The vengeful spirit of a woman who died in childbirth — Southeast Asia's most feared apparition, and the only entity in this archive with a city named after her (Pontianak, West Kalimantan, founded, the story goes, on ground where one was put to rest). She appears as a beautiful woman in white with black hair to her waist, and announces herself by scent and sound before she is ever seen.
The signatures are exact. The scent is frangipani — the graveyard flower — arriving thick and sourceless. The sound is an infant crying, and it follows the inverse rule the archive now recognizes as a regional constant: loud means she is far; faint, almost gentle, means she is very near. Dogs howl when she is distant and whimper when she is close.
She perches in banana trees by day, per the folklore, which is why plantation workers will not answer voices from the grove after dark. The traditional means of subduing her — an iron nail driven into the nape of her neck — is recorded here as folklore, not recommendation. The archive's recommendation is that the smell of frangipani at 2 a.m. is your cue to be somewhere else.