Despite everything, her care touched a long-neglected part of my heart, and I started crying.
"I'll be good, Mom. I'll study hard and take care of you both."
She nodded absently, clearly distracted, and rushed me to bed after cleaning up.
Late at night, drifting in and out of sleep, I heard soft chanting, like a prayer or incantation.
Then, someone lifted me into a confined space filled with a strange aroma of sandalwood.
The fear of the unknown paralyzed me; I wanted to move, to shout for my parents, but felt bound.
After struggling with all my might, I managed to open my eyes— only to meet the cold, indifferent gazes of my parents.
And above me, a plank halfway closed.
Shocked, I realized I was actually in a coffin.
The plank that was about to seal me in was indeed the coffin's lid.
Shaking, I tried to sit up, but Dad forcefully pushed me back.
With tears brimming in his eyes, he explained in a fanatical tone, "The guru said Emily carried a grudge against you when she was drowned, and it's on you. We have to keep you here, without food or water, to clear her spirit. If we do, maybe she'll come back one last time after a solid week."