Middle-Class Purgatory
Middle-class homes give off that cozy vibe just standing in front of them. In this cutthroat society full of over-the-top competition, they're the perfect average—nothing flashy, nothing shabby—overflowing with a sense of ease. No need to bust your ass too hard, but no slacking off either. It's that sweet spot in between. They say the happiest families in the world are middle-class ones. My family was middle-class too, but we weren't happy at all, so maybe it's just bullshit.
Ding-dong! I rang the doorbell of one of those apartments that screamed at least 10 billion won from the jump. I'd stopped by a coin laundry on the way to scrub the bloodstains and smell off my coat, but visiting someone else's place, maybe I should've picked up a pack of ginseng at least. Still worrying like I'm back in sales, schmoozing clients. It's been ages since I swore I'd live a life worthy of the title "Manager."
I straightened my clothes, and suddenly the lock clicked open from inside. A weary-looking middle-aged woman cautiously opened the door.
"Excuse me... who might you be?"
"Are you the parents of Jeong Hakju?"
"H-Hakju? Do you know Hakju?!"
"Could we talk inside about the details?"
"Y-Yes... come in!"
She led me into a spotless living room, where a middle-aged man in the back, mid-printing missing person flyers, stared at me.
"Huh? Honey, who's this?"
"He says he knows something about Hakju..."
"Is that true?!"
The man shot up from his seat, his face just as haggard. Dark circles so deep, who knew when he'd last slept. His grip on my shoulder was weak—no strength left, probably hadn't eaten or drunk properly while cranking out those flyers for his missing son. I gently pushed his hand away and sat at the living room table. Naturally, the couple sat across from me.
"First, take a look at this."
I pulled out an old smartphone and slid it toward them. The husband reacted first.
"Th-This is the smartphone we got Hakju for high school graduation!"
"New models drop every year these days. It's been about half a year since your son went missing... and it's beat to hell, covered in scratches, screen cracked in spots."
It was dead when I first got it, but I'd fast-charged it at a PC bang. Scratches everywhere, screen shattered in places.
"Have a look."
He snatched it up and fiddled with the screen.
"Ah... yeah, this is definitely Hakju's!"
Their numbers saved properly in the contacts, thousands of missed calls and texts from them—irrefutable proof. Then it hit them: not their son, just his phone, all alone.
"Did you... see Hakju? Is he okay?"
"We should've paid more attention to him... ughhh..."
"Oh, absolutely. He's doing great. Probably up in heaven right now, shaking his ass off, forgetting all the pain and sorrow from his shitty life."
The clear tears streaming from their eyes turned dark red. The missing person flyers on the table had long since become a tablecloth etched with a pentagram. On it, two shriveled hearts—so small and pathetic they barely qualified anymore.
"Your son racked up a ton of sins. Trauma from being bullied by the strong back in the day, egged on by some evil bastard—he stained himself with blood that didn't need to be spilled."
I pulled out cheap incense from the convenience store on the first floor, lit it up. The faint, acrid smoke spread, muting the metallic tang of blood a bit.
"I'm sure you two have a lot to say. You just raised him the way you were taught, and this is the hell you get."
Thud, thud. Two heads rolled companionably to join the shriveled hearts.
"I'm not usually one for aftercare, but I need cash quick this time. 'He who doesn't work, doesn't eat'—I went out of my way to do the job, so a little pay's fair, right?"
The black magic residue here turned the whole house into an altar for human sacrifice. Straight out of that chain-bound book—if it's right, it's right; if wrong, whatever.
"Let's see... according to this book, to free your bound souls, you either offer equivalent sacrifice or smash the whole altar—kinda barbaric."
The grimoire in my hand unlocked its chains and flipped open whenever I needed ritual advice.
"But human souls can't just be taken without consent. Even as sacrifice, it was one-sided black magic without the owner's okay... so... fuck, this curly script sucks."
I grumbled, and the curly text switched to clean Hangul Gothic, easy to read.
"Ah, right. One-sided contracts weaken over time naturally. Since it was forced, breaking it one-sidedly works too. Condition: believe in Jesus and go to heaven. Refuse, and I'll torch your precious son's room."
The headless couple screamed silently. Even like that, their love for their son overflowed—they couldn't accept that. True parents, alright.
If only my parents had half this guy's love.
What kind of parents skip dinner and breakfast, make you copy the Bible eight times just 'cause you spilled some rice cake soup on Grandpa?
"Fine. You love your son that much? Time to reunite with him in heaven first."
I dumped garlic flakes and coarse salt into a 500ml convenience store water bottle, shook it hard. Sprinkled the mix over the severed heads and hearts—sizzle—something burned up. The ritual's main player had vanished from the mortal plane, so the black magic shell peeled off like a whore's dress.
"Might as well go all in—red beans too? How about some moktak drumming? Grabbed one cheap at Daiso."
I played a YouTube video of the Bright Mantra on the phone, hammered the moktak like mad.
"Oh, before you go: no big reward needed. I'll just snag a gold ring from the dresser drawer."
The rest becomes their savings—I'm good with one ring. Wasn't even an official gig, so greedy would be shameless. Manager Han Daeri of the Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office swears by fair trade.
I wrapped the two skulls—now just bones—and blackened heart stains in the tablecloth like a bundle. Gonna burn it later to send their souls off proper. No soul or spirit left, but the neuk lingers unless you send it yourself.
Soon, relatives will swarm this place like piranhas, picking it clean. Ours did.
Out of the high-end middle-class apartment complex in Seoul, I stealthily shoved the limp security guard into his booth at the entrance. Told him I had business, but he kept blocking the way, so I roughed him up a bit—didn't expect him still out cold.
"Autumn, and the sky's not even blue. Fucking hell."
I glared at the hazy, yellowish sky from fine dust, heading toward the Han River. Can't play with fire in downtown—Han River it is.
"Can't even stand straight, you punk."
Heading down a quiet path, a deep, resonant woman's voice boomed from behind, freezing me solid. Tried with all my might, but no dice—overdid it with the body today? Then light footsteps approached casually.
She grabbed my shoulder with a grip too brutal for her delicate hand and spun me around. Slap! A sudden slap flashed my vision white—but only for a sec. Faced with a familiar tracksuit, ponytail, porcelain skin twisted in fury like a wrathful yaksha.
She yanked my collar, hoisting me effortlessly.
"How can you wear human skin and act worse than a beast? You deserve to be struck by lightning, limbs shattered—not punishment enough."
"Oh, it's you, sunbae. Long time no see—nice to see ya."
"Shut that sly mouth."
My lips zipped shut like a zipper. But she didn't say no tongue, so I slathered saliva and forced them open.
"Mmf, you're the weird one, not me... bad habit or whatever...!"
"You bastard!"
Another random slap, and my mouth sealed for good.
"That bundle on your back—rotten souls' neuk, right? Neuk should flow naturally with the world's harmony—why stuff it in that evil-energy sack? Speak true!"
Another slap; I desperately pried my lips with my tongue again.
"No, you told me to shut up, fuck."
"Now speak."
"Why spill my business secrets?"
I kicked this not-woman with all my might, breaking free. The crushing pressure vanished; body mine again. Secret that it nearly tore my tendons and muscles for one swing.
She stood calm, glaring—no biggie taking a full adult male kick to the gut. Kinda creepy; snark slipped out.
"Thought you were nuts first time we met—consistent, huh. Pro tip: don't wanna ruin a good man's life? Stay 5 meters out in that woman's body. Unlike a jobless bum like you, I've got a noble mission."
"Disrupting harmony with heaven-defying evil?"
"If a world where heaven or hell's decided at birth is 'harmony,' then yeah."
I turned to send the neuk off and go—then her deep voice shifted to husky, girly tones, tickling my ear.
"Need neuk sent? I'll help."
I waved her off—no thanks, don't need crazy bitch—but she followed, eyes sharp.
"No gold ring split for helping, so dream on."
"Hah, you think I'm hurting for cash? Fixing fate-fucked folks with my power? I get buildings as tips."
Fine, whatever, fuck. Back to normal speech for her age, she kept grating my frayed nerves. She needed to shut up, not me.
"My elder wants to rip you apart now, but your gigs look sketchy—told 'em I'd watch first."
"Tch, that's why spirit-possessed freaks..."
Better believe in useful Jesus than ride a man in a woman's body over petty gods. In the end, I dragged this spirit-possessed psycho to the Han River like a wart. Tried ditching her—sprinted like a track star—but she ghosted after me, knowing every move. Ghost bitch. Or dude?