Chapter 20: Shadows of the Past: “Some ghosts never fade, and some secrets refuse to stay buried.”

But it was her eyes that sent a chill clawing down Chawin's spine. They were empty, hollow, as if the spark of life that had once shone in them had been snuffed out. She blinked slowly, unnaturally, as if remembering how to perform the action. A strange, unsettling silence wrapped around her, pressing against the edges of reality.

"Nattaya? " Chawin's voice cracked. His heart pounded as he stepped closer, his hands shaking slightly. "It's me… It's Chawin." The others only stared blankly afraid to move as they did not even know who was the girl, but her outfit, made them doubt that she was a living being.

Her lips parted, and for a brief moment, something flickered behind her dark eyes. Recognition? Confusion? Fear? But then it was gone, replaced by a chilling detachment.

"I remember… nothing," she murmured, her voice distant, as if she were speaking from the depths of a dream. "I woke up, and I was here."

Meen, Pim, Tan, Ploy and Praew exchanged uneasy glances. The hallway suddenly felt suffocating, the air thick with a presence they couldn't see. A silent, watching force.

"This isn't right," Pim whispered. "She's been missing for years. How is she still the same? "

Tan, always the logical one, hesitated before speaking. "It could be trauma. Maybe she repressed everything, and that's why she doesn't remember."

Praew frowned. "Or maybe… she isn't really Nattaya."

Chawin's head snapped toward Praew, anger flashing in his eyes. "Don't say that! "

This made the others freeze, did he really believe that dumb trick of I don't remember anything? They were stunned. Each having their own questions of how he believed that, but none dared to speak up.

But deep down, even he couldn't shake the gnawing doubt clawing at his mind. This was his sister, the girl he had spent countless nights crying over, the sibling he had prayed would come back home. Yet, standing before him, she was a ghost of what she used to be.

The Watchman, Boonsong, emerged from the shadows, his face grim. His deep-set eyes locked onto Nattaya with something between suspicion and dread.

"You need to be careful," Boonsong muttered. "I've seen things like this before. Sometimes, they come back… but they are not the same."

The words sat heavily in the air.

"What do you mean? " Meen asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Boonsong took a step closer, his gaze never leaving Nattaya. "There have been others—people who disappeared, only to return years later, unchanged. Like time never touched them." He exhaled sharply. "They were puppets. Empty vessels. Something else moved within them."

A cold shiver rippled through Chawin. He turned back to Nattaya, searching for something—anything—that could prove she was still his sister, still human.

"Nattaya," he said again, this time softer, pleading. "What's the last thing you remember? "

She frowned, her fingers twitching slightly at her sides. "I… I was at school. It was a normal day. Then… darkness." Her head tilted slightly, almost unnaturally. "And now I'm here."

Ploy swallowed hard. "That's impossible. You've been gone for years. The school's different now. People have changed. You should have changed."

Nattaya stared at her own hands, as if she had just noticed them for the first time. A flicker of confusion crossed her face, quickly followed by something else—something darker. "I don't understand," she said. "I don't feel… different."

Chawin's hands clenched into fists. "You don't remember anything? Not me? Not Naree? Not Mom? Dad? "

She shook her head slowly. "No."

Pim took a cautious step back. "I don't like this."

Boonsong exhaled heavily. "I'll tell you this, kids. If she truly has no memory of where she's been, if she truly hasn't aged, then she's been kept somewhere… somewhere unnatural. The question is—by whom? "

A suffocating silence filled the hallway. The flickering fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead.

"Kanokwan," Praew whispered.

It was a name none of them wanted to speak, but all of them feared. Kanokwan—the enemy lurking in the shadows, pulling strings from the darkness.

Chawin turned back to Nattaya, his heart aching with confusion, grief, and fear. He wanted to believe that this was truly her, that fate had finally returned his sister to him. But was it really her? Or was she just another pawn in a game they had yet to understand?

A whisper slithered through the hallway, so faint it was almost imperceptible.

"She is watching."

Everyone tensed, their eyes darting around in search of the source.

Nattaya stood completely still, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she lifted her hand and placed it over her chest, as if feeling for a heartbeat.

"She is watching," she repeated, her voice distant, detached. "She never stopped."

And then the lights went out.

---

The classroom was silent except for the rhythmic scratching of chalk against the blackboard. The teacher, Mr. Phatcharawan Boonmee, the history teacher droned on about historical conflicts, his voice a monotone hum that barely held the students' attention. The afternoon sun slanted through the windows, casting long shadows across the wooden desks.

Meen tapped her pen against her notebook, barely listening. Her mind was elsewhere—on Kanya, on the diary, on the secrets buried beneath the school's pristine surface. Beside her, Pim was equally distracted, stealing glances at Tan, Ploy and Praew, who had their heads down, pretending to take notes.

Then, it happened...

The first sign was subtle—the air in the room shifted, growing heavy, thick, suffocating. A ripple of unease spread through the class as the temperature plummeted, a stark contrast to the sweltering heat outside.

Nutchaya Piboonchai and Chaiyaporn Worasit glanced at each as they weren't interested in the lesson.

Mr. Phatcharawan Boonmee faltered midsentence. His fingers stiffened around the chalk. His eyes—once sharp and alert—glazed over as if he were slipping into a trance.

A chill crawled up Meen's spine.

"Teacher? " One of the students, a boy, Ratchapol Boonmee in the front row, hesitated. "Are you okay? "

Mr. Phatcharawan Boonmee did not respond.

Then, his hand moved.

Not with the usual measured control of a teacher demonstrating a lesson, but with an erratic, violent energy. The chalk screeched against the board, carving out jagged letters, uneven and wild, as though written by an unseen force.

*S T O P I N V E S T I G A T I N G.*