The Ominous Child
"Huff! Huff! Huff! Huff!"
On a day when the forest's greenery was at its peak.
A shaggy-haired boy in ragged clothes ran on, gasping for breath.
His lungs were on the verge of bursting, but he didn't stop.
"Grab him!"
"We'll make you pay if you get caught!"
"Stop right there!"
The boy was being chased.
Behind him, a pack of boys his age pursued him in a rage.
That was why he kept running without pause.
"Aaaagh!"
Then, a scream erupted from the rear.
One of the chasing boys stumbled, lost his balance, and tumbled into the nearby stream valley.
"Hey! You okay?"
"Glub! Glub!"
The stream was deeper than expected, and the fallen boy flailed desperately.
The pursued boy halted and gazed at him with worried eyes.
"Hey! Go get the adults quick!"
"Hang on! I'll run and fetch them!"
The other boys stomped in frustration before rushing off in a group to summon help.
Now only the drowning boy and the shaggy-haired one remained.
"Help..."
The shaggy-haired boy scanned his surroundings frantically as the other boy's head bobbed above and below the water.
Spotting a long branch on the ground, he dragged it over.
It was quite long, making it hard for the boy to lift and maneuver.
But he persisted, pulling it toward the water and shoving it in.
The drowning boy, fighting for his life, stretched desperately toward the approaching branch.
Grabbing it while thrashing in the water was no easy feat.
He missed several times before finally latching on.
The shaggy-haired boy yanked the branch with all his might.
Even in water, pulling a whole person alone was no simple task.
Yet he refused to give up, tugging relentlessly.
Thanks to his efforts, the drowning boy began inching toward the bank.
Once momentum built, it grew easier.
The boy's face even relaxed a bit, as if relieved he would survive.
"Aigoo! Dong-i!"
Then came a voice that sounded like the drowned boy's father.
He'd rushed over upon hearing the news.
"Out of my way, you jinx!"
He shoved the shaggy-haired boy aside viciously.
The boy crashed roughly to the ground, and in that moment, the man seized the branch and hauled his son out.
"You alright? Anywhere hurt?"
"Waaah!"
Safe in his father's arms, the terror hit all at once, and the boy burst into tears.
The father soothed him in his embrace, then glared at the shaggy-haired boy.
His eyes brimmed with resentment and fury.
After all the boy's desperate efforts to save him—how could he look at him like that?
It was utterly incomprehensible.
Not just the father—the other adults who'd rushed over in alarm stared at the shaggy-haired boy like he was filth.
"Let's go. Home."
With his emotions settled, they all left, taking the boy with them.
The shaggy-haired boy sat there on his rear, watching them go in silence.
The sun dipped toward the western mountains.
The aroma of cooking rice wafted through the village from every home.
Workers and playing children alike headed inside for dinner, leaving the village quiet.
From wherever he'd been hiding, the shaggy-haired boy slunk out and shuffled toward somewhere.
He arrived at a rundown, cramped shack in the village corner.
It was called a shack, but holes gaped in the walls everywhere, and the door was so flimsy it served little purpose.
The boy pushed it open and stepped inside.
With the sun set and temperatures plummeting, the interior was frigid.
Already remote, it got little sunlight, so any warmth faded quickly.
Inside stood a gourd bowl made of bark, filled with feed fit only for livestock.
Even that had gone cold.
The boy sat before it, shoveling the food into his mouth with a wooden spoon.
He wasn't eating for taste—just to survive.
Forcing down the hard-to-swallow mush, he pushed the bowl aside and leaned against the wall.
"Ever since that brat showed up, nothing but bad luck!"
"Old Man Im lost a finger—and he'd worked decades without a scratch! Right? It's all 'cause that kid drags ominous energy around!"
"The fight between Jeong-ga and Hong-ga too. Who'd think brothers-in-arms would brawl like that? They've gotten along forever. And it happened right after he came! What if someone in the village kicks the bucket next?"
"Should've just died already—instead, that tough life keeps dragging on!"
"Exactly! Should've left him for the wolves when we found him on the mountain!"
Voices echoed in the boy's ears.
Words he'd heard from villagers over time.
Since his arrival, they'd cursed him, shunned him, beaten him—claiming only misfortune followed.
What could a powerless child do?
Just endure the curses and blows.
Should he be grateful they hadn't killed him outright, letting him sleep in this shack and eat scraps?
Honestly, the boy had no time for such thoughts.
Too young to ponder life and death, survival day by day was burden enough.
In this village, he was nothing but an unlucky bearer of ill omens.
They hadn't even given him a name.
It hadn't always been so—at least, his earliest memories held smiling adult faces.
But when or why the treatment started, he couldn't say.
Somehow, it had become his normal life.
The boy buried his face between his knees.
He hugged his legs tight with both arms, warding off the chill as he drifted to sleep.
How long had he slept?
Before dawn broke, he awoke.
He'd collapsed sideways; now rumpled, he exited the shack.
In the still-dark, lifeless village, he was the first stirring.
He headed to the shack's side.
There stood a shoulder yoke with baskets on both ends, caked in revolting filth.
Creeeak! Creeeak!
The boy hoisted it on with practiced ease, though it dwarfed his frame.
Yoke in place, he trudged to the village's two outhouses.
Then, with a long-handled gourd scoop his height, he began emptying the waste.
A task others shunned utterly, yet he worked silently.
This was his dawn routine.
Beyond it, he handled every dirty job villagers loathed.
Some overwhelmed even him, but they assigned them without hesitation.
They housed and fed him instead of casting him out or killing him—he had to earn his keep.
To live.
The boy obeyed without complaint.
At first, he'd retched or collapsed from exhaustion, but now he toiled like a machine.
Thus the village day began with the sounds of him clearing the outhouses.
Noon long past, he finally finished.
Dragging his weary body toward the shack, step by plodding step.
Thud!
Another boy collided with the shaggy-haired one.
Deliberate, no doubt—but the outcome was predictable.
"What the hell? Why'd you bump into me!"
The aggressor yelled shamelessly.
His friends swarmed, encircling the shaggy-haired boy.
"Apologize!"
"......"
The boy clamped his mouth shut, silent.
He knew fighting back brought worse pain.
Nor did he want to grovel as they demanded.
"You jinx!"
"You nearly killed Dong-i last time!"
"Filthy and stinking!"
"Get out of the village!"
They shoved him this way and that, hurling insults.
He bounced between them, absorbing every word.
In his vision, adults watched the scene.
They didn't intervene—just stared coldly at the victim.
What did I do wrong? Why must I suffer this?
The boy, who'd endured years, questioned inwardly.
Why, exactly.
What had he done to them?
Try as he might, his only "crime" was breathing and existing.
Lost in thought, the boys' voices faded.
The world blurred—surroundings, tormentors alike.
Thoughts chained endlessly.
Live like this?
Die, then? Or flee?
Where to, an orphan?
The questions stirred buried emotions.
Years of suppression erupted like a storm.
"Stop it!"
The shaggy-haired boy bellowed, shoving his tormentors hard.
"Ack!"
One toppled onto his rear.
Now the watching adults charged in.
"You ungrateful wretch—we fed and housed you!"
"Who do you think you are, hitting people!"
The children's harassment escalated to adult fury.
The adults' was on another level.
Insults were mere starters; real beatings commenced.
Slap!
His head snapped aside.
Sparks flew in his eyes; his ears rang.
The cheek swelled red-hot instantly.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The thrashing intensified.
He crumpled, curling tight as possible.
With hands and feet.
Three adults pummeled one helpless child mercilessly.
Powerless, he endured with his body alone.
The shaggy-haired boy gritted his teeth and bore it.
Their assault dragged on before easing; the watching children retreated, satisfied.
He lay collapsed there long after.
No one cared.
As if he didn't exist—or dying there wouldn't matter.
"Nngh!"
Finally, he groaned and rose.
Every move choked his breath—somewhere bruised badly.
Just sitting up drenched him in sweat.
"Hoo... Hoo..."
He panted through the pain.
Then limped arduously toward the shack.
Dilapidated as it was, he yearned to lie down there.
Tears welled on the way.
From pain and injustice.
But he clenched his jaw, holding them back.
The nearby shack took ages to reach.
Like a sick pup, he crawled to a corner and slowly lay down.