My shadow slides across the long foyer as I make my way inside. Wings flap away faintly. A rat sneaks out. Ancient bloodshed and obscure rituals invoke the ominous spirit master’s words: “If you really wish to see the ghosts that inhabit this place, you must sleep here.” Decades ago, from a pillar next to the doorway, dangled a huge, menacing wood carving of an eagle with outstretched wings, in whose shadow trials were staged. A defendant would be instructed to extract an egg inserted in the eagle’s throat. If he was unable to remove it he would be declared guilty of his alleged crime and executed immediately, with the raja’s kris driven into his heart.