The night was thick with silence. Outside, the crickets chirped and the stray dogs barked at shadows only they could see. Alya sat in the living room, scrolling half-heartedly on her cracked phone, her eyes heavy from the weight of another sleepless day.
It was just past midnight when her mother's voice carried softly from her bedroom.
"Alya."
Alya looked up, startled. She hadn't even noticed her mother was awake.
"Yes, Ibu?"
Her mother appeared at the doorway, her face pale in the dim glow of the weak lamp. She wrung her hands the way she always did when she was uneasy. "Can you go to Makcik Fatimah's house? She has minyak gamat I ordered. I need it tonight."
Alya frowned, setting her phone aside. "Tonight? Why not tomorrow morning? It's late, Ibu."
Her mother shook her head, her tone firm though her eyes darted away. "I need it now. Please, Alya. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."
The firmness in her mother's voice left Alya no room to argue. Still, a small unease stirred in her chest. She grabbed her car keys, slipped on her sandals, and nodded. "Alright, I'll go."
The drive to Makcik Fatimah's house was uneventful. The road stretched on, flanked by tall, swaying trees. The shadows cast by her headlights danced across the leaves, sometimes tricking her eyes into seeing shapes that weren't there. Alya gripped the wheel tighter, whispering a quiet prayer under her breath.
When she finally arrived, the familiar small wooden house came into view, its porch light glowing faintly in the darkness. Alya parked outside and walked up the creaking steps. She knocked gently.
Moments later, Makcik Fatimah opened the door, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her eyes lit up in recognition. "Alya, anak. Come in, come in."
Alya stepped inside, the air heavy with the scent of herbs and oils. Shelves lined the walls, crowded with bottles of traditional remedies. The old woman moved slowly but with purpose, reaching into a cupboard.
"You came for the minyak gamat, yes?" she asked.
"Yes, Ibu asked for it," Alya replied, her gaze wandering around the cluttered room.
Fatimah handed over a small glass bottle filled with amber liquid. "Here. Tell your mother to use it sparingly—it's strong."
"Thank you, Makcik."
As Alya reached for her wallet, Fatimah waved a hand dismissively. "No need, child. Your family has done enough for me."
The woman's eyes softened, then turned serious. She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Did you hear about what happened in the next village?"
Alya shook her head. "No… what happened?"
"They lost money. Large amounts. Vanished from a locked cupboard. No signs of break-in." Fatimah's voice dropped further, her tone carrying the weight of superstition. "They say it's the Toyol. You know, the spirit children that steal for their masters. Always looking for wealth that doesn't belong to them."
Alya stiffened slightly, uncomfortable. Folklore was something she had grown up around, stories whispered to keep children obedient. But sitting here in the dim light, surrounded by the smell of old wood and medicine, it felt less like myth and more like a warning.
Makcik Fatimah crossed her arms. "Whether you believe it or not, Alya, you should be careful at night. The roads are not as empty as they seem."
Alya nodded politely, forcing a small smile. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you again."
She left the house with the bottle in her hand, tucking it safely into her bag before climbing back into her car. The engine hummed to life, and she pulled away from the small home, back onto the long, lonely road toward her village.
---
The air felt heavier now, pressing in through the windows. Alya drove with her eyes fixed on the dark stretch ahead, her hands tight on the wheel. She replayed Fatimah's words in her mind—be careful at night.
The hum of the engine and the rhythm of the tires against the asphalt almost lulled her into calm when—
Something moved.
Her headlights caught it just as it crossed the road. Alya's breath hitched, her eyes widening.
It wasn't an animal. It wasn't a shadow.
It was a head.
A human head, severed clean at the neck, rolling lazily across the road as if guided by an unseen hand. The pale face turned in her headlights, its eyes wide open, staring straight at her. Its mouth twitched into what looked like the start of a smile before it tipped forward and vanished into the dark ditch at the side of the road.
Alya slammed her foot on the brake, her body jolting as the car skidded slightly. Her breath came in ragged gasps.
"No… no, no, no…" she whispered, her voice shaking.
The road was empty. Silent. Nothing remained. Not even a smear of blood.
Her hands trembled violently on the steering wheel. Every instinct screamed at her to turn back to Fatimah's house, to beg her for answers. But she couldn't. Her body was frozen in place, the only option to move forward.
Slowly, forcing her limbs to obey, Alya pressed the accelerator. The car crept forward. She kept her eyes locked on the road, refusing to look left or right.
Minutes dragged on like hours until the warm glow of her own house finally came into view. Relief nearly buckled her legs as she parked, stumbling out of the car.
Her mother, Firdaus, and Balqis were waiting at the front door, their faces calm, ordinary, untouched by the horrors of the night.
"Ibu," Alya said quickly, her voice shaking, "I brought the minyak gamat." She handed the bottle over.
Her mother smiled softly, thanking her. The normalcy of the moment made Alya's chest ache. She opened her mouth to tell them—to describe the impossible thing she had just seen on the road.
But the words stuck.
Her mother's tired eyes. Firdaus's calm posture. Balqis's curious gaze.
What could she even say? That she saw a severed head rolling across the highway, smiling at her?
They would think she had finally lost her mind.
So Alya forced a smile, muttered that she was tired, and slipped away into her room.
She closed the door behind her, pressing her back against the wood, her body trembling. Her hands went to her face, covering her eyes.
In the silence of her room, she whispered to herself, voice hoarse with fear:
"If it wasn't real… why do I still feel its eyes on me?"