There used to be a house in Menteng, but had been converted into an office. In many cases, the old houses were demolished and replaced by several utility buildings in history. Offer to rent the premises and convert it into an office has been warmly welcomed, especially as the asking price rather inflated was accepted without hesitation. The owners had lived for the greater part of half a century, but as the children had moved and now lives far away they were happy to return to Solo. Traffic has also increased dramatically, bringing the noise and dust and visitors to the nearby restaurant often parked outside the door despite the friendly request to allow free entry.
All participating departments and their respective teams of consultants were to be housed under the roof of an office. But like most of the officials who had been assigned to the project also had to take care of their usual duties in their department, most of them preferred to stay in their usual places and visit only when needed. This also allowed them to stay in touch with departmental procedures and keep a finger on the pulse polity office.
A Paramount Project Officer, the primus inter pares that each department had its own official with the project I would work had fortunately decided that the project was important and needed his attention. Both of us have therefore left to get the project operational. This meant furniture, support staff, space allocation to the participating organizations, project cars, and everything else. We successfully running the office and within the allocated budget, and settled down to the routine reports, coordination meetings and more project reports.
And then one morning, I arrived to find an agitated meeting in the parking area.
What happens, I asked.
The AC compressors on the building's side were all stolen, was the answer. And it is the fault of that stupid night watchman.
Which I wanted to know.
Former.
I had always wondered who had given him a Satpam uniform. He was not only old but also small, not more than 1.55 m, and as far as I could tell unable to resist the intruders with bad intentions. When asked by the prime OP what happened and why it could have happened, I was there in his room, but had to do with a translation of the discussion that the goalkeeper always very emotional and upset, giving his side of the story in Indonesian and Javanese mixture. He said the backyard, once the pride of ownership, was haunted. Regularly, he had been disturbed by a voice he had also seen a ghost, an old man, who complained that nobody took care of him more.
Last night was worse than ever and he was so frightened that he went to drink coffee, not in his usual place in the corner, but two blocks down.
What a coincidence practice, the PO said. I'll take it with the security company.
And the police, I suggest.
Better not, he replied, anyway, he will get us back our compressors.
Leaving the room, I saw the guard and on impulse asked her to come to my room. And hope to calm him sufficiently with a coffee I asked for more details on the voice and the ghost. It was much the same as what he had said previously, only one additional information bit. The impressive ficus with aerial roots in the back garden was, according to the Guardian, the dwelling place of the voice and the face that sometimes appears.
And what the voice to complain? What does he want? I finally asked.
Cigarettes, was the answer.
I decided to dig deeper into the case and a few nights later, I returned to the office and I parked in the back garden. I had brought a thermos of coffee and a few bananas, cigarettes and of course in those days I still smoked. It was a long wait, I was bored stiff and my own stupidity to fall for ghost stories and decided to go home when ... there was a voice, but I could not do whether the words were supposed to mean something, or is it just mumbling distance. And then I got goose bumps on my arms, my neck, my hair stuck to my scalp and I wanted to cry ...!
There he was. A figure of man-like, a little faded contours, but certainly a man and he looked at me.
Tuan, do you bring cigarettes, he asked. His voice was high and a little stilted, but clear enough.
Yes, I replied, and only after a moment remembered offer him.
At the tree, he whispered and disappeared.
When my heart was almost back to normal, I placed some cigarettes at the foot of the tree.
The next morning I went to check if they were still there. Gone with, but could of course be due to the rain, or a rodent, or ants, or whatever ... But for two years, I remained in this office, I regularly put cigarettes under the tree before heading home.
The night watchman, by the way, was recalled by the security cabinet. His successor never complained disturbing voices or appearances. And now all written down, I can hardly believe that it never happened. But he did.