The Shade of the Reaper
Hwan kept falling over and over again. It didn’t help that he wasn’t even wearing shoes; he had been running across uneven ground, and now his feet were ruined. Most of his toenails had been ripped off, and both ankles were badly sprained, swollen purple. Walking properly was impossible, so he kept collapsing whether he wanted to or not.
Each time he fell, the old man with the sickle would yank him upright by force. He cursed viciously as he did it, shoving the boy forward.
Even through the savage swearing, Hwan could barely stand. The pain was too much.
The old man kept spitting words that were hard to understand, then raised the sickle again in open threat. That murderous voice sent a chill racing down Hwan’s spine. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stand. His feet hurt too badly. No—his entire body hurt.
The old man’s rusted sickle drew close to his neck once more. When a little pressure was applied, a single drop of bright red blood welled up and slid down Hwan’s throat. The boy shuddered violently.
The harsh tone made Hwan tremble all over as he struggled to rise, but the stabbing pain dropped him again in a heap.
The old man swung not the sickle this time, but his fist. He slapped Hwan’s quivering cheek without mercy, then kicked his back and stomach repeatedly.
Hwan screamed. Instinctively he curled into a ball, trying to protect his vital organs. At that moment another old man stepped in, grabbing the one with the sickle.
The old man with the sickle snorted like an angry bull, spat on the ground, and jerked the rope again in irritation. The rope was looped around Hwan’s neck; when it was yanked, the boy’s breath was cut off at once.
Every time that happened, Hwan could only make choking, desperate sounds.
When Hwan managed to beg in a voice gone hoarse, the old man with the sickle ground his teeth audibly.
With that bone-chilling threat, the old man kicked Hwan square in the back again. The boy pitched forward and slammed into the mud with a wet splat, gasping for air. But he couldn’t stay down. Knowing another merciless kick was coming, he shook all over and forced himself up, moaning and coughing dryly, sobbing as he somehow got to his feet.
Step… drag… The steps that followed were terribly unsteady, as if he would collapse again at any second. The old man holding a hoe clicked his tongue beside him.
At the word “parents,” Hwan’s body reacted on its own. Yes. He wanted to see them. He wanted to see his mother and father right now. Large tears rolled down his cheeks again.
The old man with the hoe helped support him. Leaning on that arm, Hwan was finally able to shuffle forward.
Kurrrrng—! Thunder rolled again. A lightning strike somewhere nearby exploded with a deafening crack, and the rain poured down as fiercely as ever. The drops struck his body so hard they stung like needles. It was that violent.
Staring at the downpour, the old man with the sickle spat out a curse from habit.
His expression was uneasy, as if he sensed something ominous. He couldn’t stay still, fidgeting restlessly. Even amid all that noise, they were gradually drawing closer to the church.
That was when an unwelcome visitor arrived in the village.
Cutting through the rain, a police car approached with its siren blaring. The two old men—one with a hoe, one with a sickle—sighed at the same time. They exchanged glances, both wearing complicated expressions.
The police car stopped. Two officers stepped out.
The old man with the hoe spoke quietly to the one with the sickle.
The old man with the sickle nodded. The one with the hoe let out a sigh and walked toward the two officers, hiding the hoe behind his back.
One of the officers tried to explain as calmly as possible. The old man kept a blank, unknowing expression in front of him. He looked around, but the rain was so heavy that everything beyond a few steps was pitch black. Maybe because the village was so remote, there wasn’t a single streetlight; the darkness felt even thicker. On top of that, the rain was pouring like this…
The officers seemed troubled too. They switched on their flashlights and swept the beams around, but their faces showed how hopeless it felt.
As the officer spoke, he glanced at his partner. The other officer was already on the radio, contacting headquarters, but the only reply was that there had been no further contact.
The first officer asked the old man again.
The officer looked around once more. The surroundings were still drenched in darkness; nothing was visible. The old man patted his lower back and spoke.
The old man frowned again at the word “patrol,” but the officer said they had no choice since they had received an official report. The old man clicked his tongue briefly and muttered that the police had it rough too. He paused, looked around for a moment, then sighed.
The two officers tilted their heads at the old man’s words. That was when it happened.
Thud!
A dull sound rang out, and one officer collapsed without a sound. The other officer spun around in shock—only to have something flash forward and sink deep into his neck with a wet shunk.
Blood sprayed like a fountain. The officer made a few choking, gurgling noises as if his breath had been cut off, then crumpled powerlessly to the ground.
Behind the fallen officers, several old men now stood with indifferent faces.
Meanwhile, Hwan had witnessed the entire absurd scene.
The police, whom he had thought were his last hope, had been slaughtered in vain. Seeing people who murdered others without the slightest hesitation… he felt a sudden warmth spread down his legs. He had wet himself from sheer terror.
Yet he couldn’t even register that he had done so. The sight was simply too shocking. Soon the thought rose in his mind that he would end up the same way—that he too would be killed just like that.
Anxiety gripped him. His fear swelled. The realization that he might really die here brought fresh tears that blurred his vision.
Hwan was hidden behind an apple tree. A rusted sickle hovered near his throat. At that moment, the old man threatened him again.