The Land and the Curse

My story begins with a house—a house that turned a peaceful life into a nightmare. It started as a gift. My grandmother, after winning the lottery, bought a plot of land with a small house attached. When my parents married, she gave it to them. It was a simple, two-story home made of wood and concrete, set far back from the road on a large, unfenced piece of land in a quiet rural community. Our neighbors were kind; it was a peaceful life among rice fields and banana plantations.

I was around 10 or 12 when that peace was first broken by a relative, a man named P’Tao. He was the son of one of my uncles, and one day he walked into our house, his manner unusually stern. He told my parents he wanted to buy the land in front of our house to join his own plots. The price he offered was insultingly low. My parents, shocked, told him they would think about it, but I knew they would never sell.

After that, he disappeared for a while, and we relaxed. But then one day, as my father and I drove home, we saw P’Tao and his father, Uncle Dam, standing together. My father rolled down the window to greet them, but P’Tao immediately demanded, "So, what's the decision? When are you going to sell to me?" My father refused. P’Tao’s face twisted with rage. "So you're not selling, are you? You'll see. I talked to you nicely. Why are you answering me like this?"

My father, hot-tempered, retorted, "It's my land. Whether I sell it or not is my business."

From that day on, a campaign of terror began. P’Tao came back four or five times to demand we sell, and my father turned him away each time. Then, one afternoon, a dump truck arrived. We watched as Uncle Dam’s men dumped soil in front of our entrance, building an embankment and erecting concrete posts strung with barbed wire. Our front door was completely blocked. Cars couldn’t pass. People couldn’t walk.

Trapped, my father begged our neighbor, Uncle Jit, for permission to use a back entrance through his land. He reluctantly agreed. We spent days hacking a path through the weeds, creating a rough, roundabout route that became a muddy mess when it rained. It was a constant, grinding stress for my father.

Then the supernatural began. One day, while using the back entrance, an old man stopped our car, looked at my father with a mocking expression, and said, "Don't you dare expect to live a normal life and be happy here."

The next day, my mother was rushed to the hospital with a broken leg. She claimed she was chased by a dog and lost her balance, but my father was suspicious. When she returned, she started acting strangely. Every time we passed the blocked front entrance, she would close her eyes, as if refusing to see something.

After she recovered, she began helping sell goods at the market with us. Night after night, returning home late, we would see P’Tao and Uncle Dam lurking in the banana grove by our back entrance, watching us. It became a ritual of intimidation.

Then came the night it escalated beyond anythin