“The boys were never seen again.”
As their father bid them goodnight, flicking off the light, Dahye shivered, a chill running down her spine. For once, she was glad to be sharing space with her sister. She could sense Eunhye’s presence on the other side of the room. It was comforting.
“Unni?” she said softly.
Eunhye didn’t respond. Perhaps she was already asleep, Dahye thought.
Or maybe, said another voice in her head, a gwisin, like the one in their father’s story, had come into the room and taken her away.
Dahye sat up, suddenly afraid. The room seemed darker than normal. It was raining, and droplets were rattling against the window. Pulling the blankets off, she dangled her legs off the edge of her bed.
“Unni?” she said again.
Something grasped her ankle. Yanked her down. Dahye clawed at the floor, her mouth open in a howl, and then she heard her sister’s squeal of laughter.
“Don’t be mad,” Eunhye said. She sat up. Only her darkened silhouette was visible.
“I hate you,” Dahye said.
“It was a joke.”
Dahye crawled back in bed and pulled the blanket over her head. “Come on,” Eunhye coaxed. Dahye scooted over and let her sister climb in next to her. They both lay still in the dark. Eventually, when Dahye fell asleep, she dreamed about the girl in their father’s story. Except this time, when the ghost came out of the river, she had Eunhye’s face.
Sillim was located in Gwanak District in the southwestern portion of Seoul. It was a gritty neighborhood close to Seoul-dae, composed mostly of students and elderly residents. It had a bad reputation. Junyoung’s family had always lived in Dangsan-dong, and though he had partied in Sillim a handful of times as a university student, he had mostly avoided the area after a series of high-profile murders over the past few years.
It was busy and noisy. The streets were crowded with squat buildings. Junyoung slipped into an alleyway, feeling apprehensive, and walked past several eye-watering marquee signs. PC BANG, one of them read. The adjacent sign, MOTEL. Bulging trash bags littered the ground. On every block, he encountered rows of food delivery scooters blocking portions of the sidewalk. He felt the urge to kick them over.
Loud music blasted from bars, the bass reverberating through Junyoung’s skull. A group of drunk university students were huddled around on the sidewalk, laughing and smoking.Their faces glowed red in the neon lights. Junyoung walked faster.
Soon he made it past the main streets and found himself in another alley, this time in the quieter, more residential part of Sillim, near Dahye’s home. There was little light here, but Junyoung could see the squat buildings were poorly kept, the paint peeling, walls dark with grime. A man limped by with two sagging plastic bags, startling Junyoung. He jumped, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Then a scooter zipped by, narrowly missing him.
“Hey—” Junyoung started to say, but before he could finish, the man on the scooter was gone. He watched the red of its lights fade into the dark, in disbelief that Dahye lived in a place like this. It was downright barbaric.
Junyoung made two wrong turns, but after some navigating, he found himself standing in front of a shabby three-story building with wide, dusty windows. Six big planters sat by the chipped front door. All of the plants were in various stages of decay. Staring up at the windows, he tried to figure out what to do. He hadn’t planned ahead, and now that he was here, he felt foolish.
If he was lucky, he could catch her on the way out somewhere and pretend that he just happened to be in the neighborhood. Maybe he could ask to use her bathroom. He found a nearby ledge with a clear view of the door and sat.
Thirty minutes passed. Junyoung’s spine was stiff, and he was just about ready to give up when a scooter pulled up next to him, slowing to a stop at the corner. The driver jumped off, nudging the kickstand down with his foot. Junyoung watched as the driver went to the plastic box at the back of the scooter to take out a plastic bag. A thought came to him.
“Hey,” Junyoung called.
The man looked up.
“I need a favor,” Junyoung said. “I’ll give you twenty thousand won if you help me.”
+
The vest was too big, and the inside of the helmet was soaked in sweat. Nevertheless, Junyoung tipped it over his head, feeling the dampness against his own perspiring brow.Eugh.Wearing someone else’s helmet made him feel ill.
He opened the door and stepped inside. The flooring was worn in some parts, stained in others. Every surface seemed to be covered in a layer of grime. Junyoung was careful not to touch anything as he looked around. The information in Dahye’s file hadn’t indicated the specific unit in which she lived, so Junyoung tried the very first door, knocking gently.
“Delivery,” he called, rustling the plastic bag in his hands. The smell of chicken wafted out. His stomach grumbled.
There was no answer. He moved to the second door, only to hear a shout: “I didn’t order any fucking delivery.”
With a sudden sense of panic, Junyoung hurried up the dimly lit stairwell and onto the second floor. He was unlucky here, too, as nobody answered at either of the doors. Disheartened, Junyoung climbed the next set of stairs.
At the first residence, he took a deep breath and knocked. The door opened a crack, and an eye peeked out from the gap. She was an older woman, tired looking, her hair striped with gray.