The first light of dawn barely pierced the thick wooden shutters of Pimjai's ancient home. Dust particles floated lazily in the beams that managed to slip through the cracks. The house smelled of incense and old wood — memories held tight in every corner, and secrets whispered in the silence.
Chanthira woke slowly, her body aching from the cold night. The thin mat she had slept on was hard and unforgiving, but she barely noticed. Her mind churned with the images from last night: the floating, disembodied head of her grandmother, the strange whispers that filled the dark room, and the bitter taste of fear that still lingered.
Her breath came out in small puffs, the chill of the morning creeping through the thin walls. She glanced across the room to where Krit still lay curled up, his eyes closed but his face pale and drawn. The terror of last night had left deep marks on both of them.
Chanthira quietly sat up and wiped the sleep from her eyes. The altar where her grandmother had prayed was draped with marigold garlands and candles, now cold and spent. On the small wooden table beside it lay a faded photograph of Pimjai, her eyes calm yet mysterious, as if she were guarding something no one else could understand.
With hesitant steps, Chanthira crossed the creaking floorboards and approached the altar. Her fingers brushed over the smooth surface of a small wooden chest. The chest was locked, but a key dangled from a hook nearby, tied to a red thread that had faded over time.
Her heart thumped loudly in her chest as she took the key and slipped it into the lock. The rusted metal clicked open, revealing an assortment of objects inside.
There were small clay jars filled with strange powders that smelled faintly of herbs and earth. Bundles of dried roots and twigs, tied together with thin strips of faded cloth, lay stacked neatly. A dagger with an ornate handle, its blade darkened by age, rested beside a folded piece of parchment yellowed with time.
Chanthira's hands trembled as she unfolded the fragile paper. The script was delicate and hurried, written in the old Thai language that few could read now. Symbols, strange and swirling, decorated the edges of the page.
She scanned the writing, her eyes catching a word repeated several times: Mae Yai — the title her grandmother had always used with reverence.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed softly in the hallway. Krit stirred awake, rubbing his eyes as he entered the room.
["Chanthira? What are you doing?"] he whispered, his voice hoarse.
Chanthira quickly folded the parchment and slipped it into her robe.
["I found this chest under the altar. Look at what's inside,"] she said, pulling the jars and bundles out carefully.
Krit's face darkened as he examined the items. ["These are ritual tools... things from the old ways, the magic your grandmother practiced. She was fighting the Krasue curse."]
Chanthira's breath hitched. ["The Krasue? But that's just a legend, right? A ghost story to scare children."]
Krit shook his head slowly. ["No. It's real. And it's coming back."]
Before she could ask more, a sharp knock echoed on the door. Both froze.
Krit moved swiftly and opened it. Standing there was Mae Yai, the village elder — a woman of formidable presence and unyielding will. Her eyes, sharp and knowing, swept over the room like a hawk spotting prey.
Her skin was weathered and rough like ancient bark, her silver hair pulled back into a tight knot. Around her neck hung a necklace made of tiny bones, each one clicking softly as she moved.
["I heard you asking questions,"] Mae Yai said quietly but with authority. ["It's time you learned the truth. Your grandmother left you a burden."]
Chanthira felt a shiver run down her spine. ["Please, tell me. What burden?"]
Mae Yai entered slowly, settling herself beside the altar. She took a deep breath, her voice dropping to a low murmur.
["The Krasue is no mere ghost story. It is a curse born from pain — pain, betrayal, and a deep wound in our village's history. Long ago, one of your ancestors was falsely accused of witchcraft and cast out. Her spirit, unable to find peace, was transformed into the Krasue — a terrifying creature that haunts the night, searching for justice."]
Chanthira's eyes widened in disbelief. ["So... this curse has been with our family all this time?"]
Mae Yai nodded gravely. ["Yes. Your grandmother fought it fiercely. She tried to contain the curse, using these rituals and charms. But the curse has grown stronger, feeding on fear and anger."]
Krit clenched his fists, frustration and fear swirling in his eyes. ["That's why it came last night. It's searching for something — or someone."]
Mae Yai pulled a small wooden box from her bag and opened it. Inside lay an amulet, delicately carved in the shape of a lotus flower.
["This was your grandmother's last defense,"] she said, handing the amulet to Chanthira. ["It holds protective power, but it must be activated. The ritual to activate it was begun but never completed."]
Chanthira turned the amulet over in her hands, feeling its strange warmth.
["How do I finish the ritual?"] she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Mae Yai's eyes locked on hers. ["You must go to the ancient shrine in the heart of the forest — beneath the roots of the oldest banyan tree. There, the final piece awaits."]
A cold breeze swept through the room, rattling the windows. Chanthira shivered.
["I don't know if I'm ready for this,"] she admitted.
Krit stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ["We don't have a choice. If you don't finish the ritual, the Krasue will keep hunting. It will destroy our village and us."]
Mae Yai stood, her gaze fierce. ["Prepare yourself. We leave at dawn. The forest will test you. You will face truths you never imagined."]
Chanthira nodded slowly, the weight of her grandmother's legacy settling heavily on her shoulders.
As Mae Yai left, the house seemed to close in around her. Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it a faint, haunting laugh — hollow and cruel.
Chanthira clutched the amulet tightly.
To be continued…