Chapter Text
“Not everything that moves, breathes, and talks is alive.”
-The Wailing (2016), dir. Na Hongjin
~
“It's bound to be our worst storm yet, tonight.”
The rhythmic beep of the scanner lulls Seungcheols mind away as he watches Wonwoo toss canned tuna and bitter gourd into a brown paper bag. Overhead fluorescent light flickers, the wind rustles tree leaves outside, a distant hum of chatter from the isles of the mart echoes it.
“15 inches of rain, I heard.” Seungcheol replies.
Wonwoo then fidgets, hesitates. Seungcheol has known him long enough to know that you have to muscle his question out of him.
“It’ll take more than a storm to take that inn down.” He assures. “There’s a reason it’s been around for so long.”
Wonwoo sighs, pushes his glasses up with his pinky finger, continuing to scan groceries.
“We’ve seen worse, before. Remember the flood last year?”
“Those old hanoks…” Wonwoo confesses. “You just never know when the construction will collapse. And you’re so far away from the village.”
“Wonwoo, I’ll be fine.”
“Our roof caved in the last time the rain was this bad.” He tuts. “And it’s only been a few months since Hansol…”
Just at the mention of his name, Wonwoos voice cracks.
Seungcheol bites the inside of his cheek as an awkward silence washes over them. He pays for his items, loads them into his woven basket, slinging it over his shoulder.
“And the winds too. Fast tonight.” Wonwoo finally continues.
“If I’m alive by tomorrow, you and Mingyu owe me a beer.” Seungcheol points at him and heads out.
Thankfully, Wonwoo cracks a smile.
The way to the inn is not so bad. If Seungcheol puts his headphones in and walks fast, he can make it to the bottom of the hill on which it resides in 20 minutes.
It is an old inn, though. It has, like he said, been around for centuries despite some renovations. A hanok passed down through the generations. L shaped and two stories. Actually, it’s T shaped now. Before their deaths, Seungcheols parents had expanded the guest wing. But the upstairs remains locked shut. There is no known origin for the estate. Records are conflicting and when older members of the family are asked, they feign ignorance. People in the village say it used to be a temple dedicated to a deity who earned the wrath of the gods. He fell in love with a human and came to the mortal world to be with him. They spent 3 nights together, cocooned in each others warmth. But the gods, scorned and wrathful, exacted their punishment on the deity, sending spirits and dokkaebi to haunt his lover, sending torrential rain to pelt the temple until it flooded, effectively drowning the deity and his lover. Mystique helps business so Seungcheol allows all sorts of stories to circulate.
Not to mention the mystique that engulfs the village and island itself. Strange disappearances, shrieks in the night, blood and severed limbs turning up. And the wind, it howls like it is weeping. Tourists, ghost hunters, journalists, all sorts of people, flock to it, enamored.
Seungcheol tuts as he steps into a puddle, finding it deeper than he had anticipated. The continuous bad weather in this part of the country has been of no help. Freezing rain pelts down on the walls of this inn in rough thuds that make sleep listless.
Mud squelches under his sneakers, flecks of green grass stick to the soles. The walk to the hill is not so bad but the walk up the hill becomes tricky. Seungcheol is careful, always so careful but many a times, he wonders, since the estate is so far away from the village and cell reception is shoddy at best, if something were to happen, would anyone be able to come to his aid? When he was a child, he would climb this hill on all fours and roll down in carefree delight, so much so that a bumpy path has become apparent amongst the grass. Back when he was still the tallest, by virtue of being the oldest; Hansol, Wonwoo, Mingyu and himself would lie at the base of the humongous birch tree, its tattered gray and white trunk like that of an elephant, just outside the gate, staring up at the stars at night, fingers entwined. And if he laid still enough, quiet enough, as he looked out at the horizon, Seungcheol could feel the world turning.
Wet wind hits his face as he places one foot in front of the other on that same path. Those days are a thing of the past. He wouldn’t imagine doing anything like that with the current state of his body.
Not that he’s dying or gravely injured or anything, but he likes to pretend that growing up here and having a bad shoulder has afforded him the status of a village elder. And in a dwindling town, there is no hope of finding a doctor. But the medicine woman on the other side of the woods is ever supplied with herbal relief. She just might be the only person even farther away from the village than Seungcheol.
When Seungcheol treks through those woods to go see her, he often stops at the ruins of the Wind Shrine. Climbing over collapsed tall red poles, and staggering up unsteady stone steps to the window of the shrine, No one knows who built it, when it was built. It just appeared one day long ago. Even so, Seungcheol makes a prayer, leaves an offering. For this and that. For a short winter season, for less rain, for better reception when a KFA Cup match is live on TV, for more customers at Wonwoo and Mingyus grocery mart, for his brother to visit from Seoul more often, for Hansols body to finally be found, anything, everything. He’s not religious but it is nice to just have something to pray for. To long for. Once he is done, the wind whistles low and hollow in response. And then Seungcheol continues his hike to the medicine woman's hut.
Right now the wind is not so bad, quiet and chipper, an occasional gust like an exhale.
“Welcome back!”
These days, more often than not, a young man named Jeonghan is tending to the woman’s shop. She’s been battling a persistent and heavy cold it seems.
Seungcheol doesn’t know if he is her son or brother or nephew or husband or friend. Or just a stranger. He’s never asked.
“How is Halmoni doing?” Seungcheol inquires, shaking the moisture out of his hair.
“She’s better.” Jeonghan gives a breathless grin.
He seems frazzled, forcing an upbeat tone. She must be doing worse.
“Here for your balm?” He continues, clattering through cabinets in the dusty shop front.
Talismans and colorful ribbons hang from the ceiling. Seungcheol steps to the side and sits on a stool and watches his erratic energy as he tries to find the little glass jar.
Jeonghan is disabled, his calf amputated at an odd angle so any prosthetics ordered from the mainland either don’t fit or give him a limp when he walks. For that reason he rarely comes down to the village. Or at least that’s the reason he gives.
Mingyu has been riding his scooter up the hill to Seungcheols house to give him their groceries as of late. He dumps the jars of pickled fish and bags of vegetables in his arms, shares a beer with him, argues about baseball stats, awkwardly apologizes for the hassle, and then rides his scooter down.
Seungcheol always waves him off. Upon Wonwoo’s request, Mingyu does not go into the woods. Wonwoos distaste for the woods is understandable. When they were all children, he had witnessed a young Mingyu wander there years ago. Wonwoo waited by the edge of the woods for three whole days for him, until he emerged practically unchanged, at least to everyone else. Wonwoo had sworn in private to Seungcheol that something was wrong but that was it. He insisted on Seungcheol never telling a soul so Seungcheol didn’t. And when pressed, Mingyu wouldn’t tell anyone what happened there, to him, what he saw. To this day, when he’s riled up, he gets a wild look in his eyes. A look that makes Wonwoo glance at Seungcheol nervously but that’s it.
Regardless, the errand gives Seungcheol more to do than just tend to the estate. His days are more often than not, spent on maintenance and excuses to keep himself busy. It still doubles as an inn during the tourist season but there are barely any travelers during this time of year.
“Will you be okay tonight with the storm?” Seungcheol asks.
“Oh you know me.” Jeonghan says distractedly. “I’m tougher than I look.”
Seungcheol smiles.
Finally, Jeonghan straightens up with a small jar of green salve in his hands. Their fingers brush as he hands him the balm. Seungcheol also likes to come see him. Sometimes when Seungcheol brings down groceries for the medicine woman, he will sit in the kitchen with him and share a meal. They've become good friends.
Upon their first meeting, however, Seungcheol had been thrown quite off kilter, unable to even look Jeonghan in the eye. He had a peculiar feeling. Like he had met him before. And Jeonghan was one of the most beautiful people Seungcheol has ever seen. It frightened him at the time. Briefly, once over a meal across from him, Seungcheol has wondered what it would feel like. To press their lips together, hushed laughter and warm hands intermingling. He has never tried. He didn’t feel the need to. Jeonghan catches him looking occasionally, maybe somewhat knowing, but he never mentions it, only smiles sweetly, maybe a little mischievously.
He seems keenly aware of it. The grace of his being. He is overly friendly to Seungcheol, always warm, teasing even, but decidedly distant. On the rare occasions he comes to the village, eyes follow him everywhere. He meets gazes with whomever he catches looking, smiling sheepishly and bowing almost in apology. As if to make up for it. Almost unsure of what to do with it. The enormity of his beauty. Try as he might, he seems to know there’s no changing the way he is seen, admired, fancied, even just looked at. The futility of his actions makes him all the more alluring. He avoids meeting eyes with Seungcheol. Subsequent embarrassment? Humility? Seungcheol has never been sure but it never changed the way he feels about him. That he’s someone familiar.
By the time Seungcheol is home, the wind has become more violent and aggressive. It howls and weeps, loud and mourning. While he still has time, Seungcheol lights the ondol under the hanok from outside. His brother always insists Seungcheol get a modern heater but this ondol does the job just as well, if not better. Besides, authenticity is a big selling factor for tourist season. Soon enough, heavy rain begins to thud on the walls of the house. The combination creates an almost impossible to ignore white noise.
There's knocking on the door. Seungcheol almost doesn’t hear it. He chalks it up to the thunder or maybe a ghost. But then it comes again, rhythmic banging on his door. He crawls out of his bed, pulls his sweatshirt on, and shuffles out of his room and down the hall to the front door.
He doesn’t bother calling out to see who it is, the combination of wind, rain, and banging on the door will surely drown him out.
He opens the door a crack, sees a familiar silhouette standing in the courtyard and slides it open with a gasp.
Cold, wet wind pours in, cuts through his skin and a chill settles deep in his bones.
There stands Jeonghan, sopping wet, hair sticking to his face. His teeth are chattering, he’s got one arm wrapped around his torso in a futile effort to preserve warmth, the other is clutching his knee where his prosthetic seems to have come loose. He’s glowing.
“Halmoni is dead.” Jeonghan sobs, shoulders shaking.
“What-“
Jeonghans legs give out, he collapses into Seungcheols arms, heaving and shivering. Seungcheols heart drops to his stomach as he pulls him in, arms around him securely. Dead? And how alarming must her death have been for Jeonghan to make the trek all the way here? And in these conditions? He shuts the door and locks it, letting Jeonghan sink to the floor, trying to sort his thoughts as he sets about to fetch a towel from the linen closet.
“What happened?” He puts it around Jeonghans shoulders, kneeling beside him.
“After you left, she suddenly started getting worse. Gasping for breath like she was drowning.” Jeonghan heaves. “I thought she’d make it through tonight at least, so I could get help the next day…”
Jeonghan meets his gaze and then his vision falters to Seungcheols lips, tears seeping from his eyes. Seungcheol had initially mistaken them for rain.
“A tree fell on the roof. We have to go back, at least to get her body.” He pleads. “I can't leave her there.”
Hiking through the woods in this rain would be a gamble on one's life. It’s a miracle Jeonghan even made it here.
Seungcheol can’t. The risk is outlandish. He looks at Jeonghans eyes. The fear and desperation in his face. He takes a second to contemplate. It would be cruel to leave the woman’s corpse to rot, leaving Jeonghan without a body to mourn. It would be even crueler to go out there and get himself killed in the process, effectively leaving the woman, and Jeonghan even more alone by himself until someone from the village had the time to swing by.
“Please, Seungcheol.” Jeonghan must sense his uncertainty. “ Please.”
“I’ll go get help.” Seungcheol finally squeezes Jeonghans shoulder. “You stay here. Get warm. I have some spare clothes in my room.”
He stands up, almost tripping over Jeonghans prosthetic that has detached from his leg.
“Will this…will you be okay by yourself?” Seungcheol asks.
Jeonghan nods wordlessly, staring into nothing, lips still quivering, arms wrapped tightly around himself.
Seungcheol turns to grab his jacket and a flashlight.
“Wonwoo!” Seungcheol bangs his fist on the door of Wonwoo and Mingyus shop. “Jeon Wonwoo! Kim Mingyu!”
To no avail. After 10 minutes, he gives up and continues on his way, trying a few more doors but no one answers.
I’m definitely dying tonight, he thinks to himself and turns onto the main road, going back up the steadily increasing incline towards the trees. He’s hoping adrenalin will keep him going, because just the thought of those woods and what might lurk in there is sending intense shivers down his spine, nevermind the ice cold rain that is pelting his face and has soaked through his windbreaker. Slippery emerald green grass underneath him makes his footsteps unsteady as he turns toward the woods.
He steels himself, begins to wade through the trees. Branches have broken and fallen down on the somewhat familiar path he usually takes, wet leaves slap him in the face, and the wind feels like it's going to carry him away. Squinting as he pushes through tree branches, his eyes catch sight of something and he stops dead in his tracks. What was that?
He whips his head around, only darkness answers him, the light of his torch is of little help. He turns the other way and sees a figure disappear behind a tree trunk. His heart drops to his ass as he staggers back.
Fuck, fuck, fuck-
He thunders forward, keeping his eyes on the steady beam of his flashlight, tripping over exposed tree roots, boots stomping through puddles of water and mud. He almost falls on his face multiple times. Only stays upright due to sheer muscle memory of where the path underneath him is. In the periphery of his vision, he still sees it, that thing, appearing and disappearing amongst the foliage. Each time only heightening Seungcheols panic.
He presses on, tries his best to keep his wits about him, and eventually arrives at the Wind Shrine, choosing to take a moment of refuge under its roof, panting hard, keeping his eyes on the ground as he leans against the wall, refusing to look up, lest that thing had followed him here. He hopes that whatever deity this shrine was dedicated to will protect him, he’s prayed and paid his respects here enough times, hasn’t he?
He checks his phone. No service. The time is 3:33 AM. Devils hour. He chances a glance up at the woods in front of him. No sign of anyone. That cuts through Seungcheols anxiety a tiny bit. He gathers himself and pulls his hood back on, stepping once again into wet mud that has now begun to soak his pant legs.
A flash of lightning and crack of thunder boom above him, making him jump as he finally reaches the haphazard path that leads to the medicine woman’s hut.
“Oh thank goodness!” Jeonghans voice is tight as he gasps from his place behind the counter. “Are you alright?”
Seungcheol shakes the water out of his hair silently. Peels off his jacket, hanging it on the hooks by the door. He grips the wet fabric and takes a deep breath.
“Seungcheol?”
He hesitates, lips parted, stares at the fraying zipper of his jacket.
“Hey?”
A shuddery inhale, wetness drips from the tip of his nose, splashing onto the wooden floor.
“I couldn’t find her.”
There’s a strange and heavy silence.
“What?”
Seungcheol kneels down and unlaces his boots, takes them off, sniffing, rubbing his hands together to try and get rid of that frigid cold that has made its way into his core.
“I couldn’t find her.”
His mind keeps going back to that figure he kept seeing among the trees.
“What- that doesn’t make any sense.” Jeonghans voice is suddenly wet and quivering. “She was there… in her bed when I left. Is this some sort of j-joke? If it is, then it’s not funny-“
“She was-…she wasn’t there.” Seungcheol avoids his eyes, unable to even make sense of it himself. “I’m sorry, Jeonghan.”
He had debated it the entire way home, whether he should tell Jeonghan what he actually saw.
It wasn’t just Halmoni that wasn’t there. There was nothing there. An empty clearing and a collapsed tree. A single red talisman dangling from a branch. Leaves shaking in the mournful wind. And Seungcheol by his lonesome, accompanied by the whispers of spirits and ghosts.
Jeonghans eyebrows are knitted, eyes blank as he tries to make sense of this information. Seungcheol walks up to him.
“No that can’t be right-“ He looks up at Seungcheol, brief eye contact and then they settle on his chest. “That can’t- maybe it was too dark, you couldn’t see properly. Maybe you went the wrong way.”
If only .
“Maybe.”
Seungcheols can only think of that ghost, knots in his stomach that he tries to smooth out by convincing himself it was simply a trick of the mind.
“For now, let’s just try and get some rest.” He kneels down in front of him as Jeonghan continues to look to him for an answer he does not have. “And we can look again tomorrow, when the weather improves.”
He hates to see it, that worry in Jeonghans face. He wishes he could quell it. But he himself feels like he’s being haunted. If by nothing else but his own mind.
“The guest rooms are all dirty. I hope you’re okay with sharing my room?” He offers.
The slow swell of grief on Jeonghans face is unbearable. It puts a knot in his stomach.
“We will look again tomorrow, I promise.” Seungcheol reassures, hesitating a second before putting his hands on Jeonghans folded over his lap. “But for now, we both need to get warm and sleep.”
Finally, Jeonghan relents with a wet sniff.
“Yes.” He nods.” Okay, yeah…”
He hobbles up and they make their way to his room. Seungcheol is suddenly embarrassed at the state of his room. Mismatched covers and pillowcases on his bed, stray clothing items on the floor and junk cluttering his drawers, a poster of Girls Generation and a calendar from two years ago on his walls. Jeonghan seems to pay no mind, only letting him lead him to his bed. Sitting down with an “oof”.
Seungcheol runs hot water in the bathroom, and then takes bucketfuls to fill up the wooden tub facing the window.
“Tomorrow, we can gather some people to go back.” Seungcheol says, just to fill the silence. “And I have my dads old cane lying around here that you can use.”
Jeonghan hums an affirmative. Seungcheol stands up and goes to Jeonghan, offering a hand.
“Wash up first. I’ll see if I can get someone on the phone.”
To no avail. He mindlessly keeps dialing the number for 119 only to be met with the dial tone while he sets up a futon on the floor.
“You can have the bed!” He calls.
In restless sleep, that same ghost visits him, flitting in and out of his line of vision as he wades through emerald green leaves. It takes on amorphous shapes, twirling and taking the form of familiar silhouettes. It giggles shyly at him. He stumbles forward, heaving as rainwater slowly fills his lungs, not wholly sure where he is going, just with the urgency that he must go. He stops only when Mingyus mutilated body, lost in a thicket of vines and thorns, becomes visible a distance away. He finds himself unable to advance further, legs caught in roots, tree branches wrapping around his hands. The rainwater inflating his lungs like balloons begins to spill out of his mouth. He falls to his knees, coughing out rain, torn flowers and wet leaves. His eyes squeeze shut as the wind begins to howl around him, ripping through his shirt, pulling at his hair, and amidst its song, a familiar voice also begins to creep in. First whispers from Wonwoo. Uneasy whispers, shaking voices. A shriek that sounds eerily like Mingyu. He begs for help. Then suddenly, Hansols disembodied voice, joyful youth, teasing him the way a younger brother would, chiding him for not answering his phone, chiding him for not taking care of his shoulder, for not coming to find him, for leaving him to die. And the wind screams in his ears until his eyes jerk open.
Seungcheol is panting like he ran five miles, throat dry, legs aching. It takes him some time to blink himself back into reality, to see Jeonghan kneeling by his futon and looking over him.
“Seungcheol?” His eyes are glowing red.
Seungcheol sits up so fast he knocks Jeonghan over.
“Shit, sorry. My bad.” He rubs his face, helping Jeonghan sit up. “Sorry for waking you up.”
“It’s okay.” Jeonghans looking at him concerned, eyes have gone back to normal and settled on his lips. He hesitates. “A nightmare?”
Seungcheol looks at him, his breathing finally starting to even out. Another trick of the mind?
“Yeah. Something like that.” He nods. “Thank you for waking me up.”
“It’s-its no problem.” He mumbles. “I couldn’t sleep anyways…”
“Is it too cold in here? Or the bed? Is it uncomfortable?” Seungcheol casts his blanket aside, going to stand up.
Jeonghan grabs his arm, immediately protesting.
“N-no! Nothing like that.” He says. “No I just…”
Seungcheol looks at him, breathes out, finding himself awestruck by Jeonghans beauty, how his skin glitters light blue in the darkness, long black tresses framing his face.
“Did…did you wanna come join me on the bed?” Jeonghan offers, wringing his fingers together. “I feel bad that you’re sleeping on the floor, especially with your shoulder.”
Seungcheol hesitates. His shirt is too big on Jeonghan, dips in where his collarbones are, arms hang loose.
“I mean-it’s okay if you don’t want to, I’m sorry-, if that was weird-“
Seungcheol shakes his head.
“No, it’s okay. I, uh.” He blinks, mouth dry. “I’ll join you. It’s big enough for two people anyway.”