams adding the essence of daydream to the, now, overly romantic atmosphere.

Gently the huge Hantu let Aisah out from under his arm, and stood her under the shade of an ancient gnarled mango tree, motioned for her to sit, then offered her water to drink, and a cold Indian bread to eat. The bread she refused, as it had been carried uncovered in his huge dirty hand, but, once untied, was happy enough to take the water.

As the hantu proffered the two litre bottle of spring water he reached and casually stroked Aisah’s hair with his other huge hand, and made a sort of less grunt-like grunt which could have been a purr if he was a cat, but he wasn’t. Surprisingly the hantu’s touch was soft and gentle to Aisah’s face, as if she had been touched by a mild breeze, and almost against her will she leaned into the touch savouring its delicacy and remembering the touch of her husband, Melvyn. It was a tender moment, an oasis of tenderness amidst the recent turmoil of her life, and just for one second Aisah wanted to capture some goodness, some niceness to have for her own, before the crush of trouble found her once again. Then, as swiftly as it came, the moment was over.

Aisah was, as they say, a little street smart, or in this case kampung smart. Over her twenty plus years she had been approached by many boys, most of whom yelped off with a thick ear, but as she got older she was a little less physical and more verbal in her off-puts, waiting as she had been, for Mr Right, or in her case – Mr Melvyn the bomoh. Aisah could honestly say that she had not loved a man other than Melvyn, except her father - but that was different.

The kampung men had quickly learned that they would not get away with peeking at Aisah in the outside shower, or staring up through her house floorboards - especially as her house was built on the ground. There had been a few other women’s husbands who had a hard time explaining just where they got their black eyes from, and more than one who practically crawled home after a well positioned kick by Aisah. No, in general, she was not a lady to mess with, not unless, of course ,you were a huge hantu raja with the strength of ten men, then you were permitted a stroke, but only of the face, and only the once. So Aisah had already got an inkling that this hantu was a little sweet on her, especially with the way he dealt with the creepy Toyol at the dredge, to stop them from annoying her.

To be frank the hantu had no idea why he had done what he had just done either. He had no intention of abducting Aisah, but something inside him wanted to possess her, to make her his pet, to look after her and care for her, feed her little biscuits and pat her on her head, careful, of course, not to break her neck in doing so - he was aware of his own strength as several other broken-necked pets could have testified to, had they been alive to do so.

Now that he had abducted Aisah, the hantu had to bear the wrath of Ali, and that one thought was enough to make him suddenly stand up, clasp Aisah under his arm once more and dash off. Aisah, now aware they were alone, had all kinds of thoughts going through her head. She wasn’t certain if the hantu had been told to go on alone, or if this was his idea, but she thought it was odd and decided to wait to see what happens, to see if there would be an chance of either escape, or of persuading this hulk of a being to take her back home to Melvyn.

Ali was furious. Even after an hour’s run at top speed they hadn’t been able to catch up with the miscreant hantu raja, Ali was losing what was left of his temper and began shooting little bolts of magical flame at the one remaining hantu, to make it run even faster. To be bested by anyone was an embarrassment, but to be bested by a half-wit, slow-thinking, clod of a hantu raja was an insult, and Ali did not care to be insulted. Insults tended to make Ali very angry indeed, angry enough to incinerate anyone, or any thing, which got in his way.

As he reflected, Ali’s colour changed from human flesh light brown to a darker, redder, brown and his curls of smoke were getting more and more noticeably opaque. Anyone seeing Ali just at the minute would have no doubt that he was what he was – a djinn, and a hot-flaming-well-annoyed djinn just now.

Ali stopped running, gave the command for the remaining hantu to stop. Then Ali stood fuming, his rage getting the better of him; he drew himself up to his full height, about six foot two, stretched his arms out so he looked like an ’x’, tensed all his muscles, then burst into bright yellow and red flames. As Ali self combusted he emitted a high pitched, eerie, shriek of frustration enough to scare the fur off an orang-utan - anything glass in his vicinity would have shattered, as would any human ear drums, but luckily they were far away from human habitation at that point, and the few charred birds falling to the ground with dull plops, was just unfortunate – for them. There was a fierce intensity about the suddenness of the combustion act, a nova like incandescence of wrath, rage and red hot vendetta vengeance.

It was clear that things were not going to end nicely with a hand shake, and an agreement to agree to disagree. No, things were going to end very badly for one hantu raja, once Ali had caught up with him. This thought brought a wickedly welcome gleam to Ali’s eye.

With that instant burst of energy Ali had let out all his frustration and anger in the traditional djinn manner, now he felt cooler, calmer and could think what he needed to do next with an almost ice cool, shiny, blue flame searing anger.

A slightly singed hantu raja looked on in amazement, and some little dismay, as it frantically blew out little puffs of magic flame from its body and observed small portions of charred hantu flesh.

Shakira

Shaky waky was, in fact, the larger than life djinn - Shakira, though she preferred to be a called a Genie, or even a Jeannie, she was a definitely a djinn with huge pretensions.

If you could weigh a Genie, Shakira would have weighed in at about three hundred and sixteen pounds, give or take an ounce, and every pound appeared to be bursting out of her scanty satin and silk belly-dancer’s costume, with tassels - which may have fit her when she was a size eight, but now was beginning to look positively indecent. Those few parts of Shakira which were covered with strands of pink satin and lacy silk, pearls and shimmering sequins left very little to the imagination, and even the innocently imagination-challenged Just-Abangah had got the message and stood with his eyes popping out. The Geek, on the other hand, witnessed the female abundance which was Shakira, and winced as her vision in pink floated about three feet off the ground, surrounded by translucent clouds of pink smoke.

Of all the bomohs, in all the worlds, whom Shakira had worked with it was Melvyn she had a soft spot for, in fact quite a large soft spot, as it happens – in tune with the rest of her corpulent figure. Shakira’s heart was as large as the vision she presented, and was ever doing free favours for the, mostly male, bomohs who she worked with, but she mainly saved her largest of favours for Melvyn, and forever waited for him to call upon her, so that she may demonstrate her largess.
For Shakira, waiting in the world of djinn for a summons from Melvyn was like a spotty teenage girl clasping her favourite pink teddy-bear, waiting by her pink telephone for her boyfriend to call, and when the call never comes lay crying into their pink satin pillows and eating copious amounts of soft-centred chocolates, or watching sad, love, movies on DVD which actually makes them feel much worse, but when enough tears have fallen and they feel so very very bad it acts like an immunization and they start to feel better – but there again they are perverse.

Melvyn, on the other hand, liked Shakira as a friend and appreciated her kindness, but there, for him, it ended. Even before the days of his dear, now missing wife, Aisah, Melvyn was just not able to look at Shakira in the way she had wanted - his eyes were simply not big enough. It has to be said that Melvyn had never been into large demonstrative women with a predilection for pink, especially, as being djinn , they were quite likely to pop up in a pink cloud just about anywhere, which initially Shakira did, even without being summons. Then it was a stern and pretty hacked off Melvyn who had to draw the line, and tell Shakira to ease of a little with the sudden appearances, otherwise his all customers would get spooked with all the pink – kampung people were just not used to all that pink in once place and at the same time, he would explain. So, over the years, Melvyn had called upon Shakira less and less, so as to not let her get her hopes up for a relationship. But today Melvyn needed Shakira’s resources, and that was the only reason he had conjured her from the world of the djinn.

“So how’s my big boy today then” enquired a husky voiced Shakira “Still taking his beef soup on Friday nights, still drinking the old tongkat ali coffee dearie” Shakira said with a large slow wink. “Shakira, please, you’re embarrassing me in front of my friends” the Geek and Just-Abangah turned to each other and said in tandem “Friends”, and both smiled big smiles at being recognised as friends of Melvyn. “What’s the matter with my big boy den” Shakira said as if talking to a fully grown male baby, or an imbecile. “Shakira, please” Melvyn said earnestly, while blushing a bright red. She sniffed “Well, ok then, I suppose you want something” Shakira said a little annoyed at the reception she was getting from Melvyn. “But I was only being friendly Mr high and mighty Melvyn the bomoh”.

Melvyn quickly explained about getting married, losing Aisah, his quest to find her and the difficulty they were in presently, “Quite a little acar (pickle) you find yourselves in then” Shakira said, not without a hint of irony in her voice “And I suppose you want me to help, Mr married bomoh, who never invited me to the wedding reception.” This was said with more than a little vinegar in her voice, and the three companions could see that the lady djinn was less than pleased with the man she had admired for countless years. It was as if they had a lover’s tiff, but without being lovers, and the coolness which often sets in after a tiff was to be heard in Shakira’s voice when she said “And why should I help a married man, Melvyn” and with that Shakira theatrically disappeared in a large cloud of pink smoke, only to reappear just as suddenly some seconds later, theatrically wave her perfectly manicured pink nail varnished fingers and shoot a pink lightning bolt at the Rocsta jeep then disappear again. A spooky faint sobbing could be heard as Shakira disappeared for the final time, and the pinkness of the air slowly returned to normal.

“What was all that about” enquired the small cheeky Geek, but Melvyn just responded with a stare full of snakes which in other times, and other lands, may have, indeed, turned the Geek into stone. Just-Abangah was now not only wide-eyed, but also open mouthed as his less than quick teenage brain attempted to take it all in, wondering just what he had, figuratively, signed up for. Then, as one, the three travelling companions turned to stare at the jeep Rocsta, all their mouths agape, and their minds quite agape too, with not one of them quite able to believe their dilated pupils, including the worldly wise and reasonably experienced Melvyn.

Shakira’s parting bolt of lightning, apart for doing anything else to the vehicle, had turned the formally manly maroon and black jeep Rocsta into a bright girlie pink. The whole car was pink from its sparkling pink roof to the car’s pink undercarriage too, there was pinkness beyond all pinkness’s, but, to add a modicum of design, and to offset the pink, Shakira had turned the wheels and tyres a brilliant white. The companions slowly looked, one to the other, to the other, as if looking at someone else might reaffirm what had happened really didn’t happen, that everything was fine, just fine, and that the Rocsta really wasn’t pink - but it really was and things really were not fine from a macho male perspective. The Rocsta was pink. Not just the outside either. The once rough and aged upholstery, the seats, the sun bleached black(ish) steering-wheel and even the black rubberised floor mats were radiating a very girlie pink girlishness to anyone who cared to look. Melvyn’s embarrassment was complete. In the quiet aftermath an innocent voice was heard to say “’ere what’s my dad gonna say” said a sheepishly disbelieving Just-Abangah.

But the big pink hearted Shakira wasn’t all vengefulness. She had released the jeep from wizard Waadbi’s spell, by putting on a stronger djinn one of her own, but, just at that moment, Melvyn couldn’t decide which had been worse going back to where they had come from, or all the pink, but at least, he mused to himself, they were able to continue their journey.

Startlingly the Rocsta purred into action like a large pink cat. Everything about its handling appeared to be different, smoother; everything which had previously been rough and manly was now very smooth and just a little feminine. Even the gearbox had changed from a rough manly manual to a girlie automatic and, on driving; Melvyn found that he now had a spare foot. The grand belching announcement of black diesel smoke from the jeep’s ancient exhaust pipe was reduced to a mere puff – of pink smoke. Melvyn visibly cringed as he drove the jeep away, hoping against all hope that no one would see him driving such a vehicle.

Picking up speed the Rocsta once again traversed the oil palm plantation’s undulations, sped along the straightening road and headed towards the foothills of Tea Mountain, it was there that Melvyn’s stomach began to growl and so the jeep’s companions stopped, intending to take refreshment from a small Malay restaurant. Almost at once Melvyn regretted to decision, for as soon as they began to park, all eyes in the restaurant turned to look at the vision in pink Rocsta, not wishing to be noticed, and to hide his acute embarrassment Melvyn pressed his foot hard down on the accelerator sped off again, towards the foothills of Tea Mountain, and eventually to a quiet picnic spot. It was there that the three companions ate the food, and drank the drinks carefully prepared earlier by bomoh Clark.

Towards Tea Mountain

Firstly my apologies for the lateness of this story. The telephone line to my kampung (village) was cut and the copper stolen. I have only just got telephone and internet access again.



The morning light beheld not only Chinese vampires turning to dust but revealed the rural splendour of bomoh Clark’s house and surrounds.

The attap roofed house was partially surrounded by fruiting trees. At the rear grew a towering breadfruit tree spreading its huge green leaves wavering in the morning sunlight, and beneath it, to one side, grew a rambutan tree shot through with bright, red, hairy, fruit, coconut trees loomed over them both threatening to drop their hard headed fruits like ballistas at a siege, while large leaved banana plants proffered their fruit - in hands.

Clark had taken both time and trouble to develop his compound, to plant and care for the trees over many years, nurturing lemon grass, pandan, some small chilli bushes, curry leaf plants and kafir lime trees, the last being only three feet high but producing enough leaves to be used, even though there was no fruit as yet. To all intent and purposes Clark was self sufficient. He had chickens running freely across the compound, a few white ducks to waddle idly by and a shed full of quail, which he reared for both the eggs and the birds themselves. A small local Sikh dairy supplied Clark with fresh cow’s milk every other day, and sometimes left a plastic bag or two of the Indian sweet lassi drink which Clark had developed a particular taste for.

Clark was in his bedroom. The Geek and Just-Abangah just happened to be loitering outside, and overheard Clark talking. It was a strange one-sided conversation, and, if they didn’t know that Clark would be talking with his spirit guide Narayan, they may have thought his suffering from the delusions of schizophrenia, or some other psychological misfortune. “Yes, yes, I know, really, where, are you sure. Well if you say so, up there, they got there quickly, ah yes of course I should have known, yes I’ll tell him, no it’s ok it’s no problem.” And so the conversation went on. The Geek and Just-Abangah looked at each other, shrugged and wandered off as one-sided conversations were quite boring, and even less informative.

Clark took the mug of Boh tea Melvyn had brewed for him and started to relay the gist of the talk he had with Narayan. Clark said that the djinn and hantu had taken Aisah to the old dredge, and there met up with a dark figure Narayan hadn’t recognised. After spending one night there, they had rushed on to the foothills of Tea Mountain, and were, at this very moment breaching the top of the Mountain and heading down into the forests below. Narayan could only guess at their destination, but it seemed that they might be travelling deep into the equatorial rain forests towards the lost lands of Lenyap, where the wizard council met. “You mean they are taking her to Djinba, is that what you’re saying Clark, to Djinba.” “Look, I don’t know, Narayan could only see so much, it was like he was being blocked, but what he saw I have told you, Melvyn I simply don’t know any more to help you.”

Melvyn the bomoh sat nursing his own mug of muddy tea, the wisps of steam curling from the surface reminded him of Ali the djinn who he had once called friend, but now has taken Melvyn’s wife and seemed to be heading towards a snakes nest. There was a sharp crack and Melvyn’s mug of tea parted company from the mug’s handle and landed on the kitchen floor tiles, shattered and spilt tea over Melvyn’s slippers and across the kitchen floor. Melvyn stood with the handle in his hand apologising to Clark. Together they cleaned the spillage then Clark put his arm around Melvyn and let him sob just a few tears, enough to be manly but not too many to be thought a girlie.
A very determined Melvyn gathered his small crew together and they all piled into the Rocsta jeep. Clark handed them a bundle of food stuffs and a drink or two, and, as he wished them well, wrote something in the dirt on the side of the jeep’s bonnet. “What’s that he’s written” asks Just-Abangah “Don’t really know” says the Geek half leaning out of the side window to get a good look “it reads like ‘Odd A.C.’ what on earth is that ” says the Geek. Melvyn smiles to himself and mutters “Oh it’s something from a cartoon on television, but spelling is not Clark’s forte ””But Melvyn, why’s he written about the air conditioning” Melvyn just let that pass and thought deep thoughts as they drove off leaving bomoh Clark waving at his door.

They followed the small roads through Kampung Kecil and out into another palm oil estate. There the roads weaved in and out and up and down following the undulations of the terrain through the ranks of regimented oil palm trees. Even in the morning light the deep recesses of the palm oil forest plantation looked eerie and somewhat desolate. As the crew looked each imagined being lost inside there, lonely and confused, not knowing one row of palm trees from another, and, perhaps, dying a very lonely death trying to find an exit. As they passed there was herd of domesticated cows wandering close to the road, the normality of the herd only sought to give an extra eeriness to the plantation. The plantations seemed to go on for miles and miles, each mile very much like the last with only the appearance of large monitor lizards to break the monotony.

The Rocsta was making good time and the crew were a little more light-hearted armed, as they were, with Narayan’s guidance. Melvyn had a good idea where to go and how to get there and so didn’t notice the small figure half hidden behind one of the oil palms. The figure had been waiting for Melvyn’s appearance ever since it was known that the Chinese vampires had failed in their mission.

The figure, one wizard Waadbi, was one of the less adept wizards, but he had his uses. For a long time the wizard Waadbi had been leader of the wizard council, but over the years, due to age and neglect of his craft, his powers had sorely diminished, so his position in the council diminished too. Waadbi was left with few working spells, unfortunately for him he never remembered just which were the working spells, and those he half remembered, or remembered wrongly – this normally caused chaos for those around him. If the truth be told he had been sent on this mission to stop Melvyn, more to get him out of the way than any harm he could actually impose upon Melvyn or anyone who was with him.

Wizard Waadbi chuckled an almost insane chuckle as he waved his short black ebony wand and cast a spell towards Melvyn and the Rocsta, he rubbed his hands together in a very theatrical style and felt well pleased with himself, until, that is, a large pink rose appeared in the air over the Rocsta and exploded into little pink love shaped hearts, which fell cascading down over the jeep. “What the heck” shouted the Geek “Wah pretty” cooed Just-Abangah as he stared wide-eyed at the show, next appeared a large menacing eagle which swooped towards the jeep, and, just as it was about to collide with the vehicle, turned into a flock of cartoon bluebirds and flowers. “What is going on” cried the Geek, ”Oh we’re under attack from a very inept wizard, and I know just who, silly bloody old fool” said Melvyn “Who” cried the Geek and Just-Abangah together “It’s that old fool Waadbi, trying to stop us - idiot” the last Melvyn said under his breath.

Wizard Waadbi tried again, he wiped the magic wand on his wizard gown then waved it vigorously in the air – multi-coloured little ponies filled the air above the jeep for a second or two then disappeared. “Damn” the wizard said to himself “Oh Nana darling I always tell you not to change the settings on granddad’s wand” as he realised that his granddaughter had once again being playing with his magical instrument. “Ok, one last try” and with that he waved the wand, muttered something in Arabic, and immediately the jeep stopped going forward and began to go backwards, “Aha” he said “Well at least that’s something” and the jeep sped backwards down the road and round a bend.

“Stupid old idiot” Melvyn cursed. “Can’t you do something Melvyn” called Just-Abangah, “Well I can” replied Melvyn “but none of us are going to like it.” The Geek and Melvyn looked at each other puzzled. “I can do this” Melvyn said, and swung the jeep around quickly but now instead of going backwards they were going forwards, but in the same direction. “Mmm this is serious” said Melvyn and serious situations call for serious measures.

Melvyn jammed on the brakes, took the gearstick quickly out of gear and stopped the jeep. He got out and wandered around the oil palms picking a flower here, a flower there and the occasional fungi which he plucked from one of the trees. With almost an armful of flowers, herbs and fungi Melvyn began grinding some with stones and breaking the others until there was a little heap in front of him. Melvyn put his hands into the heap and said some words half in Arabic and half in Sanskrit. The heap trembled, the earth trembled, the air wavered and a scantily glad woman appeared from out of nowhere. “Hello big boy” the apparition said “Yeah, hi yourself” replied a less than happy Melvyn “Why Melvy delvy you’re not glad to see your little shaky waky. “No I’m bloody well not” said Melvyn to himself.

Perchance to Dream

Leaving the Chinese vampire safely standing in the corner with the lampshade over its head, the slightly shaken guests helped bomoh Clark to set the chairs upright again, wipe the remains of water buffalo curry from the table, chairs and floor, and wash and put away the dishes before retiring to the room Clark had set aside for them.

It was a simple room, no bed just three thin mattresses on the floor, an electric fan, a constantly flickering light bulb sending off its own version of Morse’s famous code, and tendrils of gently curling smoke from three green mosquito coils. The room smelled a little stuffy, as if cockroaches had nominated it as their burial ground some centuries ago, but had finally moved out because of the stink. After the busy day they all had the room, though stuffy was a welcome haven, and each traveller relished the opportunity to lay their aching bones in orderly heaps and get some sleep. Tomorrow Melvyn had to tell Clark about Aisah and her abduction, and he wasn’t looking forward to that.

To be on the safe side Melvyn insisted that Just-Abangah sleep nearer the door, for Melvyn had no intention of being gassed again during the night. The Geek, who now seemed very attached to the boy Just-Abangah, volunteered to sleep by his side, Melvyn took the spot furthest from them as he could, sometimes it paid to keep your distance. Like a scene from the TV series The Waltons Just-Abangah started to say “Good night Geek, good night Melvyn” when a heavy object hit him squarely on the head, Just-Abangah stopped and a well pleased Melvyn turned over and went straight to sleep. The heavy object turned out to be a psychoanalysis book, which lay opened at page twenty-five.

A weary Melvyn closed his eyes and shut out his two fellow travellers, the room, his troubles and consensus reality and fell almost immediately into a deep sleep.
For Melvyn to dream was like having a free seat in a cinema to watch a movie which felt familiar but which, nevertheless, had been chosen by someone else. He was always thrilled to have dreamed, and sometimes spent hours trying to dissect the meanings behind the dream symbols, at other times brushed them aside as meaningless, he was fickle that way.

The curtains to Melvyn’s personal cinema opened, he skipped the adverts and the woman with the choc ices and went straight into the main feature. Melvyn dreamed that there was a tree deep in the forest, perhaps a mangostein tree, with thirteen wolves sitting in the tree, but when he looks again the wolves appeared as cats, each cat has its tail hanging down straight. Melvyn couldn’t tell which sort of cats they were, for as soon as he tried to observe one properly it changed to another type of cat, this irked Melvyn. Dreams should be precise he felt, otherwise how were you going to unravel their innate message. Melvyn was a great one for dream messages, and thought they were better than SMS.

The cats’ tails turned in to furry snakes, and each snake spat one mangostein seed onto the floor of the forest, each mangostein seed sprouted and became a ghost which appeared seated at a long wooden dining table. The thirteen ghosts were waiting for supper, but also waiting for a guest who never seems to appear, there is the name Todog in Melvyn’s head, but he doesn’t know why. Nevertheless the thirteen, now hungry, ghosts wait before they can begin their supper. No one talks at the supper, there is no sound at all, each ghost mimes to the others in an obscure sign language, to Melvyn it feels like they are all drowning in silence. As the dream progresses all the ghosts grow old and die, still waiting for Todog at the dining table, their bodies turn to dust as does the table. The collective dust is blown together by a mysterious wind and becomes a singular mangostein tree on which there are thirteen cats with their tails hanging down. Melvyn, in the dream, says to himself “this is where I came in”, throws imaginary popcorn to the floor, drains his imaginary waxed paper cup of liquid carbonated caffeine, family size, and wakes up.

Melvyn wakes to the urgent sound of tap, tap, tapping and fears it’s the Chinese vampires returning again, this time coming from the roof. Melvyn quickly wakes Just-Abangah and the Geek “Quick, wake up, the vampires are back we have to get ready”“It’s Clark, Melvyn, he’s mending the roof”, says a bleary eyed and still sleepy Just-Abangah “He told me he was going to, last night” “He did” replies a doubting Melvyn, doubting that is until he listens properly to the rat, tat tapping in the rhythm of hammer on nails. “Ah” says Melvyn “Always pays to be cautious, just thought I’d test you, ok go back to sleep” “Sleep” says the Geek, “he’s been asleep most of the morning, its time he got up”. “Ah, such is family life” replies Melvyn giving Just-Abangah a gentle but meaningful kick in the ribs, to which Just –Abangah gave a hurt look in reply, then realising no one was noticing gave a tiny smile, practically to himself.

“It’s gone” shouted Melvyn to the others, while looking at the corner of the room where the Chinese vampire should be standing, its absence highlighted by strong sunlight casting a white glow in the vampire’s place. Melvyn prodded a heap of dust with his foot and gradually uncovered the yellow paper with Taoists writing on, and a staple. “Seems I was a little wrong about sunlight and vampires, though I thought they only turned to dust in the movies” confessed a slightly confused Melvyn. “I’ll have to re-think my lamp-stand idea now” moaned Just-Abangah. The Geek raised one eyebrow, decided it was the wrong one and raised the other, higher, for effect.

“I’ll sweep that up in a minute” mentions a nonchalant Clark as he re-enters the house after mending the hole in the attap roof made by the vampire, the previous night, “how about some breakfast I’ve got some frozen roti cannai somewhere” says Clark moving towards the kitchen.

Over breakfast a hesitant Melvyn tells Clark about the events concerning his surgery, his strawberry jam and Aisah, in that order. Clark gives his condolences, lacking surprise, and mentions that he already knew “Narayan, my spirit guide, had been gossiping with friends of the two bind sisters, in the kampung, on the spirit-net, a little like the internet but in the spirit world - and not using a computer.” “The two blind sisters, what, do you mean they are spirits” ejects a surprised Melvyn, “No dear boy but they are spirit mediums, I’m surprised you didn’t know, them being in your kampung and all” Melvyn looked a little shame-faced and went to give an excuse, looked around the inside of his mind, opened a draw here and a cupboard there but couldn’t find one to hand, so stayed uncustomary quiet.

Clark continued to tell of news from spirit-net “Melvyn you remember the ruckus between Djinba and his former friend Nrawa, and that Nrawa was imprisoned and escaped” “Er, yes but that was ages ago, practically history these days, or myth depending upon your view” “Well some say that Nrawa is back, or at the very least trying to make a come-back, and that Djinba is marshalling his forces to stop a take-over.” “Oh come on Clark, man, you don’t believe those fairy stories do you””Oh but I do Melvyn”, Clark continued “And some people say that those bomohs, spirits, ghosts and wizards who are not with Djinba are naturally held to be against him, like you and I Melvyn and a few others. Why do you think there are more than usual Chinese ghosts and vampires about, why do you really think old Ali has run off with your wife – because he’s taken a fancy to her, I don’t think so Melvyn, I really don’t, honestly, do you” this last was said with such a force and conviction that Melvyn was shocked into seriously thinking about the things Clark had said.

“But, come-back, how, how would Nrawa make a come-back””Melvyn it seems that Nrawa has been far from idle in his absence, and in fact has been making secret visits to some very important people, gaining support, maybe even enough to challenge Djinba outright and take his power base from him.””But Clark what would that mean, a war””I’m not too sure Melvyn, but it ain’t going to be pleasant, there’s going to be some upsets, and we are all going to have to finally decide which side we are on, especially us on the fringe as it were, those of us who have never sought to concern ourselves with these wizardly politicking.” “Damn” says Melvyn.

“My sole concern, at present, is to get my wife back, what happens after that, happens” replies Melvyn, “Melvyn it may not be as simple as that, not now.””We’ll see” says an unconvinced Melvyn “We’ll see.”

The Origin of Bomoh Clark

Having just narrowly escaped the clutches of both Chinese ghosts and vampires lurking outside, the three weary travellers, Melvyn the bomoh, the Geek and Just-Abangah (the human boy), practically fell through bomoh Clark’s open doorway.

The Geek and Just-Abangah heaved hefty sighs of relief simultaneously, and at the same time. There was tap, tap, tapping on the wooden door as one persistent Chinese vampire banged its outstretched arms against the wood, seemingly unable to grasp the concept of no entry - the tapping punctuated the perusing conversation under bomoh Clark’s neatly crafted attap roof.

“Melvyn, old mushroom eater, lovely to see you old dear and these are,” Melvyn hesitantly introduced Just-Abangah and the Geek, and then thanked bomoh Clark for his hospitality,” And is that beef rendang I smell” asks a more than hungry Melvyn knowing full well it was, and in a roundabout way asking to be fed “Certainly is, Narayan told me you’d be hungry” “Who’s Nararyan” said an innocent seventeen year old boy unfamiliar with the pleasantries you have to observe in other people’s houses - a simple clip round the ear from Melvyn stopped the question abruptly. Just-Abangah looked at Melvyn, a small tear in his eye and Melvyn instantly regretted his action.

“It’s ok Melvyn, I can tell the boy, it’s not a problem, I’m not sensitive about it anymore.” “But first sit yourselves down and eat, I’ll tell you all you want to know later”, and so they did. Bomoh Clark had prepared an excellent meal of water buffalo rendang and yellow glutinous rice creamy with coconut milk, to be washed down with pink air bandang.

“Ah water buffalo” said a well pleased Melvyn “Yes, much easier to get here than beef, sweeter and more tender, I find” replied a smiling Clark. “More a buff-a-goodbye then, than a buff-alo, I should have thought” quipped Melvyn in customary bad taste. Just-Abangah and the Geek just looked on speechless. For a few minutes there was silence as the guests ate, digging in with their right hands and expediting the food to their mouths, and beyond, as quickly as any guest at a wedding feast. The silence became a little prolonged as each concentrated on the task literally at hand, except, of course, for the persistent tapping of vampire on wooden door.

As they rested, after bloating themselves on copious helpings of Clark’s generously prepared food, bomoh Clark told Just-Abangah and the Geek his story, Melvyn listened again out of politeness, which was unusual for Melvyn, as some believed he didn’t have one polite bone in his body, which of course was entirely untrue, Melvyn did in fact have one polite bone in his body, he just kept it well hidden – just in case, in case of what no one knows, but nevertheless just in case.

Bomoh Clark, given the name of Al Kal by his foster parents, was born who knows where and who knows when, but it is known that shortly after his birth he was abandoned in a rattan basket outside a circus in a country to the north. As Al Kal grew he demonstrated that he was much stronger than other kids his approximate age, and eventually became a strong boy, then a strong man in the circus, his billing was ‘AL KAL - STRONGEST MAN IN THE UNIVERSE’ which may have been a little pretentious as there was no-one around to gainsay what may, or may not be taking place on other planets in this universe, and therefore gave the doubt, if not the lie, to the claim.

But strong he undoubtedly was. At sixteen Al Kal could wrestle a fully grown water buffalo to the ground, at twenty he could best an adult male orang-utan and at twenty-five was bored with wrestling animals. Eventually came the day when Al Kal decided to give up circus life and settle down, he kept the suit generously provided by the circus manager as by then he had grown used to the large ‘S’ on his front and the underpants over the tights – his life never felt right without them, and at times he would creep into small places, like telephone booths, just to don them, and, over time, the constant wearing of the circus clothes became a habit.

By the time Al Kal gave up the circus he had been having weird dreams, he put it down to separation anxiety and thought no more of it. But the dreams kept coming, then he began to hear voices during the day - yes I know we all hear voices during the day, but these were of people who were not there, and not on the telephone either. Al Kal was gaining the ability of talking to spirits. It was a gift his parents had and genetically passed to their son. At first it was most disconcerting, but over time he got used to their idle chatter – which spirit was mad because they no longer could have their hair permed, who really really wanted to eat durian but could no longer taste it, which hantu wasn’t talking to which other hantu etc etc etc.

Eventually one voice persisted and started to guide Al Kal in talking with the other spirits, that was Narayan, a spirit Indian from Tamil Nadu. It is customary, in these cases, that the ‘spirit guide’ be a ‘red Indian’, that is an Indian from a tribe in either North America or Canada. But Al Kal came to being a ‘spirit medium’, some say medium rare but you shouldn’t listen to gossip really, a little late in life and all the good guides were gone, so he had to take what was left and that was Narayan. Ever since those first few days of Al Kal hearing Bollywood film music in his head, without the benefit of earphones, they had struck up a good relationship, and often gossiped, or danced the bhangra, late into the night together. As Narayan gave Al Kal a sort of second sight it was only natural for Al Kal to seek a new career in a profession which accepted such things - as a bomoh. Narayan liked the name Clark, and so Al Kal became the bomoh Clark.

It was at this point in the narration when, meal eaten and story over, all hell broke loose, as they say.

Bomoh Clark had only just finished talking when they all heard a terrible crash and flying attap. A large Chinese man with greenish white furry skin, wearing a Qing dynasty costume, fell through the attap roofing of Clark’s house. The noise alone was frightening, but the realisation of having to face one of the infamous hopping Chinese vampires was stomach churningly bad, not to mention the fact that it had landed in the remains of Clark’s marvellous water buffalo rendang, as Melvyn had already observed.

Chinese hopping vampires, also known as Chiang Shin, or Jiangshi, were undead who feed off the energy of the living, their skin is a ghostly pallor and frequently turning green with mould. Often these vampires would be seen hopping with their arms outstretched as they are caught in rigor mortis and it is painful for them to walk – all this Melvyn remembered in a twinkling of an eye as he watched the vampire jump towards him.

“Ok everyone, hold your breaths, Chinese vampires cannot see you if you hold your breath” and with that Melvyn held his breath and disappeared in the mind of the vampire, which then started to jump in circles confused, knocking over Clark’s dining chairs and sending plates shattering to the floor. The milling of the vampire caused a great anxiety until ‘praaaak’ “Excuse me, I’m a little nervous” said Just-Abangah as a strong dirty smell started to fill the room - at once they all shouted “Oh! Just-Abangah, you farted.” Then the vampire was hopping after them again, arms outstretched.

The vampire lunged at the Geek, but being small he was able just to duck and squirm away from the creature, then as it went after Just-Abangah it tripped over an upturned chair and fell face down onto the wooden floorboards. Rallying itself the vampire then went after Clark, but quickly diving bomoh Clark was able to reach his wood and leather magic chest, he hastily flung open the lid, again knocking the vampire of its feet, then rummaged inside until he had a piece of yellow paper in his hand, which was just as well as the vampire was practically on top of him again. Deftly Clark stuck the yellow paper, with Chinese Taoist writing on one side, onto the vampire’s forehead, and it stopped, frozen.

“Whew” said Clark, “I was given that by an old Chinese man I knew, he said it might come in handy” “Ok” said Melvyn “The thing’s not dead just frozen, do we have any female virgin’s pee handy” Each went through the motions of looking through their pockets and tapping their trousers then said, almost in a chorus “No!”. “Clark do you have a sword made of Chinese copper coins, tied with red string” “Er, no Melvyn” was his earnest reply. “Drat, then we can’t kill it, only keep it until daylight when it will be incapacitated by the light”.

And so, for the rest of that night they kept the Chinese vampire in the corner of the room with the yellow paper firmly fixed to its forehead, in fact, just to make sure it wouldn’t suddenly drop off, Melvyn used a stapler and stapled it there. Just-Abangah found a standard lamp shade and put it over the Chinese vampire’s head saying “There that’s better, make good lamps and hat stands these things, we could set up a franchise” the Geek, who had been pretty silent throughout gave a little groan and slapped his own head in disbelief.

Kampung Kecil

Pak Cik and Mak Cik came running out of their blue painted stilt house in time to see Melvyn and the Geek disappearing up the road in their Rocsta jeep, Melvyn was giving a small nonchalant wave out of the driver’s window, “Bloody bomohs” Pak Cik would have been heard to say if there were anyone else to hear other than his slightly deaf wife. “It’s Melvyn Ma, it’s him in our jeep, where’s our Abungah, where is he Ma?” for the last bit of the sentence Pak Cik had to raise his voice so that his wife could hear. Mak Cik pointed towards the disappearing Rocsta, “No Mak, where is our Abungah” this time said with more than a little irritation in the husband’s voice, “Put your glasses on old man, look at our jeep, there, waving from the back window” and she was right, there was the distinctive hand of their loving younger son Abungah waving frantically from the rear window as Melvyn and the Rocsta crew rounded the corner and was gone from Pak Cik and Mak Cik’s sight.

“Melvyn, Melvyn we have a passenger” the Geek shouted and jumped up and down excitedly on the passenger seat of the Rocsta. “Don’t be stupid, I know you’re here you don’t have to make a fuss “”No it’s not me, there is someone on the back seat.” Having rounded the corner Melvyn briefly stopped the jeep and turned to look into the back seat. A teenage human boy looked sheepishly, and a little bleary eyed, back at Melvyn and gave a little coy wave.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my jeep”, said Melvyn ignoring the fact that he had just stolen the jeep, the boy looked back, grimaced, then smiled a smile which declared to the whole world, not just to Melvyn and the Geek – I’m stupid, in other words the typical smile of a seventeen-year-old male. “Er, Abungah, sir” “And what is an erabungah” asked Melvyn “No it’s just Abungah” said Abungah, “Ok Just-Abungah, what are you doing in my jeep” “Sorry, sir, but I was guarding it and fell asleep””Guarding it from what” said a curious Melvyn “From bomohs who might want to steal the jeep in the middle of the night, sir” smartly replied Just-Abungah. The Geek jumped up and down some more on the passenger seat then rolled over with laughter, he said “Boy, I like you.”

“Ok, out” said Melvyn “Er, I can’t” said Just-Abungah “And why not””Because this is only a two door car and I can’t get out until one of you moves and opens the door” “Mmm good point” Melvyn tentatively agreed. The Geek made to open the door and Just-Abungah reached over the back of the passenger seat and stopped him “Look, I’m sure that wherever you are going, and whatever you are doing is much more exciting than being here, can I come?” “What” said Melvyn, “You want us to kidnap you?” “Well no” said Just-Abungah “By the way what is that!” Just-Abungah remarked pointing to the Geek, “A friend” said Melvyn “Oh am I, oh am I” said the over excited and faintly sarcastic Geek “Shut down and sit up” was the reply from Melvyn. “Don’t you mean shut up and sit down” said the Geek “I know what I mean” said Melvyn. “I can be very useful, O and I got some money” interjected Just-Abungah, as an afterthought, “How much” said a thinking Melvyn “About two hundred ringgit” Just-Abungah ejected but didn’t elaborate on how useful he could be. Melvyn did some quick calculations and smiled an inner smile.

“Ok, give me the money then get out” “I’d rather stay” said Just-Abungah “Don’t you argue with me I am a bomoh”, said the bomoh “I might turn you into a frog, or worse - half a frog” with that Just-Abungah looked just like a seventeen-year-old who had his hopes crushed, he started to cry. “Oh no not tears, what are you a girl” said a very unsympathetic Melvyn. “ Nobody ever wants me to be with them, I’m always left out, they don’t even pick me for sepak takraw (sepak bola)” and Just-Abungah moaned on sniffing back the tears also dribbling down his nose until eventually Melvyn, instead of turning the boy into a frog, or even half a frog, said “Ok, ok, you can come, just stop with the earache ok!” Just-Abungah smiled and wiped his tears with his over large white shirt, then blew his nose of the sleeve. The Geek smiled too, he had a liking for this boy. Melvyn saw the mucus on the boy’s sleeve and gave a shiver of disgust.

Melvyn told Just-Abungah the story so far, about the wreck of the surgery, the stolen jam and his wife gone missing – in that order. He re-started the jeep, which had stalled, and in another belch of black diesel smoke drove on. Just-Abungah neglected to mention his little secret to Melvyn, and kept it firmly tucked inside a little drawer somewhere in a chest-of-drawers, in a small room, hidden in the kampung house which is his mind.

“So where we off to” was a natural enough question from Just-Abungah, and “Mind your own bloody business” was a natural enough answer if you were Melvyn. The Geek went to join Just-Abungah on the back seat, and they sat there talking together as Melvyn steered the Rocsta out of the kampung and onto the main road heading northwest.
After a few minutes a little guilt, or was it a little humanity, pricked Melvyn’s hard to find conscience “Ok we’re going to meet a friend of mine, another bomoh by the name of Al Kal, but prefers the name Clark. Before he became a bomoh he was a circus strong man in the country up north, we’re going to see if he can help, see if he knows what’s going on, ok?” The last ‘ok’ was said in a manner which indicates that if it isn’t ok, then tough. “It’s in a place called Kampung Kecil, a little off the beaten track but we should be ok in this,” indicating the jeep.

Melvyn drove through the small town, around the back, across the railway bridge and off onto a small side turning to the left. He followed the twisting turning track until it led him onto a path just wide enough for the jeep and alongside the railway line, this he followed until the path eventually widened onto an old tarmac road. This seemingly deserted road took his past small mining pools and some old houses built in the long roof style, known locally as rumah kutai or Indonesian house style. These impressive, but now decaying, wooden houses were scattered along the road which led towards a river. Melvyn slowed the jeep just a fraction to glimpse at their antique splendour as he passed.

He followed the road until it went over two bridges, and, at the second pulled of the main road once more onto a dirt side road which led through a huge palm oil estate. He followed this for a few kilometres, again past small mining pools and tiny kampungs (villages). By now the light was beginning to fade and Melvyn could see the Geek getting visibly nervous.

“We’re not going to be out at night are we, are we” “Shouldn’t think so” said Melvyn “Only I’m a bit worried about ghosts””D’yer mean hantu” said Just-Abungah “No, he means ghosts, Chinese ghosts, there was a lot of tin mining around here and there are many Chinese souls trapped on earth in this area, there are Chinese ghosts and Chinese vampires here too, but they only come out at night, don’t worry we should be ok in this” Melvyn said tapping the jeep’s steering wheel. Just then an all white figure hopped like a bizarre kangaroo across the dirt path, its arms were straight out in front of it and they could all see the red lights in its eyes as it turned its head to look at them. The Geek and Just-Abungah called “Aio, aio” in tandem and clasped each other for comfort.

Luckily Kampung Kecil was just ahead and Melvyn drove the jeep as close to bomoh Clark’s house as he could. The lights were on and bomoh Clark (alias Al Kal) came out to meet them as the jeep pulled up. “Why is he wearing an ‘S’ on his T-shirt, and why is he wearing his underpants on top of a pair of women’s tights” enquired Just-Abangah. “Don’t ask too many stupid questions, boy, let’s get in out of this night first shall we” whispered a weary Melvyn.

Toyol

Aisah felt the soft cold touch of the Toyol on her arm making her mentally shiver in places she didn’t know could shiver. She felt repulsed by the creature, sickened as she recalled all that Melvyn had told about these beings.

Aisah and Melvyn had been going to see Aisah’s parents, not a thing Melvyn particularly wanted to do, but marriage is all about give and take so he had resigned himself to such things. Aisah was searching high and low for one of her white gold and diamond studded tudung broaches Melvyn had given her as a wedding gift. She had looked in her jewellery box on the dressing table, by the kitchen sink, the wash basin in the bathroom, on the wooden stool next to the bed and finally under the bed too. The broach could not be found anywhere. It was then that Melvyn has mentioned about the creatures which crept into houses and stole jewels and other precious, and sometimes not even precious, items – the Toyol.

There are many rumours about the Toyol, gui zai or kwee kia – ghost child. Most seem to agree that they are the magically re-animated bodies of dead child foetuses, tiny and a bit like the zombies known from the Haiti voodoo culture, but behave more like the goblins of western folklore. These putrid green or decaying greenish blue beings are renowned for their cunning, stealth and ability to keep themselves hidden. Often on instructions from a master, who keeps these creatures by having their name on a tablet, hidden away, as a means of control, they will creep into houses and steal items often right from under the occupants’ nose. However they are neither bright, nor intelligent and may be distracted by smooth, round, shiny stones or other bright attractive objects, a little like magpies. Toyol are frightened of needles and pins, and it is often said that some people keep needles under their precious jewellery to ward off Toyol.

Melvyn had eventually found the broach in Aisah’s white handbag, but it had been a good opportunity to warn her of these beings, and the very next time Aisah asked Melvyn to hand her one of her gold bracelets from her jewellery box he had pricked his finger on a hidden needle, Melvyn stood there both smiling at his wife’s resourcefulness and cursing at the blood it had drawn from his finger.

Now, as Aisah recoiled from the tiny touch, she felt a swoosh of air and heard a ‘cur-thud’, then tiny whimpering noises as Hamal the Hantu Raja stretched across behind Aisah, and aimed a well connecting blow at the Toyol nearest to her, sending it flying into a group of others somewhere behind Aisah. For some reason Hamal now felt a little protective towards Aisah. He had carried her for most of the day and it seems had formed a bond with her. No one, other than Ali the djinn that is, was going to harm her while Hamal was around, and maybe not even Ali. Somewhere in his abstract creature mind Hamal had said “mine” and laid claim to Aisah, probably in the way that a small girl would take home a stray kitten, without having a clue as to what it actually meant to look after it.

In the other room Aisah could still hear the voices of Ali and the other, the one who let them into this dredger dungeon. He was a strange character, she thought to herself. He didn’t show himself/itself any of the time Aisah had been there, and she was beginning to wonder why. Was he naturally secretive, was he hiding from something, just what was the creature/person and what were they doing out here in a mine dredger, in the middle of the middle of nowhere, alone.

At some point Aisah drifted off into whatever kind of sleep she could have under the circumstances, and woke to dusty dim daylight slipping into the nether regions of the dredger. As she woke she could feel someone tugging at her tied wrists, it was Hamal making her wrists free so that she could eat. In front of her was a small bowl of rice porridge and a fried fish laid on the top. She looked at Hamal and somehow his grotesque shape seemed to soften a little, and momentarily she saw the shape of her mother, then it was gone. Afterwards she was never really sure if it had happened or not, but that was the way of the Hantu Raja - illusion and Mesmer. Aisah felt bad that she was unable to pray. She had practised her five daily prayers ever since before her puberty, and this was the only time in her life when she wasn’t able to pray, bound as she was and held captive, but she was certain that Allah understood.

While Aisah took her breakfast she could still hear voices coming through the walls, this time much louder. “....what he wants.” “.......probably till her use it at an end.....” “Oil of Petra....about, shhhh, not so loud, no one’s to know.” Listening to the voices intrigued Aisah. She could only hear fragments of the conversation, and couldn’t understand the context but it was information and any information could prove useful under the circumstances. “........Melvyn......out of way.....stubborn....never go along with it” Aisah’s ears pricked up when she heard her husband’s name, and then began to realise that her kidnapping was part of a much larger plan, somehow involving her husband, now if only she could hear more and put some of those pieces together. But it was no good, Hamal, though a little soft on her, was nevertheless still guarding her and would obviously not put up with any nonsense.

Then Aisah heard something, a name maybe “Djinba”. Djinba, djinba she knew that name from somewhere, now where had she heard it. Aisah nearly cracked her head trying to remember where she had heard that name before, and then, all of a sudden, it came to her. It was a legend. It was a story her father used to tell to frighten the kids into not going out at night. Her father would say “don’t you go out there or old Djinba will catch you and eat you right up” cheekily Aisah would say “He’ll have to catch me first” then her father would say “Catch you, it would be too easy for him to catch you as he has spells and magic coming out of his ears to catch you, he’s so powerful l that you would catch yourself and present yourself to him for a snack.” But they were only stories, she thought to herself, nothing real, just legends, myth, fantasy weren’t they - weren’t they.

There was something else she remembered. There was another part to that story. The legend said that many many years ago when all the kampungs were young there was a grand council of bomoh wizards who oversaw everything, and their magic kept everything in order, partly through illusion like the Hantu Raja but also partly through corrupt laws and their reinforcement by creatures conjured by the bomoh wizards and kampung bomohs working with them. But there was one bomoh wizard, equal it is said to the grand Djinba himself, called Nrawa, who had once been part of the council but opposed their evil and corrupt ways and was caste out. Initially the council imprisoned Nrawa, but he was so powerful that it was found that no prison could hold him, and he escaped. Aisah couldn’t remember any more of that legend, couldn’t remember what happened to Nrawa in the end.

Girl Napped

The thud, thud, thud of large heavy feet hitting the ground at a run woke Aisah from her chloroform induced slumber. Try as she might she couldn’t even manage to say, “where am I” or “what happened”, the bitter tasting gag so rudely poked into her mouth prevented any form of speech other than coughing and gurgling sounds.

The thrumbing of running feet continued as Aisah was jiggled up and down under the thick smelly arm of her abductor, who, all to obviously, didn’t use an under arm deodorant and judging from other smells didn’t use any other form of deodorant or soap. The last Aisah remembered was her fright as the surgery door was broken off its hinges by some large man mis-shaped creature and Ali the djinn rushing towards her, then the awful smell of what could have only been chloroform and sleep. Not a sweet natural sleep either but a weary, woozy fuzzy sort of sleep, which still made her feel a little cotton woolish and strange headed.

What Aisah was not to know, until later, was that Ali had arrived at Melvyn’s surgery with two large Hantu Raya which appear to be shape-shifting spirits. Together the three wrecked the surgery the best they could, destroying as much of the lotions and potions Melvyn needed for his bomoh practise as possible and stealing as much djinn tonic they could carry, oh yes and abducting Aisah too.

The very thing about using the Hantu Raya was that people saw what they wanted to see in them, and so were perfect for a kidnapping and getaway. There was something mesmerising about these Hantu and they appeared to shift their shapes, but the reality was they altered the perceptions of those seeing them, so instead of seeing a large man-shaped thing carrying a frightened kidnapped girl people saw what they wanted – a cousin, an aunt, their next door neighbour, instead. Stories were told about men marrying beautiful girls only to discover they had in fact wed to a Hantu Raya, but the main thing to understand about the Hantu Raya was that they had masters. They were not like other Hantu, or ghosts, and did the bidding of their masters, indicating that there was someone or something behind Aisah’s abduction other than just Ali, who in this instance too was but a pawn.

Aisah ached. Maybe it was being held roughly by this thing’s arm, or the length of time she had been carried Aisah had no idea, but she ached from top to toe and it was the ache which prevented the normal fright and shock from taking over her system.

Her eyes now open Aisah could see Ali the djinn in front, and the other creature running beside her creature. It appeared they were running through one of the large oil palm estates, but which one Aisah could only guess. There were dogs about but they didn’t even bother to bark, no doubt mesmerised by the creatures’ appearance. Then Ali gave the sign to stop and his two beings stopped abruptly.

“I see you are awake my dear, and are guarding your thoughts, well done, you learn quickly.” Said a very snaky voiced Ali, practically devoid of the charm he had used when they first met. “Welcome to the world of intrigue” Ali said as he dramatically swept a manicured hand before him, “You will know all in good time, but unlike the villains on the screen I will not fill you in on what is happening now.” Aisah struggled with her gag and tried to say something, but gave up.

“Let me help you with that my dear,” Ali ventured as he intentionally roughly pulled the gag from Aisah’s mouth. She spat. It wasn’t clear if this was a gesture of defiance or simply to clear the spittle from her mouth, but probably meant as both. Aisah could feel the dryness of her mouth and the thickness of her tongue as she tried to say something pithy to Ali but ended up saying “brrr, grrr, smackhingfkyt” and looked acutely embarrassed at her lack of pith and indeed language.

The Hantu raya put Aisah down and gentlemanly Ali offered a 1 litre plastic bottle of water, Aisah went to reach up for it and realised that her hands were tied together, with a hateful look at Ali she lilted her head upwards for him to pour a little water into her mouth, which he did with obvious pleasure. Ali then received the full amount of water plus saliva in his face, and recoiled as is bitten by a large venomous snake. Aisah gave what she could of a smile. Ali’s automatic response would normally have been to smack her and smack her hard, but he was under orders not to harm her any more than could be helped, and so simply backed away, this time.

They had stopped in a large orchard plantation of oil palm trees. The giant trees loomed about them laden with the large clusters of brown oil producing fruit. The plantation was well kept and virtually clear of undergrowth and vines, so the four of them lounged with their backs up against the rough bark of the trees, hidden from all but the most enquiring eyes.

From nowhere it seemed Ali had produced eight packets of nasi lemak, laid them on the ground for the Hantu to take their share and began to eat one himself. Aisah looked on hungrily, but didn’t say a word. Ali finished his food and carefully untied Aisah’s hands after securing her legs with plastic twine, just in case she had any ideas of escape. He proffered a nasi lemak cone to her and she quickly scooped it up and busied herself eating with her fingers.

“Scream if you want. Shout, make a fuss, but I can assure you there is no one within earshot of us, so save yourself the bother Mrs Melvyn the Bomoh.” This Ali said in an almost sneering voice, as if goading Aisah, but why, she had no idea. “Don’t worry my dear, you’ll not be rescued until we want you to be, and by then it will be too late.” Aisah thought, “too late for what”, then she heard a cold laugh in her head, the sort of cold that hits you like an ice cream brain freeze and a laugh that bitterly reminded her that Ali was indeed a djinn.

Aisah must have dozed for she was woken by the Hantu Raya grabbing her again and Ali refastening her wrists. Then she was back under the unwashed armpit and they were running off again. The oil palm plantation seemed endless as tree after tree sped by almost hypnotically, but soon they had reached a small road and stopped. Ali scouted ahead and off they went down a sandy dirt track bordered by bushes of small pitcher plants and then across the tracks made between quite huge mining pools, now mostly used for fish or white duck farms.

They travelled for most of that day, stopping only on the odd occasion, and seemed to keep mostly to the countryside, the under inhabited areas where people tended to keep themselves to themselves, and their business strictly private. As night fell the group of in-humans and the abducted girl approached what appeared to be the remains of an old tin dredge. Ali motioned for the Hantu Raya to stop and he went ahead to investigate. Satisfied they were at the right place Ali beckoned for his companions to enter the old dredge. Inside was dark except for one small light in the distance and obviously in another room. Ali led the way and the two Hantu Raya struggled with their size inside the dredge, brushing up against the walls and nearly knocking Aisah out again on one. “Welcome Ali, welcome all, ah! I see we have another visitor” said a voice out of the darkness. Then some words to Ali that Aisah couldn’t properly hear and the visitors all squeezed into a small room with a candle light at one end. Frustratingly Aisah still hadn’t caught sight of the man, or creature, to whom the voice belonged.

It was not the most pleasant experience for Aisah. The abduction had been bad enough, the smelly armpit worse and the whole concept worse still but this small room and its eerie ambience was positively unnerving. Aisah could hear small rustlings and scratchings about her and dreaded to think what they were.

All of a sudden Aisah could feel something which resembled a tiny rasping hand on her arm, looking down all she could see were two red pinpoints of light. The tiny hand touched her again, pinching her arm. Aisah was terrified. What manner of creature is this, she thought, a rat with a human like hand, she mentally shook to rid herself of the image. One of the Hantu Raya, Hamal, who previously had not spoken to Aisah bent his head and spat out just one word, as if it were phlegm stuck in its throat – Toyol, and then actually spat disgustingly onto the dusty floorboards causing a small explosion of dust and lizard dropping particles into the already stuffy air, of the non-windowed room they were in.

In Pursuit

To destroy a man’s surgery was one thing, to run off with his wife was another but to steal a man’s Tiptree Strawberry jam was simply and literally beyond the pale. The pale being the small fence-like structure made of wooden stakes Melvyn had constructed more for show than to actually keep anyone or anything out, it added, Melvyn had thought, a certain bomohish rusticity to the ambience.

A saddened Melvyn cleared the remains of various jars of herb and unguents off his precious chair, slumped down and allowed himself a few tears. Melvyn was not by nature a man who easily broke down, but it was a lot to take in all at once and he needed to release the emotion which had built up ever since he saw the devastation, and realised that his wife was missing.

But beyond the sadness Melvyn was mad, more than that he was angry. He rallied his emotions, pegged them in order and started to get serious about the business of sorting things out. Melvyn had only been married a few short weeks, and had his strawberry jam for only two, and strawberry jam was very difficult to get hold of especially the Tiptree English strawberry jam which comes all the way from a small village in the heart of East Anglia, England. It was quite unthinkable that someone or something had been at his strawberry jam, and had taken his wife off.

Amidst all the chaos and debris a tell-tale thumbprint, left on a shard of a dark brown smoked earthenware jar, was a big clue, especially one that had no little swirls and whirls on it, and Melvyn knew why there were no little whirls on the thumbprint. Only human beings had thumbprints with swirls and whirls, or friction ridges, as some people called them, therefore no friction ridges ergo not human. Though Melvyn was not familiar with the finer details of Crime Scene Investigation he had enough basic insight to know when a thumb print belonged to a human or djinn, and this one definitely belonged to something not human and quite possibly a djinn. The other clue, which directly indicated a djinn at work, was the total absence of all those bottles of tonic Melvyn had put aside for djinns in general, but also one djinn in particular - Ali.

There was a familiar saying among bomohs – ‘never trust a djinn with a smile, better put distance between – at least a mile’, which basically meant that djinns were trustworthy only up to a certain point and a smile does not always mean they are friendly, especially one you call your friend. Melvyn had known Ali for number of years now, and although Ali had never done anything against Melvyn personally, Melvyn was well aware that Ali was constantly wearing a mask to his true feelings and intents, it was the way of djinn and branded into their very nature by fire and brimstone. So to comprehend that Ali was somehow involved in his wife’s abduction did not surprise Melvyn, just saddened him a little more.

“They went thataway”. A small crackly voice broke into Melvyn’s thoughts. “Pardon, who said that” said a cautious Melvyn being more polite than he felt. “I said they went - thataway” said a small voice belonging to a small thin person reaching up to Melvyn’s knee, and at the moment very tempted to head-but it. “I’ve always wanted to say that” said a little man “There through the back of the kampung, there were three of them, a large fella, djinn I think, and two smaller, though also large fellas, not sure what they were, carrying a shouty moaning woman and lots of jars.”

Looking down Melvyn saw a Geek. For some genetic reason Geeks always looked like seventeen year boys with acne, but smaller, even the females. They were slender, about two feet tall, and must have had a picture in their attics which kept them permanently ugly. Geeks were rarely seen these days, they tended to hide themselves away and keep themselves amused with the oddest of things, but sometimes they had the most profound and in-depth knowledge about one subject, and one subject only, making them experts in their field but not particularly nice beings as their knowledge made them a bit touchy, and violent at times. As the Geek spoke Melvyn was reminded ‘beware of Geeks bringing gifts’. It was an old bomoh saying which told the listener that Geeks always wanted a return for whatever they gave. Now Melvyn was waiting for the punch line. It was then that the Geek hit him hard on the knee.

“Now that I have your full attention” said the Geek with not a little annoyance at being ignored, “I expect a return for that information” thought so, said Melvyn to himself. “But I can’t tell you what it is right now, so I’ll come with you if that’s alright.” “You’ll do what. No you damn well won’t. Anyway I haven’t decided that I’m going anywhere yet.” But another sharp pain in Melvyn’s knee provoked Melvyn beyond endurance as he gave out a quick reflexive kick, which nicely touched thin air and little else as the Geek had easily sidestepped it being used to that reaction. “Mmm nice kick there, having problems with cramp are we.” ventured the Geek now in a playful mood.” What Melvyn said in reply is not for gentile folk to read. “Excuse me but I do have a father – somewhere” replied the Geek.

Melvyn limped over to where his favourite wooden walking stick was laying, picked it up, gave the knotted knob at the end a little shine with his shirt and thought better of using it as a weapon against the Geek, “bloody thing’s too fast” he muttered to himself.

But the Geek was right. Melvyn had to do something. He looked around at his destroyed surgery noticing only about one hundred of the jars, phials and bottles intact out of about four thousand, and gave a little whimper at the thought of having to replace them all to continue his practise. Then he decided “I have to put this right, I have to do something” so, grabbing a hessian shoulder-strapped bag Melvyn stuffed what he could inside, turned to the Geek as said “what are you waiting for, come on lets go”. The Geek smiled one of the ugliest smiles you might imagine and the two walked out, not following the path the Geek had mentioned, but into the village.

“But they went the other way” the Geek said a bit agitatedly, “I’m sure they did” said Melvyn “but they have a head start and we need to catch up quick”. The odd couple, one limping bomoh and one small ugly man walked into the un-expecting kampung, stopped at a nicely painted blue stilt house as Melvyn called “Oooi, Oooi, lammikum” his customary greeting. No answer. Melvyn called again, but again there was no answer. Eyeing the aging Rocsta jeep standing in the driveway Melvyn gave one more call before trying the car’s door handle, it opened. It wasn’t long before Melvyn had the ignition wires out and had started the diesel engine, and with a large dramatic cloud of black smoke lingering, the couple were off in pursuit.

Melvyn's Return

Melvyn, caught like a civet in headlights and not knowing which way his brown bushy tail was up, took a slow look around him. He could see trees, Durian trees Melvyn thought, and just as he had finished that thought ‘thunk’, a huge spiked fruit hit the ground not far from where Melvyn sat, as if to punctuate Melvyn’s thought and nearly puncture Melvyn too, yes, he said inwardly either durian or bloody big conkers. From his vantage point Melvyn could see some tangled undergrowth, attap houses and a reasonably fast flowing river, upward he could see trees growing tall and eventually patches of pale blue sky between the leaf-canopies. Nothing odd or unusual here thought Melvyn as a large rainbow coloured butterfly landed on his hand and said “Hi”.

“Oh I see you two have already met, I was going to introduce you to my friend and partner, this is” says Dom gesturing to the rather large but seemingly friendly butterfly “Iron””Iron, that’s a rather odd name for a butterfly isn’t it” “Just my little joke”, said Dom “But Iron is a butterfly and you wouldn’t understand his real name””Try me” challenges Melvyn, but Dom decided to let the matter drop.

“I’ve got some spare clothes back in the hut, hang on I’ll get them.” It was only with these words that Melvyn realised that he was stark naked – his hand quickly flew to cover his embarrassment. “Here try these on” said Dom holding a T-shirt bearing the legend ‘They went to Perdak and all they got me was this lousy t-shirt” and a pair of once blue jeans worn at the knees. Melvyn stared at the items as if they had just fallen from the rear end of a water buffalo and was about to say something when the thought of his own nudity got the better of him.

Now having a much clearer mind and a clothed body, Melvyn had a really good look at Dom, or at least tried to as it seemed that Dom was a little out of focus at times, sort of blurred round the edges you might say and indeed Melvyn did “Er you don’t mind me saying, but you look a little blurred round the edges, I don’t mean worse the wear for drink or anything, but well you tend to go out of focus at times”, “Sorry about that, occupational hazard I’m afraid, is that better” as with a effort Dom, literally, pulled himself together.

Melvyn used a little of his father’s second sight, just a little as it was terribly draining and he had been through enough just recently, and saw, well what he saw just didn’t seem to make sense to Melvyn, he saw butterflies, nothing but butterflies. “Saw you staring there, let me explain. The figure Dom that you see actually is consisted of thousands of small, and some large, butterflies. You see I died, not I don’t mean I was on the stage and disappointed my audience – I died. Dead, deceased, no more, then, somehow, don’t ask me how.” Noticing that Melvyn was about to do just that he said “I said, don’t ask me why because I really have no idea, the next minute, which may have been a minute, or an hour or a day I have no idea, here I was made up of butterflies. It seems that my consciousness has split and is shared by all these wonderful butterflies. I can concentrate on one and talk like I did earlier or somehow draw them all together and look like I used to look and behave in much the same way as I did. The drawback, because there has to be a drawback doesn’t there, is that every now and then I have to disperse and let each butterfly have its own time, its own space I suppose, then I sort of exist but don’t exist....yeah pretty weird really.” And with that Dom shimmered and flew into thousands of butterflies, Melvyn could still see a Dom like resemblance but could also see the butterflies as butterflies and marvelled, just marvelled at the sight, how beautiful it was while still being Dom.

Melvyn stared because for once he just couldn’t think of a witty comeback. He had seen some pretty grim demons, ghosts, all manner of woodland spirits and djinn but this was just plain weird and needed some digestion. Melvyn thought of digestion and wondered if all this was really just a bizarre hallucination from eating a piece of mushroom.

Dom became something that resembled his old self and offered Melvyn tea, Melvyn both with courtesy and caution accepted, sniffed the brew in his poison detecting mode and drank the most welcome infusion, relaxed and said. “I’m Melvyn”. It seemed the most accurate and polite thing to say.

“Now that we’ve all been properly introduced, how on earth do I get back.” Melvyn ventured. ”Well, there are basically three ways I know of, first you can walk, I guess it’s not too far, the second there is this coffee that’s made from beans previously eaten by a cat, we call it catspoo coffee for obvious reasons – it helps you vomit up even the last dregs of that mushroom you ate.” “And the third....” Says a Melvyn not enamoured with the concept of coffee made from cat droppings. “Onion soup”, “That’s it, onion soup” says Melvyn “Just onion soup, no ear of bat, nose of toad, just onion soup.” “Yep, except that I’m not a very good cook” and Dom gives Melvyn the sort of wink that says watch out.

The two men chat then Dom wanders off to the kitchen and starts to prepare the soup which would send Melvyn back to the lady he loves, after a few minutes “Here, try this’ says Dom handling Melvyn a large bowl of crushed onion pulp, “But this is just pounded onions, I thought you said onion soup””I did, but I also told you I was no cook.” “It’s the best way” says Dom “The onion neutralises the mushroom completely and helps send you back to where you ate it. It may take a while though, you have to wait for the onion to be digested by your stomach and that could take anytime.” Having little choice in the matter Melvyn grimaces but starts to eat/drink the ‘soup’ “Mmm a little less onion next time and it would be fine” says an unconvinced Melvyn.


The old hermit giggled almost uncontrollably when he first saw Melvyn’s legs appear. I t wasn’t everyday that a pair of legs, minus torso and other handily attached parts of the body, appeared in front of him and then proceeded to parade themselves up and down like some bizarre dance. When the rest of Melvyn finally appeared the old hermit was curled up with mirth on the ground, having extreme difficulty doing anything else but laugh and was in severe danger of losing the contents of his bladder.

Melvyn stood and looked at the old man, hands upon his hips, and was about to say something then thought the better of it, gathered his clothes laying a heap in the glade, dressed, grabbed his paraphernalia and fixed them onto the Honda and rode off. Meanwhile the old man, his stomach aching with merriment at the thought of what he had just witnessed, just sat and watched Melvyn ride off, again, then burst into laughter.

It was all a bit odd really. Melvyn didn’t quite feel himself after his experience - it was as though something of him was missing, some small yet vital part of his personality had gone astray during the transfer from, well from wherever it was in Perdak, back to the magic mushroom glade. Melvyn wasn’t to know but it was his cynicism.

In time Melvyn arrived back at his ‘surgery’ only to find that the front, and only, door had been forced open and was now simply a collection of wood splinters loosely held together with a couple of iron brackets and swinging on its hinges. A window was missing from the front of the ‘surgery’ hut leaving only the window frame and glass was scattered all around the outside of the hut as if some explosion had taken place inside, but there was no obvious fire damage and no telltale blackening. There was also no sign of Melvyn’s wife Aisah. Inside the hut jars and bottles previously containing lotions and potions and the occasional salted fish were smashed, their contents and pieces of glass laying strewn all over the surgery floor, slimey smelly things were dribbling and dripping off cupboards, wet things had stained the floor - some had formed mysterious black puddles from which small creatures were either crawling or swimming in, powdery things left traces over just about everything, including a very nice clear thumbprint, over shelves, books, walls, the desk and Melvyn’s favourite chair. A jar of half empty Wilkinson’s English Tiptree Strawberry jam was laying on its side in Melvyn’s Out-tray “Damn” said a grossly annoyed Melvyn “ Someone’s been at my strawberry jam”.

Melvyn takes a trip

On the way home Melvyn was obsessed with the magic mushrooms, especially as he had failed to capture one and failure always made Melvyn just a little mad, or if not mad then certainly a little unstable and the last thing you really wanted in this world was an unstable bomoh.

Unfortunately for Melvyn there was not a lot written about mushrooms which held any sort of magical content, there was plenty of recipes regarding mushrooms from three mushroom soup to fried mushrooms and of course mushrooms in spring rolls. There were warnings about using certain types of mushroom for medicinal purposes - some were quite harmless and in fact seemed to promote longevity like the Reishi mushroom, while one small bite of the Death Cap mushroom caused a gruesome death within minutes. There were the usual references to people experiencing hallucinations with Psilocybin mushrooms but usually you’d have to eat them first not just stare at them, but Melvyn could find nothing which would account for mushrooms transporting themselves in time and space.

Melvyn needed to consult other bomoh, but the problem with consulting with other bomohs were a) where to find your bomoh, for bomohs like Melvyn tended to keep their addresses secret and not all of them had official surgeries like Melvyn, but also b) if Melvyn were to tell other bomohs about real magic mushrooms he might be letting the mushroom out of the bag so to speak, and other bomohs, shamen and all types of wizards and witches would want to get their spell casting hands on them.

Meanwhile Melvyn thought that another visit to the magic mushroom glade was in order, so once again he borrowed the Honda 50cc, this time he didn’t bother to even ask the owner so technically he stole the Honda 50cc, but it would not be a wise thing to accuse a bomoh of stealing, unless, of course, you were a more powerful bomoh then that was alright. Melvyn left his surgery in the most capable hands of his wife Aisah, with the friendly admonition not to be taken in by any devilishly handsome djinn, especially those requiring tonic, and loading up the bike with thin steel nets, poles, a small bag of sleeping powder, airtight container and a small thermos flask with Pa Yusop’s teh tarik, rode off.

Again Melvyn journeyed to Cave Mountain and thought it rude not to pop in to see the old hermit. This time Melvyn noticed not only the herds of goats but also a small field of onions growing big and strong almost like Spanish onions. With a grin a wicked thought came to Melvyn and as he was just about to say, under his breath ....“Oi I heard that”, “What” said Melvyn I never said anything, “But you were going to, weren’t you, some wise crack about me planting onions was it.” “Not at all, I was just thinking of passing the time of day” “Ten o’clock” said the wise old hermit without reference to any timepiece. “Get stuffed” said Melvyn in his mind “Oi I heard that too”, then of course Melvyn realised that this not so kindly old sage was, like the djinn, a mind reader too. “And that.”

Rather than swop insults about goats, onions and stuffing Melvyn decided he had better move on to the glade and track down those mushrooms again, and so riding off Melvyn heard, not with his ears but with his mind, “I heard that too”. “Bugger” said a disgruntled Melvyn who always found it difficult to keep his thoughts to himself.

The glade was just where he had left it and sitting there peacefully were the unsuspecting magic mushrooms. This time Melvyn knew what to expect and so spent a little time observing the mushrooms, which basically sat there as mushrooms tend to do, especially when being watched by a bomoh. Melvyn opened his flask and sat drinking Pa Yusop’s infamous teh tarik for at least an hour while the mushrooms did nothing. After about an hour Melvyn started to throw stones at the mushrooms and noticed it was only when the mushrooms were about to be directly hit by a stone did they disappear, to reappear across the glade, and always in the same place. “That makes life a little easier” Melvyn said out loud as he still wasn’t sure if the old man could hear him or not.

Melvyn set up an elaborate mechanical device to catch some mushrooms which involved nets, wires, something called an indirect double line pull, complex leverage calculus and other bomoh type instruments, or to put it bluntly he made a trap out of the bits and pieces he brought with him.

Melvyn squatted in the way that bomohs do when they don’t have chairs to sit on, and started throwing stones again this time trying to be as accurate as he could be. He hit one, but instead of appearing where it had always appeared before, made itself visible next to Melvyn’s apparatus, and each time he hit a mushroom with a stone it reappeared beside his traps. Melvyn was getting very angry and frustrated, when he heard a voice in his head “Oi calm down, you’re waking up the neighbourhood, well , me, anyway” then from across the glade came the old goat man carrying a few large onions.

“Try these.” he said, Melvyn looked at the old man, then looked at the onions, then back again at the old man “Is this some sort of silly joke, old man” “Actually my jokes aren’t silly, but no this isn’t, it’s a solution to your problems”. Melvyn looked at the old man to see if he could find any hint of irony, but failed, “So how does this work” “Let me demonstrate” and with that the old man cut one onion open crushed the layers until the raw onion liquid dripped out, then went over to one mushroom and let the fluid drip onto it, bent and picked the mushroom. “There”, he said “Like taking a pickled egg from a baby” “Don’t you mean candy” ventured Melvyn, “Have you ever tried to take candy from a baby”, “Point taken” said Melvyn.

“Essentially”, he said “The onion juice temporarily neutralises the magic content of the mushroom, but it doesn’t last for long, just long enough to pick it and bag it. Once they are out of their soil they can’t jump anywhere.” “Let me see said Melvyn” reaching out to touch the mushroom. Melvyn opened his trusty pen knife and cut a section from the cap of the mushroom and placed it in his mouth.

“Oh not again” said Dom. “What, who are you” “Dom” said Dom, and to add to the cliché Melvyn said “Where am I”, “Couldn’t you think of anything more original than that” said Dom. “You are, in fact, by my Magic River, and you’re the third person this year who has taken those stupid mushrooms and landed up here.” “What do you mean, I’m dead” “No you fool, you’re in Perdak, for some reason anyone who eats one of those magic mushrooms end up here, and I have to help them find their way back, it’s really getting to be a bore.”

Melvyn and the Magic Mushrooms

Melvyn had been practising as a kampung bomoh now for many years and had learned a great deal in his time. He had learned that it was wise to ask for your fee before starting to effect a cure, just in case, he also learned that to refuse credit often insulted and he was the one mostly getting insulted until, that is, the aggressor remembered that it was in fact a bomoh they were arguing with and it was better to pay and remain a whole person than perhaps be turned into a frog. What people didn’t know was that really Melvyn was an old softy and rarely turned people into frogs, rats maybe, earthworms certainly, but rarely frogs.

During those many fruitful and one might say quite enchanted years Melvyn had taken to studying all forms of plant and animal life to help him with lotions, potions, poultices and cures, while coming face to bulbous stem with many odd forms of flora. The human legged mandrake root which screams when taken from the ground was quite scary, the raffelesia arnoldii which smells like rotting meat and has flowers up to one meter across is no doubt odd, while the large black Amorphosphalus is a rather large flower which is shaped in such a fashion to make married women swoon, and even unmarried girls blush and take photographs.

So it was with more than a little disbelief that Melvyn came to hear about the magic mushrooms of Cave Mountain. Pak Mat Saman rides all over the kampung on his three-wheeled motorcycle combination buying and selling various articles, including smelly beans (Petai), and so comes in contact with people from every corner of the kampung, and the outlying areas. It was Pak Mat Saman who first mentioned to Melvyn about the magic mushrooms, having heard about them from a hermit who lives on a small goat farm, by one of the caves at the base of Cave Mountain.

Pak Mat Saman, not being as cynical and sceptical as Melvyn, accepted the hermit at his word and felt that Melvyn might be interested. The hermit was quick to point out that these were not the magic mushrooms that other people raved about, the ones that some people put in tea which gave you hallucinations at the best and a severe stomach disorder at the worse, no, he emphasised, these were real magic mushrooms.

Melvyn scoffed at Pak Mat Saman, saying there was no such things as mushrooms being magical, he for one should know, being a bomoh for so long, and never hearing about magic mushrooms other than those in Western fairy stories or tales of old hippies. But it did pique Melvyn’s curiosity and he vowed that he would speak with the old goat man, just to dispel this myth before it took root in the kampung mythos.

The very next day Melvyn left his surgery in the very good hands of his dear wife Aisah and, borrowing a Honda 50cc from one of the many people who owed him a favour, if not their life, started out for Cave Mountain, just behind Pregnant Lady Mountain, but with a tricky little mud path to navigate. Riding past herds of wandering domesticated water buffalo, past small and large mining pools positively jumping with otters, trees with countless weaver-birds’ nests and along the pitcher plant bushes Melvyn eventually came to the area where he could see the goat shed, and realised he must be at his destination.

Melvyn shouted out a customary “Oooi, Oooi, lammikum” when a heap of old clothes and matted hair shouted back “You don’t have to shout, I’m not deaf”, “Sorry didn’t see you there in the bush. “Bush what do you mean bush, I was sitting down minding my own business” “Mmm strange name for a goat” muttered Melvyn under his breath. “Oi I heard that” said the disgruntled old goat herd man. “Now we’ve dispensed with the repartee can I introduce myself as Melvyn the bomoh” “I don’t know, can you.” And so the conversation continued until Melvyn suggested a little payment in kind for information and, after some initial haggling, a fairish price was agreed on, fair to Melvyn that is.

The old goat herder gave directions and off Melvyn went on foot, leaving the motorcycle in the care of the goat herder. Not long after, Melvyn skirted a small mining pool pond and came across a small glade, under the trees could seen good size mushrooms. They didn’t appear to be anything out of the ordinary, just slightly larger than normal off-white edible mushrooms, and Melvyn whispered an almost silent “Thought so”, as he reached to pick one. It disappeared. Melvyn tried another. It too disappeared. Then another and no sooner did his hand almost touch the mushroom than it disappeared, reappearing under another tree. “Good grief” said Melvyn in a voice which obviously thought this an entirely appropriate thing to say given the circumstances.

The rest of that day Melvyn spent trying to sneak up on unwary mushrooms, but, like rabbits, shot away before he could capture them. As it was getting towards dusk Melvyn stood, hands on hips and said “Right” to no-one in particular, “We shall see about this” and walked off to collect the motorcycle.

Djinn and Tonic

Mrs Melvyn the bomoh (aka Nur Aisah) was only now discovering just what she had let herself in for when she married Melvyn. As well as being a full-time housewife at their domicile somewhere on Pregnant Lady Mountain, Aisah was also expected to perform secretarial duties for Melvyn at his surgery in the kampung.

In the normal course of events that would have been fine, but there was nothing normal about Melvyn’s surgery or some of the beings that frequented it. Aisah was in the process of learning how to say “good morning how may I help you” while simultaneously repressing a scream and/or vomit, not to mention the sudden desperate need to go to the loo. She had yet to get round to the “Have a nice day” Melvyn insisted she say to all his customers, for to say it she had to mean it.

It didn’t help that even the scariest of creatures were always very pleasant to her, in fact in some ways it made it much worse. There was something inherently bizarre, and not to say quite frightening, in bogey men, large, green, hairy and scary enough to strip the paint of a Proton Saga, simply saying “selamat pagi” in the pleasantest voice it could rustle from its growl scarred voice box, then salaaming her in the most respectful way. For the eight hours of every day Aisah stayed in the surgery she constantly felt that, at least internally, her whitening hair was perpetually standing on end and her eyes staring as if on a constant diet of 100% pure caffeine.

Unfortunately for Aisah Melvyn spent half his working day doing his rounds, meaning that she was effectively alone in the surgery. Effectively in the sense that no other member of staff was with her at those times, but that was not to say that she was alone, on the contrary, Melvyn had asked one or two of his minor spirits to keep her company, and even though she couldn’t see them most of the time she could feel their presence as a cat could smell another’s spray. It was a lot to get used to, but she wore her marriage with pride, and experienced a little buzz of electricity when someone referred to her as Mrs Melvyn the bomoh.

“Er, Mrs Melvyn the bomoh”, Aisah’s mind was far away so she gave a little jump when the tall handsome gentleman with a rather dashing little goatee beard, spoke her name. This time Aisah had no problem with her greetings and was almost overwhelmed with relief to see someone (thing) normal, it took her by surprise. There was an odd smell of sulphur and smoke in the room, but Aisah put that down to bonfires outside and didn’t notice the small curls of practically invisible smoke which rose from her visitor.

Ali introduced himself in an accent which Aisah just could not trace, except, she thought, it was most probably Middle Eastern, as most accents she couldn’t recognise turned out to be Middle Eastern it seemed a fair assumption, wrong but fair. Ali asked after Melvyn and seemed sadder when he was told Melvyn was on his rounds, then asked if Melvyn had put anything aside for him. Aisah looked and found a brown bottle with the label ‘Tonic’. “There’s nothing much here she said, only a brown bottle which says ‘Tonic for djinns’, so it doesn’t look like he left anything for you.” “Ah” said Ali “That’ll be it then”. Aisha looked at Ali again, this time with wide open eyes and did see the curls of practically invisible smoke which were now a little less invisible then they had been.

“It’s not all laugh-a-minute being a djinn” Ali said, and no, thought Aisah, I don’t suppose it is, quite the opposite, outwardly she said “ah, er, ga” not being able to get past the concept of djinn in her fragile mind. “Some days the tricks and the petty nastiness’s just wear you down and that’s when I visit your husband Mrs Melvyn, for the pick-me-up, tonic, it soon energises the old fire and brimstone and puts me back on my feet, as it were.” “Ah” says Aisah. “Are you alright Mrs Melvyn” said the concerned Ali “Is there something I can get you, water perhaps?” “No, no it’s alright” she said, but thinking yes, you can get away, that’s what you can get, and continued that thought with – have a nice day. “Thank you I will, and I’ll be off then.” “Ok” said a relieved and somewhat astonished Aisah, “Just one thing you ought to be aware of Mrs Melvyn, for future reference that is, most djinn can, and indeed do, read thoughts” and with that he stepped outside and seemed to disappear leaving a faint smell of sulphur and maybe a little brimstone too, and a very embarrassed Aisah.

Mmmm, she thought, now that was a bit of a learning curve, as she sat back in her chair and tried to do something about the deep red blush colouring her features.

Melvyn the Bomoh

Melvyn was a bomoh. In other lands and in other times perhaps he might have been called a dukun, shaman, witch doctor, medicine man, herbalist or any title from a very long list of other titles emanating from far distance shores, which really only mean bomoh.

It was most unusual for a bomoh to be called Melvyn, and he took great pride in that. Bomohs would normally probably be called something like Phuat, or Mohamad Alifen or maybe even Iskander but Melvyn felt that a bomoh’s name should be a little more unusual, something that would give greater depth to his standing in the kampung community, and so after much deliberation chose the name Melvyn, his given name was Mustapha Ali.

Melvyn didn’t actually live in the kampung, he lived somewhere, and only he knew where, around Pregnant Lady Mountain, and kept his home a secret due to a need to protect himself from spirits, djinn and the occasional travelling salesman. He rented a small shack in the kampung and used that like a surgery where he would meet and greet people, if he was in the right mood, otherwise he wouldn’t.

Melvyn actually loved his life as a bomoh because it meant he could be as nice or as rude to people as he wanted and people would just accept this, explaining “Bomohs are always like that”, which was true because they knew they could get away with it. But more than a license to be rude Melvyn enjoyed people’s dependence on him, and it was a great amusement to him to learn of the messes people got themselves into. He had, in fact, thought about writing a book or maybe even a series of stories about that, but someone had beaten him to it.

In fact if you ignored the dealing with spirits and other worldly creatures, thought to be honest it was not wise to ignore them, being a bomoh, Melvyn thought, was a little like being a combination of social worker, psychologist and psychiatrist. He sorted people’s problems out, gave them advice on how to act or interact and if all that failed he would give them a potion, and mostly the potions worked, some because of the placebo effect but some because, well, they did.

The only downside in being a bomoh was being single. Melvyn had to be honest and admit that there were precious few women who wanted to be known as Mrs Bomoh. Sex was another thing. Yes he could have sex with any number of women, men too if he was that way inclined, just by using a few drops of his love potion number 10 – he thought nine was a bit clichéd. His victim would drink the potion and fall madly in love with him, for about an hour, and that was all the time it took, but that wasn’t for Melvyn, he felt, in a way, it was cheating.

Melvyn had resigned himself to the single life and looking wistfully at the married couples who came to see him to sort their sexual problems out. But then it all changed. Much to Melvyn’s surprise little love notes started to appear inside his ‘surgery’ hut, delivered in his absence. At first he thought it might be a spiteful customer whose potion didn’t work, or a joke by one of the many naysayers, but on re-reading the first few notes there appeared a sort of honesty about them, the sort of honesty that you couldn’t possibly pay someone for.

The note delivery continued. Melvyn was totally bemused, he didn’t have a clue as to who was sending these increasingly delightful notes. Yes he could have asked one of the djinns under his control to find out, but aside from the payback aspect Melvyn wanted to enjoy the thrill of the chase, if chase it were. And it wouldn’t be long before he found out.

Nur Aisah had waited long enough. She had posted notes on Melvyn’s door for too long and now was time to tell him how she felt, but, and there was the but, he was a bomoh and if he didn’t like her he could make life, literally, very uncomfortable for her. Girding her loins, whatever that means, Nur Aisah tapped tentatively on the door to Melvyn’s hut, now was the time she said to herself, now I will tell him how I feel.
The door opened and Melvyn stood there smiling at her. At first Nur Aisah found that a little disconcerting, she hadn’t really seen Melvyn smile before and was initially a little worried by it, especially as it seemed fixed there, unmoving.

Melvyn had, in the end, cheated. He used the one gift his father had given him – second sight and conjured up Nur Aisah’s face as the one who had left the notes, and why she had. That was the day that Melvyn was really glad that we was a bomoh, it was also the day that he felt the need to make a potion to cure a permanently smiling face, but ultimately there was really no need - marriage fixed that.