When I was eight years old, my parents took me and my siblings on a trip to visit Grandma—my dad’s mom. Grandma’s house was in East Java, near a little town called Situbondo. It wasn’t anything like the city. The air was fresh, the fields were green, and the scenery was so beautiful that I always got super-duper excited whenever we went there.
The trip from Surabaya to Grandma’s house took about five hours. We had to drive through forests and over hills with twisty-turny roads. We left when it was still dark—around two in the morning—so we could arrive before the sun got too hot. Honestly, I don’t remember the exact time because I was half-asleep when Dad carried me into the car.
The next thing I knew, sunshine was tickling my eyes. I blinked and looked out the window—whoa! Tall trees stretched up to the sky, birds chirped cheerfully, and every now and then a squirrel popped up among the branches. It felt like a magical forest saying, “Good morning!”
While enjoying the view, I nibbled on bread and fruit. Mom had packed them, of course, because she knew her chatty little kid (yep, that’s me!) needed something to munch on to keep quiet… or at least quieter.
After a while, the car began going downhill, which meant—hooray!—we were getting closer to Grandma’s house. I couldn’t hold my excitement any longer, so I started waking up my siblings.
“Wake up! Wake up! We’re almost there!” I sang loudly.
But my oldest brother wasn’t so happy about my morning concert. With a grumpy voice, he said, “If you don’t stop, we’ll just leave you here on the road.”
For context, there’s a big age gap between me and my siblings. My oldest brother is 14 years older than me, so to him, I was just the pesky little one. Did I stop after he said that? Nope! In fact, I got even louder and started singing silly songs.
And then—SCREEEECH!
The car suddenly jerked to a stop, the tires squealing so loudly that my heart jumped. I froze like a statue, worried Dad would be mad. But instead, he just looked back at us to make sure we were okay. Then he stepped outside to see what was wrong.
Uh-oh. One of the tires was flat, some bolts had come loose, and the wheel had sunk into a muddy hole. Uh—no bad news!
My oldest brother hopped out to help Dad. The road was quiet, and since it was still early morning, not a single car passed by. But then—out of nowhere—a kind man appeared! He lived nearby and saw that we were stuck. He said he’d bring help.
A little while later, he returned with about eight men. Together, they pushed and pulled the car out of the mud, fixed the flat tire, and tightened the bolts.
At last, the car was ready to go again. We thanked the men for saving us. Dad even reached for his wallet, planning to give them a little gift for their kindness.
But then—POOF!
They were gone. Completely gone. No footsteps, no voices, no sign of anyone at all. The road was quiet and empty, as if they had never been there.
Spooky… or magical?
But this adventure isn’t over yet.
To be continued in Part 2...
