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The Island That Sees Through You

*Genre: Supernatural Horror, Psychological Thriller, Travel Mystery*
*Setting: Ubud, Bali – Summer of 2023*

What if paradise sees your soul—and doesn’t let go?

I never believed in ghosts. Not seriously. Not until the summer of 2023, when burnout from my tech job in Singapore led me to book a last-minute solo retreat to Bali. The plan was simple: unplug, heal, reset. But the island had other plans. What began as a peaceful vacation in a secluded villa outside Ubud quickly spiraled into a spiritual descent I couldn’t escape from.

The villa was perfect—too perfect. Traditional Balinese design, surrounded by rice paddies, misty mornings, and ancient temples nearby. Every doorway adorned with daily offerings. Every night serenaded by distant gamelan music. For the first few days, I embraced it all. Meditation, yoga, local food, temple visits.

Then came the dreams.

A temple I hadn’t seen. A woman in white with her face half-covered in hair. A stare that pierced through the veil of sleep and left me frozen with fear. Whispers in a language I didn’t speak. Night after night, her presence grew stronger—until she crossed the threshold from dream into reality.

Mirrors fogged on their own. Statues turned. Shadows moved in corners untouched by light. And always, the smell of frangipani before something happened. The villa, once tranquil, felt like a mouth slowly closing around me. Every inch of the house watched. Every offering seemed like a warning I was too late to understand.

Locals avoided my gaze. Strangers placed offerings outside my room without a word. I visited a *balian*—a traditional Balinese healer—who told me, “You opened something. It saw you. Now it follows.” I wanted to laugh. But I couldn’t. Because deep down, I knew it was true.

The woman wasn't a ghost in the Western sense. She was something older. A *penunggu*—a watcher bound to the land, awakened by disrespect or recognition. And I had done both.

Through rituals, cryptic warnings, and a wooden idol with no eyes, I tried to make sense of the unraveling horror. I was told to let her "finish looking." But what does that mean when what she sees is you—your regrets, your secrets, your soul?

This isn’t just a ghost story.

It’s about the cost of being seen by something beyond comprehension. It’s about sacred land, and what happens when a tourist treats spirit like spectacle. It’s about the third eye opening not through meditation, but through fear.

The island gave me what I didn’t ask for.

And now, even after leaving Bali, the dreams haven’t stopped.

If you’ve ever felt something watching you just out of view\... if you’ve ever visited a sacred place and felt *changed* afterward... you might understand. You might have opened a door, too.

**“The Island That Sees Through You”** is a supernatural travel-horror novella written in a deeply immersive, personal style. A cross between *The Haunting of Hill House* and *Eat Pray Die*, this story takes readers on a slow-burn psychological descent through mysticism, madness, and a truth you cannot unsee.

Welcome to Bali.
She sees you now.

When Bali Opened My Third Eye

There are names that carry weight. There are names that echo. Hers was both.

The day after the mirror cracked and the song returned, I stayed. No phone. No laptop. Just me, a journal, and silence. I started writing her name the way it sounded in my dream. Phonetically. Repeatedly. I didn't know if it was right, but each time I wrote it, something shifted.

By the sixth page, the wind changed. Not around me—through me. The villa groaned. Not like wood settling, but like something waking from a long sleep.

Then I heard a voice. Not hers. A child's.

I turned. No one. Just the silhouette of a small girl behind the kitchen screen—the one I'd passed every day. I stepped closer. She vanished. But her laughter lingered.

That night, I didn't sleep. I left the mirror uncovered. I let the air move freely.

At 2:44 a.m., she returned. Not in a dream. Not in reflection. She stood at the foot of my bed. Solid. Still. Her eyes hidden.

"To say my name without your mouth."

"Then I will no longer be only me."

The next morning, my mirror was clear. My hand healed. But the silver shard was back, lying on the table. Etched into it:

Was it her name? Or a key? I said it aloud.

The wind paused. The birds stopped. Even the insects froze. Then I heard them—twelve voices from inside the walls:

**"See her. Remember her. She was real."**

I returned to the old well. This time, I lowered the mirror inside. No reflection of the sky. No water. Just a face.

Some spirits don't haunt to hurt. They stay to be carried forward. This wasn't possession. It was continuation.

✅ *If this chapter drew you in, please follow the story, rate it, and leave a comment. Her name only echoes when others speak it. Will you be the next voice?*

The Echo Name