Uncle Shom Part 1 〈2025-2027〉

The adults tolerated him. My father called him “a little strange, but harmless.” The village headman, Pak Hassan, said Uncle Shom had once been a bomoh—a traditional healer and shaman—but had “lost his touch” after an incident in the 1980s. No one ever explained what that incident was. They only glanced at each other, nodded slowly, and changed the subject.

Over the following days, Uncle Shom shared the rules —laws he claimed were written on the inside of that red door. He called them the Three Bindings : Uncle Shom Part 1

Then Uncle Shom did something that still haunts me. He opened the pocket watch, placed it on the floor, and stepped through the red door without another word. The door slammed shut with a sound like a breaking rib. And then… it faded. The wallpaper reformed. The hallway was just a hallway again. The adults tolerated him

That pocket watch became my obsession. Over the next week, Uncle Shom moved into our spare room—the one with the locked closet my mother never used. He kept strange hours. Awake at 3:00 AM, brewing black tea with a single sprig of rosemary. Asleep by noon, only to rise at sunset. They only glanced at each other, nodded slowly,