Babi Ngepet of Indonesian Folklore

The jungle breathes around you.

Leaves bead with moisture under the weight of humidity. The air thickens, dense with damp earth, rotting foliage, and something sharper—burning oil, scorched metal. Cicadas drone in the canopy, a restless hum that rises and falls in waves but never quite settles. Something stirs in the underbrush as if shifting through the leaf litter, disturbing the soil beneath it.

A gecko? A rodent?

You shiver despite the heat and pull your sarong tighter around your shoulders. The heat and humidity press in, thick and cloying, the kind that lingers on skin long after nightfall. The scent of burning incense drifts from homes locked tight for the night as you pass them. Behind shuttered windows, voices murmur—whispers, their words half-lost beneath the churn of insects.

One word sounds...familiar?

The dirt path outside the village is cool beneath your feet, worn smooth by years of footsteps but loose enough to shift under each step. The shuttered homes are behind you now, their lights distant pinpricks, oil lamps flickering like fireflies in the dark.

Ahead, the trees press closer. The path narrows, winding like a tunnel burrowed into the undergrowth.

Your mind still works on that murmured word, trying to decipher the sounds.

Your fingers run cold as you realize the word was a name.

Babi Ngepet.

A gust of wind worms through the trees, curling against your sweat-damp skin, bringing the scent of damp fur, of overturned soil. The oil lantern ahead sputters, its flame flickering unsteadily, like a breath choked in the throat.

You stop.

Something moves ahead.

A shape emerges from the gloom, thick-bodied. Low to the ground.

A pig?

A large one, squat and heavy, its hooves pressing into the mud with slow, deliberate steps. The lantern's dim glow catches on it. Matted fur, dark with sweat, the color of deep, tilled earth.

A boar.

Its eyes gleam red. A dull, smoldering glow, like embers buried beneath ash. It watches, breath slow and heavy, its wet exhalation thick with sweat and something sharp, like iron long forgotten in the rain.

Your gut clenches.

You know the stories.

A boar that is no boar. A thing that moves unseen through locked doors, slipping inside without a sound. It does not need hands to steal. It does not need claws to take. It does not need a weapon to kill.

The lantern winks out.

Darkness tunnels in.

A twig snaps behind you, brittle and dry, crushed under a weight that should not be there.

You listen—hearing only silence.

The insects, birds, and wind itself hold their breath.

The air tightens, pressing against your ribs—wrapping thick around your throat. A new scent curls in the back of your mouth: wet fur, sour musk, the raw stench of something unearthed. Something that should have stayed buried.

A slow, bubbling exhale sounds ahead, rising to a growl, deep and hollow. It vibrates through your bones, disturbing the soil beneath you.

Your calves burn, sticking you in place as a slow scrape of bone against dirt begins before you, giving way to hooves battering the earth—straight toward you.

Shadows lurch and coil.

You turn to run. Your legs tangle beneath you, muscles seizing. Your foot skids on loose soil. You slip, dirt kicking up as you lurch forward.

Every step tears the ground, kicking up dust like the ground itself is working against you. Your arms pump, fingers clawing at empty space, reaching for anything to keep you upright.

Something slams between your shoulders—hard. Breath knifes from your lungs. Pain explodes through your ribs, sharp and deep, like a tusk driving into flesh.

The ground vanishes. The trees rush up, branches tearing at your skin. The air splits with a wet, choking grunt.

Dirt fills your mouth as you hit the earth. Fingers claw at the ground, digging, searching, but there is nothing to hold onto.

The weight above you presses down.

Solid, hot, suffocating.

Rancid, stale breath punches your neck.

A crack. Your ankle wrenched, twisted, yanked backward.

The world moves.

No, you move—dragged.

The trees close in.

The path disappears.

Roots coil around you like gnarled fingers.

The roots tighten.

The dark swallows you whole.

What Is Babi Ngepet?

In Indonesian folklore, the Babi Ngepet is a supernatural entity linked to black magic and the pursuit of wealth through mystical means. Rooted in Javanese and Malay traditions, the legend tells of individuals who undergo a ritualistic transformation into a boar-like creature to steal riches from unsuspecting victims.

The name reflects its nature: babi means "pig" or "boar," and ngepet refers to sneaking or illicitly obtaining something. According to tradition, the transformation requires a ritual involving incantations and a magical cloth—it's not super clear, and, unsurprisingly, there's no handbook or HOWTO to be found. So... we'll hand wave past the whole part about how to become one.

Some obscure words or phrases, like Babi Ngepet, are difficult to find resources on native pronunciations. But for anyone whose country hasn't banned The Platform That Shall Not Be Named, ​here's a short video from native Indonesia speaker @aarons.english where he says the "Babi Ngepet"​

Once in its boar form, the individual moves through villages at night, rubbing against homes to siphon money and valuables. By morning, the creature reverts to human form, often waking to piles of stolen wealth.

The process of becoming this creature to obtain wealth carries risk, though. A trusted accomplice must remain behind to guard a candle or oil lamp that works as a tether between the human and animal forms. If the flame flickers erratically, it signals that the shapeshifter is in danger, either caught by villagers or something else. If the flame is extinguished completely, the transformation becomes irreversible, leaving the person trapped as a beast forever. So, only people you really trust. Also, there's that whole problem of the more people you bring into your crimes, the higher the risk of someone not keeping their mouth shut.

Fear of the Babi Ngepet has led to measures in some rural communities. For example, night patrols were once common in villages, and reports of unusual boars—especially those displaying unnatural intelligence—often fueled superstitions. Some villagers claim these creatures can vanish instantly when pursued, and some stories say they will attack if a person wanders too close. In past decades, supposedly, suspected shapeshifting boars were hunted and killed, particularly during times of unexplained financial gain or hardship.

Anthropologists suggest that the legend may have originated as a social commentary on wealth disparity. In some agrarian societies, where prosperity was tied to visible labor and resources, sudden wealth without an apparent source often bred suspicion. Stories of Babi Ngepet may have been used to explain unexplained riches or to reinforce the idea that wealth gained through dishonest or supernatural means comes with dire consequences.

Despite modernization, belief in Babi Ngepet persists but doesn't seem as widespread as it once was. Occasional reports of nocturnal pig-like creatures still surface in Indonesian communities, usually surrounding concerns of financial fraud and corruption. The legend continues to serve as a cautionary tale, reminding people that the pursuit of easy wealth can come at an unforgivable price.

Where Is Indonesia?

Indonesia is a country of contradictions—modern skyscrapers pressed against jungle ruins, ancient traditions carried forward into a digital age, bustling cities giving way to dense, unbroken rainforests.

Indonesia stretches across over 17,000 islands, scattered across the equator like a string of untamed pearls. Volcanoes smolder, their peaks lost in the mist. The ocean churns against black sand beaches, waves gnawing at the edges of the land—places where time folds on itself, and the old stories still have plenty of life.

The tale of Babi Ngepet is just one of many. Some say it started in Java; others claim it's older, something that has always been there, slinking through the undergrowth, pressing its snout against locked doors. Whatever its origin, the fear remains.

Speak to an elder in a quiet village or a fisherman returning from sea, and they will tell you that strange things happen here. A shadow moving where no shadow should be. A flicker in an oil lamp when the air is still. A shape, low to the ground, watching from the trees.

Each island in the over 17,000 has its own people, traditions, and stories. In Sumatra, some say a small, humanlike creature moves through the forests, glimpsed between the trees—neither man nor ape. In Sulawesi, fishermen whisper about ghost ships drifting silently on the water, their crews nothing more than shadows with burning eyes. On the cliffs of Bali, where Hindu rituals shape daily life, offerings are still left for spirits older than memory. The details change from place to place, but the belief stays the same—there are things out there that can't always be seen, but that doesn't mean they aren't watching.

And in some villages, when the night is thick and the jungle presses close, people still glance over their shoulders. They check their doors. They listen for the shuffle of hooves in the dirt.

Because in some places, the stories are not just stories.

Babi Ngepet, a legend?

Perhaps.

Or maybe something still moves in the dark.

Watching, waiting—for those greedy enough to call it.

Relevant & Related

• Learn about the ​History of Indonesia​
• Read more of ​Indonesian Legends and Folk Tales by Adèle de Leeuw and illustrator Ronni Solbert​
• Even more reading in ​Indonesian Folktales by Murti Bunanta​
• Check out a 5-minute ​film segment from 1976 about the Babi Ngepet​
• There was also a feature-length ​2008 film, Skandal Cinta Babi Ngepet​ (Babi Ngepet Love Scandal), about how far a young couple will go for wealth.

You might enjoy these other articles:

• ​Jenglot of Indonesian Folklore​
• ​Leyak of Balinese Folklore​
• ​Ulama of Sri Lankan Folklore​
• ​Langsuyar of Malaysian Folklore​
• ​El Peuchen of Mapuche Mythology