Perfect Framing in the Shadows
"Oh, nice shot."
Um PD muttered to himself as he watched the live footage from the shooting headquarters—a massive tent set up near the factory complex—with keen interest. They'd prepared everything from the staging to the storyline, but running a broadcast with nothing but amateurs who'd barely ever appeared on TV was a huge risk. A typical PD would have scouted some celebrities, comedians, or scream-queen idols to toss into the mix, but Um PD wanted to wrap this program in pure mystery. Throw in worldly entertainers like idols or gagmen, and no matter what, the atmosphere would deflate. Viewers would just grumble about it being another "civilians plus experts" scream-fest. So they were shooting with a strict no-civilians policy, even if the audio got a bit rough. This wasn't some streamer-chatter-filled internet broadcast where dead air was a killer—gaps in sound could be easily covered with eerie BGM, subtitles, or dubbed lines in editing. What really mattered was the visual appeal. Shows like this flopped nine times out of ten without killer visuals, so they had to nail the editing angles. That's why everyone was glued to the monitors, eyes bloodshot.
Whiiiiiist!Whiiiiiist!
"Ha Tae-jun the mudang is whistling. They say mudangs whistle to sense nearby ghosts or lure out hidden ones," said the writer who'd prepped this scene's story. Several heads nodded in agreement.
Anyone in broadcasting who'd done a spooky summer special had crossed paths with a shaman at least once and knew their standard moves. The top three on-site behaviors: whistling, shaking bells, and staring silently at a single spot. These bizarre, otherworldly actions kept the genre's diehard fans hooked—they sparked curiosity in regular folks because they were anything but normal. Kicking off the shoot with one of these right away? Nailing the first button.
Then, the whistling cut off abruptly. Every cast member's gaze snapped to one spot. Perfect timing, perfect natural direction.
"Man... these guys really new to TV?"
Feeding viewers exactly the framing they craved? Um PD marveled at their unexpected professionalism, waiting patiently for the background cam to pan. The directorial lead, not missing the moment, quietly radioed the background cameraman.
"Angle a bit higher, pan slow—no rush. Keep focus steady. We'll edit in a slo-mo cutscene with BGM later."
They usually left on-site shooting to the crew's discretion, but occasionally offered pointers blending live vibe with post-production.
Cams 1 and 2 captured all ten from angled sides without missing a beat. Finally, Cam 3, handling background, swung to follow their stares. The moment its light hit the factory wall—dark, murky stain lingering there—a hand shot out from the side, blocking the lens.
"What the—?!"
"Damn, that was a great shot!!"
"Hey! Didn't we brief precautions before shooting?!"
"We definitely briefed them properly..."
Don't film that. You can't capture what's there.
Ignoring the crew's outrage, the figure who'd blocked the shot—the whistler himself, mudang Ha Tae-jun—shook his head stiffly.
My mistake. With all the help around and my confidence, I tried calling it out... but that wasn't supposed to show like that. Whew...
"Hold up. This could work as is? It's a tad messy, but that amps the realism."
"Still, a cast member touching the camera..."
"Felt right for setting the mood at the start. Just have staff warn them firm after—no touching from talent. We'll take the heat."
It nearly halted recording from the jump, but Um PD spun it as added realism, granting Ha Tae-jun's outburst a one-time pass. Already picturing the edit-ready BGM and captions:
Classic technique—tease a cropped glimpse, spark curiosity about the factory's secrets and what they all saw. Boom, immersion locked, viewers hooked.
"Tell the crew it's fine, keep rolling. Spin those hidden interior cams too. Gotta check what they caught."
Plenty of secret cams dotted the factory interior—multi-angles for cast and backgrounds, plus chances to snag unnoticed supernatural blips. Um PD figured even a mild poltergeist clip would sell half the show. Add a ghostly shape or voice? End-of-year boredom killer, instant hit.
"Loosen ad-lib reins where you can. Cut or edit out the wild stuff. Pros driving keeps the vibe alive—not civilians."
As if getting the memo, the cast broke their stares, prepping in their own ways. The gloomy-faced female sorceress casually sprinkled black powder from a thumb-sized vial, circling the drops. Scattered randomly, but viewed from certain spots and angles, patterns emerged—like a tarot match-up. Originally cards in astrology, sorcerers read fate in spread rice grains, pebbles, or beads. Ancient rite from primitive shamans worshiping nature spirits or idols. They believed spirits dwelled in every object, so scattering them revealed destined meanings. Lesser shamans used bones or stones; the potent ones went finer—red beans, soybeans, bugs, rice. Powder or liquid? Top-tier mastery.
Um PD and most crew had boned up on occult for this gig, recognizing her seriousness.
"Bump Kim Hyesun's mic volume—don't miss mutters or chants."
"Might creep viewers out."
"Good—raw like this hits better."
Kim Hyesun's gloomy vibe and soft incantations did chill, but fresh for audiences. Bad episode 1 ratings? Tweak edits next time.
"Yeah, ease cam in slow, natural. Ask her straight—what's this, what's the goal?"
Cameramen were ghosts on air, but sans civilians, they doubled as viewer proxies for questions.
As her murmurs neared end, the cameraman edged in, asking if she felt something prompting this.
Gloomy Kim Hyesun whipped to face the lens. Long bangs half-hid her face, amplifying the eerie aura—like a ghost in living skin.
Don't you smell it?
...Smell what?
Cosmetics.
Clink! Something dropped beyond the lens. Another cam caught it—a unfinished cosmetic bottle, logo-less, tumbling from a shelf in the factory's half-built state.
Um PD nearly yelled "Jackpot!" but frowned, sensing off vibes. Cosmetics scent wafting nearby.