Requiem for Fatimah

Fr. Timotius ‘Tim’ Sinaga was a busy man. As the parish pastor of a sizable Catholic parish in the Indonesian capital of Jakarta, he had a lot of responsibilities pertaining to his flock. Which was why he did not appreciate it when his parishioners bugged him about the pocong that had been the talk of the day amongst his parishioners at the rectory after Sunday Mass.

“It has to be a demon!” a young woman insisted.

“No,” an older man responded. “It’s the woman’s soul trying to get out of the burial shroud, since she’s Muslim.”

The young woman shook her head. “No, she’s not. She’s been going to our parish for years. It’s just that her parents insist on giving her an Islamic burial.”

“Ah!” the man responded. “This only proves my point. Her soul wishes to get out of the burial shroud that her parents put on her body.”

“I’ve had enough of this superstitious nonsense!” Fr. Tim snapped. He had regretted humoring his parishioners on this pocong talk. “I didn’t celebrate Mass so you two can indulge in gossip.”

***

Fr. Tim was very much familiar with the recently deceased young woman who was now rumored to be a pocong. Fatimah had been a regular parishioner, her gruesome death at the hands of her boyfriend came as a shock to everyone in the parish, including Fr. Tim himself.

With that tragedy in mind, it was certainly understandable why the parishioners would make up a story like this. After all, stories of pocong was ubiquitous in Indonesia. They said that the souls of the dead wrapped in the Islamic burial shroud which covered the whole body would trap a soul if said shroud was not loosened after forty days; in an attempt to get out of that shroud and move on to the afterlife, the soul would thus wander around aimlessly. Though Fr. Tim did not believe in the pocong, he understood that there was some truth behind what his parishioners had been talking about.

As an exorcist himself, Fr. Tim knew that he had to investigate the truth behind the local pocong.

***

It was past midnight at the graveyard where Fatimah was buried. In all honesty, Fr. Tim was doubting the wisdom of his course of action. The priest had heard the news of an escaped convict; apparently, his method of escape remained unexplained to the befuddled prison guards. To make things worse, he was said to be somewhere in the vicinity of the graveyard. But Fr. Tim could not turn back now.

With his holy water in hand, he walked through the dark. The eerie atmosphere of the graveyard was almost choking; Fr. Tim said his prayers to steel himself.

A few minutes passed before the priest finally heard an eerie laugh, a woman’s voice. Fr. Tim looked to the source of the voice and finally saw it, or her: a figure stood covered in a white shroud, her arms and legs were bound, and above her head was a top knot of the cloth. It was a pocong, no mistaking it. Awkwardly, the creature hopped towards the priest.

Fr. Tim gasped, though he kept his wits about him. As the eerie laughter rang throughout the graveyard, the priest took out his crucifix. He then held it in front of the ghostly creature. The pocong stopped in response.

Taking advantage of his opportunity, the priest took out his vial of holy water. Opening the cap, he sprinkled the water all over the pocong. To his horror, the pocong did not react to it in the slightest. Fr. Tim was flabbergasted; no demon should be able to withstand being sprayed by holy water.

The priest considered his next course of action. Part of him wanted to run, but he could not in good conscience do that.

***

Fr. Tim was surprised by what had unfolded next. A man’s shout was heard, it was a familiar voice. The priest turned and saw a man he knew well, Adi; for some reason, he was carrying a kitchen knife. This was the man who murdered Fatimah; not just, he had led her into a life of sin. When she got pregnant as a result, he stabbed both her and the child she carried to death because he didn’t want to be a father. It took all of the priest’s restraint not to lash out angrily at the man.

“What are you doing here?” the priest asked, his voice betraying a barely concealed rage.

“I need to talk to her,” Adi responded. As if to prove his point, the man pointed his knife at Fr. Tim.

The priest’s first instinct was to protest, strangely enough out of concern for Fatimah. But he quickly remembered that the girl was dead. Thus, he moved out of the way.

And so, Adi approached Fatimah. Fr. Tim carefully watched, curious of the man’s intention.

“I know you helped me escape. You brought me here,” Adi said ruefully. “I’m sorry for everything, Fatimah!”

And Fatimah lunged at the man. In response, Adi slashed the pocong in front of him. He managed to cut through the cloth. Almost immediately after, blood came out of the shroud. A gallon of red liquid poured out of the pocong onto Adi. There was so much blood that they reached Fr. Tim; the priest’s shoes turned red.

***

It had been a week since the events at the graveyard. It was an unbelievable story, but the bloody ground was proof enough.

Fr. Tim decided to hold a requiem for Fatimah. It was clear to the priest that the pocong was not a demon. Rather, it was the soul of Fatimah sent from purgatory. Thus, why holy water had no effect on it. He knew that after this Mass, her soul would no longer haunt his parishioners.

Meanwhile, Adi turned himself in. But bizarrely, he smiled as he was taken away by the police.