Haunted House Experience 4
The kid trailing behind me seemed a little tense, flinching repeatedly at every tiny animal noise, sneaking glances that way before whipping back around. Climbing this dark mountain path with just one flashlight only made the surroundings feel darker and more terrifying. It would be better to let our eyes adjust to the darkness instead. As the kid rolled their eyes this way and that, Hyeon-a, who was at the very back, held out a night-vision scope. It was one of those items I'd wondered why the hell we'd even packed.
"If you're too anxious, stop shining the flashlight everywhere and use this instead."
"Yes, thank you."
The constant flashlight beams sweeping in front of the camera had kept messing with the focus, alternating between sharp and blurry. A pricier camera might not have this issue, but dropping millions of won on one just for a YouTube video would be ridiculous overkill. We weren't a pro film crew, after all.
"It's coming in nice and clear now."
"Don't stare into it too much—watch your feet too. The mountain path's the most dangerous right under you."
"Got it."
Following her sister's advice without brushing it off, the kid looked down at the ground littered with rocks. It was a far better look than skittishly craning her neck all over the place. Better than tripping from nerves and twisting an ankle.
"You'd never make it wandering around alone at night, huh."
"...Yeah, probably not."
From this one mountain hike, she seemed to vaguely sense that haunted house explorations just weren't her thing physically. At least she'd earned her keep with that one meal from her sister—I felt relieved about that. I could already picture her passed out cold in the back seat on the drive home at night, blissfully oblivious to the world.
"We're here. This is it."
"Whoa, it's a miracle this thing hasn't collapsed yet."
The front gate of the house was wide open, welcoming us with an ominous vibe that screamed haunted house even at a casual glance. Not in a supernatural way, but more like it might cave in if we stepped inside wrong, guaranteeing serious injuries. A haunted house in the truest sense.
"This building's pretty old, so the mud walls aren't sturdy. Lean on them and they could crumble. Don't touch any wall carelessly."
It was too dark to see well, but shining our lights revealed black mold spreading in vivid patches along the walls we illuminated. Even brushing against them with our clothes felt risky. Who'd be dumb enough to push the walls with their hands anyway? A YouTube attention-seeker, maybe.
"It's way filthier than it looked in videos..."
"Obviously. We scout ahead first, then clean up spots a bit and stage shots. Gotta keep that visual distance for the video, so we scatter family photos we find on the floor or hang them awkwardly on the walls."
"Ah, gotcha."
That's why videos from this genre always get flooded with comments calling bullshit—fakes, staged crap. An abandoned house left untouched for years looking suspiciously clean, or signs someone tampered with stuff inside? Tens of thousands of viewers would spot that in a heartbeat.
"That said, going into a real place like this leaves nothing fun to see or do—it's boring as hell. You need space to explore, y'know? What's the point of poking around a single-room shack?"
"True. I've seen mostly big ones too."
Explaining it like I was schooling my junior who was into this stuff, I caught the kid's face fall slightly as she steadied her breathing, realizing the gritty reality of haunted house hunts. Anything looks flashy and exciting from afar, but the deeper you dig, the dirtier truths come out. Better a letdown than a serious injury, at least.
"What're we doing standing around dragging our feet at the door? Let's get in, do what we came for, and get out."
"Right."
Pushing past the chatting pair up front, I stepped into the courtyard—and froze. A distinctly artificial swish-swish sound came from inside the house. Tiger, coming in right behind me, flinched too. Hard to tell if it was someone sweeping the yard or sharpening a knife in the separate kitchen outside.
"Boss, you're not going in either, just stopping in the middle like..."
Hyeon-a, following me in, heard it too and halted. Lowering her camera at the chilling noise, she gripped the personal defense tool in her pocket tight.
"Someone's inside?"
"Hell if I know."
No normal person would be in an abandoned house in the mountains at night. And if that really was knife-sharpening? No hesitation—I'd grab the bear spray I'd half-jokingly tucked into my pants pocket, just in case. The kid behind us froze solid too. Only the hand-drum shaman kept moving.
"If everyone's hearing it, guess it's not a ghost, haha..."
"Wrong time for jokes."
"I'll check first."
Confident in her build and skills to fend off even a knife-wielding attacker at least once, the hand-drum shaman stepped forward slowly. She trusted the gear we brought and the kid at the rear, ready to call for help. It was a relief that cell signal reached even these remote mountains these days.
"Hoo..."
Tense as hell, she flung open the traditional kitchen door beside the house. The growing sound cut off sharp with a piercing screech. Flooding the brightly lit space with our powerful flashlight—which could turn night into day—revealed no people, not even animal traces. Just a single rusty knife, its blade nearly worn to nothing, stabbed into the cutting board. Hard to believe it had been making chopping noises moments ago.
"Nothing here? We got worked up for nothing."
"Must've been some weird bug crying nearby. Haha..."
Everyone's heard stories like that: hiking and hearing what sounds like a genderless human scream, only to learn it's a barking deer. Vets from mountain base camps, hikers, anglers—they've all experienced it at least once. I tried convincing myself that's what it was. Easier on the mind that way.
"Or maybe the wind. Mountain breezes blow down from above at night."
The hand-drum shaman chimed in, though her eyes lingered on the knife with a hint of doubt. Definitely no weird scene like this on our previous visit. Couldn't be my imagination—we'd edited the footage back home at a leisurely pace.
"Who the hell sticks a kitchen knife like this? Bad luck much."
I strode right in, yanked the knife out, and set it neatly aside. Stabbing stuff into objects isn't socially approved, so I acted before the kids' minds went there. The hand-drum shaman's expression was hardening too.
"Let's check the rooms already. Any longer in this mold stink and we'll get lung disease."
"Yeah."
At my urging, she shelved her worries for now and we left the empty kitchen for the main room.
"Nothing here. Whew..."
Tucking away the weapons we'd drawn for spraying, we stepped onto the wooden floorboards. No guarantee they'd hold with the walls covered in mold. Each step threatened to crunch and cave in, so we moved with wide strides, sliding open the door and entering tense. The room wouldn't be perfectly safe either, but better than the floors.
"Come over here and look right up. There."
He shone his flashlight at the wall up high. That drawing from the photos was scrawled there, glowing grotesquely. The others following froze at the sight, letting out sighs laced with various emotions.
"Damn... for graffiti in an abandoned house, this is some next-level trash quality. How do you even draw this without feeling like shit?"
While everyone looked uneasy at the off vibe, Hyeon-a spotted YouTube gold and pushed forward to film it closer. Even the hand-drum shaman, who'd been about to stop her "weird stuff makes money" frenzy, backed off slightly, overwhelmed, and just observed the drawing. No mistaking it—we'd printed photos of this.
"...Did the original drawing have the lower face too?"
"No. Look at this—definitely no face in the photo."
Comparing the photo she showed me, it wasn't the same drawing at all. More like someone who'd been jumping in place slowly sinking down. No traces of sorcery, so I'd shrugged it off before, but the hand-drum shaman's face wasn't just grim—it was twisting horribly.
"Feeling something?"
"...Dunno."
Anyone could tell she had suspicions, but she clamped her lips shut. The other two, engrossed in examining the drawing, missed our talk and busied themselves looking around it.
"Whoa, to draw something like this up that high? Gotta respect the effort, right?"
"Exactly. Coming all the way to a backwoods spot like this to graffiti."
"Shouldn't we film this too? Looks like a photo of the homeowner."
"Ooh, you know your video angles."
"I used to wanna be an idol."
The two chatted over the battered photo album the hand-drum shaman had brought for fun and set down, brainstorming better shots. These days, idol training wasn't just dance and vocals—they taught makeup, how to look good on camera, the works, raising all-rounders. This kid seemed more talented behind the lens than in front of it.