Who Are You?
Who are you. I pondered that question for a long time. Who am I. Who are you. Who are we.
"H-Han Daeri-ssi? What do we do? We really weren't pushing at all, but the planchette just started moving on its own......"
"I swear I didn't put any force into it either. What now......"
"Why are you all so scared? We did an Ouija board ritual, so of course it worked. You know it's common sense that running around naked outside gets you arrested for public indecency, right?"
When you perform an Ouija ritual, it's common sense in the spirit world that the spirits respond to the call. Because all spirits are fundamentally starving for communication, empathy, and attention. And some go even further, slyly and cunningly aiming for possession. Especially in a place like this—doing an Ouija ritual here practically guarantees a response. No reason to be scared. If anything, they should be terrified of their own idea to try an Ouija board in a spot like this.
"This time, the other side broke the rules first. The Ouija board is a lot like the old divining game with the cup, but it allows for more precise communication. Which means the rules are stricter."
Once you've confirmed the spirit has responded to the call, the participants ask questions. It can give detailed answers like 'yes or no,' 'maybe,' 'not sure,' and so on. If that's not enough, the spirit moves the planchette itself to spell out answers using the alphabet or Hangul. If you want to end the game, just go to 'goodbye.' But if it's a particularly aggressive and cunning one, it might ignore the goodbye. Interestingly, that's not considered breaking the rules. Since the ritual calls the spirit unilaterally, the responding spirit has the right to end the game unilaterally too.
That's why evil spirits summoned via Ouija often refuse to end the game on purpose, driving the participants into deeper fear. They lure them into breaking the rules themselves, then strike. The longer the ritual goes on, the more it amplifies the spirit's power—because humans are giving it attention and fear. That's why one of the golden rules of Ouija is 'never play for more than 15 minutes.'
The other side wasn't really curious about who I was. It just wanted Choi Yeon-jun and Park Seol-ha, the ones running the game, to feel even greater terror.
"Can you move the planchette?"
"Y-Yeah. Right now... I think we can."
"It feels heavy, though."
"Then answer 'human.'"
The two exchanged puzzled looks but moved the planchette to spell out h-u-m-a-n letter by letter.
RUMBLE RUMBLE RUMBLE RUMBLE!
"Kyaaaaaaaack!"
"Wh-What the hell?!"
"Mom!!!!!!!!"
"Fact: Aaaaaah!"
Even Lee Chan-young, filming us from a safe distance, screamed as the entire building shook with a deafening rumble. Like an earthquake had hit.
We'd given the correct answer—everyone here, Choi Yeon-jun, Park Seol-ha, Lee Ji-ah, Lee Chan-young, and Han Daeri, is 'human'—but the other side had broken the rules first by asking the question, so it paid the price.
"Shall we keep going?"
"Uh, so... can't we just stop now?"
Choi Yeon-jun, forgetting he was live-streaming, turned to me pale as a ghost. His eyes screamed please let's end this. But getting that look from a guy felt way too gay, so I shut it down firmly.
"No can do. Doesn't look like the other side wants to quit."
The shredded black hand slithered away under the table, and this time, black threads rained down from the ceiling like before. Bursting through clumps of the threads emerged a massive eye. As the vertically slit pupil shifted, the planchette moved naturally.
Again, the other side asked first. Rule violation.
Fwooooosh—POP! I blew a massive bubblegum bubble and popped it.
The club members shot me dirty looks at the sudden noise, but whatever. Bubblegum's for blowing bubbles.
"Yeon-jun-ssi, Seol-ha-ssi, got any questions you wanna ask?"
"N-Not really..."
"Me neither......"
"Just think of anything. You could ask what color panties you're wearing today. Doesn't matter how trivial—just go for it."
"Uh, okay then... Who are you?"
Creak creak! This time the table just shook a little. We'd countered their rule break with proper procedure, so they paid a small price, and the game got back on track.
The planchette moved slowly this time. Maybe because the word was short?
"Zozo? Zozo???"
"...What's a Zozo?"
"Isn't it that Cao Cao from Romance of the Three Kingdoms?"
"No! There's only one thing that introduces itself as Zozo on an Ouija board! The most infamous and vicious evil spirit known in Ouija lore—Zozo!!!"
Choi Yeon-jun shouted, hands trembling, and Lee Ji-ah and Park Seol-ha's faces hardened again. Anyone who's even skimmed Ouija lore knows the name of that world-famous demon. Nicknamed Zozo. Once it shows up, it messes with participants without fail and causes massive harm. It's notoriously hostile to humans, so Ouija players always pray it won't appear. Because everything goes to hell if it does.
But I snorted.
"Yeon-jun-ssi, Seol-ha-ssi, end the game. Looks like it doesn't wanna play anymore."
"For real?"
"We can just quit?"
"Yep."
Choi Yeon-jun and Park Seol-ha cautiously nudged the planchette toward 'goodbye.' No resistance, so their faces lit up visibly. It was about a centimeter from 'goodbye' when—
Suddenly, the planchette jerked to a halt.
That's more like it.
"If you don't wanna end the game, at least introduce yourself properly."
The planchette slid up again, revealing a new name.
"Missing one letter." The planchette vibrated hard, then moved again.
"Wrong."
CRASH! The Ouija board and table split clean in half and collapsed. The spirit had invoked its right to end the game unilaterally, terminating the ritual. Choi Yeon-jun and Park Seol-ha toppled sideways with the wreckage, screaming their heads off.
But I calmly met the eye bursting through the ceiling.
"Really curious about who I am, huh. I thought I was the only subcontractor around, but looks like lowlifes like you are subcontracting too. Makes sense—job market's brutal with the recession."
It vanished into the ceiling without a word. I spat out my gum.
"Alright, that's a wrap on today's shoot. Let's head back. Should be plenty of footage."
I herded the shell-shocked ghost story club members out of the abandoned hospital. The black threads, which had only reached the nearby trees, now stretched farther, more numerous, snaking off somewhere. My steps lightened at the thought of tomorrow's breakfast: frozen dumplings and Spam dumped into kimchi jjigae.
I'm a purist with instant ramen, but lenient with stews, soups, braises, and stir-fries.
Did you see the live stream just now? It went absolutely insane;; Nothing touched it but the planchette started moving on its own, shit smashed, total chaos;;; lol
Korea's most infamous 'gallery'-style community was ablaze with talk of the 'Ghost Story Club broadcast.'
The amateur vibe typical of ghost story streams, clunky hosting, self-proclaimed 'experts' with zero verification—it was a dizzying combo from the start, and viewer numbers were low. At best a few dozen tuned in for the promise of a live haunted spot exploration.
But from some tipping point, it snowballed to hundreds, thousands, and peaked over 30,000 viewers. Pulling ten thousand live viewers is tough even for mid-tier YouTubers—let alone a ghost story channel with under 10k subs.
Pure aggro pulled it off: wild hype in communities, netizens flocking in waves. Every big phenomenon brought donation floods and question barrages, but none of the club members responded. They were too busy living real terror—no time for broadcast banter or chat replies.
That raw on-site intensity sent netizens into a frenzy. "This is huge," "They're blowing up," "Where the hell is that place?" And it always boiled down to one question:
Who the hell is that mystery guy 'Han Daeri' who handled the whole chaos like it was nothing—hell, with room to spare?