A Night of Terror
When Sumin regained consciousness, half a day had already slipped away. She woke on the bed inside the pension, her family gathered around her. She had no idea when they had arrived, or who had called them. Most likely, Jinsu’s father had left the owner’s phone number before he departed, and they had used it to make contact. Jinsu’s family came into view first, followed by Yongha and Yeonji’s families, and then her own mother and father.
The moment she saw them, the nightmare from the previous night seemed to melt away like frost under sunlight. Her eyes burned, threatening to spill over.
“Sumin? Are you with us now? Do you recognize Mom?”
Her mother asked with eyes full of worry. That gentle gaze shattered what little control Sumin had left.
“Hic… hiccup… Mom…”
Everything suddenly felt unbearable. She wished with all her heart that those hellish moments had been nothing but a dream. Sumin buried herself in her mother’s arms and wept for a long time. Her mother, who had no idea what had happened, simply stroked her daughter’s back and murmured soothing words.
That was when it came.
“Sumin, I’m sorry to ask this the second you wake up, but we’re all desperate right now. Do you know where the other children are?”
The question came from Jinsu’s father. The rest of the families stared at her with the same desperate anxiety. It looked as though they had sat up through the night waiting for her to open her eyes.
“Have you seen our Jinsu?”
“What about Yongha? Please, do you know where Yongha is?”
When they began asking about Yeonji as well, Sumin’s confusion only deepened.
“W-well…”
The horrors of that day surged through her mind again. Those grotesque shapes that still made her skin crawl—whether they had been illusions or real, she could no longer say with certainty. But the suffocating terror she had felt remained branded into her bones. At the time she had been too far gone to think about her friends. The only thought screaming through her head was that she had to get out of that place.
“Where are the others?”
“That is…”
She had simply run. Run and run with nothing in her mind but escape. She had fallen, but felt no pain. The fear had been far greater. She could not recall her friends at all. Only now, thinking back, did she seem to remember Yeonji’s urgent voice calling out. After that—nothing.
Sumin shook her head, her face bleached white. The families’ expressions crumpled with frustration. Some looked on the verge of tears.
“What the hell happened? Tell us! What happened out there?!”
Jinsu’s father raised his voice, unable to contain his anguish. Sumin flinched and shrank back. Her parents tried frantically to calm him—Jinyong—but he would not be soothed. Yongha’s family and Yeonji’s family were the same. To Sumin it felt as though they were silently accusing her of abandoning their children and returning alone.
She bit down hard on her lower lip and forced herself to dredge up the memories. After a long silence, Sumin began to speak, carefully laying out everything that had happened that day. She started with the reason they had come to the pension in the first place—to experience a haunted house—and continued through every single thing they had encountered inside the abandoned building that night. Whether the adults believed her or not did not matter. She simply told the truth as she remembered it.
Perhaps it was only natural. The adults did not believe her easily. Some even looked at her as if her mind had broken. Her own mother and father wore the same stunned expressions. The clear doubt on their faces left Sumin feeling bitterly wronged.
“I’m not lying. There were ghosts. That’s why… I got scared and ran.”
“Then what about the other children?” Yeonji’s father, Jongwoo, demanded. His tone sounded like an accusation—how could she have left the others behind and fled by herself? It wasn’t only Jongwoo. Everyone except her own parents was staring at her with similar eyes. Sumin could not meet their gazes.
She did not know. She truly did not know what had become of them.
“I’m sorry…”
Her voice trembled as it left her. She hung her head. The other families let out heavy sighs of frustration; a few even began to cry.
“It’s all right… Sumin, none of this is your fault.”
Her father, Youngjin, and her mother, Jimin, tried to comfort her, but the guilt refused to loosen its grip. If anything, Sumin was the one they should have been worrying about. Why hadn’t the others come back?
“Then let’s go back there,” Jinyong said suddenly.
Sumin’s eyes widened in fresh terror as she looked at him. His face was set, desperate. The others wore the same expression. They would do anything to find their children. Sumin never wanted to set foot in that hellish place again, yet she could not bring herself to refuse.
They returned to the building. She would rather have died than go back, but there was no choice. The weight of her guilt would not let her stay behind. They drove in the adults’ cars until they reached the abandoned structure once more.
“Th-this is the spot.”
Sumin pointed to the sloping path. Everyone climbed out. Her father carried her on his back as they made their way up. But something was wrong. The iron gate that had stood wide open the day before was now locked tight, wrapped in thick chains.
“What? Why… why is the gate locked?”
Her voice shook with confusion. It had definitely been open yesterday. Had someone come and locked it since? Jinyong turned to the pension owner who had accompanied them.
“Grandmother, did you lock this gate?”
“Me? No, no… That was my first time here that day as well…”
The old woman looked genuinely bewildered. Sumin muttered again, voice trembling.
“It was open. It was definitely open…”
Her eyes drifted toward the ruined building beyond the gate. The terror from that night surged up again without warning. Cold sweat trickled down her spine. She wondered if her friends were still wandering lost inside.
In the end they forced the gate open and reached the entrance of the abandoned building. The moment Sumin stood before the main door—little more than a garbage-strewn ruin—the horror of that night clamped down on her throat with vicious clarity. She could barely breathe. Her mother asked gently, “If it’s too much, should we turn back?” but Sumin managed a weak shake of her head. She slid down from her father’s back and stared at the crumbling structure on the verge of collapse.
Between the shattered windows, only silence reigned. Yet in her mind she still saw the ghosts peering out at her from those same openings. She looked at the front door again. Every instinct screamed at her not to go inside.
“Haa… haa…”
Her breathing grew ragged and would not steady. It felt like the onset of hyperventilation.
“Sumin! Oh god, Sumin, are you all right?”
Her mother noticed at once and cried out in alarm, but Sumin’s gaze remained locked on the building. Those memories, those unbearable moments—they had become scars that would never fade.
She hated it. She hated it so much. She did not want to go in. She could not go in.
The instant that thought crystallized, the world went black. Her consciousness snapped like a dry twig.
When Sumin opened her eyes again, she was in a hospital room. She had no idea how much time had passed. Her mother sat beside the bed; her father was nowhere to be seen. She blinked slowly, then turned to the window. Snow and rain fell together in a dreary mixture. The sky was oppressively gray. Sumin’s heart felt dyed the same lifeless color. A crushing melancholy settled over her.
“Sumin, are you feeling any better?”
Her mother asked with gentle concern. Sumin gave a silent nod. She had no strength left to speak. She simply stared out the window. Her mother said nothing more. Though it was obvious she had many questions, she chose not to ask them. After that day, Sumin never spoke of the place again. Or rather, she did not want to. It would have been more accurate to say she wished she could pretend it had never happened.
Another day passed. With no physical complications, she was discharged quickly. Her father was there to take her home. On the drive back, both parents seemed determined to lift the heavy atmosphere.
“Should we eat out somewhere?” her father suggested.
Her mother quickly agreed from the passenger seat.