Haunted House Experience 5
Unfortunately, I couldn't sense a thing. Seeing Park the shaman right there with us, or the tiger—who rarely stood up and was now peering around outside the yard—it really felt like something was there. Even ordinary people should feel a chill in a place like this, but neither I nor the two discussing the footage showed any sign of it. To us, it was just some mildly unpleasant graffiti, so it was only natural.
"You see that red zigzag line drawn across the lower part of the face?"
"Yeah. It's usually on dolls like that. Feels like a curse ritual."
"It's meant to seal the mouth so they can't speak and blind the eyes, directing it solely at the target. They usually pierce the flesh with red thread and sew it up."
"Really?"
"It's mostly done on dolls now, like the boss lady said, but back in the day, they did it to actual people a lot. Especially to young children."
It was such a taboo act for an ordinary shaman that he seemed to only know about it from hearsay. In their world, any curse would inevitably bounce back to the caster, so they never even joked about it.
"But is that kind of curse common enough to show up in a rural spot like this? From what I know, it's usually rich families or old royalty who used deadly curses for big gains."
"Exactly why it's so weird. Especially in a backwater like this."
He muttered to himself about how strange it was no matter how he looked at it, then finally pulled a can of black spray paint from his bag. The most effective solution would be to just tear down the wall with that creepy drawing, but since they couldn't do that right away, he opted for the next best thing: covering it up. He sprayed solvent that could dissolve any pigment, then slathered on thick layers of black lacquer. The two filmed his slightly manic process impassively before fleeing outside from the nose-stinging fumes.
"Why go that far?"
"Something ominous about it, can't bring himself to touch it. Probably caught a whiff of horror from a shaman's intuition."
"Hmm... was it that bad?"
I brushed off the ordinary guy's carefree remark—he couldn't sense anything—and he succeeded in erasing the traces. It was summer, so even swinging his arms made sweat bead on his forehead; he wiped it roughly with his sleeve. This should at least block the dream's progression for now.
"Hm..."
Finally, he firmly affixed the strongest talisman he could draw right there.
"How's that? Should be decent enough now, right?"
"Solid."
"A-and the mountain lord next to you... what does he think?"
He'd come to me specifically, but really wanted the white tiger's opinion. No reason not to answer, so I glanced at the guy still in the yard. He hadn't entered the room, hackles raised. The mountain lord's serious face said it all—he looked like he wanted to grab my scruff and drag me far away right then.
"Same as before. Still on guard, so not much change."
"This is bad. No other way?"
"Buy the place and bulldoze it if you've got the cash?"
"That's a bit..."
Buying the land and house here would be tricky, but greasing the local county office to fast-track demolition under "eyesore abatement" wasn't a bad idea. It'd take connections and quick processing skills, not just money.
"Let's check the other spots. You never know."
Hyeon-a, who'd been outside, called us, figuring one drawing in the room wouldn't make for good footage. Better than standing around doing nothing, so I left the shaman pondering and headed out. The fresh mountainside night air washed the chemical stench from my nose and mouth.
"That next building a shed?"
"I'll check."
He gripped the frame of the rickety wooden door, far more dilapidated than the house, and eased it open carefully. Impatient, the kid reached to just yank it, but flinched back at the crumbling pasuk-pasuk sound.
"Even so, don't break what's still intact."
"Sorry."
Inside the shed were old farm tools and a few shaman implements, but nothing markedly different from other houses. Hyeon-a filmed with a bored expression, but the white tiger finally entered, sniffing around the floor. The thin cement plaster typical of old sheds meant no digging, so he just memorized the spots roughly.
"Nothing special. Thought you'd find something cool."
"It's a ruin—not like corpses or bones pop out. We'll probably come back anyway, so film it to check for changes later."
"Coming back here? Boss's hunch?"
"Just... probably."
Wiping that powerless drawing wouldn't change anything immediately, especially one without any real energy. Might even stir it up. Taking my gut feeling as a sure thing, she nodded. Dawn was approaching fast; the underage kid yawned hugely.
"Let's just peek at that little earthen mound for the jar stand out back. That thing creeped me out so much I skipped it."
"Do it."
Now outside, he'd pulled himself together, back to his smiling face. Whether curiosity or reluctance to end the adventure early, no one objected—we just slowly moved that way.
"How'd you know about the mound if you didn't check?"
"Did my homework. Folks from a nearby village with roots here told me. Stayed overnight at the village hall and got all the stories."
"Ask about the village shaman?"
"Moved here sometime after the war and settled. Did rituals for village festivals and doubled as a herbalist healing folks."
"Must've been respected."
"Can't say without meeting them."
The spot from his memory was near a steep hillside, a small dugout for jars. Hard to imagine a lone shaman digging that solo—probably the whole village helped, or so you'd suspect.
"Those jar lids look a pain to open."
"Don't pry and pass out from toxic gas. Ambulance with oxygen would take over an hour to get here."
"Yes, sir..."
Not wanting to risk breakage, we didn't enter, just shone a bright flashlight. The huge spotlight-like beam lit the cave brilliantly, but it drew every bug navigating by moonlight. Small lights only got occasional face-bumps; this was a swarm.
"Looks empty—turn it off quick. Bugs everywhere."
"Yes."
About seven jars, lids buried under snow-like dust. No urge to check. The shaman felt the same—unsettling vibe, but no compulsion to touch.
"Nothing to take home today."
"Heard ghosts are hard to spot anyway. Summer makes it worse."
"As long as the dreams stay peaceful..."
Summer, with its strong sun and heat, brimmed with yang energy, making ghosts rare. If one appeared, it was a tough one. At the winter solstice, when gates opened, they ate red bean porridge; at summer solstice, as yin filled again, some believed strong spirits stirred—but that was rare lore.
"Heading back tonight, right?"
"Yeah. Gotta deliver our minor back to her parents properly."
"I'll crash at the nearby village hall since I'm here. You know the way back."
And so the fruitless haunted house tour ended. Fruitless for our agency's business, anyway—plenty for unnie's request.
"Ugh, dragging my body to places like this isn't for me. Thought I was fit."
"Just tension. Even athletes half-ass it under pressure—us normies even more."
Idols trained mind control to stand unflinching before thousands, but this tension was different.
"You look wiped—close your eyes for a bit."
"Thanks."
Not proper to sleep in back while driving, but she looked drained; I got it. Not shotgun anyway.
-
No matter how hard I sniffed, no smells registered. Suspecting something, I slapped my cheek hard—no pain. Startled by the lucid dream, I looked around.
"Fuck..."
A high wall enclosed a front yard. Only the missing gate linking yard to street screamed unnatural.
Thud—thud—thud...
That nightly footstep from afar drew closer. Lucid dream or not, no urge to resist—I crawled under the wall like always. Flying in lucid dreams? Bullshit. All you could do was hunker powerlessly.
Thud... thud... thud!
Hiding, breathless, it always stopped right at this wall—like it knew. Thud! Thud! Thud!
"Hoo... hoo...!"
Each icy chill shot up my spine; I curled tighter, hunching deeper. Before, it bounced searching; now, something bigger loomed down.
"Ah... ah... ah... ah...!"
A voice like scraping metal right above. Praying to wake, I squeezed my eyes shut—but hope died fast.
"Gaaahhh!"