Goddess Bless You From Death

Case File 39.

In a steady rhythm, Singha's breathing was mingled with the sound of the rain that was starting to subside. He looked down at the steel rod impaling his waist. The bleeding had stopped, and the pain was turning into numbness from the cold

"Singh!!!" Mek came running, covered in mud. It must have been a struggle to get there. "Are you going to die?!!"

"Is that... your mouth talking?" Singha retorted almost instantly, showing he was still conscious.

"Hang on! The medics are on their way!"

"Thup... got captured."

"How about saving yourself first?" Mek looked at the wound on Singha's abdomen with a serious expression. Pulling the rod out could lead to fatal bleeding.

"Are you going to help me pull it out... or should I do it myself?"

"Can you stop being so reckless, Singh?"

"Once Thup reaches them... They'll start killing the others for sure. Rin, ugh, King, Lieutenant Khem..."

"But.." Having worked together before, the four of them had faced big cases and barely survived. Mek was the only one who transferred to intelligence due to his fear of fieldwork, while Singha remained the same, always putting the case above himself. If Mek didn't help, Singha would probably pull the rod out by himself.

Mek decided to open the first aid kit he had brought along. The surveillance van was equipped with communication tools, life-saving gear, and weapons. He hoped to find something that could help Singha now.

"There's a wound stapler! And anaesthetic!"

"Do it."

"I've got whiskey too!" Mek held up a small bottle of whiskey with a grin. "Whatever, I'll drink it first."

After taking a satisfying swig, Mek handed the bottle to Singha, who drank it like water while Mek poured alcohol on the rod and saline on the wound, followed by betadine. Even though it wouldn't help much, in this situation, delaying death by an hour was favourable enough.

"I'm injecting it now."

"Yeah."

"My knowledge is limited; I only remember bits from Rin. So, this will hurt."

"Got a cigarette?"

"Now?"

"Yeah, just in case I die, I won't regret it." Mek rolled his eyes but pulled out a cigarette and a lighter from his inside jacket pocket. Luckily, it was leather, so it hadn't gotten wet. With the rain stopped, lighting the cigarette wasn't difficult.

Singha inhaled the nicotine deeply, exhaling white smoke into the air. He winced as the needle pierced around his wound. He knew this wasn't ideal and might even be terrible, but waiting for medics to extract him properly and transport him to the hospital to get examinations and treatments, then, there might be no one left to save.

After three minutes, when the cigarette was finished, and the anaesthetic had taken effect, the moment of reality arrived. Singha dropped the cigarette butt and looked at Mek.

"Singh, are you sure about this? You could die." 

"Just hurry...before it's too late." Mek sighed in resignation and stepped closer. Their hands gripped the rod, Mek, pulling while Singha pushed it out of his body. Every movement felt like it was tearing Singha's soul from his body. The anaesthetic didn't help much, and Singha cried out in pain. "Ouch, damn it!!"

"Pause! Pause!" Mek pressed a cloth against the wound to stem the bleeding

"This hurts like hell!"

"I know, I know. Once we get it out, we can't stop. Otherwise, you'll die before we can help that kid." Mek checked the back of the rod. Seeing it was free from the wood, it just needed to come out of Singha. "You're hitting on a kid."

Singha panted heavily, looking at Mek. This wasn't the first time he'd been injured, but it was the first time he felt pain like he might die.

"You nosy jerk, ugh!"

"When you were flirting with that kid, I was on the line too," Mek said, recalling their earlier conversation. He nearly gagged, but wanted to know how Singha planned to lure the naive kid. "Final blow. After I pull this out, I'll use the stapler on both wounds and bandage you. Okay?"

"Yeah." Singha took a deep breath to brace himself, gripping the blood-soaked rod, and pushed it out as Mek used all his strength to pull.

"Ugh!!!"

Once the foreign object was removed from his body, Singha almost collapsed immediately. Fortunately, Mek caught him and began to staple the wound on his abdomen, followed by the one on his back.

Though it wasn't as neat as a doctor would have done, it stopped the gushing blood. Mek used all his basic first-aid knowledge to tend to his friend and get him to their surveillance van. Singha was laid flat and given portable oxygen to prevent him from passing out due to blood loss.

"What now?"

"Activate Tracker 248," Singha said, removing his oxygen mask to tell Mek, who was staring at the computer screen.

"Why are you turning it on?"

"I planted a tracker...in that kid's jacket during the fight." 

"Smart move, Inspector."

"You drive."

"Huh? Drive to where?"

"Follow the signal. Now."

"But-"

"No buts."

"I'm not a field agent!"

"You are now."

"Damn it! You owe me, Singh. If you die, I'll follow you to hell and curse you out!"

Thup walked until he reached the front of the abandoned mill. The surrounding area was an overgrown forest with many tall trees, making it unsurprising that no one noticed it. He scanned the area around him before lowering his gaze to the ground in front of him. It wasn't because there was nothing to see, but because there was too much. Numerous spirits clung to the walls and roofs, wandering. There were more of them than he had ever seen in any other place.

"I guess you see a lot of ghosts, huh? Must be a beautiful sight," the person holding a gun to his back said mockingly before pushing Thup to walk inside. 

"Tonight, you'll see a lot more. Move."

The first things Thup sensed as he stepped in were the smell of incense, the light of candles, and the sound of chanting. As he walked into the wide courtyard inside, his eyes widened in shock because it had turned into an execution ground. The stench of both animal blood and human blood mixed and lingered in the air. 

The sound of Khmer chanting echoed loudly, as if dozens of people were chanting, even though only one person sat in the centre of the blood-drawn symbols on the ground. A man dressed in a pitch-black robe held a machete. He cut his own hand, letting thick red blood flow into a silver tray. 

At the front of the ritual site, a white cloth hung on four sides, with plumeria flowers hanging from the ends. On the silver tray in the middle of the room, there was an orange robe, a razor, prayer beads, and holy threads. Surrounding them were offerings: plumeria flowers, savoury and sweet foods, steamed rice, white liquor, bananas, a basket stained with betel leaves, and what made Thup's hands tremble uncontrollably—this was not an ordinary offering ceremony, but an offering to hungry ghosts, with animal heads and blood as the sacrifice.

"I invite Lady Vijitmawan, Lady Wannanongkran, Lady Yakborisut, Lady Samolthat, Lady Kalotuk, Lady Yaknongyao, and Lady Ekalai, the Seven Mae Seus, to reside here to receive all the prepared offerings."

Seven Sia-Kaban dolls were placed around as if ready for possession. Thup's trembling eyes met the practitioner's. He recoiled as the abbot he had known now turned into a superstitious practitioner of dark magic. Rough hands grabbed Thup's chin to make him look closely. The beautiful brown eyes, framed by long eyelashes and a sweet, captivating face, were undeniable.

"Just like your mother," the hoarse voice said

"You have to stop this! What you're doing is wrong! The Mae Seus you believe in are just restless ghosts." Thup tried to reason, but the response was not what he expected.

!!!

A hand slapped Thup's cheek so hard that he could taste blood in his mouth. Thup bit his lip tightly to suppress the fear in his heart, not wanting the two insane men to see it.

"You are disrespectful!"

"I'm not disrespectful! Do you really think you came up with all this on your own? Do you really believe the ghosts told you this because they want to help cure you and your son? Do you think any good ghost would tell you to kill your wife and daughter? I've seen ghosts all my life, and I don't believe the ones you're worshipping are that benevolent!"

"Shut up! That's my wife and child!"

"You know they're not. At the very least, wearing the monk's robe should make you see things differently. You know very well," Thup said, looking past the abbot to see the ghosts of the mother and child devouring the offerings. "You know very well that the true forms of those two ghosts are not your wife and child."

"Whether they are or not, my son and I are not dead. Tie him up like the others and bring Tuesday to the altar," the former abbot ordered his son before walking away to fetch red thread and a needle.

"Move!"

Thup was taken a few steps away from the ritual site. He quickly looked away when he saw that Song and Dear had already become lifeless bodies. The holy thread wrapped around them was a clear indication of why he hadn't seen their spirits.

"P'Rin! P'Rin!"

Thup ran to Darin, who was tied up. Her pale face and the bloodstains on her waist made him start to worry.

"She's not dead. She still needs to die on the altar." Bom was right.

The wound on her abdomen was wrapped with bandages as if to stop the bleeding. 

"If you keep stalling, I'll put a few bullets in you. You're going to die anyway."

"This time you won't succeed. Even if you do, you'll have to keep doing this, not every five years like before. The hunger of those ghosts will only grow, and if you can't satisfy them, you'll become the sacrifice yourself."

Bom licked his dry lips. Previously, they performed the ritual every five years and always managed to escape. But having to perform it twice because his father started vomiting blood last week made them panic and get caught.

"I said SHUT UP!!" Bom's deep-seated fear started to manifest as violence. He struck Thup's face with the hand holding the gun, knocking the young man to the ground. Then, he continued to follow, pinning Thup down and beating him with the gun handle until he was satisfied.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!!"

After venting his anger, Bom stood up with a smile. He looked down at the young man whose face was drenched in blood. His cheekbones, mouth, and temples were all covered in cuts and gashes. Just seeing that thick blood and the laboured breathing of the one who spoke out of turn made Bom feel better. He walked over to untie the rope, whistling as he dragged Jump back to his father at the ceremonial ground.

"Cough! Cough! Cough!" Thup coughed before rolling over to spit out the blood in his mouth. The pain coursed through his body, but it didn't hurt as much as his heart at that moment. The image of Singha in the forest still lingered in his mind. He truly hoped that Singha could escape, survive, and expose these people, whether he himself survived or not.

"Here he is, Dad." Bom tossed Jump's body onto the altar. The arms and legs of the unfortunate victim were tied to the altar, and the former abbot stood over him with a needle and thread.

"What about that kid?"

"He's not dead yet. Didn't you say we could do whatever we wanted with him? What's there to worry about?" The father and son had a brief argument before falling silent, then looked down at the person strapped in the middle. The Tuesday Mae Seu, represented by a headless buffalo Sia-Kaban doll, was placed next to Jump.

"W-What are you going to do? P-Please... sob... don't do anything... sob... to me." Jumping back to consciousness, he sensed death before him. He had heard Dear's screams here before they fell silent with her last breath.

The wind gusted even though no windows or doors were open. The sound of chanting mixed with Jump's screams. The tip of the sewing needle slowly pierced his eyelid. The red thread was stained with blood as it plunged through his skin tissues repeatedly.

"Aaahh!! It hurts!! It hurts!!!"

Jump's agonised screams, like those of an animal in a slaughterhouse, filled the air, prompting Thup to close his eyes. Tears welled up and spilt down his cheeks as he began to move because something touched his foot.

"Mr King!"

"Shh, do you see that glass shard?" King, with blood streaming from his temple, staining his expensive clothes, nodded towards the glass.

"I see it."

"Go get it. Move slowly. Don't let them notice."

"Okay."

Thup glanced at the father and son, who were focused on their chanting and sewing the thread into Jump's body. He slowly crawled towards the glass shard. He looked back once more, fearing Bom might turn around. Once he was sure the father and son wouldn't see him, he reached for the shard. But when he looked back, the space in front of him was no longer empty.

'A bad kid! Such a naughty kid!'

A ghostly woman with bulging white eyes grinned at him, her smile so wide it revealed her uvula. She squatted, tilting her head to look at Thup with an amused expression.

"Must be feasted!

The night crept on, and the hang ritual flowed. Death took its due, claiming the bodies owed. Summoning the spirits, many revealed. As dark magic rose, the flesh healed.