Ethan and his crew, Mark, Trent and the rest, set out early that morning, eager for their vlog adventure in Bali. The sun cast a warm glow on the bustling streets as they began their interviews.
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"Alright, guys, let's find some interesting stories to share with our viewers," Ethan said, scanning the vibrant scene around them.
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Mark, with his camera ready, suggested, "I spotted a group of street performers over there. They might have some cool insights to share."
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Trent, always up for a challenge, added, "Sounds good! Let's see what they have to say about their craft."
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Approaching the street performers, Ethan greeted them warmly, "Hi, we're filming a vlog about Bali and its diverse art scene. Would you be open to answering a few questions for our audience?"
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One of the performers, a young woman with a colorful costume, nodded enthusiastically, "Absolutely! We love sharing our passion for traditional Balinese dance."
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Ethan started the interview, "What inspired you to pursue this form of dance? How does it connect to the local culture?"
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The performer explained, "Our dances tell stories of love, nature, and mythology. Each movement has a deeper meaning rooted in Balinese traditions."
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Mark, capturing the essence of the performance, asked, "Can you show us a quick demonstration of a traditional dance move?"
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With grace and precision, the performer showcased a mesmerizing dance move, captivating the crew with her skill.
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Ethan, impressed, said, "That was incredible! Thank you for sharing a glimpse of your artistry with us."
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In the midst of an interview with fans on the bustling streets of Bali Ethan spotted a lady in the crowd. She called out to him, her voice cutting through the noise, and beckoned him to follow her. Intrigued, he stepped away from the crowd, feeling an inexplicable pull as he moved deeper into the throng of people.
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As he followed her, the vibrant energy of the street faded, and he soon found himself in the woods. The atmosphere shifted dramatically; a heavy silence enveloped him, broken only by the occasional crack of leaves under his feet. The lady seemed almost weightless, as if she glided effortlessly through the underbrush, leaving no trace behind. The air was thick with the scent of fresh, rain-soaked soil and damp leaves, creating a strangely comforting aroma that contrasted with the unsettling situation.
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However, as he ventured further, he was met with a jarring smell—a pungent, rotting odor that made his stomach churn. It was then that he stumbled upon a sign, its bold letters warning him:
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"If you are seeing this sign, you are about to be a victim. Turn around and go back now before whatever you are following realizes you are not following it."
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The words sent a chill down his spine, and he felt a sense of dread wash over him. Just then, the palm wine tapper, a man harvesting nearby, shouted at him in an Indonesian dialect, "Don't go further that way, that road is dangerous!"
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Caught in a state of numbness, as if stuck in his own body, Ethan moved involuntarily, the surreal nature of the encounter gripping him. It took the tapper's urgent warning to snap him back to reality, leaving him to confront the dark path ahead.
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Ethan stood at the edge of the dense woods, his heart pounding in his chest. "Where am I?" he asked, glancing around in confusion. The palm wine tapper, a wiry man with sunken eyes, looked up from his work, a frown etched on his face. "I don't know either, but wherever you are going is dangerous," he warned, his voice gravelly. "I suggest you turn back!" He gestured dismissively toward the treeline before returning to his palm wine extraction, the sound of dripping sap mingling with the rustling leaves.
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"What's the way back to the Naleel hotel?" Ethan pressed, desperation creeping into his tone. The tapper pointed vaguely, his expression a mix of annoyance and concern. "Damn these white people!" he muttered under his breath, the words barely audible over the chirping of crickets. As Ethan turned to retrace his steps, a shrill cry pierced the air, freezing him in place. He spun around, heart racing, to see the tapper leap from the tree, knife glinting ominously in the fading light, blood staining its blade. "Run, you fool!" the tapper yelled, panic evident in his voice as he charged after Ethan.
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With adrenaline surging through him, Ethan bolted into the underbrush, the leaves crunching beneath his feet. The sound of footsteps echoed behind him, and he glanced back to see a figure emerging from the shadows—a woman with an otherworldly presence. It was the Sundel Bolong. She seemed to grow taller with each stride, her form shifting until she towered at around nine feet, her movements a terrifying blend of grace and menace. As she reached out, her elongated fingers grasped the tapper by the neck, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. Ethan's breath caught in his throat as he watched the tapper's face turn crimson, a mixture of fear and disbelief etched across his features.
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Instinct kicked in, and Ethan hurled his canister at the Sundel Bolong. The sound of the metal clanging against the ground was drowned out by the rush of his heartbeat. The canister burst open, warm salt water spilling forth like a wave, soaking the specter. A blood-curdling scream erupted from her lips, echoing through the trees, as she recoiled in pain, releasing the tapper and disappearing into the depths of the woods.
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Ethan seized the moment, rushing to the fallen tapper. He hoisted him onto his shoulder, the man's body limp and unresponsive. As he sprinted toward the safety of the crowd gathered outside the woods, the cacophony of voices and the distant wail of sirens filled his ears. He placed the tapper on the ground, his crew quickly surrounding him, their frantic movements punctuated by the rustle of clothing and the thud of footsteps. Ethan worked quickly, administering first aid, his hands steady despite the chaos around him. Relief washed over him as the tapper began to regain consciousness, groaning softly.
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The crew called the police, their voices urgent and frantic. Within moments, sirens wailed closer, the sound slicing through the tension in the air. As the police arrived, their authoritative presence cut through the murmurs of the crowd. One officer stepped forward, his brow furrowed in concern. "What happened, sir?" he asked, eyeing Ethan closely. But Ethan remained silent, still grappling with the surreal events that had transpired in the woods. He felt as if he were trapped in a dream, unable to articulate the chaos that had unfolded.
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The officers, sensing his distress, gently escorted him and his crew back to the hotel, the crowd parting to let them through. Murmurs of admiration echoed behind them, while others speculated about the wine tapper's condition. Whispers of disbelief and admiration circulated among them, some even hailing Ethan as a hero for his daring rescue .
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The man, now being tended to by paramedics, had a visible fracture on his neck, and the crowd assumed it was from a fall.
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Ethan glanced back at the wine tapper, who looked just as bewildered, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. The police, now aware that this was the second incident in as many days—following the strange occurrences at Theo's residence—exchanged concerned glances. The witnesses there had also stood by, their faces pale and expressions tight-lipped, too frightened to share what they had seen.
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