Finally, the semester had started.
Khemjira adjusted the collar of his university uniform, eyeing his reflection with a sense of pride. Slinging his tote bag over his shoulder, he left his apartment, ready for the day ahead.
It took him precisely an hour to walk from his apartment to the university. By the time he arrived, a dull exhaustion had settled in his limbs, so he stopped by a stall near the faculty building to buy a bottle of water. He had plenty of time before his first class began.
“No straw, please,” he told the vendor, waving away the plastic straw offered to him. Khemjira rarely used straws unless they were biodegradable. If he could do even a small part to protect the environment, he would.
He stood beside the stall, lifting the bottle to his lips, when his gaze shifted just in time to catch sight of the bottom of a potted plant tipping over from a high ledge.
Oh, shit.
“Look out!” someone shouted, but before Khemjira could react, his body seemed frozen in place, rooted to the ground. In the split second before the pot shattered on him, a figure lunged forward and knocked him to the ground.
Crash!
The sound of the pot breaking filled the air, followed by startled cries from the people around them.
“Are you okay!?” the man who’d saved him asked, his expression laced with concern. Khemjira looked up, taking in his honey-colored skin, golden-dyed hair, and a small black headband perched on his head.
For a moment, Khemjira could only stare at the broken pot in shock, his face pale. “Th-thank you for helping me,” he stammered, finally finding his voice. He winced as the man abruptly pulled him to his feet.
“Wait, wait, where are you taking me?” Khemjira asked as he was tugged along. The man’s serious expression left him too startled to resist, so he obediently followed him.
They stopped beneath a plumeria tree behind one of the study buildings, away from the crowd. The man looked around cautiously before turning to Khemjira and locking eyes with him.
“You’re being haunted by a ghost,” he said.
“...”
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“If we don’t do something, you’re definitely gonna die,” Jhettana said bluntly. Khemjira’s mouth fell open in shock. Being told something like this out of the blue by a stranger would startle anyone. He furrowed his brows, curiosity overtaking his fear.
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“How do you know that?”
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“When that pot fell earlier, I saw it from the third floor. It pushed the pot down.”
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Khemjira wasn’t ready to fully believe him, though a part of him had already accepted it. Strange things had been happening ever since he arrived.
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“It’s fine if you don’t believe me. I just wanted to warn you to be careful.”
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Khemjira hesitated, then sighed. “No, it’s not that I don’t believe you. I just don’t want to accept it.” He seemed to be speaking more to himself. “But thanks, anyway. If it wasn’t for you, I would’ve definitely gotten hurt.”
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The man shrugged. “It’s nothing. I’m Jhet. Jhettana. You?”
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“I’m Khem… Khemjira.”
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Jhettana blinked in surprise and gave him a quick once-over. Khemjira managed a dry smile.
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“My mom gave me a girl name to ward off bad luck.”
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Jhettana looked a bit bewildered before scratching his head awkwardly. “Sorry, your face kinda looks like a girl.”
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“It’s okay. I looked even more like one when I was a kid.”
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Jhettana nodded, as if that made perfect sense, before continuing, “So, which faculty are you in?”
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“Fine and Applied Arts.”
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“Hey, me too! You’re a freshman, right?”
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Khemjira’s eyes widened, and he nodded eagerly. “Y…yeah.”
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Jhettana laughed at the coincidence. “Great, then let’s be friends. First off, can I get your LINE?”
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Khemjira quickly pulled out his phone to add Jhettana’s LINE ID, feeling a strange sense of relief.
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“Let’s get to class first. We’ll talk about your situation later.”
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Khemjira nodded slightly in agreement, pressing his lips together.
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They had classes until three in the afternoon. After class, Jhettana took Khemjira back to the marble table behind the building—the same spot where they’d talked that morning.
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“Do you fucking realize you’re being haunted by a goddamn squadron of ghosts?” Jhettana spoke bluntly, giving Khemjira no chance to prepare himself. Earlier, he’d asked to speak informally, feeling it was more natural. Khemjira had agreed but still preferred using a milder tone himself.
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Khemjira answered with a mumble, “I don’t know… but there’ve been times I felt like I wasn’t alone.”
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“...”
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“And lately, I keep seeing strange things.”
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“Ghosts?”
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Khemjira was stunned by Jhettana’s blunt question before nodding in agreement. Jhettana raised an eyebrow.
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“So, you see other ghosts but can’t see the ones close to you?”
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Khemjira’s eyes widened in shock. “You can see them?”
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“Yeah, but not clearly. Sometimes, it’s like gray smoke; other times, they’re dark shadows.”
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“...”
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“Like the first time I saw you, there was both smoke and dark shadows swirling all around you.”
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“...”
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“Serious question, dude. What the fuck did you do?”
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Khemjira swallowed hard. He couldn’t fully deny doing nothing, so he decided to tell Jhettana about the family curse. Seeing Jhettana fall silent upon hearing it, Khemjira felt dejected.
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“Sorry, I didn’t tell you from the start.”
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“...”
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“Jhet, if you want to stop being friends with me, that’s okay.” He winced as Jhettana thumped him on the head, his expression confused and awkward.
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“Bullshit. Who the fuck would stop being friends with someone for a silly reason like that?” Jhettana frowned, and Khemjira thought of his high school friends. Plenty of them, he thought, but he kept silent. He smiled at Jhettana.
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“Thanks.”
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“If I don’t stay friends with you, I probably wouldn’t have anyone else to be friends with.”
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“Ugh, Jhet, I was almost touched.”
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“Haha, your face is hilarious.”
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Khemjira scowled. “Can you continue?”
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“It’s you who’s getting us off track. Anyway, there are ghosts following you, fucking lots of them.”
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Hearing that, Khemjira felt a shiver run down his spine.
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“Even now?”
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Jhettana frowned, looking around. “Uh-huh, but they’re hiding, not coming close.”
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Khemjira pursed his lips, feeling a surge of fear.
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“It’s like you have some powerful protection, or something is protecting you. That’s why they can’t do much.”
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Khemjira unbuttoned his top button, loosened his tie slightly, and reached in to pull out the takrut, showing it to Jhettana.
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“I have this. I’ve been wearing it since I was a kid.”
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Jhettana leaned in to take a closer look, clearly intrigued, though he refrained from touching it.
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“Good stuff, but the magic has worn off.”
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“What?” Khemjira was shocked. “How do you know that?”
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“These are my stuff. I grew up with these kinds of things,” Jhettana replied. The more Khemjira heard, the more anxious he felt. Could it be that the magic of his takrut was waning, causing him to see increasingly strange things these days?
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“So, what should I do now?”
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“Calm down, dude, no need to be stressed.”"Just give me your full name, date of birth, and something you use regularly."
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"Anything at all?"
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"Except your underwear."
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Khemjira’s face flushed, but seeing Jhettana’s serious expression, he knew the request was no joke. Reluctantly, he grabbed a notebook and pen, quickly scribbling down the details Jhettana had asked for. Then, he handed over a white handkerchief embroidered with his name, a cherished item his mother had made for him before she passed away.
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"Okay. And hey, don't just give stuff like this to anyone so easily next time," Jhettana said, his tone suddenly serious. Khemjira frowned.
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"But you told me to give them to you, didn't you?"
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"How can you be sure I won't use it for something bad?"
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Khemjira’s stomach churned as he processed Jhettana’s words. He hadn’t thought of it that way.
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"Oh..." Khemjira mumbled.
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"I'm just saying. You can trust me, but others, not so much. I just want to warn you. What if someone put even more curses on you?"
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Khemjira went pale, nodding immediately.
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"Good. I'll be going back to my hometown over the holiday. I'll talk to Por Kru to see if he can help with your situation."
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"Thanks," Khemjira said, feeling a small wave of relief.
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"Sure. If you die, I'll have no friends left."
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Khemjira couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Jhettana’s bluntness. "Jhet, you fucking bastard, this is the second time already."
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"Ha ha ha! You're cursing at me now, you little shit?"
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Khemjira scowled. "Stop annoying me. I’m stressed, you know?"
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"Aww. There, there. Let’s go. I'll take you for some shaved ice. I heard the place in front of the uni is good."
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Though still irritated, Khemjira reluctantly agreed. He followed Jhettana, trailing behind like a duckling following its mother, though a part of him wondered if they had become too close too quickly. They had known each other for less than a day, but somehow it felt much longer.
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Khemjira now felt certain that spirits were following him. After all, Jhettana had said that when he was around, the spirits stayed away, protected by some magical item he carried. Since that day, Khemjira had been glued to Jhettana. The only time they didn’t see each other was when they returned to their apartments, but even then, no problems arose.
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Still, Khemjira’s nights were filled with lingering unease. He saw strange things out of the corner of his eye, heard creaks and objects falling, but nothing that was enough to completely break his focus. He tried to distract himself by watching movies or reading books.
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Tonight, Khemjira had just finished reading a book and decided to work on his sketch for class. He moved his chair to the easel, which was set up with a drawing board. The next lesson would be to assess their skill level by sketching something they were good at—whether it be landscapes, people, animals, or objects. Khemjira was good at drawing people, and he intended to draw a picture of his late mother, as he had always found it to be his best subject.
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With a steady hand, he picked up a 2B pencil, holding it perpendicular to the paper. He squinted to gauge the distance before starting to sketch the outline of a face with thin, delicate lines. His mother’s face was forever etched in his memory, and he could recreate it without even needing a reference.
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"I miss you so much," Khemjira whispered softly, a smile tugging at his lips as he worked on the details of her face. But as he continued to sketch, a wave of exhaustion washed over him, and he fought to keep his eyes open.
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Come on, just a little bit more, he told himself, trying to stave off the sleepiness creeping up on him. He tried to push through, but it was no use. His hand began to fall, and within moments, Khemjira succumbed to the sleep that overtook him.
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He jolted awake several hours later, glancing at the wall clock. It was past two in the morning. He shook his head at his own exhaustion, then began to pack away the easel. But as he turned to gather his things, his eyes fell upon the sketch of his mother, and his blood ran cold.
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"Shit!" Khemjira gasped, stumbling backward as his hips slammed against the table behind him. The sketch that once depicted his mother’s smiling face now showed a grotesque, terrifying image. Her eyes were entirely black, and her smile had twisted into a monstrous grin, her mouth torn open at the corners, stretching to her ears.
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Khemjira’s heart raced as he stared at the horrifying image, unable to tear his gaze away. The warmth and nostalgia he had once felt while drawing his mother now turned to dread, as if the very essence of her had been replaced with something sinister.
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