The house was colder than before.
Bawang Putih sat in the living room, staring at the blank television screen. His reflection stared back — dark-eyed, sleep-deprived, silent.
Jahe stood by the hallway, as usual.
But tonight, something was different.
There were three reflections on the screen.
His.
Jahe's.
And a third — Bawang Merah.
Eyes wide.
Mouth still sewn shut.
She was mouthing something.
A single word.
"RUN."
He scrambled back, crashing into the coffee table.
The TV turned on.
Static.
The screen blinked.
And now there was a fourth face.
That thing.
Smiling.
Teeth like shards of glass.
Putih lunged forward and yanked the plug. The TV died.
The screen went dark.
His own reflection remained.
Only now… it smiled back.
He searched the house for every mirror.
Bathroom. Bedroom. Cabinet doors. Even the back of a spoon.
All covered, shattered, or thrown out.
But still, he saw them.
Reflections on windows. On puddles.
And always the same three faces.
Him.
Jahe.
And Bawang Merah, crying.
Jahe stood in the doorway, arms crossed.
"You can't hide from it."
Putih's voice cracked. "Then help me. Tell me what it wants."
"I don't think it wants anything."
"Then why—"
"I think it feeds."
Putih froze.
"On what?"
Jahe looked tired. "On memory. Guilt. Grief. Anything that makes you relive something over and over again."
He stepped closer.
"And it found a banquet in you."
That night, Putih dreamed again.
But this time, it wasn't the crash.
It was the day after.
He was sitting on the curb.
Covered in blood.
Bawang Merah was screaming at the paramedics.
And beside him, Jahe.
Smiling.
Only… it wasn't Jahe.
It was the thing wearing Jahe's face.
It leaned in, whispered something.
Putih jolted awake.
But the whisper still echoed:
"Let me in."