Confirmation 3
Opinions on how evil spirits are created varied from shaman to shaman, and from religion to religion. Some said they were demons or devils that had always existed, others that they were spirits following them, or that certain lands were so potent they trapped souls instead of letting them ascend. In folk beliefs, ghosts were usually illusions born from grudges or seething injustices. They appeared to those who believed, but meant nothing to skeptics—mere phantoms. That's where talk of "strong energy" or "weak energy" came in.
"I told you not to come anymore, and here you slink back anyway!"
"Ah, Grandmother, why?"
"If you're coming in, at least leave that tiger of yours outside! You're scaring the kids!"
"Pfft, what god fears a mere tiger? You said it's just an errand boy."
"Even errand boys have ranks, you fool. You think anyone can just ride around on a tiger?"
"What can I do? The damn thing won't listen no matter how much I scold it."
As we bickered away, the tiger ignored us completely, curling up and lying down right in front of the entrance.
Not all of the hundreds of thousands of shamans across the country served the same gods, and they were ranked by caliber. High-level ones like Grandmother could hold their ground, but those with lesser spirits fidgeted helplessly. It was like having a massive bulk blocking a narrow doorway barely wide enough for one person. But Grandmother knew well that I hadn't dragged it here on purpose, so she just let out a deep sigh.
"Sigh... What karma did I earn in my old age to deal with this chaos..."
Unable to bring it into the shrine where gods were housed, we settled for the porch and accepted the coffee brought by the lady managing the place. Gods got angry if outsiders entered their domain, so this was the limit.
"So, why'd you come?"
"Got something to ask."
"What?"
"I ran into an evil spirit recently and slashed it with my sword. It was called an evil spirit, but I couldn't see it with my own eyes, so I'm not sure."
"An evil spirit, huh..."
She moistened her throat with coffee and nodded for me to go on.
"It came out of the body and vanished, but if I go back to the original possession site, will it still be there? Or does it just disappear for good?"
"Depends on how strong it was. If it used all its power, it vanishes completely. Otherwise, it retreats to its lair to regroup."
In the old days, they'd dissipate after one banishment, but with modern media, they lingered as "haunted houses" or "cursed ruins," drawing steady attention from thrill-seekers and regaining strength. Even if one person didn't believe, if ten did, it became real.
"So, no matter what, it'll pop up again eventually."
"Best way to get rid of a place-bound spirit? Bulldoze the whole building. Sure, a new one might spawn if you rebuild, but it'll be tamer than an evil spirit."
"Either way, they keep cropping up."
"That's why I can still make a living in Seoul, heh."
As long as the mental afflictions haunting people's hearts didn't vanish, folk faiths and religions would endure forever. I left with that thought. Guess my detective agency would chug along steadily too, until interest waned and we shut down. Feeling oddly satisfied, I got in the car—only for a text to ping from the manager uncle, who'd been hunting down leads.
"Boss, you back?"
"Yeah. Punch this address into the nav."
"Gyeonggi General Hospital? It's gone now; not showing up."
"Pick anywhere nearby. We'll look for a big, rundown building."
"But seriously, why go there? You'll choke on dust and die of lung disease before any ghosts get you."
Apparently, it was a notorious haunted spot, drawing ghost hunters now and then. What made it famous was a corner room in the funeral hall where someone had set up an altar with ancient Chinese characters scrawled in red beside it. Hyeon-a, no believer in ghosts, saw it as prime YouTube bait and inputted the nav without a second thought. Perfect one-off content amid her what-to-upload-next dilemma. When she heard we'd gone to a haunted house, gotten possessed, and were now resolving it, she whipped out her camera and bolted over.
"Any collab offers yet?"
"They're tapering off. One-season wonders. Even the boring ones are drying up. Lately, I'm getting tons of 'find my person' emails. Lots about tracking killers who murdered their kids."
"Find the killer?"
"You know, those cold cases from way back. Statutes of limitations expired, killers probably dead by now."
"Hmm... Not really interested. YouTubers and shows have covered that stuff plenty."
"It's different from vaguely posting montages and speculating 'this is what they look like 20 years later.' Actually tracking and confirming is another level."
"They pay big?"
"Dunno."
Missing persons cases were the worst—no closure on life or death, so they haunted thoughts forever. Every slave labor scandal or wandering disabled person story sparked "what if" fears for their own. Even unrelated John Doe bodies stuck in their minds. Normal life? Doubtful. There was a limit to what money could fix, no matter how good I was at finding it.
"Sometimes real serious requests slip in too. Like, 'I'm so-and-so; investigate this case that's bugging me.'"
"What's that about?"
"Crypto rich folks are booming lately. Guess they wanna scratch old itches with their cash."
"Weirdos..."
Musing on the oddballs out there, I pulled up to the parking lot of the abandoned corporate hospital on Gyeonggi's outskirts. Trespassing without permission was still a crime, but the owner—a now-defunct nonprofit—had splintered into 12/2 ownership shares across entities. No mega-capital snapping it up meant no clear owner. Hence, smashed windows, wide-open entrances, and all sorts welcoming weirdos.
"Ugh, this place looks like hell to enter. Dodged a bullet not wearing white."
Not scared, just grossed out, she grimaced and raised her camera. My back flickered briefly as I led the way—no face, so no big deal.
We followed the half-peeled sign straight to the basement altar.
"I checked related videos; there's an altar down here, signs of upkeep till recently."
"Yeah, heard the kid scarfed some rice cake off the offering table and got sick."
"Whoa, he ate that? Bold. Food poisoning city."
"Kids these days."
"...Boss too, kinda."
Unable to retort to "kids these days" from someone young enough to drop out of college without dooming his life, she unusually shut up. He called her boss constantly, but their age gap was maybe a year or two. Hard to get used to him talking and acting like an old fogey. I'd even suspected elite heir training aged his soul prematurely.
"What about me?"
"Nothing, forget it."
"You're no fun."
The building's annex seemed repurposed entirely for this, dim even with windows—pitch black midday. Natural light wouldn't cut it; I strapped a brutally bright flashlight to the camera and flipped it on. Nothing like cheap horror flick junk. So intense it cast my shadow ahead, obscuring my path.
"Did you hotwire a car for high beams or what? Blinding!"
"Gotta enjoy the drone era. I don't skimp on prep."
"Stick a bat sticker on that, and Batman pops out."
Should've been shadowy and creepy, but it was high noon inside. Dodging debris, we crept inward. Tons of visitors hadn't just strolled—watch for cave-ins or collapses. No thanks to live burial.
"Boss, this the spot."
"Yeah, someone burned incense recently. Smells potent."
"Eww, finally something spooky. A building no one should visit, secretly maintained."
Inside, dust-caked food sat pristine on the altar. Some bold soul had knocked stuff over, another nibbled cake—yet it looked untouched. That's what unnerved normal folks: the impossible.
"Hmm..."
"See something?"
"I'm no shaman."
The tiger trailing us scanned around, gave a low grrrumble, and made a bored face—like these pests weren't worth it. From its habits, it mostly slept, rousing only for meals. Probably ghosts.