The Goblin Haunt 1
There was an old saying about goblin haunts. They said that if you entered one and met certain conditions, it would shower you with money and riches—but the moment your wealth exceeded a certain threshold, the goblins would swoop in and take it all back in one go. They'd watch humanity's rise and fall, cackling as you hit rock bottom. The trick was to buy up the land, manage it carefully so the riches never piled too high, then get out. That way, you could secure enough for three generations to live comfortably.
Unlike other ghost stories or folktales dripping with moral lessons about karma, the hundreds of goblin tales across the country lacked any such thing. The goblins' pranks were all there was: wrestle one all night, and it turns out to be a broom, or a grinding wheel, or a massive boulder. In other words, goblins helping humans or tormenting them to death was just a passing joke to them.
In front of a house in Cheongdam-dong, a man dressed sharply in a suit stood holding a bundle of documents. He pressed the doorbell. After two or three rings, with no answer, the door creaked open wide.
The man, a touch tense, stepped past the threshold, slipped off his shoes neatly, and entered.
"Hello, sir."
"Oh, Kim, you've come."
The old man didn't look up from his newspaper, just beckoned him forward with a hand. Spotting the grandmother peeking out from the kitchen, the man bowed to her as well.
"Who's that?"
"Ah, Kim from the real estate agency. I told you before, the one helping me buy that building."
"Oh, right... Coffee?"
"Just two cups."
Their conversation, brimming with love even in twilight years, made the man even more tense. He practically knelt as he sat. This old man might look retired now, but he'd once ruled the underworld with money alone—connected enough to foresee the Gold Non-Reporting Act and jump to the light side before everyone else died trying. A man who'd beaten his own kids out of the business, then casually multiplied his fortune enough to buy a whole building. You didn't trifle with someone like that. Especially not with the burly guards outside.
"The contract with the previous owner of that building you saw is all squared away. If you look here..."
He spread out the documents, explaining the loans taken out on which parts, who the current tenants were. The old man seemed to listen with half an ear. Truth be told, at his age, he probably wasn't sweating the petty rental income details anymore.
Finishing his pitch, the man sipped his coffee, hesitating on whether to say the rest.
"What? Something off about this building in your eyes, Kim?"
"No, sir. Prime location, heavy foot traffic—nothing wrong with it."
"Then why the funeral face?"
"...It's what the previous owner told me. The land it's on has a notorious rep as a goblin haunt from way back. He insisted I pass this on to the new owner."
"A goblin haunt? The kind that makes you rich?"
"Yes. But apparently, this goblin's a nasty piece of work."
"I'm not living there myself. What's the big deal? Heh."
He didn't put much stock in ghosts or superstitions, but bad luck? Avoid it if you could. No reason to seek out a creepy spot just to test his fortune or qi. Back in the military dictatorship days, he'd marched right up to Namsan Mountain without a hitch—but he never touched cursed ground. The old man knew his folklore inside out.
"Just... keep in mind the tenants might not stick around long. They turn over fast."
"The coffee shop on the first floor's been solid for over five years, hasn't it?"
"No idea why, but even they cycle through staff constantly."
"So income's unstable from tenant churn. But I'm not in it for the rent anyway..."
Gangnam land was unbeatable until the IMF crashed again or war, earthquakes toppled the country. Leave it empty, sell in a few years, pocket billions in profit. No need to fuss over tenants. And no loans to worry about.
"I'll send it to the registry office as is, then."
"Yeah. If it gets too weird, we'll call in a shaman for a gut ritual."
"Yes, sir. I'll handle it right away."
He gathered the building photos and official docs from the desk where he'd laid them out for easy viewing, tucking them neatly back into the folder. Superstition or not, frequent short-term tenants weren't great for resale value—he'd been a bit worried. But the old man had left it entirely in his hands.
Once the man left, the wife came in from the kitchen with a cup of cool green tea suited to the season. Her body was too old for coffee now; it kept her up at night. She'd sworn off booze and caffeine ages ago.
"You bought a goblin haunt?"
"Yeah. These days, my big excitement's playing baduk at the shrine. Guess I'm not fated for a quiet life."
"Doesn't mean you go buying cursed spots. How're you gonna resell it?"
"Perfect timing to kill some boredom. If trouble hits, sell at a loss and be done."
Bad rumors or not, it was Gangnam land. Price it a bit under market, and buyers would swarm. Still, she looked uneasy. As people aged, they got obsessed with death, picked up religions, delved into superstitions. Seemed unavoidable.
"Fine. We'll call a good shaman, then?"
"Who? Someone accurate would be nice."
"Why? Know one?"
"There's this girl everyone's buzzing about lately. Remember I always said she seemed like prime daughter-in-law material?"
It was gossip from her knitting circle, so the old man just nodded, clueless. He'd never lost by listening to his wife—and this was just to ease her mind.
"Handle it however. I'm off to the shrine."
"Not running for baduk association president or anything—why the rush?"
"Hmph...!"
"Hm?"
He ran a hand through his newly sprouting dark hair, face lit with confidence. Same look from back when democratization fever had everyone playing politician.
"Gotta snag a title before I can't walk anymore. Can't just sit without the 'master' honorific, right?"
"Your grandkids call you 'master' plenty."
"Ah, whatever. I'm busy."
No need to meddle in his late-life hobby, so she just reminded him not to drink too much. He wasn't running for local office—no media sniffing around the house.
"I'll take care of the building."
"Yeah."
No sooner had he spoken than she whipped out her phone, firing off a text. Honestly, she seemed more thrilled about getting out and seeing people than any shaman nonsense.
"Yeah, sis? Can you talk now?"
He watched her back as she headed to the bedroom phone in hand, then returned to his paper.
She'd just wrapped her monthly department store outing and was caught in a whirlwind of events—externally busy days. Before full summer hit, invites piled up for fashion previews and product reaction checks. It was also settlement season; shareholder meetings beckoned from various firms. She usually sent proxies, but family companies—especially Father's—demanded her presence.
"Hello!"
These "shareholder meetings"—really announcement parties—reeked of entertainment company flair from the entrance. Promising trainees milled about subtly; past the signature lobby scent, elevators spat you out to a line of idols bowing in welcome. Rare at standard AGMs, but this was a special insiders-only gathering. Some director or exec raising a group eyed independence, tasking underlings with the pitch: I've got the chops to build stars—invest? Father didn't block it. Good to let his influence spawn independents.
"Long time. Doing well? Ha ha."
"Oh, Assemblyman Kim—rare visit!"
Faces you rarely saw smiled through handshakes. She bypassed the middle-aged mingle-fest, eyeing Father greeting guests from afar. With over half the company in his pocket, he had leisure to play host.
"Seems like more people than last year."
"Blame the hair loss drug from the pharma affiliate upstairs. Sold out every batch—total chaos."
"Oh my, unnie! Long time no see."
A voice from her age group sidled up. Turning, she saw a familiar face: the agency's former billboard idol from middle and high school days, now semi-retired, popping up on variety shows occasionally. Word was she'd vowed to start her own label. Rare for her at these shareholder shindigs—last time was back in the wild days, blushing over "not entertaining that investor properly."