Confirmation, Part 4
I wasn't the type to get scared or find something creepy just by reading meaning into unusual situations. A necromancer who practiced necromancy wielded people's memories; shying away from that would be like a fisherman afraid of water.
Every piece of food was threaded with lingering strands of energy. If Grandmother's apprentice had been here, she would've had a field day watching this.
"The fruits are still fine, and the other food doesn't smell rotten, so someone must've come by recently."
"And she's not even the building owner. What a hassle."
The place was a bit remote from nearby villages, so keeping it maintained like this took real dedication. Pears were going for fifteen thousand won a pop these days, after all.
I approached the incense-soaked altar without hesitation, shoved aside the candle holder with its pools of melted wax, and flipped over the tray laden with food and offerings. A tremendous crash echoed through the building, nearly shaking it to pieces, and Hyeon-a flinched behind me.
"Ow, boss, at least give some warning before you wreck it."
"Better to wipe out weird vibes fast."
I waited for the vibrations humming through the building to fade and the dust flying everywhere to settle. Once the tray was overturned and the floor exposed, I shifted the camera focus there. Through the lingering haze, a faint red pattern gradually came into view.
"Looks pretty much like those sigils they draw to summon demons in the West."
"Yeah? Never been into Western stuff."
"You never watch foreign horror flicks? This is the exact kind of thing that shows up in them all the time."
I'd never paid attention to talisman shapes or ritual formats because I didn't buy into that stuff in the first place. Back in my school days, buried in studies, who had time for ancient languages no one even knew?
I had her shine the light better and peered closely at it myself.
"Tch, I've seen this somewhere before."
"Right?"
It wasn't from any horror movie she mentioned. Long ago, in some barbaric era, I'd met a necromancer shaman from wild tribes once and chatted with him. Instead of corpses or animal sacrifices, he'd drawn patterns like this to manifest memories into physical form. The materials and exact shapes didn't match, but it felt eerily similar. Coincidence?
"Something bothering you?"
"Saw something like it ages ago. Not drawn perfectly, but you can tell they tried to recreate it."
"Hmm... gonna have to edit this a bit. Wouldn't want anyone copying it."
"Good call. Blur my face too."
"Such a shame. Viewers are dying to see the face behind that sexy voice."
"Shut it."
If it'd been drawn properly, dispelling it would've been complicated. But this sloppy job?
"Boss, it's still a ghost-summoning thing. You sure it's okay to mess with it like that?"
"Of course. 'Cherish the precious, trample the ominous underfoot,' right? If it was something good, they'd do it in an empty building?"
I planted my foot on it and ground it mercilessly. The once-clear pattern and script smeared into chaos. A few memory-threads wriggled like worms, tickling my legs, but I ignored them. Each time one tried to cling, I ripped it free. They flailed like they were screaming before vanishing entirely.
"Ugh, gross."
"Gonna have to trash it all again next time we come back. Real creepy."
After flipping the tray, I kept filming in case some poltergeist nonsense kicked off—dark aura, evil spirits playing pranks—but nothing. If that stuff happened every time, no one would doubt ghosts.
While Hyeon-a wandered around filming, I grabbed the pen I'd brought and scribbled a half-playful, half-malicious ward on a scrap of paper nearby, then tossed it under the tray.
"Too bad. If I'd filmed you exorcising it, we'd get tens of thousands of views."
"They wouldn't have allowed it. Let's go. Nothing more here."
"Yes, boss. Got some great footage of you laying down the law. Hehe."
"Yeah, yeah."
Sticking around the ruin would just mean breathing more dust, and nothing else seemed worth seeing. We headed out to the car, brushed off our clothes, and I gulped in the crisp mountain air.
I just wanted to get home, pet our cute dog a ton, and laze around.
"Boss, since we're out here, there's a famous dakgalbi place nearby. Wanna go?"
"Lunchtime already? Punch in the address."
"On it."
If Hyeon-a scouted a spot, skipping it would be a loss.
—
The job wrapped up without any major surprises. The evil spirits haunting him were gone, and the shaman confirmed no chance of them returning, so he paid the full rushed fee with huge relief. Messing with grudges and performing rites always risked the shaman's life too, so everyone unwound.
Then the question arose: Who was the person who'd banished that evil spirit with a mere tree branch?
Athletes have their peak eras; shamans get their biggest "divine boost" right after first possession, then it fades. A young woman could've pulled it off, but this was extraordinary—so rumors spread in the circles.
A mighty shaman appeared, banishing evil spirits with a flick of the hand, no ritual needed.
"Thanks to you, even those punks I haven't heard from in years are calling, asking if I raised an apprentice."
"How'd they know to even call you, Grandmother?"
"Not many in this country can raise someone with that kind of divine power. They're just fishing."
"That association?"
"Young woman, they think? Perfect—time to snag her pretty face for their image."
"They do that? Stick to shaman work."
"Nothing to say. Their biggest task is PR."
The shaman association was mostly run by semi-retired folks, not true spirit-possessed shamans. You don't bash all churches or pastors because of fake cults posing as one. But one greedy fake shaman hits the news, and the whole group gets trashed for peddling nonexistent ghosts. Never mind that gods above or vermin below are equally invisible delusions.
"If it comes up, tell 'em I'm not interested. Not a shaman anyway."
"Mm... they'd have loved you."
She eyed my body and face up and down, clucking her tongue at my TV aversion. We'd asked her to avoid the shaman house for now, so we sat in a locals-only coffee shop, sipping after-dinner drinks. Supposedly just for villagers, yet why were so many sweet guys stealing glances at my face while I dug into patbingsu?
"Why'd you come? If that shaman thing's done, it's done."
"Got a question, so I came. Faster if you see what I shot yourself."
"Hm?"
I slid my smartphone with the site photos next to her ssanghwatang. Fearless, ghost-proof girl showing up in person with a mystery? First time—piqued her interest. She took the phone, flipped through the shots, her wrinkles deepening.
Familiar yet alien to her. Not kid stuff—this was a proper altar, maintained steadily, and the photos captured real impurities.
"They meant to gather every ghost around here. If something that devours them all showed up, it'd be a disaster."
"Ghosts that eat ghosts?"
"Yup. Ones that eat kin to avoid the lion's jaws, then puke 'em up to escape alone. Cannibalism, basically."
"Just like people."
"That's what turns people into those ghosts. Sometimes they even show to skeptics."
"So this sigil—is it shaman stuff?"
"Mm... gotta dig through my notes at home."
She pushed up her reading glasses, pondering. Folk deities vary by village, person, era—hard to pinpoint on the spot. She'd need her research papers, but it wasn't that alien; should be findable.
"Send these my way. I'll look slow and steady. ...Seen it anywhere else?"
"Yeah. In Japan last time."
"Japan?"
Grandmother frowned at the curveball. Domestic folk faith was tough enough; neighboring country stretched it.
"I'll check Japan myself, so don't worry."
"Alright then."
I forwarded them to her phone; her eyes sparkled as she stood, like a professor with fresh research fodder. Still spry, eyes alight—proof she was healthy, chasing curiosity on the move.
"Gonna head out. Old folks need early bed."
"Sure. I'll finish this."
"Okay."
I bit into the fresh-off-the-grill butter toast, still warm. Sweet-salty-nutty perfection—a cafe worth Grandmother's regular visits.