The Curse
1. The Curse
Nineteen years old. My sister killed Mom.
On the rooftop of a high-rise that looked out over the glittering heart of the city, Wolryeong clung to the railing as if it were the only solid thing left in the world, and the past came flooding back.
A house painted in blood. Her twin sister’s school uniform soaked crimson. Their mother lying still, a shard of glass buried deep in her chest, no longer breathing.
The next day, Dad hanged himself.
Their father in mourning clothes, dangling from the ceiling. Herself collapsed on the floor, tears streaming down her face.
Reliving that nightmare, Wolryeong stared blankly at a sky that still held a faint wash of blue.
They found him in time. He lived. But five years later, he still hasn’t woken up.
Her father on a hospital bed, respirator hissing. Wolryeong standing over him. Warm sunlight. A soft breeze. And inside that cold, dark room—just the two of them.
“What rotten luck.”
She muttered it to herself while peering over the edge. A few birds wheeled past as if they had heard her, then settled on the railing she gripped.
“…Enough.”
With that single word, Wolryeong let go. She fell slowly—so slowly—through pure white clouds, past her own reflection sliding down the glass walls of the building.
Not an ending, she told herself. A beginning. Not a fall. Flight.
“Don’t die.”
A familiar, ice-cold voice brushed the tips of her hair as she plummeted.
“Aaaaah!” “What just fell—was that a person?!” “Oh my god…”
In less than a few seconds her skull shattered against the hard asphalt. Shards of brain and the shocked voices of bystanders poured in through her ruined ears and dragged her consciousness back.
“Ah, fuck…”
Her head and spine had already knitted themselves whole. She pushed herself up, twisted her dislocated knees and ankles back into place with wet cracks, and stood.
Ever since the curse took hold she had tried to die more times than she could count; pain was an old acquaintance. Enjoying it, though—that was something else entirely. The raw agony of dying, followed by the sickening crawl of flesh knitting itself back together, never stopped being repulsive.
“Wait—she’s alive…” “Miss, are you okay…?” “Hey!”
Sirens wailed in the distance. Camera shutters clicked. A crowd murmured. The noise hammered against her temples. Wolryeong snatched up her blood-soaked coat and bolted.
She sprinted through a red light. An ambulance racing full tilt slammed into her and flung her more than ten meters down the road.
“…There you are.”
The passenger window rolled down. An irritated voice called out. Ino.
“I told you not to run off. You were looking for another place to die, weren’t you?”
Wolryeong lay spread-eagled in the middle of the asphalt, feeling warm blood pool beneath her skull. She stared up at the moon and answered in a flat, sullen tone.
“You said I could die on the night of the new moon. So why am I still here?”
Ino followed her gaze, then snorted in disbelief.
“That’s not a new moon… that’s a crescent.”
“…Oh.”
Bandages were wrapped around her in a careless mess as she sat in the ambulance’s passenger seat. Ino gripped the wheel and glanced over.
“Why even bother with the bandages? They’re completely useless.”
Wolryeong shot her a look of pure incredulity.
“None of your business.”
Ino huffed a quiet laugh, then asked, “So. Did you go see your father?”
Silence stretched for a moment. Wolryeong drew a slow breath and answered softly.
“…Yeah.”
The single word carried an unspoken warning—don’t ask anything else about Dad—but Ino either missed it or chose to ignore it.
“How is he?”
Wolryeong stared out at the night cityscape, irritation written across her face.
“Same as before I went inside. No sign of waking up. I don’t even know if he can hear me.”
Awkward quiet filled the cramped ambulance. The only sound was the soft clack of a rosary swaying against the rearview mirror.
“Hey. About that offer you made.”
The rosary went still. Brakes squealed softly through the cracked window. Ino’s eyes locked onto Wolryeong, bright with expectation. Wolryeong met that gaze and continued.
“There are conditions.”
“Yeah, yeah. Anything. What are they?”
Ino’s voice turned bright and childlike, matching her small, slender frame. The sudden shift felt too heavy; Wolryeong edged a little farther from the driver’s seat.
“First.”
“Wait, there’s more than one—?”
“Once the curse is lifted, you let me die quietly.”
Silence flooded the vehicle again.
“Second.”
Even the rosary made no sound now. Absolute stillness.
“I don’t know if Dad will ever wake up. But if he does, you make sure he can live a full life. Support him.”
She raised three fingers for the final condition. Her expression had gone dark, and she carefully avoided Ino’s eyes.
“Last. If Dad dies… you give him a proper funeral. Do it right.”
Ino glanced at her with something like pity, then set both hands back on the wheel.
“…Okay. I will.”
Tires rolled over asphalt. The rosary swayed and tapped against the mirror. A loud kind of silence painted both their ears in dark colors.
“Here we are. Headquarters.”
“…You’re serious?”
Wolryeong had heard only that it was the base of the exorcists—a secret organization operating on a global scale—and had pictured a grand cathedral or some towering, imposing building. What stood in front of her was a dilapidated church whose steeple cross leaned so far it looked ready to topple at any second.
“What were you expecting? We did the best we could with the place we found.”
“I mean, come on—secret society, right? Something cool. Something with actual style…”
Ino pushed open the vine-choked gate and burst out laughing at the pure disappointment on Wolryeong’s face.
“Pfft—you’ve watched way too many movies.”
The gate creaked wide. Somewhere nearby a flock of crows cried out.
“Finding somewhere this quiet in the middle of Seoul was a real pain in the ass, you know? Be grateful we got this much.”
“Yeah, okay, fair, but still…”
They stepped inside together. An elderly gentleman in a crisp suit waited to greet them.
“Welcome. You must be Miss Yoon Wolryeong.”
Snow-white hair, a full beard, a jet-black cane in one hand. Wolryeong looked him up and down, then leaned toward Ino and whispered, barely holding back a snicker.
“What’s with the old guy’s outfit? And that way of talking? So fucking formal it’s hilarious.”
Ino’s face tightened with clear discomfort at the open sniping.
“I was told she carried a curse, so I expected someone more… formidable.”
The old man’s voice rolled out low and heavy, filling the small church. Wolryeong froze for a second.
“Just a girl of that age after all. Pleasant to meet you.”
He laughed heartily and offered his hand. Wolryeong relaxed a fraction.
“Ah—yes… please take care of me…”
She thought the handshake without introductions felt odd, but took it anyway. The moment their palms met, the old man’s eyes flared a vivid green.
Wolryeong tried to yank free. The harder she pulled, the tighter his grip became.
“Wh-what the hell—how is an old man this strong?!”
He began to chant in a strange tongue that sounded half Latin, half French—something that felt like an incantation. Wolryeong could only stand there, cold sweat sliding down her spine, hand locked in his.
Minutes passed. The instant his strength finally eased, she ripped her hand away. Clear red marks ringed her fingers, proof of the crushing force that had held her.
“Fuck, what was that?!”
She shouted in raw anger. Ino stepped in and clapped a hand over her mouth.
The old man still stared at his own palm, green light lingering in his eyes, then finally spoke.
“This is going to be harder than I thought.”
“…What?”
He looked straight into Wolryeong’s eyes. The glow was gone, but the naturally clouded irises of old age felt even more terrifying.
“Your curse. It is no ordinary thing.”
“What do you mean…?”
He gave a small nod. Ino turned without a word and left the church. The only person Wolryeong even half-knew had just walked out; she shrank in on herself at once.
The old man continued in a voice even lower than before.
“The one who laid this curse upon you is not a common evil spirit.”
His words filled the empty church. Somewhere feathers rustled as crows took flight. The eerie atmosphere pressed in again; Wolryeong found herself stepping backward, already calculating an escape.
“I-if it’s not a normal evil spirit, then… what is it?”
As if he had sensed her retreat, the old man seized her wrist in an iron grip and kept speaking.
“A curse bound by an exceptionally powerful grudge—something stronger still. In short… something like blood.”
“Blood…?”
“Your blood kin. Relatives, grandparents, siblings… or parents.”
The moment the word blood kin left his mouth, Wolryeong’s entire body locked rigid.
To her, family meant the people who had shattered her life and stolen everything.
…And at the same time, the people more precious than anything else in the world.
“Someone of your own blood became an evil spirit and cursed you.”
“A curse heavy with the deepest resentment.”
“Resentment…?”
“…The curse upon you is the Curse of the Suicide Ghost.”
Curse of the Suicide Ghost
A powerful curse inflicted by a deceased family member who committed suicide or died with deep resentment. Nearly impossible for third parties to lift.
1. The Curse — End