Ep. 2 — I Thought I'd Escaped (4)
I could see the interior of a modern building.
The space was vast, and the high ceiling was made of glass, letting the blue sky show through.
This was a sight from The Railroad Station with a Blaring Siren.
Why?
Just then, people brushed past me as I stood frozen in a daze.
Watching them, I swallowed another dry, empty breath.
Was this—was this reality?
Seeing people going about their day without a care, I checked the directory board.
The writing read normally, without distortion.
...What a relief. I must have been mistaken for a moment there.
Steading my startled heart, I stepped out into the waiting room.
But wait—what was this?
"Just a mistake" didn't explain how familiar everything looked.
It was my first time at Yongsan Station, yet every detail of the layout seemed printed into my memory.
Half in disbelief, half praying I was wrong, I went looking for the ticket office.
Identical.
That ticket office sat in the same position, in the same shape, as the one in The Railroad Station with a Blaring Siren.
No. No, no.
It was still too early to conclude anything.
Train stations all look alike, after all.
I turned and went looking for the way up to the second floor of the waiting room.
A short while later, when I found the escalator, I let out another groan.
At the foot of the escalator, placed there as a decorative piece, was an enormous celadon vase.
I had seen that too, inside The Railroad Station with a Blaring Siren.
From that moment on, I ran around the station in a frantic daze, checking everything.
The coin lockers, the lost-and-found center, the military lounge—
"Oh my god......"
All identical.
Every last one, without a single exception.
This place and The Railroad Station with a Blaring Siren were the exact same location.
The instant that fact settled in, the nightmarish memories exploded behind my eyes.
The woman whose head flew off in front of the ticket office.
The man crushed to death behind a pillar.
And the black shapes that had swarmed in, horrifying and ravenous.
"Ugh......!"
At the memories the place had dredged up, I clapped a hand over my mouth.
Then I ran for the exit without another thought.
Something told me I needed to get out of here first.
But the moment I actually stood before the exit, my legs locked up on me.
It came back. I couldn't stop it from coming back.
What had lain beyond the collapsed ceiling.
The thing that made you give up on living just by looking at it.
Cold sweat slid from my brow and trailed down to the nape of my neck.
This wasn't that grotesque railroad station.
This was reality, functioning the way it was supposed to.
My mind knew it, but my body wouldn't cooperate. As if it had been dragged back to that place again, my body refused to step outside.
Because that thing might be waiting beyond this door.
Because it might be there.
Because it's there.
It's there.
It's.
It.
It.
It......
Tap—
Just then, someone gave my shoulder a light tap.
"Editor-nim...?"
A small voice followed, waking me from my trance.
The black-flickering edges of my vision brightened again.
"Are you all right?"
Drawing in a breath, I turned my head.
Beside me, a woman as small as her voice was looking up at me.
A young face that could pass for a college student's. A messy bob, hastily tossed around. Loose, baggy clothes that valued comfort over style.
And a blank, dazed expression—the kind that practically invited getting snatched off the street.
Someone I knew very well.
"...Hello, Author."
I forced a smile and greeted her.
The person in question—Author Na Bit, whom I was meeting today—gave a faint smile and nodded back.
I returned to my seat with an americano and a bubble tea in hand, then handed the bubble tea to Author Na Bit, who was waiting for me, and asked, "This is the first time we're meeting here. Did you move?"
"No, I came for field research......"
Na Bit replied with the straw already between her lips.
So I smiled, calm and even.
I was swallowing the urge to say: You write science fiction—why on earth are you doing field research at a place like this?
"Is the manuscript coming along well?"
"If the work were coming along... wouldn't I be working right now...?"
The author squirmed and came clean, and I had no choice but to laugh again. Then Na Bit spoke in a voice that had crawled into a hole.
"You can scold me......"
"Scold you? Author, whatever do you mean?"
"I think I'd feel better if you at least yelled at me......"
I responded with my professional customer-service smile, but the author slurped at her bubble tea, nearly sobbing between sips.
Ah. Our flagship author is as fragile as ever today.
She didn't look like much, but Na Bit was, in fact, quite a remarkable writer. A mid-career author of ten years who had built a solid, distinctive literary world at a young age. Specializing in eerie SF-horror, she was praised for her meticulous imagination and a unique insight into human nature. She had never once flopped; her work had been translated overseas, and several of her novels were even in film production.
In a word: the breadwinner of our publishing house.
She had every right to strut around with her chin up, but Na Bit never did. Not out of humility—because her self-esteem was all but nonexistent, and her confidence was made of glass.
"I'm sorry, every single time...... I'm sorry I can't do anything right...... I'm sorry I missed the deadline...... I'm hopeless, unredeemable trash......"
"Ahaha...... Come on, calling yourself trash—there's no need to go that far."
Figures.
The Na Bit I hadn't seen in months was rolling around at the bottom of a despair pit.
Of course I'd expected this. On the day she was supposed to send her manuscript, she'd vanished after sending a long, groveling apology text instead, and I'd only managed to wrangle this meeting out of her by coaxing and cajoling.
A glass-mandalled recluse with avoidance issues.
She really was a piece of work in every sense—but I didn't dislike Na Bit. Quite the opposite.
Truthfully, I'd been a fan of this author for years.
Though of course I had zero intention of ever admitting that while I was her assigned editor.
"It's fine, Author. Writing was never supposed to be easy. You blew past the deadline, sure, but schedules can be adjusted. I'll figure something out, so please don't let it weigh on you."
"*sniff*......"
"Really, it's fine. You've always come through before, and you will this time too. Just don't dodge my calls, okay? A reply a day or two late, I can absolutely live with that."
"I'm s-sorry......"
"It's fine, really. I know how much pressure you're under, with your previous novels doing so well. So don't rush yourself—just keep writing good work at your own pace. That's what your readers want more than anything."
"Yes......"
Under my carrot-and-stick routine, Na Bit grew even more tattered, and nodded.
Ah. I shouldn't be doing this either.
To treat an author I'd revered like this.
She was only young-looking; she was actually older than me.
But squeezing the manuscript out of this fragile soul was the standing order I'd been given. So I coaxed her a little further and extracted the next deadline and a few promises besides.
Then, before she could crumble again, I smoothly changed the subject.
"So what exactly were you doing field research on here?"
"Ah, that... do you happen to know there was a bombing in this area?"
"A bombing?"
"During the Korean War. They say Yongsan Station and the area around it was razed by bombing."
I hadn't known that.
At my clear first-I've-heard-of-it reaction, Na Bit—who had been drooping dejectedly—suddenly lit up.
"So back then, all of this would have been either a sea of fire or rubble. But look at it now—a huge station, department stores and office towers, crowds everywhere. It's a busy district. Isn't it fascinating that the same space could look so different depending on the era?"
"Ah, yes... very interesting."
I gave a courteous nod, but I didn't see what was so fascinating. Ten years and even rivers and mountains change, as the saying goes.
"So right here, at the very spot where you and I are sitting across from each other drinking tea, someone might have been screaming as their whole body burned."
"When you put it that way, it's a little chilling."
"Right? Now imagine a being higher-dimensional than us that could unfold time the way we unfold space. What would this street look like to it? Flames roaring up beside someone peacefully sipping tea, a child's bicycle rolling past a charred corpse, shopping-mall jingles and bursting shells and siren screams all tangled together—utterly chaotic, and incredibly, wonderfully rich."
I was listening attentively when I flinched.
Hold on.
Sirens? And bombing?
Unbidden, the bizarre phenomena of The Railroad Station with a Blaring Siren resurfaced in my mind.
The unidentifiable crushing deaths that followed the siren's wail. The 'something in an old-style military uniform' demanding burn-treatment medication. The station building gutted by fire. The black shapes reeking thickly of scorched flesh and blood.
And a layout that matched Yongsan Station perfectly.
Was it just coincidence?
Or could it possibly be—
I went rigid with silent shock as the pieces clicked together in my head.
Then Na Bit, apparently misunderstanding, began to backpedal nervously.
"Ah—I'm rambling again, saying something weird, aren't I......"
"No, no, not at all. I was enjoying it."
I snapped back to myself and explained hastily, but Na Bit was already wilting.
What a handful this person is.
"I was just thinking how lucky I am. From prehistoric times until now, all kinds of things must have happened—and if I could see all of it, I doubt my brain could take it. So I think it's a blessing that humans can only see the present. Something like that."
At my hastily improvised excuse, Na Bit's face brightened again.
"Exactly. Maybe that's why they say forgetting is a godsend. No matter what we go through, humans forget quickly and go on living."
Na Bit said it cheerfully.
But I barely heard a word of it.
The only thing filling my skull was the connection between The Railroad Station with a Blaring Siren and the Yongsan Station that had been bombed seventy years ago.
"It's real......"
I muttered as I scrolled through the photos and footage that popped up in seconds.
Everything Na Bit had said that afternoon was true.
On July 16, 1950, Yongsan Station and the surrounding area had been hit by bombing.
It was the height of the war, granted—but for it to have happened in the very heart of Seoul was still surprising.
Even so, I didn't share Na Bit's breathless wonder at how buildings now stood where the bombs fell, cars streaming past. Only one thought had been circling my head since earlier.
The true nature of The Railroad Station with a Blaring Siren.
Was that place really Yongsan Station?
Then were the monsters lurking there the victims of the bombing?
No. That made no sense.
The bombing was some eighty years ago, but that railroad station had been a state-of-the-art building.
Not that that was the only thing that didn't add up.
I'd stumbled onto an unexpected clue, but on my own I still couldn't piece together an answer.
And yet, somehow, that was okay now.
The terror I'd felt at the Yongsan Station exit was still vivid in my bones. That vertiginous sensation made me remember it all over again—how desperately I'd fought my way out of The Railroad Station with a Blaring Siren.
So I decided to stop thinking about it.
I'd barely crawled free; obsessing over the place any longer felt like throwing that hard-won escape away.
Granted, I still wondered how Lee Sol was doing. And what had happened to the "bad men" she'd told me about—the ones who killed people and stuffed them into the coin lockers.
But even that would fade in time, surely.
Forgetting is a godsend, after all.
So I chose to treasure the everyday life I'd only just clawed back.
With that thought, I set down my phone.
Then I burrowed into my bed and tried to sleep.
I had only just drifted into a shallow doze when a frigid chill woke me.
Reaching up to pull the blanket higher, I found nothing to grab.
Worming my way up, I raised my body.
"Hm...?"
Where was I?
I had been asleep in my own room—I was sure of it.
But now I was alone, abandoned in a bare, empty hospital ward.
Was this a dream?
I hoped it was a dream.
But it was far too cold to be one.
Does God exist?
And even if He does—I didn't think He was on my side.