In the village, there was a rule: "When you walk through the farmland, don't look back, never. Otherwise, the witch will eat your heart. Even if she calls you sweetly, and even takes the form of your family, never look back."
Ofcourse, some villagers thought it was just a useless rumour. Those people who did not believe it, could never make it back to home at night and next day their bodies were found in village's well with a hole in left side of chest.
The man was walking home through the farm. The surroundings were so quiet, he could hear the sound of frogs calling for their mates. The slippery path from the rain was making it hard to walk steadily.
The man always went home before sunset but today, he had to buy medicine for his ill mother, whose last medicine was finished.
The man held a torch in one hand and medicine in the other, which he had bought that day with the money he earned from the harvest for his ill mother at home. His ill mother was in bed all day and could not even lift a spoon without his help. His wife took their children and left home because she could not bear to clean up her faeces and urine and look after his mother.
"Son."
A weak, small voice called him.
Mother.
He almost turned around. The voice was so familiar. So gentle. It sounded exactly like her.
A warmth spread through his chest, the same warmth he felt whenever his mother called him home as a child. For a moment, he forgot the village's warning.
She sounds so tired.
He could almost imagine her sitting on the mat at home, waiting for him.
He was about to turn around when he remembered the rule.
Never look back.
He gripped the medicine bag tightly and kept walking.
"Oh, my dear son, aren't you going to look at your mother one last time?"
His steps slowed. The voice didn't sound frightening. There was no strange whisper, no growling, nothing unnatural about it. It was simply his mother's voice soft, familiar, and full of affection.
Why am I afraid of my own mother?
He swallowed.
"My son, taking medicine for his mother like a dutiful son you are, but it's useless, you do not need to do such things anymore."
His heart ached. She must be worried about me. For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to turn around and see her face. But then he remembered the rule again.
Never look back.
The man did not look back, he kept walking and walking.
"My dear son, how I feel sorry for you that your wife left you because of me." the voice behind her spoke with self-reproach. How does she know about me? Did she do anything to my mother? His steps quickened.
"Aren't you going to look at your mother one last time? I'm leaving, my dear?" The man paused. Leaving? He was about to turn his head as if bewitched, a rustling sound came from his hand. He looked at the medicine in his hand. 'no, my mother is at home, waiting for me.'
"Oh, how I wanted to hug you before I departed from here?" The regretful and sad voice called him. " Goodbye my dear"
The warm air behind him faded. He suddenly felt cold. He wanted to go home, and hold his mother's warm hand.
The man kept walking, he never turned around. His step quickened and when his home came in his view, he found himself running.
He opened the old, wooden door, "Maa." He called out.
"Maa, I brought medicine , the last batch was finished." He called out again. No response. "Maa."
The man went inside and found his mother sleeping on the mat. There was a yellow stain and a rotten smell. No one here to look after her the whole day.
"Maa." He called out again. He went and held her hand, it was cold. She didn't look at him and called "my dear son" in her small and weak voice.
"Maa." He called her again.
"Maa" he called her again this time slower and in weak voice. He shook her gently but she never looked at him. He kept holding her cold hand which was not warm anymore.
