Chapter 7: The Illusion Breaks

As I was lost in thought, the door creaked open—Uncle Mo arrived.

He burst in like a storm, smelling of old sweat and stale paan, his eyes wild. For a second, I thought he was drunk again, but there was something sharper in his movements.

He came in with a dark face, said nothing, and slapped me twice, hard, leaving my head spinning and eyes seeing stars. He slapped me so hard, I saw stars—Dadi would’ve said my ancestors felt it too.

The first slap stung, the second nearly knocked me over. My ears rang, and the world tilted.

"Why are you hitting me?"

My voice was small, almost childlike. Old habits die hard—when elders raise their hands, you keep your voice down.

"Heard you want to run?"

He spat out the words, eyes narrowed, like a teacher catching you bunking class.

"No, no, I just wanted to go see my master." My mind raced.

My tongue was thick, and my thoughts jumbled. I tried to remember what my master told me—don’t trust anyone, not even your own shadow.

"Nonsense! Your master’s been dead for ages!"

The words stopped me cold. My mouth went dry, but anger flared up in my chest. My master, dead? I’d just spoken to her!

Uncle Mo raised his hand to hit me again, but I grabbed his arm. Old reflexes kicked in—survival, not respect.

"You’re the one talking nonsense! I was just chatting with my master. She’s fine. Are you cursing my master because you’re up to no good?"

I glared at him, my grip tight. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air thick with something I couldn’t see.

Uncle Mo shouted, "See for yourself—you’re in an illusion!"

His voice echoed strangely, as if two people were speaking at once. The hairs on my arms stood up.

I was shocked, steeled myself, bit my tongue, and as the taste of blood filled my mouth, everything before my eyes gradually returned to reality.

I remembered my master’s old trick—when in doubt, bite your tongue and focus on pain. I did it, hard, and suddenly everything shifted.

I was standing on train tracks, a train blaring its horn right in front of me. Uncle Mo yanked me off the tracks, and the train roared past.

The horn split my skull. The wind from the train nearly knocked me off my feet. I staggered, clutching Uncle Mo’s sleeve, barely breathing.

"You were possessed. No matter how I pulled, you wouldn’t come down. Even slapping you didn’t work." Uncle Mo collapsed on the ground, chest heaving violently.

He looked older, suddenly, his face grey in the morning light. I realized, with a start, that death had come for me and passed by—at least for now.