The Saint's Severed Arm
In a country like Korea, whose history isn't all that long, finding a holy relic capable of driving out demons isn't easy. No chalices that caught holy blood, no cups, no spears that pierced someone—obviously. Nor are there Bibles forged over centuries of history. If you had to dig, maybe the items brought during the earliest missionary work, but those all burned up in the Joseon era. Or they could have been lost during the Korean War. Excluding those, the only option left was a body part exhumed from the grave of one of the old saints.
Actually, bones from someone had even gone up for auction in Korea before, so it wasn't entirely unheard of. And that's exactly what I was after.
"Hmm... here it is. No plans to display it anytime soon, given what it is. The museum's not running a 'mysteries of the human body' exhibit."
"What kind of thing is it?"
"The right arm of some religious figure executed at the end of the Joseon period. Word is, someone picked it up after it was casually dumped on a wild mountain."
"How'd it end up here? Usually, they bury them in sunny spots—happy endings and all."
"Religiously speaking, dividing up a saint's body is tradition, apparently? Don't ask me, I don't know."
For whatever reason, it wasn't museum display material, and there was no way to verify if it really belonged to that person, so they'd just stuck it somewhere in the underground storage. It had trickled in from somewhere when the group was raking in cash and buying up all sorts of artifacts willy-nilly.
"You sure it's really his? They didn't just grab some random corpse and scam everyone?"
"Who knows. But Mom hasn't tossed it after all these years, so probably legit?"
"If your mom says so, I trust it."
"Oh, come on. You saying I lie all the time?"
We chuckled as we descended the stairs into the cool underground, where the temperature stayed nice and steady. I'd chosen the stairs on purpose, of course—a ploy to let her ogle the bounce in my chest. Knowing that, I'd worn a bra that kept things firmly in check.
"No filming in the storage, please. Lots of secrets down there."
"Got it. Just the stairs on the way down."
"We never let outsiders in here normally. You're only getting in because you're a friend."
Chaebol museums and galleries are more often cited as money-laundering spots than places open to the public. That's why famous world artworks pop up out of nowhere in Korea all the time.
"Heh heh..."
The moment the camera behind us stopped rolling, my friend started groping me outright. She only stopped kneading my chest after I smacked her forehead. Never coming back here.
Her name tag triggered it, and the heavy door creaked open agonizingly slowly. We passed through layers of steel doors installed for fire or theft prevention, and finally, the musty scent unique to museums wafted over us.
"They run a ton of art galleries usually—why a history museum?"
"No idea, didn't ask. Probably didn't want the government seizing it later when it's inherited."
"Freer than art pieces?"
"Our capable staff would know better than me."
She called over one of the workers who'd been busy cataloging and ordered them to fetch the item on the paper. Even the mid-level veteran scratched his head at the info sheet for a good while. Watching him head to the storage unit for that number, it was clear no one had touched it in years, minimum.
"...This seems to be it."
"Need to lend it to my friend here for a bit—write up the checkout forms and bring them."
"Yes, Director."
"Damage or loss means heavy penalties. Keeps things clean later."
Her eyes gleamed slyly; she was probably imagining making the borrower pay with their body if it went missing. Fat chance.
The worker brought out a perfectly mummified, shriveled hand. A ring was still on one finger—likely left on to avoid damage, and it didn't seem like prime historical evidence anyway.
"Well preserved."
"Of course. You know who owns this museum."
I didn't want it crumbling to dust on contact, so I prodded it lightly with a finger. The nearby staff eyed me like they had opinions, but with the director right there, none dared speak up. Seemed sturdy enough not to shatter easily.
"So, what're you planning to do with this creepy thing?"
"Something you'd laugh your ass off at, so I'm not telling."
"I've heard rumors you're doing shaman stuff everywhere—already laughed it up. Figured you'd gone big, but it's just a little detective agency. Word's out."
"I'm that popular? Thought I had hardly any friends."
"Super popular. Especially with the guys."
I shot her a horrified look, and she cackled, right on cue as expected.
"The prayer folks doing exorcisms say they lack holy relics. Asked me to snag one."
"Exorcism? ...Pfft!"
"Just laugh already, you bitch."
"Demons, huh. Heard plenty of that studying abroad."
She said it with zero interest, and it fell flat. I slipped the hand into a small box and snapped the lid shut. Too eye-catching to carry openly.
"Don't just call when you need something—chat sometimes, you weirdo."
"You know everything without me calling. I'll ring when I return it."
"Whatever. Let's grab a meal sometime. This is Korean-style promise—don't ghost."
"No booze, though."
She'd used alcohol as an excuse to grope me more than once or twice; I nipped it in the bud. As if a lightweight like her was plotting at drinks anyway. I waved back at her goodbye and hopped in the car.
"Phew..."
"She seems so classy and nice—why the hate?"
"You don't know what's inside people like that. Even ghosts would swerve."
"Really?"
"Can't judge the rich by normal standards."
I stashed the item carefully under the passenger seat and headed home instead of the hospital. Showing it to the demon there might trigger accidents to destroy it—instant car crash, or a gas explosion leveling the owner's building. Even atheists reported it happening. What could I do? Just keep it safe until the next full moon in a fortnight.
"They probably didn't expect me to snag a relic this fast."
"Boss, is this really holy? Looks like just a mummy no matter how I shoot it."
"That's what we find out now."
While Hyeon-a filmed the mummy hand obsessively, I skimmed the papers on its acquisition history. The owner was a priest who'd martyred young—no direct descendants. Joseon-era guilt by association meant his family got executed too.
"Another priest who witnessed it buried the bodies on a nearby mountain—not relatives..."
Then, around the fall of Joseon and Japanese colonial days, they dug it up, stored it in a Seoul cathedral, and divided it as a relic. All based on one heir's testimony among those who split it—no cross-verification. If it turned out to be random bones, I'd be the embarrassed one.
"How do we check if it's holy?"
"Hmm. Holy relics are items heavily blessed by devout priests, right? If not, we make it one."
"Possible? Gotta track down the Pope?"
"No need. We've got plenty of devout folks here who could bless it."
"Who?"
I pointed at myself, naturally. Who better than me, expert in this sorcery? No way I'd leave it to folks skeptical of ghosts. Hyeon-a eyed my confident face, shrugged inwardly—she'll handle it—and looked away.
"Not showing this to just anyone. Wanna come?"
"If I can film it."
"You can."
She nodded eagerly—anything for YouTube upload. Horror flicks sending folks to haunted houses for vids did seem plausible these days.
—A holy relic is an item blessed by the faithful to repel evil or demons. Or belongings or body parts from saints who lived blessed lives. But can they really banish demons? Worth pondering. Ultimately, it needs greater faith and stature than the demon—which decides that? Public fame? It's all arbitrary setup battles.
With that in mind, my "relic" wouldn't extract the demon from the body—it'd trap the demon inside the item.
"How'd you find a place like this?"
"Impressive, right? Money talks."
If God dwells in cathedrals, churches, or shrines, where else for demons but an abandoned church basement? Perfect clickbait for YouTube viewers too.