Dokkaebi Den 4
From the moment Seo-ah stepped into the entrance of House 4 on the dokkaebi site, the cheerful chatter drifting from inside made her dread going in. Conversations among women of her mother's age were all pretty much the same. Whether rich or poor, life was the same for everyone—they'd trot out talk of the national economy or politics just to open their mouths, only to pivot to who married whom or who was unbearably obnoxious. Even middle-aged moms did it, so the dialogue among even older grandmas was predictable without hearing it.
"I'm here."
"You're here? Set your bag down and sit right here."
She patted the chair next to her as if every second counted. Across from her sat an unfamiliar grandma dressed in quite refined attire. Dressed neatly in everyday hanbok, she exuded a nobility that rivaled anyone decked out in luxury brands. Looks comfy—maybe I should get one myself.
"Hello. I'm Seo-ah."
"First time seeing you. Nice to meet you."
The grandma smiled brightly, dipping her head slightly in return and responding politely with formal speech despite it being their first meeting. A woman of solid character.
"This is my daughter—her personality's as prickly as a wild rose."
"She's so well-behaved. I envy you... having a daughter like that."
Her words brimmed with genuine envy, laced with all sorts of thoughts about her own children. There was a reason the idiom "tiger father begets dog son" had endured as a four-character proverb.
"I've heard a lot about you through the grapevine. You run that detective agency and upload videos to YouTube?"
"Yes. We only post with the client's permission. Seems like people trust it more when they can see exactly how we handle cases."
"Must be super popular. Pretty as any actress on TV."
"Haha, thank you."
After soaking up the praise mixed with laments of why don't I have a daughter like that, Seo-ah sipped her tea. Only then did the woman reveal the purpose of her visit: the request was exactly what she'd suspected about the building.
"For anything involving a gut ritual, seeing a shaman is quickest. I'm pretty far removed from folk beliefs and religion..."
"Really? From the videos, you seemed way better at it than that shaman you dragged around."
"All thanks to editing magic. Rather than me handling the building, I'd recommend going to a shaman grandma I know—it'll be faster."
"Tsk... I don't have connections to shamans. Can't you take it on like a separate commission?"
"...If it's a commission, sure, I'll take it."
Since the woman was Mother's acquaintance, backing out further was awkward. Mother must have had her reasons for introducing her specifically to Seo-ah, knowing the details. After promising to handle it well, they dove back into chit-chat about Mother and Seo-ah's lives—from whether she was seeing anyone to her ideal type and what kind of guy she fancied. It felt suspiciously like a consultation on a marriage blind-date site, which set her on edge. She managed to escape by claiming no marriage plans yet and faking a lunch appointment after the meal, laughing it off awkwardly.
"Phew... Old ladies scare me more than ghosts."
Mother might grill her later, so to make the fake lunch seem real, she called the shaman grandma. Better safe than sorry if the grandma complained about not grabbing lunch together after so long—that'd be on me.
"Grandma, free for lunch today? Got something to ask."
"Got time, but every time you say you've got a question, my heart skips a beat, you rascal."
"Not a huge deal this time."
"What's up?"
"It's about a dokkaebi haunt. An acquaintance wants to rent in this building, but the previous tenant said dokkaebi live there. Wondering if offerings are needed or something."
"Could just ask over the phone—why lunch?"
"Gotta pay consultation fees. I'll come pick you up."
"Fine. Can't spare long, so pick somewhere close."
"Yes, Grandma. Texting you the details now."
A Korean restaurant near the grandma's shrine would be quickest—her go-to spot. Not too pricey, a set-meal place run by a North Korean lady whose parents fled south during the war. The food matched the grandma's taste, evoking her folks' home cooking. The owner had been a chef in a Pyongyang restaurant before defecting—her skills were unreal. Too old for competitions now, but if she went on a cooking show, she'd dominate.
They met there, polished off delicious set meals, and were rinsing their mouths with complimentary bellflower tea when...
"Trapping a dokkaebi in an object... Traditionally, women soak everyday items in blood and bury them. Brooms, mortars, that sort."
"Would that even work today? Vacuum cleaners or blenders seem more fitting."
"That's the folklore, you fool. Prick your finger sewing and blood everywhere—think that summons dozens of dokkaebi?"
According to grandma, the tales said so, but actual rituals to summon dokkaebi had mostly vanished since late Joseon and the Japanese occupation. As times advanced, dokkaebi legends steadily faded too.
"The one you saw was a female dokkaebi, right?"
"Yes."
"Day dokkaebi scarier than night ones, and females scarier still. Won't let anyone live in that building without appeasing it."
Seo-ah guessed the talismans warding off ghosts had left it friendless, so it pestered tenants more. No responses to its overtures, so it tormented until noticed. Dokkaebi didn't care if people died—the extent was unknowable.
"So, bottom line: need a woman's blood and a precious, oft-handled object that won't decay?"
"Right. Keep it close to people, not buried—better that way."
"What kind of object?"
"Beats me. Heh."
Grandma specialized in gut rituals; binding spirits to talismans or objects was basic knowledge. She'd once puzzled over those patterns, digging through references—now she smirked mysteriously, like figure it out yourself. Avoiding her gaze, pondering options, Seo-ah's eyes landed on the restaurant corner.
"Hmm..."
A bonsai, gifted for the opening, thrived under the owner's care. A conifer no longer than two chopsticks, its green needles gleamed eternally in the pot.
"Bonsai can live over a century with good care, right?"
"Living thing—could backfire big time. Be careful."
"It's fine. If trouble, the tiger trailing me will handle it."
"Tsk."
She nodded at the warning laced with concern—one day it'll bite you hard. Appreciated, but if this warranted caution, she'd have died dozens of times over.
"If it's too much, come back. I'll call an old acquaintance to sort it."
"Thanks."
She bolted to a bonsai shop, bought a small pine on company expense. Before reporting to Father, she called her hesitant sister: I'll handle the dokkaebi—rent it. Texted the money-games grandma too: simple rite in three days, come if interested. Got premium hemp cloth, and waited.
The day of.
"Why'd you come, Mom?"
"To see what you do with my own eyes. Why?"
"Just... why so many people behind?"
"Same reason as me. And you should've told your dad about his interest in this building upfront—instead of beating around the bush."
She'd only contacted the parties, yet here stood money-games grandma and tagging Mother, interested sister and her Father, a stern grandpa dragged for ghost stories sans prior pilgrimage, and shaman grandma's apprentice checking things out. An bewildering lineup.
"It's really nothing major..."
Felt like a zoo exhibit, but the dokkaebi might appreciate the crowd. More embarrassing than when her employee first shoved a camera in her face? Probably imagination.
"Starting now. Don't freak if you see anything weird."
She spread cloth long enough to line the pot, pricked her finger with a needle, and mixed blood into white traditional paint beside it. Her blood was precious, reserved for curses or major pacts. Wasteful for this trifling matter, but for family's sake. One drop turned the paint crimson; she dipped a brush lightly. The pattern on the yellow cloth was far more intricate and advanced than those under ancestral rites.