Mae Chan was sitting on a bamboo bench with her relatives, eating tam miang kha, a galangal salad, when her body suddenly went crazy. Her head dropped to the ground, her eyes bulged, her jaws clenched, and her face twisted like a demon.
She rolled in the dirt, her sarong slipping, her t-shirt with a TV actressโs face smeared with mud. Her family screamed, trying to hold her down, but her legs kicked them in the chins and stomach, leaving them gasping.
It was chaos. Her body wasnโt hers anymore. Something else had crawled inside.
Neighbors rushed over. More and more people gathered, circling her but too afraid to get close. Her arms flailed, her legs thrashed, and each time her skirt slipped higher, flashing her worn-out underwear. People muttered, horrified โ this wasnโt Mae Chan anymore.
โWhereโs her husband? Why isnโt he here? His wife is fucking dying!โ someone shouted.
Old Nokia and Samsung phones came out, fingers fumbling to find his number. Finally someone got through: โGet back now. Your wife is possessed. Sheโs not herself.โ
The crowd didnโt know what to do. Some laughed nervously, some whispered. The younger boys smirked, pushing each other forward, pretending to be brave.
Suddenly Mae Chan shot upright, hair flying, eyes blazing. The villagers fell back in terror.
โItโs a pop spirit! A ghoul got inside her,โ someone said.
โNo way. That ghost died years ago,โ another replied.
An old man shook his head: โGhouls donโt die. They get strongerโฆ until they turn into hakom.โ
At that word, the crowd shivered. Hakom โ the name everyone feared. A hakom spirit isnโt just a ghost. It eats you alive from the inside, tearing at your liver, your kidneys, your guts, until thereโs nothing left but a dead body.
And once itโs in the family, it doesnโt stop. It passes down through bloodlines, feeding on your children, your grandchildren. A curse you canโt run from.
When her husband finally arrived, he found Mae Chan rolling in the dirt, crying that her stomach burned like fire. She screamed her belly button felt like a hot iron was shoved through it.
Desperate, an elder gave crude advice: โMake her drink piss. It might drive out the spirit.โ
So in front of everyone, he unzipped, pissed in a bowl, and forced it down her throat as the men held her down. She gagged, sputtered, and sobbed, โI am ashamed. I am ashamed,โ over and over again, tears and snot running down her face.
The whole village looked on, pity and horror mixing together.
As night fell, the elders argued. No one knew how long she would last. Some whispered the name of Mae Bua, a woman rumored to know black magic and spells.
She came quietly, sitting beside the possessed woman. Instead of whipping, stabbing, or beating the spirit out โ the way other exorcists did โ Mae Bua used soft words, incantations, and holy water.
But Mae Chan spat at her like a cobra, clawed the dirt until her fingers bled, and screamed in a voice that wasnโt hers: โI am not Mae Chan. I am the Great Burin!โ
The villagers froze. Burin was a name from legend โ a warrior, cruel and feared. Some elders remembered, others only knew rumors. But the details Mae Chan shouted โ names, killings, descendants โ were too exact.
She laughed, threatening to rip out livers and eat kidneys. Rival families screamed at each other, fists raised, weapons drawn. The scene nearly turned into a riot until an old war vet fired his gun into the air to shut them up.
The hakom inside her had spoken: it was Burin, and it wasnโt leaving.
With fear gripping the village, one family turned to black magic. Blood was spilled into a ritual bowl, incantations filled the air, and cursed amulets were thrown to the ground.
Buffalo spirits stomped the earth, swarms of hornets and wasps darkened the sky, and a black hellhound appeared, drooling venom that burned skin like fire.
The village was trapped. People cowered inside their homes as buffaloes tore through fences and bees filled the night air. The black dog howled like a demon, its eyes glowing red, its bark echoing like war drums.
No one dared step outside. This was the true face of hakom and Thai black magic.
In the middle of the madness, Mae Chan stumbled into the road, hands covering her face. Over and over, she muttered the same words: โI am ashamed. I am ashamedโฆโ
Over and over she repeated it, the same words spilling out like a curse. It wasnโt just her voice anymore โ it carried the weight of the hakom inside her, mocking her own dignity. The whole village heard it, and not a single soul dared to step closer.
Children hid behind their mothers, elders crossed themselves with trembling hands, and even the young men who had laughed earlier stood pale and silent. The shame wasnโt just hers anymore. It spread across the village like a plague. Everyone could feel it.
By dawn, the swarm of hornets still circled the village, the buffalo spirits had trampled through rice fields, and the black dog prowled the streets with glowing eyes. Crops were destroyed, fences smashed, and no one dared leave their homes.
The Ajarns argued bitterly about who had the right to exorcise her, but no one stepped forward. Everyone knew: once a hakom spirit has dug its claws into a body, it doesnโt leave easy. Beatings, whippings, holy water โ none of it guaranteed anything but pain. And even if Mae Chan survived, the spirit would just leap into someone else โ maybe her children, maybe a neighbor.
The hakom wasnโt just inside her anymore. It had wrapped itself around the whole damn village.
For days, Mae Chan wandered in and out of possession, sometimes lucid, sometimes snarling threats of tearing out livers and devouring kidneys. People whispered that her bloodline was cursed, that the hakom would never stop feeding until the family was wiped out.
The black magic unleashed by rival villages only made things worse โ spirits battled in the unseen world while the living suffered. Fields lay wasted, livestock scattered, villagers sleepless and terrified.
In Thai occult, the hakom is said to be the worst kind of ghoul โ not just a haunting, but a sickness, a shame, a curse passed down. Once it takes root, you can burn offerings, chant mantras, bleed into bowls, or piss down its throat โ but the hakom laughs at it all.
Even when Mae Chanโs fits eased, no one believed she was safe. Every night, people swore they heard the black dog howling, the buzzing of hornets, the heavy breath of buffaloes circling in the dark.
And every night, the villagers remembered her broken voice in the road:
โI am ashamed. I am ashamedโฆโ
It wasnโt just her shame. It became their shame too โ a mark that Dong Kham village was a place haunted by hakom.
๐บ๐๐๐๐๐๐ฟ ๐จ๐๐๐๐๐๐
๐พ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐
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