This story is about a Malaysian office that hired a bomoh—a traditional spiritual healer—when strange tech glitches sparked fears of supernatural interference.
It all started when my wife’s office started behaving like a badly coded horror movie. Lights flickering, computers crashing without warning, printers jamming so often they practically screamed like an injured animal.
Meetings? Canceled at random, as if the project management software itself was making attempts to self-delete.
Someone, half-laughing in the pantry while glaring at a malfunctioning coffee maker said, “Maybe this place is haunted.” That rumor quickly made the rounds in the office, and everyone was chuckling that “We don’t need facilities. We don’t need IT. We need Rajah Bomoh.”
Then senior management picked up the rumors, and two days later, HR had sent a company-wide email bulletin, titled: “Email Subject: Office Cleansing Ritual – Please Cooperate” detailing how, at 4pm on a Thursday afternoon, a spiritual healer would come to the office to cleanse it from the evil humors that plagued our little old office in Pantai Dalam.
My wife and I don’t buy into all this hantu-hantu nonsense. But hey, if management wanted to blow the maintenance budget on ghostbusters instead of fixing their actual Wi-Fi, who are we to complain?
Enter: Bomoh with Serious Wi-Fi Vengeance
On the day itself, the Bomoh arrived just after lunch, trailing the heavy scent of kemenyan. He was a short, wiry man with a gaze sharp enough to slice through drywall.
In one hand, he held a bundle of herbs; in the other, a battered plastic water bottle filled with something murky. An assistant carried a rolled-up ratan mat, a coconut that had honestly seen better days, and a modem and router.
Without preamble they began their ritual, mumbling ancient words under his breath, waving burning kemenyan through the air, flicking smoke into every corner, and sprinkling droplets across desks.
Staff were kaypoh-ing from behind cubicle walls, some pretending to tidy papers, others blatantly recording on their phones. A few covered their mouths, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter.
A Finger Pointed, A Warning Given
The Bomoh was in mid-swing over my wife’s workstation, when he suddenly froze, smoke curling lazily around him, and his head snapped toward my wife. His finger stabbed the air like a courtroom accusation.
“You,” he said, voice low and weighty. “You must leave before sunset. Do not come to work tomorrow.”
My wife froze, her hand still hovering over her coffee cup. “Huh?” she squeaked, glancing around to see if maybe he’d meant someone else.
The Bomoh nodded gravely, as if issuing a traffic summons. “You have been touched by something. Jampi! Jampi! You must go home, and stay away tomorrow. Then the spirit will leave. Otherwise…” He let the words dangle like a noose. “…your boss, colleagues and company will suffer.”
“Suffer How, Exactly?”
Her boss, who had been half-dozing through the whole thing, jolted upright so fast the wheels of his chair squealed. “Suffer like how?”
The Bomoh’s face darkened and the kemenyan smoke seemed to pulse around him. “Endless Wi-Fi disruptions. Print jobs that never complete. Server crashes. Data corruption! Loss of important files! Client files even! Meetings that will never end on time.”
A collective gasp went up — “Macam horror movie, wei!” Someone whispered, “Meetings that never end?” There were some snorts, and a giggle or two from those of us gathered to participate as observers in the cleansing ritual.
I cleared my throat, raising a tentative hand, and said, “Uh… Bomoh… She’s my wife.”
Without missing a beat, the Bomoh turned his intense gaze on me. “Then YOU also cannot come to work tomorrow. Both of you must use the time wisely! Say prayers!”
He waved one of his assistants forward. He thrust packets of herbs, flower petals with oils already prepared into our hands and started handing them out to others. “Mandi Bunga! Before bed tonight! And when you wake in the morning!” He intoned.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Even the air-conditioning seemed to falter, the office falling into a stunned, buzzing silence broken only by the distant whine of a printer struggling — and failing — to print.
Finally, our boss groaned into his hands at the sheer absurdity of it all, and said, “Go home. Take tomorrow off. See you… in two days.”
My wife and I nodded, ensured our workstations were secured and quickly exited the building. We were halfway to our car when our phones pinged with an email to confirm our additional time off.
Our Heroic Sacrifice: Pajamas and Teh Tarik
We drove home, in a mix of silence that eventually erupted in laughter. We couldn’t believe that any of this was being taken seriously but also wondered how seriously we should take this. We talked about it and decided that in the interest of staying on the right side of the Bomoh, Management, HR and even the IT department, we followed the instructions given.
Our evening was filled with my wife and I taking turns to mandi bunga, while reciting the Duas and Surahs and Ayat al-Kursi as instructed. We complied with everything, because, just in case.
That is how, at exactly 10:04 AM the next morning, we found ourselves curled up on the living room couch. Pajamas rumpled. Socks mismatched. The sweet, milky scents of teh tarik and milo-ais swirling through the air, watching “Smile 2” on Netflix. Because why not?
Outside, the world continued, and the office braved the risks of Wi-Fi outages and printer meltdowns. At home, my wife and I lounged like heroes who had bravely saved the office with nothing but our absence.
Honestly? I’m thinking we should put that Bomoh on a retainer.
Have a story to tell?
Share your story on our Facebook page and you may be featured on In Real Life Malaysia.
I Made Sure My Ex-husband Lost Everything After He Cheated On Me With A 21 Year Old Influencer
More from Supernatural
“The HR only cared about my Birth Chart,” shares M’sian jobseeker applying to Bazi consultancy
This is the story about how this man thought he was interviewing for a writing job — but it turned …
“My Fries Ended Up At a Hungry Ghost Shrine,” shares M’sian LRT Commuter
This story is about a midnight LRT ride during Hungry Ghost Month, where a student’s last train home turned into …
“My Grab Food order was for a Hungry Ghost,” shared stunned M’sian delivery rider
This story is about a late-night Grab delivery during Hungry Ghost Month, where a rider’s routine order led him to …
