When Uncle Smiled

Paj woke to the roosters crowing. Morning chill seeped through gaps in the wooden walls, making her pull the blanket tighter for just one more moment. Then she heard Mother already moving outside, and she pushed herself up from the sleeping mat.

The smell of smoke drifted through the doorway. Other families’ cooking fires, starting up across the village. Paj pulled on her hemp jacket and stepped outside into the gray dawn light.

Mother knelt by the grinding stone, already working. The rhythmic scrape of grain against stone filled the quiet morning.

“Good. You’re up.” Mother didn’t look away from her work. “Help me finish this.”

Paj settled across from her, pushing rice grains around the stone’s worn surface. Her hands knew the pattern, even if her technique still needed Mother’s corrections. The village of Paj Tsiab spread out around them—wooden houses clustered together, smoke rising from morning fires, the sound of someone’s chickens starting to fuss.

Normal. Familiar. Comfortable.

Mother’s hand suddenly touched Paj’s neck, fingers checking the small herb pouch that hung there on its string. Her face went tight with worry for just a moment before smoothing out again.

“Keep it on,” Mother said. “Always.”

Paj nodded. She didn’t ask why. Mother never explained these things anyway.

While the rice cooked, Mother went inside to the family altar. Through the doorway, Paj watched her light not one incense stick, but three. More than usual. Mother’s lips moved in whispered prayer.

Paj turned back to the grinding stone. Other mothers didn’t burn extra incense every morning.

Other mothers didn’t worry quite so much.

From inside the house came the sound of Tou stirring, her seven-year-old brother beginning to wake.

Tou emerged from the house, yawning and rubbing his eyes. Before Paj could greet him, he was already wandering toward the edge of the village, toward the tree line.

“Tou! Where are you going?”

He looked back, innocent. “Just looking…”

A sharp sound made Paj turn. Mother had dropped the rice pot. She stared at Tou, her face suddenly pale.

“Tou! Get back here. NOW.”

Paj had heard Mother angry before. But this wasn’t anger. This was something else.

Tou hurried back, startled by her tone. Mother knelt and gripped his shoulders, her fingers tight enough to hurt.

“Listen to me.” Mother’s voice shook. “Never go toward the old tree. Never go near the pit. Do you understand?”

Tou nodded quickly, eyes wide.

Mother turned to Paj. “Watch him. Keep him away from there.”

“I will, Mother. I promise.”

Paj wanted to ask why. What happened at the pit? But Mother’s face held genuine fear—not the kind that came from broken rules. Real fear.

Mother returned to her work, but kept glancing toward the forest.

“Why can’t we go there?” Tou whispered.

Paj shook her head. “I don’t know. But Mother’s really scared about it.”

They both looked toward the distant tree line. What could make Mother that afraid?

Lia appeared from the path between houses, Bee trailing behind her. Both carried empty wooden buckets.

“Morning, Paj. Your mother sent us to get water.”

“I’ll come with you.”

They walked toward the village well, passing Auntie Mee’s house where smoke curled from the cooking fire. Bee kicked at a stone, making it skip ahead on the path.

“I bet I can balance the full bucket on my head,” Bee announced.

Lia’s lips twitched into a small smile. “You couldn’t even balance it on the ground last time.”

Paj laughed. Bee always made promises like that.

They drew water and returned, buckets heavy now, sloshing slightly. Back at Paj’s house, they scattered grain for the chickens, who rushed over in a frantic cluster.

Bee squatted down and made soft clucking noises, perfectly mimicking the hens. The chickens turned to stare at him, confused.

Paj and Lia burst out laughing. Even Tou giggled, then tried to copy the sound, though his came out more like a strangled squawk.

“So what should we do tomorrow?” Bee asked, tossing the last handful of grain.

“We could explore the forest path,” Lia said quietly. “The one by the stream.”

“Not too far,” Paj added quickly.

“Obviously.” Bee grinned.

From somewhere nearby came the sound of adult voices. Someone was approaching along the main path.

Chue’s voice, talking to someone.

Chue walked past carrying a coil of rope, following their father toward the fields. He looked taller somehow, more serious. Six months working with Father had changed him.

“Chue!” Bee called out. “Want to come explore with us tomorrow?”

Chue barely slowed. “That’s kid stuff. I have real work to do.”

Not mean. Just dismissive. Like they were beneath his notice now.

Father gave Chue an approving nod, and they kept walking.

Silence settled over the group.

Bee tried to laugh it off. “Fine. We don’t need him anyway.”

But the joke fell flat.

Paj remembered when Chue used to tell them stories. When he’d climb trees with them and steal rice cakes from the kitchen. When he’d been part of their group instead of above it.

“He’s different now,” Lia said quietly.

Paj turned to Tou. “You’re not allowed to grow up like that.”

Tou looked confused. “Like what?”

“Like you forgot how to have fun.”

The others nodded. A small moment of solidarity—they still had each other, at least.

Even if Chue had moved on.

Later that morning, Mother pulled Paj aside. Away from the other kids, away from the house. Just the two of them.

“I need to talk to you about something important.”

Paj followed her gaze toward the forest edge, where the old tree marked the forbidden place.

“I know you’re curious. I know you want to ask why.” Mother’s voice was quiet, strained. “But this time, don’t ask. Just listen.”

She turned to face Paj directly.

“Bad things happened at that pit. People got hurt. I can’t…” Her voice caught. “Promise me you’ll never go there. Promise me you’ll keep your brother and cousins away.”

Paj wanted to ask what happened. When. Who got hurt. How.

But Mother’s face held something beyond fear. Something that looked like old pain, still fresh.

“I promise, Mother.”

Mother searched her face for a long moment, then nodded. She walked back toward the house, shoulders tense.

Paj stood alone, frustrated. Why wouldn’t anyone just tell her things? How was she supposed to stay safe if she didn’t know what was dangerous?

But she’d keep her promise. She wouldn’t go to the pit.

Whatever happened there, it still frightened her mother years later.

What could be that terrible?

That afternoon, Uncle Shoua walked past, grumbling to himself about lazy chickens or broken tools or something. He was always complaining about something.

Bee’s eyes lit up with mischief. “I have an idea.”

“A bad one?” Paj asked.

“The best kind.”

They gathered behind Lia’s house where no adults could see. Bee explained: a bucket of manure, balanced above Uncle Shoua’s door. When he opened it—splash.

“Will he be really mad?” Paj asked.

“He’s always mad!” Bee grinned. “This’ll make him laugh. Eventually.”

They crept to the animal pens at the village edge. Tou kept watch while the others filled an old wooden bucket with fresh manure. Paj tried not to breathe through her nose.

Uncle Shoua’s house stood near the far end of the village. They approached carefully, feet squelching in the mud near the pens. Muddy footprints tracked up to his door—but they were too focused on the bucket to notice.

Lia steadied the rickety ladder while Paj climbed up. It took three tries to balance the bucket just right on the door’s lintel. One push and it would tip.

They ducked behind the woodpile, stifling giggles.

Uncle Shoua’s voice approached, still grumbling. About the weather this time.

The door rattled. Started to open.

Paj held her breath.

SPLASH.

Uncle Shoua stood there, dripping. Manure covered his head, his shoulders, ran down his shirt in brown streams.

For a moment, nobody moved.

“WHAT?!” Uncle Shoua sputtered, wiping his face. “WHO DID THIS?!”

His face went red. His fists clenched.

Behind the woodpile, the kids froze. Maybe this was a terrible idea. Maybe they’d gone too far.

Uncle Shoua looked down. Saw the muddy footprints leading from the animal pens to his door. His eyes followed them to the woodpile.

To four pairs of eyes peeking out.

“You… YOU little…”

Paj cringed, ready to run.

Then Uncle Shoua’s fury broke. His face cracked into a rough laugh, shaking his head as manure dripped off his chin.

“Hah! Got me good, didn’t you?”

He kept laughing, a deep rumbling sound, despite being covered in filth.

“Kids will be kids.” He waved them off. “Just… next time warn an old man first, eh?”

The kids emerged, relieved, laughing now too.

Uncle Shoua walked away toward the stream to wash off, still chuckling and shaking his head.

The bucket lay by his door. Muddy footprints marked the ground.

Evidence of harmless mischief. Nothing more.

After dinner, the family settled around the fire. Grandmother sat in her usual spot, firelight flickering across her weathered face. The younger kids gathered close—story time.

Chue sat apart, working on repairing a broken tool. Showing he was too grown-up for stories now.

“Long ago,” Grandmother began, “a woman went to fetch water from the stream…”

The story unfolded: a tiger that could take human form to trick people. It approached the woman, too friendly, too eager to help carry her buckets. But something felt wrong. She saw through the disguise and escaped by being clever, not running.

Paj leaned forward, rapt. Tigers that looked like people. How would you ever know?

“And that’s why we must be careful of dab and xyw,” Grandmother continued. “Spirits can trick us. Xyw especially—spirits of those who died wrongly. They can’t rest. They’re desperate, angry sometimes. But not always evil.”

Paj absorbed this as normal knowledge, the way adults explained how the world worked.

From across the room, Chue’s voice: “Baby stories.”

Grandmother’s sharp look. “You used to beg for these stories.”

Chue shrugged and returned to his work.

Hurt flashed across Grandmother’s face.

“Grandmother,” Paj asked, “are tigers really that smart?”

“Smarter than we know. And patient.”

Mother suddenly stood. “That’s enough stories. Time for bed.”

Her sharp tone startled everyone. It wasn’t that late yet.

“Children. Bed. Now.”

Mother’s tone left no room for argument.

Tou started to complain, but Paj shushed him. They headed to their sleeping mats, Lia and Bee heading back to their own houses.

Through the gaps in the wooden walls, Paj could still see the main room. Could see Mother walk to the family altar with stiff, tense movements.

She lit three incense sticks. No—four. More than usual.

Her hands trembled slightly as she held them. Whispered prayers moved her lips, urgent and quiet. The kind of prayers you made when you were afraid.

Grandmother watched from her seat by the fire. Her expression wasn’t confused or annoyed. It was knowing. Sad.

Paj pulled her blanket closer.

Why did Mother always burn extra incense after spirit stories? Why was she so afraid? Other mothers told these stories without fear, without this desperate need to pray afterward.

What happened to make Mother this way?

Mother and Grandmother began talking in low voices by the fire. Paj strained to hear but couldn’t make out the words.

Just their worried tones.

Exhaustion pulled at her, but those quiet, anxious voices kept her awake.

Something was wrong.

Something had been wrong for a long time.

Paj lay on her sleeping mat, staring at the dark ceiling. Tou snored softly beside her.

She couldn’t stop thinking. Mother’s fear. The pit warning. Grandmother’s tiger story. The extra incense.

Mother and Grandmother still sat by the dying fire, voices too low to understand. Just worried murmurs.

Paj strained to hear.

Mostly nothing. Then—

“…the old tree…” Mother’s voice, thick with worry.

“…been quiet for years…” Grandmother, cautious.

Paj held her breath.

Mother again, desperate: “Maybe it won’t… maybe nothing will happen…”

Grandmother’s grave response: “Or maybe it’s waiting.”

Silence. Long and heavy.

Then Mother’s whisper, barely audible: “What if I brought this on us?”

“Hush. The children…”

Their voices dropped again, too quiet.

Paj’s heart raced.

What’s been quiet? What could be waiting?

Mother sounded guilty. Like she’d done something wrong. Something that might hurt them all.

This wasn’t normal parental worry. This was something specific. Something real.

Outside, the forest was dark and still. Normal night sounds—insects, a distant bird. Nothing unusual.

But now everything felt different.

What had been quiet for years at the old tree?

What could be waiting there?

Paj pulled her blanket tight and tried to sleep.

But her eyes stayed open in the dark, mind full of questions nobody would answer.

Paj woke with a start.

Sunlight streamed through the window. Morning.

She’d made it back to her room somehow. Collapsed into sleep fully clothed.

The visions from Kao flooded back. His warning.

Everyone who helped. All in danger.

Her heart lurched.

She had to find the others. Had to warn them properly. Kao’s broken words weren’t enough—they needed to understand the danger was now.

Paj scrambled up, wincing at sore muscles.

Mother appeared in the doorway. “You were out late.”

Not accusatory. Worried.

“I’m sorry, Mother. I just need to—”

“Find your cousins?”

Paj froze.

Mother’s face was careful. “Go. But stay together. And stay away from Uncle Shoua.”

She knew. Or at least suspected.

Paj nodded and ran.

Paj found Bee and Tou near the village square.

“Where’s Lia?” she asked, breathless.

Bee shrugged. “Her family left early. Chores across the village, I think.”

“Where?”

“Stream? Fields? I don’t know.”

Panic rose in Paj’s chest. “We have to find her. Kao warned me last night—the demon knows we’ve been helping him. We’re all targets.”

Tou’s eyes went wide. Bee’s joking expression vanished.

“Split up?” Bee offered.

“No!” Paj said sharply. “Kao said stay together. That’s the only way we—”

A scream.

Distant. From the direction of the stream.

Lia.

They ran.

Earlier that morning:

Lia knelt by the stream, filling the water jars.

Her family had left early for field work. She’d stayed behind for chores.

The morning was quiet. Peaceful.

She watched the water ripple, thinking about Father.

He used to help her with water-carrying. Would balance a jar on his head, making her laugh when he pretended to wobble.

Three years gone now.

The ache never really faded.

Something rustled in the trees behind her.

Lia turned, heart jumping.

Nothing there.

But the feeling of being watched lingered.

Cold prickled down her spine.

She hurried to finish filling the jars, hands suddenly clumsy.

Get back to the village. Don’t be alone.

The warnings from Paj and the others echoed in her mind.

She lifted the first jar—

“Lia!”

She jumped, almost dropping it.

Uncle Shoua stood on the path, smiling.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you!”

That cheerful voice. Too cheerful. Always wrong.

But in daylight, surrounded by familiar forest, he just looked like… Uncle Shoua.

“I was hoping to find you,” he said, coming closer.

Lia’s instincts screamed. Run.

But her feet stayed planted.

This was Uncle Shoua. Family. An elder.

Even if something was wrong with him, you didn’t run from family.

“I—I have to get back,” she managed. “Mother needs the water.”

“Of course, of course.” He waved a hand. “I’ll walk with you. Keep you safe.”

The way he said “safe” made her skin crawl.

“But first,” Uncle Shoua’s smile widened, “I wanted to show you something.”

He reached into his shirt.

Pulled out a strip of cloth.

Faded. Old. Embroidered with familiar patterns.

Lia’s breath caught.

“Your father’s,” Uncle Shoua said gently.

“I found it near the old tree,” Uncle Shoua continued. “Along with some other things. Personal items. I think… I think your father was there before the accident.”

Lia’s mind reeled. Father had died in a hunting accident three years ago. Miles from here.

Why would his things be near the old tree?

“That can’t be right,” she said quietly.

“I know it sounds strange.” Uncle Shoua’s voice was so gentle, so understanding. “But come look. There’s more. A small bundle hidden in the roots. I didn’t want to disturb it without you.”

Her father’s belongings. Things she’d never seen. Pieces of him she thought were lost forever.

The temptation was overwhelming.

“Come with me,” Uncle Shoua urged. “Just for a moment. I’ll help you bring everything back.”

He started walking toward the forest path.

Toward the old tree.

Toward the pit.

Every instinct screamed wrong.

But grief pulled her forward.

“Wait—” Lia started to follow.

Then stopped.

Something in his walk. Too fluid. Too eager.

Like a predator leading prey.

“I—I can’t,” Lia said. “I need to get the water back.”

Uncle Shoua stopped.

Turned.

His smile was still there. But something behind his eyes had changed.

“Your father would want you to have these things, Lia.”

The way he said her name. Like he was tasting it.

“How do you even know they’re his?” she challenged.

Uncle Shoua’s head tilted. Just slightly. Wrong angle. Too far.

“I know,” he said.

His voice had dropped. Lower. With an edge like grinding stone.

“Come. Now.”

Not a request anymore.

Command.

Lia took a step back.

Uncle Shoua’s eyes flashed.

Golden.

Just for a heartbeat. Then brown again.

But she’d seen it.

“No,” Lia whispered.

“Yes.”

He lunged forward.

Impossibly fast.

Grabbed her wrist.

His grip was iron.

“Let go!” Lia yanked back.

Couldn’t break free.

His fingers were like stone. Like claws.

Uncle Shoua pulled her toward the forest path.

“You’re coming with me,” he said.

But the voice wasn’t his anymore.

Layered. Multiple tones at once. Human mixed with growl.

Lia planted her feet. Used all her weight.

Didn’t matter.

He dragged her forward like she weighed nothing.

“The others helped the ghost,” the thing wearing Uncle Shoua snarled. “Helped what’s mine. That makes you mine too.”

Terror flooded her.

This was real. The demon. The tiger. All of it real.

And it had her.

“Paj!” Lia screamed. “Help! HELP!”

The demon’s other hand came up—reaching for her throat.

To silence her. To drag her into the trees where no one would hear.

Where it could—

“HELP!”

Lia fought with everything she had.

Kicked. Clawed. Bit at the hand gripping her wrist.

Nothing worked.

The demon was impossibly strong.

He dragged her off the path, into the undergrowth.

Branches whipped her face. Roots caught her feet.

Still she screamed.

“HELP! SOMEONE!”

The demon’s face flickered.

Uncle Shoua’s features rippling. Something else underneath. Something with golden eyes and too many teeth.

“They won’t reach you in time,” it hissed.

The forest swallowed them.

Darker. Colder.

Lia’s throat was raw from screaming.

Her wrist burned where iron fingers crushed it.

Ahead—the old tree loomed.

The pit beyond it.

The demon was taking her to the pit.

To Kao’s place. Where it all started.

Where she would—

No.

She wouldn’t give up.

Lia filled her lungs.

Screamed one more time with everything she had left.

Chue was mending fence posts near the forest edge when he heard it.

A scream.

Lia.

He dropped the hammer.

Ran.

Despite everything—despite acting like he was too old for their “kid stuff,” despite rolling his eyes at their ghost stories—he’d been keeping close all morning.

Watching.

Because something about Uncle Shoua made his skin crawl. And his siblings and cousins kept getting too close to whatever wrongness surrounded that man.

So when Lia screamed, Chue was already moving.

Crashing through undergrowth.

Following the sound.

Another scream. Closer.

Then a voice—Uncle Shoua’s voice—but wrong.

Layered. Growling underneath.

Chue ran faster.

Chue burst through the trees.

Saw—

Lia on the ground, arm twisted in Uncle Shoua’s grip.

Sobbing. Terrified.

Being dragged through dirt and leaves toward the old tree.

Uncle Shoua’s face—

Wrong.

Eyes flashing golden. Mouth stretched in a smile that showed too many teeth.

Face flickering between human and something else.

Every ghost story the kids had been telling.

Every warning.

Real.

All of it real.

Chue didn’t think.

Didn’t question.

Saw his cousin in danger.

“LET HER GO!”

He charged.

Chue slammed into Uncle Shoua.

Tackle. Full force.

They went down together.

The demon released Lia—surprised by the attack.

She scrambled away, gasping.

Chue didn’t let up. Threw a punch.

Connected with Uncle Shoua’s jaw.

Pain exploded in his knuckles. Like hitting stone.

Uncle Shoua—the thing wearing Uncle Shoua—laughed.

“Foolish boy.”

The voice was layered. Multiple tones. Inhuman.

It grabbed Chue by the throat.

Lifted him off the ground.

One-handed.

Effortless.

Chue’s feet dangled. He couldn’t breathe.

Black spots danced in his vision.

But he saw it clearly now.

The demon’s face melting. Shifting. Tiger features bleeding through the human mask.

Golden eyes. Fangs.

Monster.

Chue couldn’t win through strength.

The demon was impossibly powerful.

But Father had taught him: when you can’t win fair, don’t fight fair.

Chue grabbed a handful of dirt.

Threw it in the demon’s golden eyes.

It snarled—released him.

Chue hit the ground hard. Gasped for air.

Grabbed the nearest thing—a fallen branch, thick as his forearm.

Swung.

Cracked the demon across the back.

The branch shattered like kindling.

But it bought him a second.

Chue spotted his dropped hammer twenty paces away.

He dove for it.

The demon was faster.

Appeared between Chue and the tool—that impossible speed again.

“You can’t hurt me, boy.”

Chue grinned despite his terror.

“Don’t need to hurt you. Just need to slow you down.”

He grabbed another handful of dirt.

Threw it.

Ran the opposite direction.

Make noise. Draw others. Don’t fight alone.

“HELP!” Chue shouted at the top of his lungs. “SOMEONE HELP!”

He crashed through bushes deliberately. Making as much noise as possible.

“UNCLE SHOUA’S ATTACKING US!”

The demon snarled. Lunged.

But Chue was already moving, still shouting.

“HELP! THE FOREST! COME QUICK!”

Voices in the distance. Answering.

“What’s happening?”

“Who’s shouting?”

“That’s Chue!”

The demon froze.

Its golden eyes flicked toward the voices.

Back to Chue.

To Lia, still huddled against a tree.

Calculating.

“This isn’t over,” it hissed.

Then its face shifted—smoothed back into Uncle Shoua’s familiar features.

Concerned. Worried.

Acting.

Footsteps approaching. Multiple people.

The demon’s eyes promised violence.

Then it smiled.

The villagers burst into the clearing.

Uncle Yang. Aunt Cher. Two other men.

“What’s happening here?”

Uncle Shoua’s face was perfect concern. “I heard screaming! Came running—”

“He was dragging Lia!” Chue shouted. “He’s not—”

The demon moved.

Impossibly fast.

Stumbled toward the adults, playing hurt.

But as it passed a deadfall tree—

It kicked.

Casually. Like an accident.

The rotted trunk shifted.

Rolled.

Knocked a pile of rocks loose.

They cascaded down.

Straight at Chue.

“Look out!” Uncle Yang yelled.

Chue dove.

Wasn’t fast enough.

The rocks caught his leg.

Pain exploded. He cried out.

Weight pinned him. Impossibly heavy.

More than rocks should weigh.

Magic holding him down.

“Oh no!” Uncle Shoua’s voice was horrified. “Chue! Are you hurt?”

Perfect acting.

While its eyes promised: Stay down, boy.

The adults rushed to help Chue.

“Don’t move—”

“We’ll lift the rocks—”

Uncle Shoua backed away. “I’ll get more help from the village.”

It turned.

Walked into the forest.

And between one step and the next—

Vanished.

Gone.

Chue saw it happen. Saw the demon simply cease to exist in that space.

No one else noticed.

They were focused on him.

On the rocks.

“Careful! His leg might be broken!”

They tried to lift the stones.

Couldn’t.

Three grown men pulling together.

The rocks didn’t budge.

“What in—how are these so heavy?”

Unnatural weight.

Magic binding.

Chue looked at Lia. She was staring at him, eyes huge with horror.

She’d seen everything.

She knew.

“Get the kids,” Chue said through gritted teeth. “Get Paj. Hurry.”

Paj, Bee, and Tou came running.

Saw Chue pinned.

Lia shaking with terror.

The adults straining uselessly at rocks.

Paj’s mind raced.

Magic. The demon bound him.

“Let us try,” she said.

“Children can’t—” Uncle Yang began.

“Please.”

Something in her voice made him step back.

Paj knelt beside Chue. Looked at the rocks.

Remembered grandmother’s stories.

Demons fear certain things.

“Bee, get ashes from someone’s fire. Tou, find iron—a tool, anything.”

They scattered.

Returned moments later. Bee with a handful of ash. Tou with a farming sickle.

Paj sprinkled the ash over the rocks.

“Grandmother said ashes break demon magic.”

Laid the iron blade across them.

“Iron cuts their power.”

She gripped the largest rock.

“Now. Everyone together. Pull.”

They pulled.

The rocks shifted.

Moved.

Lightened.

The binding was broken.

They rolled the stones away.

Chue gasped, free.

Chue gripped Paj’s arm.

His leg was bruised, possibly fractured. But he could move it.

The adults were talking, confused, trying to understand what just happened.

Chue pulled Paj close.

“I saw it,” he whispered urgently. “I saw its face change. Golden eyes. Teeth like a tiger. The strength—Paj, I hit it and it was like hitting a mountain.”

His voice shook.

“You were right. About all of it. That’s not Uncle Shoua. That’s not even human.”

Relief flooded Paj. Finally. An older witness. Someone adults might believe.

“It trapped me with magic,” Chue continued. “The rocks shouldn’t have been that heavy. And you broke the spell with ashes and iron.”

He looked at her with new respect.

“Everything you’ve been saying. The ghost. The demon. The tiger stories. All true.”

“We have to tell them,” Paj said. “The adults. Show them—”

“We will.” Chue stood, wincing. “We have proof now. I saw it. Lia saw it. We’ll make them believe.”

Hope sparked.

Finally, they could end this.

“Let’s go back to the village,” Chue said. “Tell everyone. End this thing.”

They hurried back toward the village.

Chue limping. Paj supporting him. The other kids close behind.

Hope driving them forward.

Finally we can tell them. Finally they’ll believe.

But then Paj’s mind caught up.

Uncle Shoua had left first.

Said he was going to get help.

Had a ten-minute head start.

And the demon was fast.

“Chue,” Paj said, dread creeping into her voice. “It left before us.”

He understood immediately. His face went pale.

“It’s already there,” he whispered. “At the village.”

“It’ll have told them… something.”

Its own version of events.

Its own story.

They started running despite Chue’s injury.

But as they emerged from the forest—

The village square was full.

Everyone gathered.

And in the center, Uncle Shoua stood talking to the elders.

Looking injured. Shaken.

Playing the victim perfectly.

As the kids approached, every adult head turned.

And the looks weren’t relief.

They were anger.

“There they are,” Uncle Shoua said softly. Sadly.

Pointing at them.

“The ones who tried to kill me.”

They burst from the forest path into the village square.

And stopped.

Everyone was there.

Every adult in the village, standing in a tight circle. Faces grim. Silent.

Paj’s heart dropped.

Chue limped beside her, blood streaking his shirt. Lia stumbled, still shaking. Bee and Tou breathing hard from the run.

In the center of the circle stood Uncle Shoua.

Clothes torn. Face scratched. Looking small and hurt and frightened.

Playing the perfect victim.

Mother’s face—relief flickering for just a moment when she saw Paj. Then hardening. Shifting to something worse.

Anger.

Disappointment.

Shame.

All the parents looked the same. Furious. Betrayed.

Paj’s stomach twisted.

We’re too late.

Uncle Shoua raised one trembling hand.

Pointed directly at them.

And began to speak.

Uncle Shoua’s voice shook.

“These children…” He stopped. Swallowed. Tried again.

“These children tried to kill me.”

Gasps rippled through the circle.

“They lured me to the old pit in the forest. Past the boundary markers. To that dangerous place near the cave.”

He gestured at his torn clothes. The scratches on his face.

“They tried to push me in.”

Paj’s mouth went dry.

“No—” she started.

“When I tried to stop them,” Uncle Shoua continued, voice breaking, “they attacked me. All of them. Even little Tou.”

He looked directly at the adults. Tears in his eyes.

“I barely escaped. I ran here as fast as I could. To warn you.”

Perfect performance.

Hurt. Confused. Frightened.

Trying so hard to be brave.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered. “Why do they hate me so much?”

Every adult stared at the kids.

Horror. Disbelief. Fury.

Uncle Yang stepped forward. Father’s face like stone.

“Is this true?”

His voice could have shattered ice.

Before Paj could answer, Uncle Shoua spoke again.

“It’s not just today.” His voice gentler now. Sad. “It started when I returned from the storm.”

He looked at each adult in turn.

“Remember the… incident? With the manure?”

Murmurs around the circle. Paj’s stomach clenched.

“I laughed it off. Tried to be kind. Children play pranks. I understood.”

He shook his head.

“But then they started following me. Everywhere I went. Staring at me with such… such hate in their eyes.”

Uncle Yang frowned. “Following you?”

“I told myself I was imagining it,” Uncle Shoua said quickly. “That they were just curious. But it didn’t stop. Day after day. Watching me. Whispering.”

Aunt Cher nodded slowly. “I saw them yesterday. Near your house. Bee and Paj.”

The demon’s face: perfect confusion and pain.

“I tried to talk to them this morning. To ask if I’d done something wrong. If I could make amends.”

His voice dropped.

“And they went wild.”

Mother’s hands clenched into fists. Her face pale.

Around the circle, understanding dawned.

A pattern.

Not one incident. Not two.

A campaign of cruelty.

“Children.” Father’s voice cut like a blade. “Explain yourselves. Now.”

The words tumbled out.

“That’s not Uncle Shoua!”

Silence.

“It’s a shapeshifter. A tiger demon. It came back after the storm wearing his face but it’s not him, it doesn’t remember things, it moves wrong, its shadow—”

“Paj Yang!” Mother’s voice cracked like thunder. “How dare you tell such lies!”

“I’m not lying! It attacked Lia first! It grabbed her by the stream and tried to drag her to the pit and Chue saved her—”

“We were trying to stop it!” Bee jumped in. “It’s not human! We saw its eyes flash gold and—”

“And it’s too strong,” Tou whispered, tears streaming. “It hurt Chue with magic—”

Father looked between them. Jaw tight.

“You expect us to believe this? Demons? Shapeshifters?”

Uncle Shoua’s face: perfect hurt mixed with pity.

“The poor children,” he said softly. “They’ve been telling each other ghost stories. Scaring themselves. Seeing monsters where there are none.”

His eyes found Paj.

Kind. Understanding. Gentle.

“I forgive you, child. You didn’t know what you were doing.”

Every adult’s face shifted.

Not anger anymore.

Disappointment.

Paj felt the ground falling away beneath her feet.

No one believed them.

No one at all.

Lia’s voice cut through the chaos.

Quiet. But steady.

“He found me at the stream.”

Everyone stopped.

“He said…” Her voice wavered. “He said he had news. About my father.”

Mother Lee’s face crumpled.

“He said Father wanted to tell me something. That I should come with him to the forest. To… to hear Father’s message.”

Tears now. But her voice didn’t break.

“His grip was iron. Not human. I tried to pull away and his eyes went golden. His voice changed. Layered. Like animals growling underneath.”

“Lia, sweetheart—” Mother Lee wrapped arms around her daughter.

“He dragged me toward the pit with impossible strength. I couldn’t break free. I screamed and Chue came—”

“I found her by the stream,” Uncle Shoua interrupted gently. Sadly. “She looked unwell. I asked if she was alright. She screamed and ran into the forest.”

He looked at Mother Lee with such compassion.

“The poor girl. Still grieving her father after all this time. I only wanted to help.”

Mother Lee held Lia tight.

Looking at her with pity.

“Oh, my darling. You miss him so much you’re seeing—”

“No!” Lia’s voice broke. “I’m not imagining—”

But the adults had already decided.

Grief. Confusion. A child’s desperate fantasy.

Not truth.

Chue straightened despite the pain in his leg.

“I saw it.”

His voice cut through the murmurs. Steady. Certain.

“I fought it. That thing is not human.”

Father turned. “Chue—”

“I hit it and it was like hitting stone. Mountain. It didn’t even flinch.” Chue’s hands shook but his voice stayed level. “Its face changed in front of me. Golden eyes. Teeth like a tiger. Fangs.”

Gasps.

“When villagers came, it kicked rocks at me. Made them impossibly heavy. Trapped me with magic. The adults couldn’t lift them—too much weight, supernatural weight—”

“You’re hurt,” Father said firmly. “Confused. You probably hit your head in the chaos—”

“I didn’t hit my head! Listen to me! That’s not Uncle Shoua! It’s wearing his face but underneath—”

Uncle Shoua stepped forward.

Voice gentle. Understanding.

“The boy is so brave. He heard the commotion and came running. Tried to stop the children from attacking me. In the chaos, rocks fell. He was injured.”

The demon’s eyes: soft with concern.

“He’s trying to make sense of what happened. Protecting his family. It’s honorable.”

Father gripped Chue’s shoulder.

“Enough. We’ll talk when you’ve calmed down.”

“I’m calm! I’m telling you the truth—”

“Enough!”

Chue’s voice cracked.

“Please. You have to believe me.”

But Father’s face was stone.

No one believed him either.

The adults turned away.

Formed a tight huddle.

Voices low. Urgent.

Paj caught fragments.

“—pattern of behavior—”

“—dangerous, could have killed him—”

“—what’s gotten into them?—”

“—never seen them act like this—”

Grandmother stood at the edge. Silent. Watching Uncle Shoua with narrowed eyes.

Mother trembled. Arms wrapped around herself. Face pale as bone.

The huddle broke.

Father stepped forward.

“You children will be confined to your homes. Forbidden from leaving. Forbidden from seeing each other.”

His voice rang across the square.

“Your parents will watch you at all times. Tomorrow we will discuss… permanent consequences.”

Permanent.

The word hit like a fist.

“But—” Paj started.

“ENOUGH!” Father roared. “You have lied enough for one day!”

Mother Vang was crying. Aunt Cher looked sick.

All the parents: ashamed. Angry. Heartbroken.

Paj felt the world collapsing.

Separated. Isolated. Trapped.

Everything they’d feared.

Everything the demon wanted.

“Take them home,” Father said quietly. “Keep them apart.”

And just like that—

It was over.

As the parents moved to collect their children—

Uncle Shoua spoke up.

“Please.”

Everyone stopped.

“I forgive them.”

His voice gentle. Compassionate.

“They’re young. Scared by their own imaginations. They didn’t understand what they were doing.”

He looked at each child in turn.

“I don’t want them punished too harshly. They need guidance. Love. Not anger.”

Such kindness.

Such mercy.

But as his eyes met Paj’s—

Just for a heartbeat—

The mask slipped.

Smile too wide.

Eyes showing pure triumph.

I won.

Then back to concerned, forgiving Uncle Shoua.

“Thank you for understanding,” Uncle Yang said quietly. “You’re too kind.”

“He’s too good to them,” someone muttered. “And this is how they repay him.”

“Poor Uncle Shoua.”

“Such patience.”

The demon bowed his head.

Playing humble.

But Paj had seen.

Had seen the victory in those eyes.

The demon had won.

Completely.

The parents moved.

Each grabbing their child.

Pulling them in different directions.

Paj tried to catch Bee’s eye—he looked defiant but scared.

Tou was crying. Aunt Cher holding him tight, whispering.

Lia shut down. Distant. Her mother guiding her like a sleepwalker.

Chue arguing with Father. “Listen to me! Please!”

But Father just pulled him away.

They couldn’t even say goodbye.

Couldn’t touch. Couldn’t whisper plans.

Just—scattered.

Mother gripped Paj’s arm.

Too tight.

Silent.

Furious.

The village looked different now.

Familiar paths felt strange. Wrong.

Safe houses becoming prisons.

Other villagers watched.

Whispering.

Shaking their heads.

In the square’s center, Uncle Shoua stood.

Surrounded by sympathetic adults.

Playing humble. Hurt.

But his eyes tracked each kid.

Watching them scatter like leaves in wind.

One by one.

Exactly what he wanted.

Separated.

Isolated.

Helpless.

The demon had won.

As Mother pulled Paj toward their house—

Paj looked back.

One last time.

Uncle Shoua still stood in the square.

Surrounded by adults offering comfort.

Playing the victim so perfectly.

But—

Grandmother hadn’t moved.

She stood at the crowd’s edge.

Face thoughtful.

Suspicious.

Not convinced.

Her eyes on the demon. Narrowed. Watching.

Studying him like a puzzle that didn’t fit.

And Mother—

Her grip on Paj’s arm was trembling.

Not just anger.

Something else.

Fear.

Recognition.

Her face bone-white.

“No,” Mother whispered. Almost to herself. “Not again. It can’t be—”

She cut off.

Shook her head sharply.

Pulled Paj harder.

But in that moment—

That tiny crack in her certainty—

Paj saw it.

Doubt.

The door to their house loomed ahead.

Once inside, Paj would be trapped.

Alone.

Helpless.

But maybe—

Maybe—

Not everyone believed the lie.

The door closed behind them.

Darkness.

The next morning, Paj met Lia and Bee at the edge of the village. Tou bounced beside her, excited for an adventure.

“Where should we go?” Bee asked.

“The stream path,” Lia suggested. “We could look for mushrooms.”

Paj nodded, but as they started walking, a reminder nagged at her. “Anywhere we want. Just… not near the pit.”

Everyone stopped.

“Obviously not the pit,” Bee said. “We’re not stupid.”

“Mother would kill me,” Paj added.

They walked into the forest, following a familiar path through the trees. Morning light filtered through the leaves. Birds called overhead. Normal forest sounds.

Bee spotted some shelf fungus growing on a fallen log and made a joke about it looking like Uncle Shoua’s ear. Lia smiled quietly.

But Tou kept rushing ahead, impatient with their slower pace.

“Come on! Let’s go THIS way!”

“Tou, wait—”

He was already running off the path, pushing through the undergrowth.

Paj sighed. “Tou! Stay where we can see you!”

His voice drifted back: “There’s something cool over here!”

The three cousins exchanged looks and hurried after him. He was always doing this—finding something interesting and racing toward it without thinking.

Just typical Tou.

They pushed through the undergrowth, following the sound of Tou crashing ahead through the brush.

The forest felt different here. Darker. The trees grew closer together, their branches blocking most of the sunlight. Quieter, too—fewer bird calls, less rustling in the leaves.

Paj felt a prickle of unease but pushed it aside. They were fine. Just a bit off the usual paths.

“Tou!” she called. “Where are you?”

“Here! Come look!”

They pushed through a thick tangle of vines and stumbled into a small clearing.

Tou stood at the far edge, looking down at something. He turned back to them, grinning.

“Look! There’s a bridge!”

Paj’s stomach dropped.

She knew, suddenly and with absolute certainty, where they were.

The old twisted tree stood just beyond Tou—gnarled branches reaching like clawed hands. She’d seen it from a distance before, from the village. Mother’s warning marker.

No. No, no, no.

“Tou, get away from there!”

But he wasn’t listening. He was staring down at whatever he’d found, fascinated.

Paj ran forward, heart pounding.

And saw the pit.

The pit yawned before them—a dark opening in the forest floor, partially hidden by undergrowth. Deep. Very deep.

And spanning across it, a thick fallen log.

“Look!” Tou pointed. “It’s like a bridge! I can cross to the other side!”

“No!” Paj lunged forward. “Tou, NO. We have to leave. Now.”

But he was already stepping onto the log.

“Tou, get back here!”

He balanced, arms out to the sides. The log looked solid. Thick as Paj’s waist, bark still intact. Like it had been there for years.

“See?” Tou looked back, grinning. “It’s fine!”

He took another step.

Paj’s heart hammered against her ribs. She wanted to scream at him to stop, but what if that startled him? What if he fell?

Lia grabbed her arm. “Paj…”

“I know.” Her voice came out strangled.

Tou took a third step, reaching the middle of the log now. Directly over the pit’s center.

Something felt wrong. The air felt wrong. Too cold, too still.

Then—movement from the shadows near the pit’s edge.

Something pale.

Something screaming—

And it was coming FAST.

It burst from the darkness near the pit—child-shaped but WRONG.

Pale and flickering. Transparent in places. Eyes like black pits in a too-white face.

SCREAMING. Not words. Just sound—desperate, furious, terrified all at once.

Moving impossibly fast.

Paj’s scream caught in her throat.

The thing SLAMMED into Tou.

Cold hands—so cold they burned—grabbed him. Yanked him backward with inhuman strength.

Tou flew off the log, crashing onto solid ground so hard the breath knocked out of him.

The ghost hovered over him, still screaming. Its face twisted in desperate fury, mouth too wide, fingers like claws.

Everyone was screaming now.

Paj stumbled backward, fell. Bee grabbed Lia’s arm. Lia couldn’t move, frozen in terror.

The ghost turned toward them. Those black-pit eyes fixed on Paj.

Its mouth moved. No sound came out.

Then—CRACK.

Sharp and loud behind them.

The ghost vanished. Like smoke in wind. Just gone.

But the sound continued.

Wood splintering. Breaking.

Paj turned, still on the ground, heart hammering so hard it hurt.

The log.

It was breaking.

The log split where Tou had been standing. Both halves tipped, sliding into the pit’s opening.

They fell.

Wood scraping against stone.

Echoing.

Down.

And down.

And down.

Paj held her breath, listening. How deep was it? How far—

CRASH. Distant. Far below. The sound of wood smashing against rock at the bottom.

Silence.

Complete, terrible silence.

Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.

The log was gone. The pit gaped empty.

If Tou had been on it when it broke…

A sudden rush of wings exploded from the pit’s darkness.

Bats. Dozens of them, maybe hundreds, pouring out in a screeching black cloud.

The kids ducked, covering their heads. Leathery wings brushed past. High-pitched cries filled the air.

Then they were gone, dispersing into the forest canopy.

Paj slowly straightened, heart still pounding.

Tou sat on the ground where the ghost had thrown him. Shaking. Staring at the empty space where the log had been.

The pit stretched before them. Deep. Dark. Waiting.

Tou was alive.

He should be dead.

But he was alive.

For a long moment, nobody moved.

Paj’s hands shook. Her heart still raced. She could barely catch her breath.

Bee broke the silence, voice trembling. “That thing… it saved him.”

Lia nodded slowly. “The log would have broken. Tou would have fallen. It… it knew.”

Paj helped Tou stand. He was shaking all over, staring at the pit like it might swallow him even from here.

“What was it?” Bee asked. “What WAS that?”

Paj thought of Grandmother’s stories. Firelight flickering on weathered faces. Tales of spirits and ghosts.

“A xyw,” she said quietly. “A restless spirit. Like Grandmother talks about.”

“But why would a ghost help us?” Lia’s voice was soft, wondering. “Xyw are supposed to be dangerous. Desperate.”

Paj remembered the ghost’s face. A child—her age, maybe younger. So pale. So wrong. But those eyes…

So desperate. So sad.

“I don’t know who it was,” Paj said. “But it tried to save Tou. I’m… I’m sure of it now.”

Tou made a small sound. Then he was crying, delayed shock finally hitting. Real tears, body-shaking sobs.

Paj pulled him close. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re alive.”

But over his shoulder, she stared at the pit.

Who had that ghost been?

And why did it haunt this place?

They walked back through the forest, supporting Tou between them. None of them spoke for a long time.

Finally, Bee broke the silence. “Do we… do we tell anyone?”

Everyone stopped.

Paj looked at her cousins’ faces. Lia’s thoughtful. Bee’s uncertain. Tou’s still pale and shaken.

“We went to the forbidden place,” she said quietly. “Mother warned us. Warned us specifically.” Her voice hardened. “We’d be in so much trouble.”

“And who would believe us about a ghost?” Lia added, even quieter than usual.

Bee kicked at a root. “They’d think we’re lying. Making up excuses for going there.”

“So we don’t tell.” Paj made it a statement, not a question.

They all nodded.

The walk back felt longer than the walk out. Each of them lost in their own thoughts. Tou stayed close to Paj, uncharacteristically quiet, holding her hand tight.

The forest didn’t seem different. Same trees, same bird calls. But Paj felt changed. The world was fuller now. Fuller of things she didn’t understand.

The village came into view through the trees. Normal. Everyday. Safe.

But Paj couldn’t stop thinking about that desperate ghost-child.

Who was it? What happened at that pit? Why did Mother never tell them the real reason to stay away?

“We won’t go back there,” she promised herself.

But the questions wouldn’t leave her alone.

Back at the village, they tried to separate.

“I should… help Mother,” Paj said.

“Yeah. We should go home.” Bee’s voice was flat.

But nobody moved.

Finally, they drifted to their own houses. Paj fetched water from the well, movements mechanical. Helped Mother sort vegetables for lunch. But her mind stayed in that dark forest clearing.

Every shadow made her jump.

Every sound from the forest edge made her turn.

She caught herself glancing toward the tree line over and over, as if the ghost might follow them here.

Tou stuck close, uncharacteristically quiet. Usually he ran off to play. Not today.

Mid-afternoon, Paj found herself wandering back toward the village center. Lia was there, pretending to sort herbs but just sitting. Bee appeared a few minutes later, also aimless.

They looked at each other.

“We should talk,” Paj said quietly.

“Where Mother won’t hear,” Lia added.

They slipped behind Bee’s house, out of sight of the main paths.

Finally, they could speak.

The words tumbled out in urgent whispers.

“Did you see its face?”

“Was it really…?”

“It just appeared from nowhere—”

Paj cut through the chaos. “What WAS it? Why was it there?”

Her mind already worked on the puzzle. A ghost at the pit. Saving Tou. Why?

“It must have had a reason,” she said. “Ghosts don’t just… help people. Do they?”

Lia spoke quietly. “It looked so sad. Desperate.”

Everyone turned to her.

“I saw its face. Before it vanished.” Lia’s voice was soft but certain. “It wasn’t trying to hurt Tou. It was… scared. For him.”

Paj hadn’t thought of it that way. The ghost suffering. Trying to protect.

Bee tried to laugh. “At least it didn’t want to eat us, right?”

Silence.

The joke fell completely flat.

Bee went quiet, which was worse somehow. Bee always had something to say. When he went silent, it meant he was truly frightened.

Tou tugged Paj’s sleeve. “Why did it grab me? Was it mad?”

“No, little brother.” Paj pulled him close. “It saw the log would break. It saved you.”

“But why?” His voice was small.

Paj didn’t have an answer.

None of them did.

“…and the ghost just grabbed him—”

A laugh. Not friendly.

The kids froze.

Chue stood at the corner of the house, arms crossed. “The ghost? Seriously?”

Paj’s face burned. How long had he been listening?

“Ghosts aren’t real,” Chue said, that superior tone he’d been using lately. “You probably just saw a shadow. Or your imaginations playing tricks.”

“We didn’t imagine—” Bee started.

“You’re too old for this.” Chue cut him off. “Ghost stories are baby stuff. I thought you were past that.”

Each word felt like a slap.

Paj wanted to argue. To explain. But what could she say that wouldn’t sound like a child’s excuse?

Chue shook his head and walked away. “Grow up.”

They sat in stung silence.

Even Chue—Paj’s own brother—wouldn’t believe them.

Lia spoke first, barely a whisper. “No one will believe us.”

Paj nodded, throat tight. “We can’t tell anyone.”

The secret felt heavier now.

They were truly alone in this.

After Chue left, they sat in heavy silence.

“So what do we do?” Bee finally asked.

Paj took a breath. “We stay away from the pit. Like Mother said. Like we promised.”

“We don’t go looking for it,” Lia added quietly.

But they all knew they’d be watching. Wondering. Every trip to the forest, they’d think about that clearing. That ghost-child.

“Just us four,” Paj said. “Only we know the truth.”

It was small comfort. But it was something.

At least they had each other. At least they weren’t completely alone with this knowledge.

“We should go,” Lia said as the sun climbed higher. “Our families will wonder.”

They stood, brushing dirt from their clothes.

“Tomorrow?” Bee asked.

Paj nodded. “Tomorrow.”

The secret bound them now.

Whatever they’d seen at that pit—whoever that ghost had been—it was theirs to carry.

Together.

After dinner, the family gathered around the fire. The familiar ritual—Grandmother in her usual spot, younger children settling close, firelight flickering on familiar faces.

Grandmother began her stories. Tales of ancestors and spirits, of forest dangers and clever heroes.

Usually Paj half-listened, lulled by the familiar words and Grandmother’s voice. Comfortable background to the evening.

Tonight, she sat alert. Focused.

Every mention of spirits felt significant. Every reference to forest dangers felt more real. When Grandmother spoke of dab haunting old trees, Paj thought of the twisted tree by the pit.

She caught Tou’s eye across the fire. He was listening too, really listening. Both of them hearing the stories differently now.

Paj watched Grandmother’s weathered face. Had she seen spirits? Did she know they were real, not just stories?

The questions burned inside, but she couldn’t ask. Couldn’t reveal what they knew.

Grandmother’s voice shifted, taking on a more serious tone.

“Now, about xyw…”

Paj leaned forward, heart quickening.

This was what she needed to hear.

“Xyw are different from other spirits,” Grandmother said, voice quiet and serious. “They’re the spirits of those who died wrongly. Violently. Too young.”

She spoke it naturally, as normal knowledge. Part of how the world worked.

“They can’t rest. Can’t move on to the ancestor realm.” Grandmother’s gaze moved across the gathered family. “They’re trapped between worlds. Desperate. Angry sometimes.”

Paj’s heart beat faster. That described what they’d seen. Desperate. Angry. Trapped.

“But not always evil,” Grandmother continued. “Just suffering. Some try to warn the living. Some try to protect their families still.”

Paj’s breath caught.

Protect.

The ghost had saved Tou. Violently, desperately—but saved him.

She wanted to ask: Can xyw save people? Do they haunt places where they died?

But she couldn’t. Not without revealing everything.

Across the fire, Tou’s eyes were wide. He’d heard it too. He understood.

Grandmother’s voice softened. “We must respect them. And pity them. They’re trapped in suffering we can’t imagine.”

Mother shifted uncomfortably. Her hands twisted in her lap.

Something about this talk made Mother tense.

Paj noticed but didn’t understand. Not yet.

After stories, Father made an announcement.

“Market trip tomorrow. We need supplies before winter.”

He listed who would go. Uncle Shoua, a few other adults. Normal village business.

Uncle Shoua grumbled. “Long walk. Bad timing with that weather coming.”

He gestured toward the mountains.

Paj looked. Dark clouds massed there, black even in the fading light. Distant but growing.

“Storm might blow over,” Father said. “Or we go around it. We’ll be fine.”

Uncle Shoua made a skeptical noise but didn’t argue. Just his usual grumpy nature. He always complained but always went. Reliable, despite the grumbling.

“Off to bed,” Mother said. “All of you.”

Paj climbed onto her sleeping mat, Tou settling beside her.

But sleep wouldn’t come.

She kept thinking. About the ghost. About Grandmother’s explanation. About those clouds on the mountains.

Something about the gathering storm felt wrong. Like the air before lightning struck. That tense, waiting feeling.

Uncle Shoua and the others would walk into that storm tomorrow.

Paj pulled her blanket tighter.

Outside, the wind picked up. In the distance, thunder rumbled.

Something was coming.

She could feel it.

Morning came with gray skies. The market group gathered near the village center, checking packs and supplies.

Uncle Shoua stood off to the side, grumbling. “Long walk. My joints ache already. And that weather…”

He gestured toward the mountains where dark clouds still massed.

“Storm might blow over,” Father said, shouldering his pack.

“Might.” Uncle Shoua made a skeptical noise but picked up his own pack anyway. He always complained, but he always went.

Paj watched from where she and Tou were fetching water. Still trying to act normal after everything with the ghost. Going through the motions.

“Ready?” Father called.

Uncle Shoua adjusted his pack straps, muttering about bad timing. But he fell in line with the group, reliable despite his grumbling. That was just his way—complain about everything, but show up and do the work.

The group headed toward the forest path, toward the mountains.

Paj watched Uncle Shoua’s back disappear into the trees. Still grumbling. Still Uncle Shoua.

Then she looked at those black clouds gathering over the peaks.

Something about them felt wrong.

The unease from last night hadn’t left her.

By midday, the sky had turned strange. Morning’s gray deepened to an unnatural darkness. The clouds weren’t just moving—they were racing toward the village, a black wall swallowing the mountains.

Paj stopped mid-chore, staring. They were moving too fast. Weather didn’t move like that.

The wind picked up, sharp and cold. It carried a smell like metal and rain.

“Inside!” Father called across the village. “Secure the animals! Tie down anything loose!”

Everyone moved quickly. This wasn’t normal preparation. This was urgent.

Paj helped Tou herd the chickens into their pen. The birds were agitated, squawking and flapping, sensing something wrong.

She kept glancing at those clouds. Black as night, though it was barely afternoon. Lightning flickered inside them, silent and constant.

She’d known. Last night, watching them gather, she’d felt it. Something was coming.

And it wasn’t just weather.

The first drops hit—cold and hard, like pellets. The wind gusted stronger, bending the trees. Thunder rolled, deep and continuous.

Tou grabbed her hand. “Paj…”

“Inside. Now.”

They ran for the house as the storm advanced like a living thing, swallowing the world.

The storm hit like a fist.

Wind screamed around the house, a sound Paj had never heard before—high and furious, like something alive and angry. Rain hammered the roof, so loud they had to shout to be heard. The whole house creaked and groaned.

Through gaps in the walls, Paj saw only darkness. Midday had become night.

Lightning flashed constantly, turning everything white-bright for an instant. Thunder shook the ground, continuous and deafening.

“Away from the walls!” Father shouted.

The family huddled in the center of the room. Mother held Tou tight. Chue braced himself against a support beam as the house shuddered.

Outside, something crashed—a tree falling, maybe. The sound of branches snapping like bones.

This was dangerous. This kind of storm killed people. Flash floods swept away entire families. Trees fell on houses. Lightning struck the unwary. People got lost in the darkness and walked off cliffs or into rivers.

Paj thought of the market group. Out there, somewhere in this. Had they found shelter? Were they safe?

Uncle Shoua and the others, caught in this nightmare storm.

Please, she thought. Please let them be okay.

The wind howled louder.

Hours passed. The storm didn’t let up.

Wind still howling. Rain still pounding. Darkness still complete.

They huddled together, waiting. Nothing to do but endure.

Paj watched Mother’s face in the dim light from the banked fire. Tight with worry. The market group should have been back by now. Should have turned around when they saw the storm coming.

But maybe they hadn’t seen it in time. Maybe they were caught out in this.

Father sat quiet, jaw clenched. He knew the dangers as well as anyone. Mountain storms turned deadly fast.

Tou had fallen asleep against Paj’s shoulder, exhausted by fear. She envied him that escape.

Outside, the wind screamed on.

Evening came—or they thought it did. Hard to tell time in this constant darkness.

Still no sign of the travelers.

Still no break in the storm.

Mother’s hands twisted in her lap. Over and over. Waiting.

They all were.

Helpless. Hoping. Praying.

Finally, finally, the wind began to drop. The rain slowed from a roar to steady drumming.

Father opened the door cautiously, peering out. “Storm’s breaking.”

Families emerged from houses, checking damage. Trees down. Flooding in the low areas. But the village had held.

Now everyone looked toward the forest path.

Where were they?

If they were coming, they’d be visible soon.

Paj stood with Mother and Father, watching. Other families did the same, everyone staring into the darkness beyond the village edge.

Full dark now. No moon through the clouds.

“Should we send a search party?” someone asked.

“Not in this. Paths will be washed out. Too dangerous.”

More waiting. Staring into nothing.

Then—voices. Distant but unmistakable.

“Someone’s coming!”

Figures emerging from the forest path. Moving slowly, exhausted.

“They’re back!” The shout went up through the village. “They’re back!”

Relief washed through Paj so strong her knees went weak.

They’d made it. All of them.

Safe.

Earlier, as evening approached, Mother had gone to the family altar.

She lit many incense sticks—more than Paj had ever seen at once. The smoke rose thick and fragrant.

Mother’s whispered prayers were urgent, desperate. “Keep them safe. Guide them home. Protect them from harm.”

Her hands trembled as she held the incense.

Paj watched from across the room, understanding then how serious this was. Uncle Shoua was Mother’s brother. If something happened to him…

Grandmother appeared beside Mother, adding her own quiet prayers. Two generations asking the ancestors for help. For protection. For a safe return.

They had no power over the storm. No way to reach the travelers. All they could do was pray and wait.

And hope the ancestors were listening.

Mother’s prayer trailed off. She was listening. Waiting.

Then—distant voices.

Her head snapped up.

“Do you hear that?”

They were back.

The market group stumbled into the village, looking like they’d been through a war.

Soaked through, clothes plastered to skin. Covered in mud from head to foot. Packs heavy with absorbed water. Faces drawn with exhaustion.

But alive. All of them alive.

Families rushed forward, embracing, checking for injuries. Questions flying.

“We barely made it to the cave in time,” Father was saying. “Took shelter there through the worst. Thought the mountain might come down on us.”

Uncle Shoua’s voice cut through, grumbling loud and familiar. “Worst storm in years. Miserable. Water everywhere. Cold. My bones ache. Never should have gone.”

Perfect. That was exactly Uncle Shoua. Complaining about everything, as always.

Mother hugged him despite the mud. “You’re safe. That’s what matters.”

“Safe and soaked.” He pulled free, still grumbling. “Need dry clothes. Hot food. A fire.”

Everyone was laughing with relief. All safe. All home.

Uncle Shoua walked past Paj toward his house, still muttering about the storm and his aching joints and terrible timing.

Just Uncle Shoua.

Normal. Familiar.

Safe.

Uncle Shoua walked right past where Paj stood.

Still muttering. Still soaked and muddy. Still Uncle Shoua.

Then—

Something.

For just an instant, something felt off. Wrong. Like static in the air, like a note played out of tune. His eyes, maybe? His movement? She couldn’t say what exactly.

Just… wrong.

Paj blinked.

And it was gone.

Uncle Shoua kept walking toward his house, grumbling about needing dry clothes. Just an exhausted man who’d survived a terrible storm.

Normal.

She shook her head. What had that been? A trick of the lamplight? Everyone was exhausted. She was exhausted. Two days of ghost encounters and storm worry, her mind was playing tricks.

Uncle Shoua was fine. He was alive and safe.

That was what mattered.

But as she watched him disappear into his house…

That small flicker of wrongness lingered in her memory.

Something had felt off.

Just for a moment.

She pushed the feeling away.

It was nothing.

Had to be nothing.

They were all safe now.

Everything was fine.

The morning after the storm, everyone worked together clearing branches and debris. Trees had come down at the village edge. Thatch needed replacing on two houses. Normal storm cleanup.

Uncle Shoua emerged from his house mid-morning.

“Good morning, everyone!” His voice rang out cheerful and bright.

Paj’s hands froze on the branch she was dragging.

Uncle Shoua was smiling. A wide, friendly smile. Walking toward the center of the village with an easy stride, greeting people as he passed.

Uncle Shoua never smiled. Never greeted people cheerfully. He grumbled. He complained. He muttered about aching joints and too much work and the weather always being wrong.

Always.

“Well, someone’s in a good mood!” Auntie Nou called out, sounding pleased.

“Storm must have cleared the air!” another adult laughed.

They were accepting it. Just like that. As if Uncle Shoua being cheerful was perfectly normal.

But it wasn’t normal.

It was wrong.

Paj watched him approach the work party, still smiling, still greeting everyone warmly. Her stomach twisted with unease.

Something had changed in Uncle Shoua.

Something fundamental.

And no one else seemed to notice.

“Let me help with that!” Uncle Shoua called out, hurrying toward a group dragging a fallen tree.

Uncle Shoua. Volunteering to help. Hurrying anywhere.

Paj stared.

He grabbed one end of the log, laughing. “Many hands make light work, eh?”

The adults glanced at each other, surprised but pleased.

“You’re certainly in good spirits!” Father said.

“Whatever happened on that market trip did you good!” someone else added.

Uncle Shoua laughed again—too loud, too long. “Just happy to be home!”

He moved from task to task, offering help, complimenting people’s work, trying to joke. His smile stayed fixed, too wide. His movements had a strange quality—not quite flowing right, like someone copying gestures they’d seen but didn’t fully understand.

And his eyes. When they landed on someone, the intensity was wrong. Staring just a moment too long.

Paj’s unease deepened.

Three village dogs trotted across the clearing, tails wagging. They always greeted everyone during work parties, looking for attention and scraps.

They headed straight toward Uncle Shoua.

Paj watched them approach, her stomach tight with dread she couldn’t name.

The dogs trotted closer, tails still wagging.

Three feet from Uncle Shoua, they stopped dead.

Their bodies went rigid. Hackles rose along their backs. The largest one—usually the friendliest—made a high, thin whining sound.

Then they backed away. Slowly. Stiff-legged. Eyes locked on Uncle Shoua with pure fear.

“Here, dogs!” Uncle Shoua called, his cheerful voice suddenly forced. “Come here!”

He held out his hand.

The dogs backed up faster. One started growling—low, warning, terrified all at once.

“Come on!” Uncle Shoua took a step toward them.

All three dogs bolted. They ran to the edge of the clearing and huddled together, still watching Uncle Shoua. Still whining.

The village fell silent.

Everyone had seen it.

The dogs loved everyone. They’d never shown fear like that. Never.

“That’s… strange,” Father said quietly.

Paj’s heart pounded. The dogs knew. Whatever was wrong with Uncle Shoua, the dogs could sense it.

They backed away from him the same way they’d react to a snake or a predator.

Like he was dangerous.

“Dogs usually love you,” Auntie Nou said, puzzled.

“Maybe you smell different after the storm?” Father suggested. “Did you encounter an animal out there?”

“Could be,” another adult agreed. “They’ll get used to you again.”

Dismissing it. Finding explanations.

Uncle Shoua laughed—but for just a moment, his eyes flashed. Annoyed? Angry? Then the cheerful mask returned.

“Just skittish after the storm,” he said smoothly.

The adults nodded, accepting this. They turned back to their work.

But Paj had seen that flash in his eyes. And she’d seen the dogs’ terror.

She glanced toward Tou, Lia, and Bee. They stood together at the clearing’s edge, all watching Uncle Shoua. All with the same uneasy expressions.

They’d all seen it too.

Lia caught Paj’s eye. Jerked her head toward the back of the nearest house—away from the adults.

They needed to talk.

Paj gave a small nod.

Something was very wrong with Uncle Shoua.

And the adults weren’t going to see it.

Behind the house, out of earshot, the four of them gathered close.

“Did you see—” Bee started.

“The dogs—” Lia said at the same time.

“He was smiling!” Tou whispered urgently.

They all talked over each other for a moment, then stopped. Looked at each other.

“Uncle Shoua doesn’t smile like that,” Bee said quietly. “He never does.”

“He offered to help,” Lia added. “Multiple times. Making jokes. He never does that.”

“And laughing,” Paj said. “Being friendly to everyone.”

It was completely wrong. Uncle Shoua complained. Uncle Shoua grumbled. He never volunteered for anything, never joked around, never acted cheerful.

Never.

“I saw him last night,” Paj said slowly. “After they got back. There was this… flicker. Like something was wrong. I thought I imagined it.”

“Something happened to him,” Lia said.

“But what?” Bee asked. “The storm?”

That didn’t explain it. Nothing explained it.

“The dogs,” Paj said. “They were terrified.”

The others nodded. They’d all seen it. Pure animal fear.

Tou’s voice was small. “Is Uncle Shoua okay?”

The question hung there.

Was he okay?

Or was something very, very wrong?

As afternoon wore on, the four of them drifted toward the forest edge. Away from the village. Away from adults who wouldn’t see.

They sat together in the dappled shade, thinking.

Uncle Shoua was still in the village. Still too cheerful. Still wrong.

“How do you know someone’s not themselves?” Lia asked quietly.

No one had an answer.

People didn’t change overnight. Not like that. Not completely opposite.

And what would make dogs that scared?

Paj’s instincts screamed danger. The same feeling she’d had at the pit—that wrongness in the air. That sense of something supernatural nearby.

This felt like that.

“Maybe we should—” Bee started.

Movement in the forest.

Paj’s breath caught.

A pale figure between the trees. Transparent in places. Moving slowly, carefully.

Oh no.

The ghost.

Kao’s xyw.

It was coming toward them.

“Don’t run,” Paj whispered urgently. Her heart hammered, but she remembered—last time the ghost had saved Tou. Violently, desperately, but saved him.

Maybe he was trying to help again.

The ghost emerged from between the trees. Pale and flickering, transparent in places. Still wrong—still dead—but different this time.

Not rushing at them. Not screaming.

Moving slowly. Carefully. Hands raised as if to say wait, please.

Paj’s whole body trembled, but she held still.

Kao stopped a few yards away. His mouth moved but no sound came out. Frustration crossed his pale, wrong face.

He gestured. Urgently. Pointing—toward the village?

His hands made shapes. Trying to communicate something. Desperate but controlled.

“What’s he trying to say?” Bee whispered, voice shaking.

Kao pointed toward the village again. Made a slashing motion—danger?

Then a gesture like pushing something away—stay back? Be careful?

He pointed at them. Then at the village. Then made the danger sign again.

“He’s trying to warn us,” Paj breathed.

About what?

Kao’s translucent form shimmered with effort. His gestures grew more frantic, more desperate.

Village. Danger. Someone.

But who? What?

Then Kao pointed one more time—directly toward where Uncle Shoua’s house stood.

Understanding crashed over Paj.

“Uncle Shoua,” she breathed.

Kao’s whole form shimmered. He nodded frantically—yes, yes, YES.

“You’re warning us about Uncle Shoua?” Paj asked.

Another desperate nod. His gestures grew more urgent. Danger. Wrong. Be careful.

“What happened to him?” Bee whispered.

Kao’s mouth moved again, still soundless. His hands tried to shape meaning but it was too complex, too much to explain without words. Frustration and desperation crossed his face.

He was fading. The effort of appearing, of trying to communicate—it was draining him. His form grew more transparent, flickering like a candle in wind.

One last gesture. Both hands raised. Be careful. Please.

Then he vanished completely.

The four kids stared at the empty space where he’d been.

Paj’s mind raced, pieces clicking together rapidly.

The ghost had saved Tou from the pit. Now he was trying to warn them about Uncle Shoua.

The dogs’ terror.

Uncle Shoua’s wrongness—his complete opposite behavior.

That flicker she’d seen last night.

It was all connected.

Something supernatural was happening.

And Uncle Shoua—whatever that thing wearing Uncle Shoua was—stood at the center of it.

“We have to figure out what’s wrong with him,” Paj said quietly.

The others nodded, faces pale but determined.

Something had happened to Uncle Shoua.

And Kao’s ghost was desperate to warn them about it.

The four of them slipped away from morning chores, meeting behind the storage shed where no one would see.

“We need to figure out what’s wrong with Uncle Shoua,” Paj said quietly.

“You mean besides everything?” Bee tried to joke, but his voice shook.

Lia pulled her knees up. “Let’s be specific. What exactly is wrong?”

“He’s cheerful,” Paj started. “Uncle Shoua is never cheerful.”

“The dogs won’t go near him,” Tou added. “They were scared.”

“His smile is too wide,” Lia said. “And his eyes… sometimes they seem to flash. Like catching firelight wrong.”

Paj nodded. These weren’t imagined things. They were real observations.

“He called Auntie Nou by the wrong name yesterday,” Tou said. “I heard him.”

“And he went toward Uncle Yang’s house first when he came back,” Lia remembered. “Someone had to redirect him to his own home.”

Those weren’t just personality changes. Those were someone who didn’t know things he should know.

Beat of silence.

Bee’s voice came out barely above a whisper: “What if it’s not him?”

The thought hung there, terrible and impossible.

“There’s more,” Paj said. “Yesterday someone mentioned the New Year ball toss—who won last year. Uncle Shoua asked who won. But he was there. He played.”

“He didn’t react when Uncle Lee insulted his farming,” Bee added. “Uncle Shoua would have argued for an hour. This time he just… smiled.”

Too many wrong reactions. Like someone pretending to understand human behavior but not quite managing it.

“His shadow,” Paj said quietly. Everyone looked at her. “Have you noticed? Sometimes it doesn’t quite match his movements. Like it’s a half-second behind.”

“And he moves too fast,” Lia whispered. “When he thinks no one’s watching. Too smooth. Too quick.”

Paj’s chest tightened. “Last night. His eyes caught the firelight. They flashed golden. Not reflecting light—glowing.”

She’d seen it clearly.

Silence fell heavy.

This was too much to explain away. Too many impossible things.

And the ghost had warned them about him specifically.

Lia’s face had gone pale. Her voice shook: “I know what this sounds like…”

Everyone leaned in.

“Grandmother’s story,” Lia whispered. “About the tiger demon.”

Paj’s breath caught. She knew which one Lia meant.

The shapeshifter story. The one about demons who could steal human faces.

“They wear someone’s face to get close,” Lia said, voice shaking. “They pretend to be family. Hunt by being trusted.”

It had seemed like just a scary story when Grandmother told it. Something to make them shiver by the fire.

But now…

“The story said they make mistakes,” Lia continued. “Small ones. They don’t really know the person they’re pretending to be. Don’t understand how humans act.”

Paj’s stomach dropped.

Uncle Shoua’s memory gaps. Not knowing who won the ball toss. Going to the wrong house.

Wrong reactions. Smiling when he should be grumpy. Not arguing when insulted.

Physical wrongness. The shadow. The too-fast movements. Golden eyes.

It fit exactly.

Every single piece of evidence matched the tiger demon pattern from Grandmother’s story.

“But that’s…” Bee’s voice cracked. “Those are just stories. To scare kids. They’re not—they can’t be—”

He trailed off.

The ghost had saved Tou from the pit. Transparent and terrifying and real.

Ghosts were supposed to be stories too.

What if all the stories were real?

“So you think Uncle Shoua is…” Bee couldn’t finish. “A demon?”

Saying it out loud sounded insane.

But Paj’s mind was racing through the logic.

They’d all seen Kao. Transparent, wrong, desperate—but real. He’d grabbed Tou, shoved him back from the pit. A ghost with enough presence to touch the living world.

Supernatural was real. That much was proven.

“If ghosts are real,” Paj said slowly, “what else is?”

The world suddenly felt bigger. Scarier. Full of things the adults had told them were just stories.

Tiger demons. Shapeshifters. All the spirits Grandmother talked about by the fire.

Real. All of it could be real.

“If Uncle Shoua is a shapeshifter…” Lia’s voice trembled. “Where’s the real Uncle Shoua?”

The question hit like cold water.

If something was wearing Uncle Shoua’s face, then Uncle Shoua was… what? Trapped? Hurt?

Dead?

“What does it want?” Tou whispered.

Paj thought about the ghost’s desperate warnings. His frantic gestures pointing at Uncle Shoua.

Be careful. Danger. Wrong.

“The ghost has warned us twice,” Paj said quietly. “It saved Tou. Now it’s trying to warn us about Uncle Shoua.”

She met the others’ eyes.

“Maybe it’s trying to protect us.”

Paj thought back to both encounters with the ghost.

At the pit, it had been terrifying. Screaming, grabbing Tou violently. But it had saved him. Seconds before the log broke and sent Tou falling into darkness.

Yesterday, appearing to warn them about Uncle Shoua. Desperate, frantic gestures.

Both times, it had been protecting them.

“It’s still scary,” Tou said quietly. Everyone looked at him. “The ghost. It’s scary to see.”

Paj nodded. Transparent and wrong, clearly dead—it should be frightening.

“But it’s not trying to hurt us,” she said.

Lia leaned forward. “Maybe it’s fighting the demon too. Maybe we have the same enemy.”

That made sense. The ghost warning them, trying to keep them safe from the shapeshifter.

“If it appears again,” Paj said slowly, “we should listen. Really listen.”

The others nodded, nervous but determined.

They’d run from it before. But that was when they thought it was the danger.

Now they knew better.

“We can’t fight a demon alone though,” Bee said. “We need help. Should we… tell the adults?”

That afternoon, Paj tried with Mother while grinding rice.

“Uncle Shoua seems different, don’t you think?”

Mother smiled. “He’s happy! Isn’t that wonderful? I told your father—the storm must have cleared his mood.”

She wasn’t listening. Wasn’t seeing.

“But he’s acting strange—”

“Strange? He’s been so helpful lately! Offering to carry water, joking with everyone.” Mother shook her head fondly. “Maybe we should all get caught in storms more often.”

Across the village, Bee tried with his father. Got the same dismissive response.

Lia’s mother said Uncle Shoua had “finally found joy.”

The adults saw what they wanted to see. A grumpy old man turned cheerful. A happy change.

They couldn’t see—or wouldn’t see—that something was wrong.

Later, the four kids exchanged glances across the village square. Everyone had tried. Everyone had failed.

The adults wouldn’t believe them. Couldn’t believe demons were real.

They were alone in this.

Four kids against a demon wearing Uncle Shoua’s face.

And they had no idea what to do.

Evening settled over the village like always. Cooking fires. Chickens roosting. Families gathering for dinner.

Everything looked normal.

Paj helped Mother prepare rice and vegetables, but her eyes kept drifting across the village. Uncle Shoua stood near the central fire, laughing with Uncle Yang. Too loud. Too cheerful.

Wrong.

And no one else could see it.

During dinner, Tou picked at his food.

“Are you feeling well?” Mother asked, touching his forehead.

“Just tired,” Tou said quietly.

He was lying. Paj could tell. He was thinking about it too—the ghost, the demon, the wrongness in Uncle Shoua’s smile.

After dinner they settled in. Mother lit the oil lamps, added extra incense to the altar. More than usual? Or was Paj just noticing everything now?

“Time for sleep,” Mother said.

Paj lay down on her sleeping mat beside Tou. Exhausted from fear and stress, from knowing something terrible and being unable to make anyone believe.

Darkness settled over the village.

She drifted toward sleep.

Deep night. The village silent. Darkness complete.

Paj slept.

Then something changed.

She was awake—but not awake. Aware but trapped. Her eyes open but seeing only darkness.

She couldn’t move.

Her body was frozen, paralyzed completely. Arms pinned to her sides. Legs heavy as stone.

Weight settled on her chest.

Heavy. Crushing. Pressing down like rocks piled on her ribs.

She couldn’t breathe.

Air wouldn’t come. Her lungs strained, fighting for breath that wouldn’t fill them. The weight pressed heavier.

Dab nsog.

The sleep spirit.

Through the darkness, a shape formed. Standing over her. Tall and wrong, no features visible—just a faceless silhouette watching her struggle.

Paj tried to scream. Her mouth wouldn’t open. Her throat locked shut.

The figure didn’t move. Just stood there. Patient. Predatory.

Watching.

The weight crushed tighter. Her chest burned. Lungs desperate for air. She was going to die like this, suffocating in the darkness while something faceless stood over her and watched—

With every fragment of strength she had, Paj fought.

She gasped.

Air rushed in—sweet, desperate, life-giving air.

The weight vanished.

Paj sat up violently, heart hammering, gasping breath after breath.

The room was dark. Silent. Empty.

Tou slept peacefully on his mat beside her. Mother and Father breathing quietly across the room.

No faceless figure.

Just a nightmare. Just dab nsog.

But her chest still ached. Her lungs still burned.

Had it been real?

Paj sat there in the darkness, heart still racing, trying to calm down.

Just a nightmare. Just dab nsog. Everyone had them sometimes.

But she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

She turned toward the small window.

And froze.

Outside in the darkness, barely visible in the moonless night—a figure.

Uncle Shoua.

Standing motionless in the shadows between houses. Not walking. Not moving. Just standing there.

Watching.

Staring directly at their house. At her window. At her.

Paj couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Not from nightmare paralysis this time—from pure fear.

He was too far away to see his face clearly. But she could feel his eyes on her. Predator watching prey.

How long had he been standing there?

What was he waiting for?

The nightmare hadn’t been random. It had been him. Reaching for her through sleep. Testing her.

And now he stood outside, patient and still, just watching.

Paj’s chest tightened.

She blinked.

He was gone.

The space between houses stood empty. Shadows and darkness but no figure.

As if he’d never been there at all.

But he had been there. She’d seen him clearly.

The demon knew they suspected.

And now it was watching them.

Paj lay back down slowly, pulling her blanket tight. She didn’t sleep again that night.

She couldn’t.

Because every time she closed her eyes, she felt those unseen eyes still watching through the darkness.

Waiting.

The morning after Uncle Shoua had watched her house, Paj barely slept.

None of them had.

The four kids met behind the storage shed again, faces pale, eyes shadowed.

“Did you see him?” Bee whispered. “Last night. Standing outside your house?”

Paj nodded. “He knew I was watching. He… he was watching back.”

Tou huddled close to Paj. Lia’s hands twisted together nervously.

But underneath the fear, something else stirred.

“We can’t just hide,” Paj said quietly. “If he’s really a demon, the adults need to know. We need proof they’ll believe.”

“What kind of proof?” Lia asked.

Paj thought hard. “The stories. Tiger demons make mistakes. We need to catch him making one.”

“We could watch him,” Lia said slowly. “All day. See what he does when he thinks no one’s looking.”

“And test him,” Paj added, remembering grandmother’s stories. “There are things tigers can’t do. Can’t hide from.”

Bee’s voice shook. “You want to follow a demon around? All day?”

“We’ll take turns,” Paj said. “Stay hidden. Just watch and note everything wrong.”

Tou nodded. “I can be quiet.”

They all looked at each other. Scared but determined.

If the adults wouldn’t believe them, they’d gather proof the adults couldn’t ignore.

“Let’s start now,” Paj said. “Before he does whatever demons do.”

Paj crouched behind the chicken coop, watching Uncle Shoua through the slats.

He carried water for Auntie Nou. Laughed at someone’s joke. Helped repair a broken fence.

Normal village activities.

But every movement felt wrong.

Too helpful. Too cheerful. That constant smile that Uncle Shoua had never worn before.

Across the village, she caught glimpses of the others. Lia pretending to gather firewood. Bee feeding chickens but watching. Tou playing nearby but alert.

All of them watching.

Uncle Shoua moved between houses, greeting everyone warmly.

Paj’s eyes tracked his shadow.

Was it… lagging? Just slightly behind his movements?

She couldn’t be sure. But she kept watching.

By late morning, the wrongness had piled up.

Uncle Shoua smiled at everything. Someone dropped a basket—he smiled while helping pick it up. A child cried—he smiled while offering comfort.

Real Uncle Shoua would have grumbled.

And his movements… Paj watched him bend to lift a heavy water jar. Too smooth. Too effortless. The jar should have been heavy, should have made him grunt and strain.

He lifted it like it weighed nothing.

Paj caught Lia’s eye across the square. Lia had seen it too.

They were building a list. Memory gaps. Wrong reactions. Physical impossibilities.

Every piece of evidence made Paj more certain.

That wasn’t Uncle Shoua.

That was something wearing Uncle Shoua’s face.

And it was very good at pretending.

But not perfect.

Midday, the kids tried something bolder.

Bee carried Mother’s small bronze mirror—polished until it shone. The stories said demons hated seeing their true reflections.

He walked past Uncle Shoua, holding it carelessly.

“Bee!” Uncle Shoua called cheerfully. “Let me see that pretty mirror!”

Bee froze. Slowly turned.

Uncle Shoua reached for it, still smiling.

Then his hand stopped. Just inches from the mirror’s surface.

“Actually,” Uncle Shoua said, smile not quite reaching his eyes now, “you should keep that safe. Precious things shouldn’t be out here.”

He pulled his hand back.

Walked away.

Bee stood there, mirror trembling in his grip.

Paj had seen it. Uncle Shoua’s smile had faltered. Just for a second.

He’d avoided touching the mirror.

The kids regrouped behind the houses, buzzing with excitement.

“Did you see?” Bee whispered. “He wouldn’t touch it!”

“And when Tou walked past with the incense,” Lia added, “Uncle Shoua moved away. Stayed upwind.”

Sacred smoke bothered him.

Mirrors bothered him.

Every test from grandmother’s stories was working.

They had proof.

Paj felt triumph and terror mixing together. They’d been right. Uncle Shoua really was a demon.

But they were getting careless. Too excited. Too obvious.

When Paj peeked around the corner to watch him again, Uncle Shoua was standing perfectly still.

Looking right at their hiding spot.

Had he heard them?

Paj ducked back, heart pounding.

But she’d seen his expression.

Not cheerful anymore.

Calculating.

An hour later, Paj was watching from behind the water jars.

Uncle Shoua turned.

Looked directly at her.

Their eyes met.

Paj froze.

His smile stayed in place. But his eyes… they weren’t smiling. They were assessing. Like a hunter studying prey.

The moment stretched. Too long. Normal people looked away. Moved on.

Uncle Shoua just stared.

And stared.

Paj couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Pinned by that predatory gaze.

Then he smiled wider—wrong, too wide—and turned back to his conversation.

As if nothing had happened.

But Paj’s hands shook.

He knew.

He knew they were watching.

Paj found the others quickly.

“He knows,” she whispered. “He caught me watching. He knows.”

“What did he do?” Lia asked nervously.

“Nothing. That’s what’s scary. Just… looked at me. Like he was deciding something.”

Bee shivered. “Should we stop?”

Paj shook her head. “We have proof now. The mirror, the incense—he avoided them. We just need the adults to see it.”

“But if he knows we’re watching…” Tou’s voice was small.

They all fell quiet.

Uncle Shoua continued his cheerful routine across the village. Helping. Smiling. Acting normal.

But now they could feel his awareness. Like a predator who’d spotted movement in the grass.

Watching them back.

Late afternoon, Uncle Shoua stood near the central fire with several adults.

Loud enough for Paj to hear from her hiding spot.

“I don’t want to complain,” Uncle Shoua said, voice uncertain, hurt. “But… the children have been following me all day.”

Paj went cold.

“Following you?” Father asked.

“Watching me. Staring. Everywhere I go, they’re there.” He sounded genuinely confused. “I don’t understand why. Have I done something to upset them?”

“Which children?” Auntie Nou asked.

“Paj, Lia, Bee, little Tou. They keep… watching.”

He made it sound creepy. Made them sound cruel.

Paj wanted to shout that he was lying. That he was the predator, not them.

But she stayed frozen, listening to the demon twist everything around.

The adults murmured sympathetically.

“Children can be curious,” Mother said. “Sometimes too curious.”

“Or cruel,” another adult added. “Testing people. Seeing reactions.”

“I’m sure they don’t mean harm,” Uncle Shoua said generously. Too generously. “They’re just… young.”

The adults nodded. Sympathetic to poor Uncle Shoua, bothered by staring children.

From her hiding spot, Paj’s stomach churned.

He was making them look like bullies. Like they were the problem.

But why? What was he planning?

She didn’t understand yet. Didn’t see the trap being built.

She just thought he was complaining.

Trying to make the adults stop the kids from watching.

She had no idea he was planting seeds for something much worse.

As the sun set, families gathered at the central fire.

Uncle Shoua sat with the adults, laughing at jokes, sharing stories.

Perfect. Normal. Human.

But Paj and the others stayed at the edges. Still watching.

They’d spent all day documenting his wrongness. The mirror. The incense. The impossible strength. The predatory stares.

And now his complaints to the adults, making them sound cruel.

Paj’s eyes never left him.

She needed one more piece of proof. Something undeniable.

Something even the adults couldn’t explain away.

The firelight flickered across Uncle Shoua’s smiling face.

And Paj waited.

Watching.

Uncle Shoua stood, laughing at something Father said.

Then Uncle Yang called from across the clearing—maybe twenty paces away—asking about tomorrow’s work.

Uncle Shoua turned to answer.

And moved.

Paj’s breath stopped.

One moment he was standing by the fire.

The next—before her eyes could even track the movement—he was standing beside Uncle Yang.

Twenty paces crossed in less than a heartbeat.

No running. No walking. Just… there.

Impossibly fast.

Supernaturally fast.

Several adults were nearby. They didn’t react. Didn’t even blink. As if their minds couldn’t process what they’d seen, so they… didn’t see it.

But Paj had been watching. Specifically watching. Waiting for exactly this kind of mistake.

And she’d seen it clearly.

Uncle Shoua continued his conversation like nothing had happened. Smiling. Normal.

But Paj stood frozen at the edge of firelight.

Her heart pounded. Her hands shook.

That wasn’t human.

That was impossible.

No more doubt. No more wondering if they were imagining things.

Uncle Shoua—whatever wore his face—was a demon.

And she’d just seen him prove it.

Now she just had to make the adults believe it too.

That evening, the four kids met behind the storage shed again.

Everyone’s hands still trembled. Eyes still wide.

“I saw it,” Paj said quietly. “Twenty paces. Less than a heartbeat. Impossible.”

“We all saw it,” Lia whispered.

Bee nodded, face pale.

Even Tou, usually bouncing with energy, sat perfectly still.

“We know now,” Paj said. “Uncle Shoua is a demon. Not maybe. Not probably. Definitely.”

No one argued.

They’d seen the impossible with their own eyes.

“But knowing isn’t enough,” Paj continued. “The adults won’t believe us. They didn’t even see him move like that.”

“Their minds couldn’t process it,” Lia said quietly. “So they… didn’t.”

Bee’s voice cracked: “So how do we stop him?”

Silence.

They knew what he was.

But not how to expose him. Not how to fight him. Not how to make the adults believe.

“Grandmother’s stories,” Lia said suddenly. “She told us about tiger demons. But there must be stories about defeating them too.”

Paj’s chest tightened with hope.

“We need to know how to stop them,” she said. “How people in the old stories did it.”

Everyone nodded.

Tomorrow, they’d ask grandmother.

The next day, they found Grandmother sitting by her house, preparing vegetables.

“Grandmother,” Lia said carefully, “do you know stories about tiger demons?”

Grandmother’s knife paused. “I’ve told you those stories.”

“Not just about what they are,” Paj added quickly. “About how people… stopped them. Defeated them.”

Grandmother set down her knife.

Studied them with sharp eyes.

“Why this sudden interest in defeating tiger demons?”

Paj’s heart pounded. They couldn’t tell the truth. Not yet.

“We’re just curious,” Bee said, trying to sound casual. “After your stories, we wondered how people fought back.”

Grandmother’s gaze lingered on each child.

Seeing their fear. Their desperation.

Finally, Grandmother spoke.

“There is an old story. About Nou Plai and the tiger who stole his wife.”

Paj’s breath caught.

“It tells how he got her back. How he fought the demon.” Grandmother’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“Yes,” all four kids said together.

Too eager. Too desperate.

Grandmother didn’t miss it.

She looked at them long and hard.

Then nodded slowly.

“Sit,” she said. “This is not a story for the faint of heart.”

They sat immediately, gathering close.

Whatever she suspected, Grandmother was going to help them.

Grandmother settled into storyteller voice.

“Long ago, a tiger demon came to a village. It watched a man named Nou Plai—watched his beautiful wife.”

Paj leaned forward.

“One night, the tiger came to their house. Wore the face of Nou Plai’s brother. The wife, trusting, let it in.”

A chill ran down Paj’s spine.

Wore someone’s face. Just like Uncle Shoua.

“By morning, the wife was gone. Taken into the forest. The brother found dead in a ditch, his face stolen.”

Bee made a small sound of horror.

“Nou Plai knew what had happened. Knew a demon had his wife. He could have run. Could have hidden.”

Grandmother paused for effect.

“But he didn’t. He chose to fight.”

“Nou Plai gathered ashes from the sacred fire,” Grandmother continued. “When he threw them at the demon, its stolen face melted away. The tiger’s true form appeared.”

Paj’s mind raced. Ashes reveal truth.

“He drew sacred marks across his doorway. The tiger could not cross—demons fear certain thresholds.”

Sacred boundaries.

“He carried fire. Tigers fear flames above all else. They will retreat from it.”

Lia was nodding, absorbing every word.

“He brought a mirror. Forced the demon to see its own reflection—its true, monstrous self. Demons hate that.”

Mirrors show truth. They’d already tested that one.

“But most importantly,” Grandmother’s voice dropped low, “he confronted it directly. Demons don’t leave on their own. They must be faced. Defeated. Or they hunt forever.”

The kids sat in heavy silence.

These weren’t just story details.

These were weapons.

“Nou Plai used all these methods,” Grandmother said. “Ashes to reveal. Fire to repel. Sacred marks to protect. Mirrors to break the demon’s confidence.”

She paused.

“And when the demon showed its true tiger form—wounded, weakened—he struck it down with an iron blade.”

Paj committed every word to memory.

Ashes. Fire. Thresholds. Mirrors. Iron.

“He saved his wife. Brought her home. The tiger demon never returned.”

Grandmother looked at each child in turn.

“That is how you defeat a tiger demon.”

The kids nodded, silent and solemn.

Now they knew.

Later, away from Grandmother, the kids huddled together.

“We can get ashes from the fire,” Paj said quietly. “Easy.”

“I still have Mother’s mirror,” Bee added.

“We can draw sacred marks,” Lia said. “I’ve watched the shaman do it. Certain symbols, certain patterns.”

They were making a list. An actual plan.

“Fire,” Tou said. “We can carry torches.”

“And iron.” Paj thought about the tools in Father’s shed. “Knives. Farming implements.”

The list grew.

It was terrifying—actually planning to confront a demon.

But they had methods now. Knowledge. Weapons.

“We can do this,” Paj said, trying to sound braver than she felt.

The others nodded.

They were scared.

But they weren’t helpless anymore.

That night, Paj woke gasping.

The room was freezing.

Her breath misted in the air. Ice seemed to coat the walls.

And standing at the foot of her sleeping mat—

Kao.

But different this time.

More solid. More there. She could see his features clearly—a boy her age, face desperate and determined.

Tou slept on, undisturbed. Mother and Father’s breathing continued steady across the room.

Only Paj saw him.

Kao’s mouth moved. This time, faint words came through:

“Must… tell you… everything…”

His eyes were urgent. Pleading.

He gestured toward the window. Toward outside.

Come with me. Follow. Please.

Paj’s heart pounded.

The ghost wanted her to follow him into the darkness.

Kao gestured again. More urgent.

“Please… running out of… time…”

His voice was fading, the effort to speak draining him.

Paj looked at her sleeping family.

Safe. Warm. Protected.

Then back at Kao.

The ghost who’d saved Tou from the pit.

Who’d warned them about Uncle Shoua.

Who’d been trying to help them all along.

He’d never hurt them.

Only tried to protect them.

And now he needed to tell her something. Something important enough to appear this solid, to risk this much energy.

Paj made her decision.

Slowly, carefully, she stood.

Kao’s face flooded with relief.

He turned toward the window, beckoning.

Paj followed.

Into the darkness.

To finally learn the truth about the demon, the cycle, and why Kao’s ghost had been warning them all along.

Paj’s bare feet touched cold earth.

She’d slipped through the window, heart hammering.

In the darkness ahead, Kao waited. Translucent but visible, more solid than she’d ever seen him.

He turned and floated forward, not quite walking.

Paj followed.

The village was silent. Everyone asleep. Only the faint sounds of breathing from nearby houses, the occasional dog shifting position.

She crept between shadows, following the pale figure ahead.

Every sound made her flinch. Every movement in her peripheral vision made her want to run back.

But Kao kept looking back at her. Making sure she followed.

His face was desperate. Please.

They moved past houses, past the village square, toward the edge where the forest began.

Paj’s courage wavered. Following a ghost into the forest at night—this was how horror stories started.

Kao stopped at the tree line. Turned to face her.

Waited.

This was her choice. She could still go back.

Paj took a breath.

Stepped forward into the darkness.

They walked deeper into the forest.

Kao led her unerringly through the darkness, around roots and stones.

Paj stumbled several times. Kao would pause, wait for her to catch up.

Finally they reached it.

The old tree. The one Mother had warned about.

And just beyond it—the pit.

The place where Tou had almost died. Where Kao had saved him.

Kao stopped here.

His form seemed to solidify. More present. More real.

This was his place. The place he was tied to.

He turned to face Paj.

In the faint moonlight filtering through the trees, she could see him clearly now. A boy her own age. Face young, eyes ancient.

Scared.

He opened his mouth.

Paj waited.

Kao’s mouth moved.

Sounds came out—but wrong.

“I… we… the…” Broken syllables. Like wind through hollow reeds.

His face twisted in frustration.

Paj leaned closer. “Take your time. I’m listening.”

He tried again.

“Sis…ters… no… sib…lings…”

Words scattered like leaves. She could almost grasp the meaning, then it slipped away.

“Two… both… we…”

His hands gestured frantically. Two fingers held up. Then pointing at himself. Then pointing past her, at nothing—or at someone only he could see.

Paj’s heart ached. He was trying so hard.

“Brother?” she whispered. “You had a brother?”

Kao shook his head violently. Made the gesture again—two, himself, someone else.

“Sister?”

A nod. Desperate. Yes.

“You and your sister. Both of you…”

His face crumpled. A sob with no sound.

Then he reached toward her, hand outstretched.

Paj hesitated.

His eyes pleaded: Please. I can’t say it. But I can show you.

Paj reached out.

Took his ghostly hand.

COLD.

Freezing. Like plunging into winter water.

But she didn’t let go.

Kao’s eyes closed. His grip tightened—solid, real, desperate.

And then—

The world shifted.

Paj gasped.

She wasn’t standing by the pit anymore.

She was seeing. Feeling. Experiencing something that wasn’t hers.

Sunlight. Laughter. Two children running.

Not her memory. His.

The vision pulled her under like a river current.

She stopped fighting.

Let it take her.

Let Kao show her everything.

The vision:

A boy—Kao, but alive. Face bright with mischief.

A girl beside him. Younger. Maybe six years old. Pigtails bouncing as she ran.

“Bet you can’t catch me!” she shrieked, laughing.

They were playing in the forest. Chasing each other through the trees.

Happy.

Paj felt Kao’s joy like sunshine. His love for his little sister. The way he’d let her win sometimes just to see her celebrate.

“Kao!” the girl called. “I found a stick! A good one!”

She held it up—carved, decorated with simple patterns.

“Mai, be careful near the edge—”

But she was already running again, waving the stick like a victory banner.

Toward the old tree.

Toward the pit.

The joy in Kao’s chest turned to ice.

“Mai! Stop!”

But she thought he was playing. Laughed and ran faster.

The emotion shifted. Fear flooded in.

This was how it started.

Mai reached the old tree.

Stopped at the pit’s edge, peering down into darkness.

“Kao, look how deep!”

She leaned forward—

The carved stick slipped from her hand.

Tumbled down into the shadows.

“No!” Mai cried. “My stick!”

Kao reached her, breathing hard. Looked down.

The pit was deep. But not bottomless.

He could see the stick, caught on a ledge maybe ten feet down.

“I can get it,” he said.

“Don’t!” Mai’s eyes went wide. “Mother said never—”

“It’s not far. I’ll just climb down a little, grab it, climb back up.”

Kao was already moving. Lowering himself over the edge.

Rock handholds. Roots to grip.

Easy.

But as he climbed, the temperature dropped.

Cold seeped from the pit like breath.

And in the forest behind Mai—

Something moved.

Paj felt Kao sense it. Wrong presence. Watching.

But he was focused on the stick. On being the brave big brother.

His fingers closed around the carved wood.

“Got it!”

And that’s when Mai screamed.

Something grabbed Mai from behind.

Kao looked up from the pit—saw it.

A figure. Not quite human. Smiling too wide.

It pushed.

Mai tumbled forward, arms windmilling.

Falling toward the pit.

Toward Kao.

He reached up, caught her—

The weight yanked him off the ledge.

They fell together.

Screaming.

The vision exploded into terror.

Rock walls rushing past. Mai’s hand in his. Her terrified face.

The impact—

Pain. Overwhelming. Body broken.

Can’t breathe. Can’t move.

Darkness pressing in.

Above, at the pit’s edge—golden eyes gleaming. Satisfied smile.

It watched them die.

The vision shattered.

Paj gasped, back in her own body, back at the pit’s edge in the present night.

But Kao’s hand still gripped hers.

And she could feel his grief like drowning.

My fault. I led her there. I failed.

Sixteen years of guilt, compressed into one crushing moment.

Another vision flooded in.

After death.

Kao’s xyw, formless, terrified, trapped.

The demon came—no longer wearing a human face.

Tiger.

Massive. Golden eyes. Teeth like daggers.

It fed on their fear.

Mai’s xyw screaming. Kao trying to protect her, even in death.

But the tiger was stronger.

It bound them to the pit. To the cycle.

Mine, it growled. You belong to me now.

Time blurred in the vision.

Years passing. The demon returning again and again.

Eight years.

Every eight years, it came back. Hunted. Fed on Kao’s terror all over again.

Mai was gone—consumed completely, or freed, Kao didn’t know.

But he remained. Trapped. Fleeing. Hunted.

The demon would come in different forms. Wearing stolen faces.

It liked that game. Pretending to be human. Getting close before revealing its true nature.

Monster.

Paj pulled back from the vision, shaking.

Kao released her hand.

His eyes held ancient sorrow.

Now she understood.

“Eight… years…” Kao’s voice came clearer now, after showing her the memories.

Still broken, but she could understand.

“It… returns. Every… eight years.”

His face twisted with remembered fear.

“Hunts… me. Feeds on… my fear.”

Paj felt it through their lingering connection—the endless terror. Running, hiding, knowing it would always find him.

“It killed… me… once.”

He gestured at himself, his translucent form.

“Now it… feeds… forever.”

The cycle. Trapped. No escape.

“Why eight years?” Paj whispered.

Kao shook his head. Didn’t know. Just knew the pattern.

Eight years of relative peace. Then it returned. Hungrier. Crueler.

“This time…” He struggled with the words. “It came… wearing… someone.”

He gestured toward the village.

“Uncle Shoua,” Paj said.

Kao nodded. Face full of guilt.

“You… helped me. I… marked you.”

His expression crumbled.

“I’m… sorry.”

“No,” Paj said firmly. “You saved Tou. You tried to warn us.”

Kao looked at her with such gratitude it hurt.

But then his expression shifted.

Terror flooded his face.

“It… knows,” he whispered.

“Knows what?”

“You… helped me. All of you.”

His voice grew more urgent, clearer with fear.

“It knows. It’s… angry. It will… come for you.”

“All of us?”

“Everyone… who… helped.”

Paj’s blood ran cold. Lia. Bee. Tou. Even Chue now.

They were all targets.

“When?” she asked.

Kao’s eyes went wide.

He looked past her—at something in the trees behind her.

His face went white with absolute terror.

He raised one trembling hand.

Pointed.

“Now,” he breathed.

And vanished.

Paj spun around.

The forest behind her was dark.

Silent.

Empty.

But something had been there.

She could feel the echo of its presence, still lingering in the cold air.

Watching.

And now it knew exactly where she was.