The bother

What bothers you and why?

Last night, after finishing my maths quiz and Mandarin class online, I tried relaxing with a few rounds of crossword puzzles on my phone. But something strange started to creep into my head.

Dizziness.
Hallucinations.
Like something was being unearthed inside me.

Who is it this time? I asked myself again and again, unable to shake the feeling that something—or someone—was trying to break through my space, into my head.

Then came a voice.

“What? You still haven’t slept?” my mother said, opening the door halfway. Her eyes scanned me briefly, concerned. “You have to fetch the girl on time tomorrow.”

And just like that, the door clicked shut again.

But sleep? There was no way I could sleep like this. Not now. Not with the room crawling in a silence that didn’t feel like rest, but like something watching.

I had to face this.

I told myself: This is not me. This is not mine. Whatever this hallucination is, I will overcome it. I must break this before it gets worse.

The air felt heavier than usual.

I crouched low like a tiger hiding in the tall grass, listening. The rotten egg smell was faint, but it was there.

I whispered again:
Who is doing this to me?

Rathe?
Xandra?
Who had I unknowingly crossed this time?
Had I stirred someone’s jealousy… or trespassed unknowingly into their fragile ego?

The conjurer wouldn’t get away with this.

I had a plan.

I switched off the fan but left the air cond running. Pretending to head down for a drink, I slipped out of the room quietly. Downstairs, I boiled the water, made myself a hot coffee, and grabbed the sambarani.

First, the flame.

Let it burn.

Then cover it.

Let it smoke.

Let it smoke like the movie Beetlejuice, thick and purposeful, curling with truth, chasing the lie.

With the smoking pot in one hand and coffee in the other, I climbed the stairs again. Every step I took felt more certain.

Back in my room, I locked the door and set the coffee down. The smoke was already rising, slowly at first, then spreading out with force. Like it knew where to go.

But something was off.

Check under the bed, something in me said.

I turned slowly. Walked up. Bent down. Lifted the hanging bedsheet.

And it hit me.

Rotten egg.

A thick, sulfurous stench that curled into my nose and stayed there. It wasn’t there before. It wasn’t natural. It was like something had been left here—something conjured. Not an accident. A signature.

Someone had been under my bed.

They’d brought this scent here—this filth—like a trace of their filthy intent.

The sambarani smoke thickened. It swirled downward, almost as if it were being pulled under the bed by an invisible force.

That’s when I knew.

The egg conjurer had already come.

It was her.

The part-time Indonesian maid.

The same one who had once accused me of hiding her cleaning bottle. That strange tone in her voice, the way she moved like she was always listening but never looking straight. That day, I’d kept quiet. But tonight?

Tonight I stood my ground.

As the smoke flooded the floor, I spoke—out loud, my voice steady:

“Don’t touch my mom in this. You’re the one who brought this filth into this house. You used an old woman to anchor your black magic, didn’t you?”

Her trance-like voice came in my head—gibberish, twisted nonsense—but my voice rang louder:

“You did this. You’re the fool who took spoons from this house to use for your spells. And you dared accuse me?”

I felt the power shift. My room wasn’t hers. It never was.

“You’re the most foolish person I’ve met. So naive to think I wouldn’t come to know.”

The smoke coiled upward now, bold and defiant. My coffee sat untouched. I no longer needed it. The energy in the room was enough to keep me alert for days.

“You’re just a paid worker, and my mom gave you kindness. But you? You used it to hurt the very home that gave you safety. Don’t ever use her for this again. Don’t think I’m not watching.”

My final words were sharp, cutting through the room like a blade:

“Fool, begone.”

And then… silence.

No more egg stench. No more voices. No more bother.

Just smoke.
And me.
Still awake.
Still guarding.