Abandoned Series - Jalan Turi Bungalow

Ali Buntuts derive pleasure from ventures into grounds people avoid at all cost. Always have, always will. We have explored abandoned projects, godforsaken mansions and numerous small derelict residences. What we have yet to pursue, until recently that is, was to wander into a tract of valuable real estate which reportedly held stage to monstrous multiple homicides nearly 2 decades ago..

"... the bungalow at No 10, Jalan Turi in Taman Bukit Pantai, where two boys aged 10 and 7 and their Filipino maid were killed by their family guard, is still vacant. Their bodies were thrown into a septic tank at the back of the house in the April 23, 1992 murder. Vandalised and sometimes used as a drug addicts' hideout, the place is now dilapidated. Stories also abound about sightings of the victims' spirits standing beseechingly at the gate of the house..."

Cited from here:

http://newsgroups.derkeiler.com/pdf/Archive/Soc/soc.culture.malaysia/2007-08/msg00151.pdf

And so, on a gloomy night illuminated by the waxing moon, we paid the site a visit. The front yard has been overtaken by lush vegetations which made our passage into the house an adventure of its own. Dilemma, along with images of bright-colored snakes, giant lizards and red-eyed pontianaks, plagued our minds. But as Buntuts, we never really have a choice in these situations. We think not with our head, but by the anatomy our sobriquet imply. So amidst the tall ominous leaves and the hidden red eyes, we pressed on into the ill-boding compound...

Buntuts at the infamous spot where "sightings of the victims' spirits standing beseechingly at the gate of the house" are.

Once through the yard, we hung around the patio for a while to snap some pictures in hopes of getting more than what we see there. Tough luck...

But we did find Lost.

Someone knows what we did last summer. We're there to find out who...

And shortly after, we cross the door-less threshold into the house. The place is stripped bare of any functional or valuable chattel whatsoever, leaving only the usual debris of an abandoned dwelling...

However, we did stumble upon an evidence which suggests that efforts have been taken to 'cleanse' the place of a certain lingering 'presence'...

Maybe they're expecting more...like something living and breathing?

Doesnt he look awesome? His extra shadow wouldnt disagree.

The house is a 3-level unit with the entrance on the 2nd level. So after we were done with the 2nd level (Ground Floor), we were forced to make a difficult decision, possibly a life altering one. To Heavens (1st Floor), or to Hell (Basement)? Without our Instinct (Chung Kent) to lead us in the direction normal humans with functioning amygdala would take, we were tempted by our faith to head downwards...

Looking at the pictures, you might think, "Hey, it aint so scary. This is nothing. The place is so damn bright it makes my bedroom looks scarier!" Now now, let's get the facts straight. The pictures are so damn bright, the place is NOT. But your bedroom is scary too. Ever notice the small girl watching you sleep? She's always there, behind the curtains, in the monitor, under the blanket, always there, trust me. Anyways, to have a feel of the level of brightness/darkness we experienced in the place, compare the pictures below...

What you're seeing...

What we saw...

Downstairs, we were somewhat disappointed at the absence of faceless hot nurses and pyramid-head monsters (Silent Hill is real, trust me on this too). However, it was not all a fruitless venture. We found several things of interest...

The mysterious Black Hole.

The Spot-That-Stinks. That corner, occupied by the gallant Satchid, has this odd stench that does not permeate into the adjacent atmosphere. Is it Supernatural, or is it Satchid? We cant tell...

A spiritual journey indeed...

And the most interesting find was this one...

A jejune workbook belonging to a Matthew Ng. We were inclined to assume Matthew to be around 7 to 10 years old around 20 years ago...

Anyways, as interesting as it seems, it was all not worth breaking a sweat for. So we started to relaxed...until we heard something moving upstairs. We looked at each other, did a head count to confirm there 3 and only 3 of us, and started for the stairs. Keeping close to the walls with practiced caution and extreme silence, we reached the Ground Floor to find ... nobody. Except for a mysterious ember burning in the corner that was not there 10 minutes ago, everything seems normal...

Pictured: Mysterious Ember

A little disturbed, we sauntered out of the house, jogged through the yard, and dashed to our ride. And then we disappeared into the night. A night illuminated by the waxing moon, with a small girl sitting by your bed as you sleep.

Indian Poker - A.B. Edition

It was like every other night, but tonight was different. The moon was hiding behind some upside-down-heart-shaped clouds. Traffic was slight, strollers slighter. The road was clear, for all intents and purposes in the setting of the story to come. Fine mizzle misted the air 6 fine lads came out to breathe. Inhale, exhale then inhaaaaleee....*cough cough cough* .... inhale, exhale, inhale ...

It was like every other night, but tonight was different. Because I say so. And also because as these 6 fine lads were taking in fresh air, something magical bestowed upon them. A fine scroll, no bigger than an average man's stick, fell out of thin air and unroll itself before these lads, very much like a facsimile shitting out incoming document. It has scribbles on it. Its content was incoherent at first but not for very long as it dawned upon them what it was...

It was a holy script of Indian Poker! Panic and exhilaration coursed through their body in anticipation of the courses of event to come. But something was not right. They took a good look at it and felt that it was ... facile. With that, the boldest of them all took the task to set things right...

With a quick work of an eraser and a marker pen, things looked better again. With much haste, they got what they needed and headed straight for a premise with a roof. Without much ado, they got down n dirty...

It was only a matter of time before the chilies ran out on them. Numb tongues and upset stomachs notwithstanding, they took the game to the next level. Exiting the premise, they went off to scrounge for what they need and gathered at a deserted alley. Again, with the eraser and the marker pen, the boldest of the lot penned down the ultimate trial the ultimate loser will have to suffer...

With that abominable act done and dealt with, a realization slowly came into their cognition. Most of them will live to tell their sons and sons's sons what happened tonight but only one of them claimed the right to tell his sons and sons's sons that he is THE ONE. The one who ate dog food. Just. For. Fun. With the disgusting idea lingering in their thoughts, the group dispersed into the night. It had been a fulfilling night teemed with magic and foolhardiness. Certainly it was a night to remember, at least for one of them. It was like every other night, but tonight was different.

Ali Buntut Camp version 3.0

When there was once a 14th of June 2009, three particular crazy chaps decided, only on the night before, to ingeminate an emprise they once undertook with astronomical endeavour. An adventure hailed by many to be utterly, if not inordinately, demented. Intrepid and dauntless, these spunky lads embarked on yet another quest with such nonchalance it shook the baby from its crib. It is gonna be just a stroll, or so they thought. As they had prior to the 1st legendary ABC. Which turned out to be quite a lot more than... just a stroll.

And so, as per the last 2 camps, the journey began at Fort One Utama. Unduly burdened with some pre-adventure misadventures and detours, the deployment was only effected past noon. For that, they were really, really sad...


Upon arrival at the Genting Cable Car Station, they employed their social skills and thick faces to hawk their cable car tickets to holiday-ers and casino-ers, both bewildered and skeptical at their approach and their intention on selling their tickets. And it proved to be quite a feat. Nevertheless, they got the tickets sold and satisfyingly pocketed their earnings.

Then came the REAL adventure. Looking at a possible distance of 13km (distance markers were pretty...inconsistent), they loosened their muscle but steeled their spirit. Speaking of which, they then blessed themselves with some prayers and impromptu offerings (not quite so, they took back their bags)...

Weather was promisingly cool without the threat of a drencher. Which rendered the hike up pretty uneventful. What can they say, it is just walking 13 km uphill in good weather. What could possibly happen...except for periodical fatigue and the need to photograph and be photographed...

"Holy Shit!" is about right...

6.2km...

That is Awana Genting in the background...

As normal as it seems to be, it is actually Big Foot's fur they were sitting on...

Private property, my ass...

2km...

1km...

"That's it?", you may ask. Indeed. Not. Reaching their destination (their campsite) (which is the top of a waste tank), they got down to savour their dinner (yup, with the lingering aroma of shit)...

The world's greatest campsite...

Nope, this is supper...

Like werewolves, Buntuts transcend mental normalcy and physical cravings during the night. Night is not for dreaming, no no no. Night is for discoveries, detours, decadence, destinies, deliriums. Their calling beckoned them to the nearby Park...

Ironically, that was their entrance...

Their ride to hell...

Him camwhoring with a pimp in hell...

"Yo, how the fark did i end up in London?

When they were done answering their nature's call (relate to picture above), they subsequently headed back down to their campsite to call it a day...

Laugh for yourselves...

Entrance to their campsite...

They got precisely just forty winks, because the gods then decided that these fools had it too good. So the gods opened up the sky, unzipped their pants and peed all over these hapless adventurers...

They then cried too when they found out the tent is not water-proof...

They agonized through the pour, nigh onto mental breakdown (one was seriously afflicted - refer to picture below). When the rain petered out, they decamped and departed for Genting proper for an early breakfast at a secret venue, esoterically so due to their ostensibly tax-free price, where you can have a hearty meal without cutting your heart out.Having sated their stomachs' demand, they hopped onto the cable car and rolled down the hill...

And so, once again, Ali Buntut have proven their worth in a society of spoon-fed and car-chauffeured denizens. Hunger is holistically holy. Pain is a productive psychedelic. Blisters are ... blisters. They are beyond benefits. Conclusively, these fellas were refreshed and reprogrammed to tolerate and humor nature, within and without the mind and body. Victory is ours! (oh, by the way, I am one of them).

My sympathies...