【Human-faced Ulcer】Ajarn’s Epilogue

I am Ajarn Ken.

Lately, I've been indulging in stories on Webnovel, scrolling through them in my spare time.

On a whim, I decided to post one of my old case files—Case #1: The Human-Faced Ulcer—before sharing the link on my Facebook page and moving on with my day.

I unboxed a crate of amulets I had just brought back from Thailand last week. One by one, I carefully took them out and began photographing them. I wore a white glove on my left hand, placing each amulet on it to take clear, detailed shots. As I was snapping photos, my phone suddenly rang—a familiar friend calling.

"What's up?" I answered.

"Didn't know you wrote fiction now, Ken."

Only close friends drop the 'Ajarn' and call me just Ken.

"Just a cleaned-up version of a real incident I handled." I replied.

A pause. Then, skeptically: "Wait… that story you posted? That wasn't bullshit?"

I sighed. "What do you think? I made it up for fun?"

"Honestly? Yeah. I mean, come on... a human-faced ulcer?"

That ticked me off.

"You believed me enough to ask for blessed amulets. You even had me perform two wealth-inviting rituals for you."

My friend noticed I was getting angry and quickly clarified. "It's not that I don't believe you, it's your story I can't wrap my head around. I mean, ghosts? Tame Head(Thai black magic)? Sure, I can buy that. But a human-faced ulcer? I've never even heard of such a thing."

I let out a cold snort. "There are plenty of things you've never heard of. Think of the human-faced ulcer as a kind of spirit—or a type of Tame Head affliction."

"So... what happened in the end?"

I said flatly. "In the end, the girl called me for help, and I sealed it."

"You sealed it?"

"Yeah. I couldn't destroy it. So I transferred it." I flexed my gloved hand. "Sealed it inside me."

"INSIDE YOU?!" His voice cracked.

"That's what I said."

He went quiet, then burst into laughter. "Hah! Ken, for a second there, I almost believed you!"

I wasn't angry anymore. I just said calmly, "You don't believe?"

"Not a chance."

"Then forget it." I hung up.

Silently, I looked at my gloved left hand. Then, slowly, I pulled off the glove.

In the center of my palm was a deep, black wound—like a miniature void.

The wound twitched, opening and closing like something alive.

Hssss...

I glared at it.

"Quiet. Or I'll make you regret it."

The wound stilled. I pulled the glove back on.