Jaka wasn't the kind of teenager many people knew. He wasn't someone you'd look for in a crowd. He was merely a shadow passing through the school hallways, a soft voice ignored in the classroom. Since childhood, he had grown used to loneliness—not because he chose it, but because the world seemed to have chosen it for him.
His parents were once said to be happy—or at least that's what people claimed. But as far as Jaka could remember, he never truly knew what it felt like to live in a loving home. Ever since he was old enough to understand adult life, all he saw were fights, yelling, the sound of dishes or glasses breaking, and doors slammed hard. His father no longer lived with them. He left Jaka when he was still in junior high and never really came back. He chose a life full of worldly pleasures—karaoke girls, alcohol, and nightlife.
And his mother?
She still lived with him, but not entirely. Her presence was physical and only for the sake of formality. She'd come home almost at dawn, her mind filled with office matters, and the rest drained by exhaustion.
Jaka got used to preparing his own meals. Celebrating his own birthday. Doing household chores on his own and even crying alone—if crying could still be considered a choice. He grew up with an empty love tank. At school, the other kids saw him as an easy target. Jaka was skinny, spoke softly, and always had tired eyes. They often pushed him in the canteen, hid his books, mocked his worn-out clothes, and took out their anger on him for no reason. The teachers turned a blind eye—perhaps because other kids' parents had higher titles, or maybe because Jaka was just too unimportant.
Until that night came.
The cloudy sky seemed to be holding back something that should've been released. The small town Jaka lived in was unusually quiet, and the air carried the smell of damp soil. That night, as usual, his mother hadn't come home from work—and he expected nothing. He stood up, grabbed his thin jacket and the keys to his grandfather's old motorcycle. He started the engine and drove into the dark streets of a city that had long become familiar.
The night wind whipped across his face, soft like golden-yellow rose petals. His eyes were wide open, braving the cold—as if hoping something strong enough would stop him. He sped up until he reached a road people called The Dead End. A narrow, neglected stretch of road swallowed in endless darkness. At the far end stood a large abandoned mansion, majestic yet grim, like an old skull peeking from the shadows.
People said it was haunted. The house had long been deserted after its residents died, leaving behind no heir. But Jaka didn't care.
Even ghosts might make better company than humans.
His motorcycle's headlight pierced through the thin fog beginning to settle. Tires screeched as he hit a curve too fast. He braked—too late.
The motorcycle slipped.
Everything felt slow. Jaka saw a light—or maybe just the headlight—spinning in midair. His body slammed into the asphalt, his head hitting hard. The world went silent. No sound. No pain.
Only the chill of the night wind.
And just before his eyes closed completely, he saw the mansion's door slowly creak open—as if someone was welcoming him.
Jaka was declared dead on the spot.
But luckily, this is only the beginning of the story.
Jaka tried to open his eyes. His vision was blurry, like waking from an incredibly long sleep. But this wasn't a bed, not a room, and clearly not his home. He found himself lying on the side of a narrow road he knew too well—The Dead End.
The night air felt bitterly cold, but something about his body felt… different. Light. Light as if he had fasted for a week without eating before dawn.
He tried to sit up slowly.
"I… crashed, right?" he mumbled.
He looked around.
No motorcycle.
No skid marks.
No crowd gathering.
Just him, alone on the dark and silent road. Tree shadows danced in the wind, and the abandoned house stood still with its door slightly ajar—like it was peeking into this world from another.
"Where's my bike…? Why is it so quiet... Didn't I crash just now?" he murmured.
He patted himself, checking if he was still alive. It felt like he was still alive, though a little too light.
Then, Jaka heard the sound of a motorcycle approaching from a distance. Its light emerged from the corner, cutting through the thin fog. Jaka brightened up.
"Yes! Someone's coming! I can ask for help!"
He stood up and waved eagerly.
"Mister! Mister! Help! I—"
But instead of slowing down, the rider hit the gas harder, as if he had just seen a ghost. Even his helmet nearly flew off from the sudden acceleration.
The bike zoomed past Jaka, almost brushing against him.
"What the heck?! Why'd he run away?!" Jaka shouted, raising his arms toward the heavens as if protesting to the universe's director. "Mister! I'm not a thief, I swear!"
He huffed, then looked back down the road.
"Okay. This time I need to be more assertive."
Jaka stepped right into the middle of the road. He stood at a spot that would force any driver to stop. He braced himself as if heading into battle. Another motorcycle engine echoed—this time a softer tone, like the rider was being cautious.
The light grew closer, revealing a young man in an online ride-hailing jacket. The motorcycle slowed and stopped right in front of Jaka.
"Finally…" Jaka whispered with relief.
But before Jaka could speak, the rider's eyes widened like they were about to pop out.
"AAAHHHHH!! GHOOSTTTTT!!"
Without a second thought, the man jumped off his bike and dashed into the bushes, screaming like someone possessed in a soap opera.
"Help! There's a ghost in the road! Bismillah! BISMILLAAAH!!"
In mere seconds, the man vanished, leaving the motorcycle behind—engine still running.
Jaka stared in disbelief.
"Ghost? Where? Where's the ghost?! I'm scared too, man!"
He looked left, then right. No one there but him, the wind, and the chirping of crickets. Slowly, a suspicion crept in.
He turned toward the abandoned motorcycle. Cautiously, he approached and peeked into the right mirror.
No reflection.
He squinted, then checked the left mirror.
Still nothing.
"Uh-oh…"
He touched his face and waved at the mirror. But still, all it reflected was fog and trees behind him.
Jaka's face didn't appear in the mirror. He couldn't even see his own hand.
"DON'T TELL ME…"
"…I'M… MY OWN GHOST?!" he said, bewildered.
And in the next few seconds, Jaka's world spun. His mouth dropped open, hands outstretched like someone seeing a test score of zero despite being confident.
Then—
THUD!
Jaka fainted on the spot. Collapsed in the road in a weird position—one hand reaching up, the other covering his face. As if trying to deny the reality that...
Yes…
He was now a spirit. A ghost. A very emotional ghost.
A stray cat walked by, paused beside Jaka, stared at him with typical lazy alley-cat eyes, and meowed softly—almost like saying:
"Newbie ghost, huh? Don't worry. Happens to the best of us."
***