The batik wasn't letting go.
Its threads tightened around my wrist, hot as if it had been dipped in lava. I tried yanking back, but the more I pulled, the tighter it coiled. Pretty soon it was halfway up my arm, and I was seconds away from becoming a kebab.
"Stop struggling!" Raka shouted across the room. "You're feeding it energy!"
Oh, sure. Easy for him to say. He wasn't the one being strangled by a possessed piece of cloth.
"Maybe try helping instead of giving me bad advice!" I snapped.
Raka didn't hesitate. He bolted forward, ignoring the gasps from our classmates who finally noticed something was wrong. He snatched a wooden pointer stick from the tour guide's hand—probably the poor man's only weapon against rowdy students—and swung it at the batik like he was batting in a baseball game.
The stick connected with a thwack. The batik shrieked. Yes, shrieked. Ever heard fabric scream? It's horrifying. Threads recoiled, whipping angrily in the air.
I stumbled back, free for half a second. My heart hammered so loud it drowned out everything else.
The batik's patterns shifted again—red lines forming what looked like… eyes. Dozens of them. All glaring at me.
Great. As if one cursed cloth wasn't nightmare fuel enough, now I was facing a batik Medusa.
"Run!" Raka yelled.
But before I could move, the batik lashed out again, faster this time, aiming straight for my throat.
That's when the museum floor shook.
At first, I thought it was an earthquake—normal in Jakarta, terrifying but explainable. Then I realized the trembling wasn't coming from below. It was coming from the statue.
The giant stone Ganesha shuddered, dust raining from its shoulders. Its marble eyes flickered red, just like the batik's.
"Oh no," Raka muttered, gripping the stick tighter. "Not him too."
The ground split with a crack that rattled my teeth. Screams filled the museum hall as students stampeded toward the exit. The batik flared open like wings, ready to strike again.
And me?I was rooted in place, staring at the impossible.
Because in that moment, I realized something horrifying:This wasn't random.
The batik, the statue, the glowing eyes—they weren't just cursed artifacts.
They were waking up.
And somehow… they wanted me.