Ya Ting returned to her room and wrapped her knee tightly in gauze. A glance at the clock told her it was 2:30 AM.
Her parents had come home at eleven after closing their food stall and gone straight to bed, oblivious to the night's horrors.
A low growl erupted from her stomach. She was hungry again.
Every night, her mom brought home a late-night snack after closing the stall. Tonight was no different. A cold, greasy fried drumstick sat waiting on the table.Her favorite.
It wasn't warm anymore, but she didn't care. She devoured it quickly, barely chewing.
Still hungry.
She yanked open the fridge. Just vegetables and a raw, whole chicken.
Her eyes landed on it.
Something about the raw meat looked… enticing. Fresher. Juicier than the fried drumstick she'd just eaten.
The thought jolted her. She smacked her own forehead, as if to knock the idea loose. But the craving coiled tighter.
She found herself grabbing a knife and slicing off one of the chicken legs—without even thinking—bit straight into the raw flesh.
After finishing the raw chicken leg, she satisfiedly licked her fingers and said, "Delicious."
Then it hit her.
Oh God. What the hell am I doing?
Revulsion slammed into her like a wave. The slippery taste of raw chicken still coated her tongue. Her stomach twisted.
Could it be that the face was back again?
Ya Ting's hand trembled as she nervously peeled back the gauze on her knee, heart pounding. But there was nothing unusual...
She rushed back to her room, pulled out her phone, and googled human face growing on body.
Her thumb froze mid-scroll.
Human-faced ulcer.
Ya Ting read every article she could find.
A human-faced ulcer manifests when a person with heavy karmic debt is possessed by a wandering spirit during a time of misfortune? What karmic debt? I'm just a student. I've never killed anyone.
One theory made her scoff: Vengeful spirits from past lives returning to settle scores.
She rolled her eyes.
Please. I'm Catholic. I don't even believe in reincarnation. I'd rather believe it's some alien parasite nesting in my body.
Ya Ting lay in bed, restless and wide awake.
Before long, it was six in the morning. Her parents were already up, preparing ingredients for the breakfast crowd at their noodle stall.
Her mom came into her room and noticed she was still awake. "Why is there a chicken leg missing?"
"I… I cooked it last night to eat..." Ya Ting muttered, avoiding her mother's gaze.
Her mom nodded, unfazed. "Oh, no big deal. Just curious. By the way, how's your wound? Need me to change the dressing?"
Ya Ting shook her head quickly. "No need, I did it myself earlier. It's fine. You two go ahead and open the stall. I'll catch up in a bit."
Since it was Saturday, she didn't have school, so Ya Ting always helped out at their stall.
Her dad soon revved up his motorcycle, and her mom climbed on behind him. They headed off to the kopitiam to set up—it was only a few minutes' walk from their house.
After a while, Ya Ting walked to the kopitiam, where her parents were already busy setting up. The sun had barely risen, and only a handful of regulars—early risers who came for their morning tea—were there.
"Hey, Noodle Girl! Up already?" An old man in his seventies grinned at her.
Ya Ting's face darkened, shooting him a glare. She hated that nickname—it sounded so terrible!
Annoyed, Ya Ting sat down at an empty table near her father's stall, scrolling through her phone.
"Ya Ting, wash the bean sprouts for me," her dad called out.
Ya Ting immediately snapped, "I just got here! Can't I have a minute to relax?"
Her raised voice startled a man who had just walked into the kopitiam. He froze, eyes locked on her.
Ya Ting noticed him too—a man in a sleeveless tank top, arms covered in dense Thai script tattoos, even his neck inked.
How creepy! Definitely not someone good.
She quickly avoided making eye contact with him.
The tattooed man took a seat, ordered an iced coffee, and then… just watched her. Sipping slowly. Eyes locked on.
Unable to resist, Ya Ting peeked back. Their eyes met—and he motioned her over.
"Hey, girl. Come here."
Ya Ting reluctantly walked over, face dark with annoyance. "If you want food, order at the stall." She hated people like him—this wasn't a restaurant, and he was acting like he couldn't even walk up to the stall.
The man blinked. "No, I don't want food." He leaned in. "You… you've got a dark aura. Have you encountered something... strange?"
Her stomach dropped. Was he talking about the human-faced ulcer? But she'd already cut it off, flushed it down the toilet.
She forced herself to keep a neutral expression. "No. I'm a Christian. I don't believe in those things."
He frowned. "Christian? You don't act like one. Never met one so rude."
You're the one who's rude! Your whole family is rude!
Ya Ting didn't feel like wasting more time with him, so she turned to leave.
"Wait!" the tattooed man shouted. He finished his coffee, stood up, and pulled a business card out of his wallet. "If anything happens, call me."
Ya Ting didn't want to offend him, so she reluctantly took the card.
Black card. Just a name—[Ajahn Ken]—a phone number, and a simple Buddha icon.
Ajarn Ken? What even is an "Ajarn"? Is that supposed to mean something? What was he really all about?
When she looked up again, he was already walking away, not glancing back.
The second he was out of sight, she crumpled the card and dropped it on the floor.