The Head Above the Ritual

Click, click.

They were waiting in the car. In the meantime, Yoon-sang had been readying his filming equipment in the back seat—a setup that, even to an untrained eye, had to be worth several million won.

"How much was that one?"

"I bought it secondhand, so it was cheap! I'd say I paid around three million won for it!"

Absurdly expensive. Still, he could see just how serious Yoon-sang was about his broadcasts, so he let it go without a word.

"Whew—!"

"Hyung-nim, get some sleep if you're tired. You said we'd be moving at night anyway."

It was a fair point. But sleep wouldn't come easily.

It had been like this a few times before—always when something needed doing, and each time it had felt as though someone were breathing strength into him, easing the weight of his fatigue. Just like now.

"I'm fine. You get some sleep."

"There's an order to everything, even drinking cold water—how could I possibly go first?"

Yoon-sang had said it carefully, watching Hyeong-seok's face—and right then, a clunk. Hyeong-seok adjusted his posture in the driver's seat and cupped both hands over his ears, signaling Yoon-sang to hush before he could get another word out.

It was the hour when the sun was about to touch the western ridgeline. The wind blowing in was lukewarm, and even parked in the shade, the muggy air needled at the skin. The boundary between day and night—the first edge of evening. And in just such an hour, a sound that was rarely heard came through, unmistakable.

Bang. While Yoon-sang fiddled with the camera, wondering what on earth was going on, Hyeong-seok swung open the driver's door.

At once the faint sound sharpened, teasing at his ears.

"A gut."

"Huh?"

"Come take a look. There's a gut going on somewhere out there—bring the camera too."

That cannon of a camera would serve as well as any telescope. Hyeong-seok motioned for Yoon-sang to hurry, and together they struck out toward the sound.

"It really is a gut."

Yoon-sang murmured it at his back; Hyeong-seok answered with silence.

A gut called for traditional instruments, and those instruments whipped the air into a fervor, drawing in the living and the dead alike.

A Cheondo-gut.

Every kind of gut differed—the scripture chanted, the arrangement of the offerings, the props, the music. The distance made the details hard to pick out, but he could tell well enough that this was a rite for consoling the dead and seeing them safely on their way. Out here, far from any house—and of all things, a Cheondo-gut.

"H-Hyung-nim, please, a little slower—!"

"Give me the camera!"

Hyeong-seok took the big camera from him. Yoon-sang, ignorant of his intent, simply looked gratifyingly pleased with himself.

At last the ritual site drifted into view, and Hyeong-seok stopped and turned to Yoon-sang.

"You go and ask."

"Huh?"

"There are onlookers over there, aren't there? Ask them whose soul this gut is meant to guide onward."

Yoon-sang just stood blinking, not moving an inch. His face said, loud and clear, that he couldn't for the life of him understand why it had to be him.

"If I go, I could break the gut."

"Oh. Is that why?"

A shaman who carried a god, barging uninvited into someone else's ritual. He had no way of knowing what spirit that shaman served—but the odds of it outranking his own Momjusin, the patron deity dwelling within him, were far too slim. A greater god could shatter another's gut outright, and that would be not merely improper but plain discourtesy.

"In that case, Hyung-nim, I'll go and be right back."

For a man shuffling off so gingerly, Yoon-sang had even thought to fish a voice recorder out of his pocket. Watching him go, Hyeong-seok moved behind a large tree and fiddled with the camera.

So this was three million won. Three million won. Used price, at that.

How does this thing even turn on?

Then one press of a button set the camera whirring to life. He slipped off the lens cap and turned it on the ritual site.

A Cheondo-gut, just as he'd thought. No trace of the Japanese sorcery he'd half been bracing for.

Booom... booom. Over the drone of traditional instruments, Hyeong-seok studied the rite with care. Yoon-sang, meanwhile, was deep in conversation with someone, while through the lens Hyeong-seok fixed his gaze on the shaman leading the gut—a middle-aged woman draped in robes of every color. Her mouth worked busily, but the distance buried her chant beneath the music.

Still, he could tell.

She's gathering the spirits of the dead.

Which meant they were most likely local spirits, rooted to this soil. She might even be calling up the evil spirit or restless dead that had been running rampant in the area. One thing was certain: this was no rite to wish safety upon some factory under construction.

Whirr. Click. He'd tripped the shutter by accident. Flustered, Hyeong-seok glanced down at the camera once, then returned to watching the shaman.

Then it happened.

Clang!

"Urk!"

The shaman dropped her ritual implements and clutched at her throat.

"What the—?"

That wasn't the sort of thing that happened at a gut. Hyeong-seok swung the camera onto the shaman, and a heartbeat later the musicians came pouring in around her, swallowing her up.

Something was very wrong.

Hyeong-seok pulled his eye from the viewfinder—then pressed it right back. Damn it, too far away. Better to just use the camera after all.

"AAAAAGH! AAAAAAAGH!"

The music cut out, and the shaman's screams rang through the air. A shriek like a woman being butchered alive.

The gut has gone to hell.

Gritting his teeth, Hyeong-seok tilted the lens up from the shaman—flailing in the grip of the crowd—and toward the sky. Something had come that even that shaman's god could not withstand. He had to find it.

Heave! Heave! Dark blood surged from the shaman's mouth and nose, and now the bystanders were screaming too. Even then, Hyeong-seok kept his eye glued to the lens, desperately hunting for whatever had reduced her to this.

And then he saw it.

"...Goddammit."

A head.

One head, joined to a slender, snakelike neck, hung above the ritual site, staring down at the shaman. That pale, expressionless face sent a chill down his spine.

Click.

Hyeong-seok had squeezed the shutter by mistake.

"HURK!"

The head lunged, shoving its face right up against the lens—and at the enormous thing filling the entire frame, Hyeong-seok nearly dropped the three-million-won camera.

"H-Hyung-nim! Hyung-niiim! Come over here, please! Quickly!"

At Yoon-sang's voice carrying from far off, Hyeong-seok turned his gaze that way. When he looked back at the site, the head had vanished without a trace.

"Quickly! Hyung-niiim!"

Hearing the plea in Yoon-sang's voice, Hyeong-seok clamped the camera under his arm and pushed out a burning sigh.

The cause of it all—the Rokurokubi—had slipped from sight. Which meant he could go to the shaman now.

Tat-tat-tat-tat!

Hyeong-seok sprinted to Yoon-sang, palmed the camera off on him, and shoved the bystanders aside.

"Hey, what do you think you're—"

One of the musicians moved to seize him but was stopped at once by another. No explanation was given—he'd simply recognized him. Recognized that Kang Hyeong-seok, too, was a shaman.

Gulp—gulp—!

Standing before the shaman as she kept spewing dark blood from mouth and nose, Hyeong-seok set down his bag. Then he drew out the Sacred Shaman Bells and rattled them furiously, sweeping away the murk that still lingered in the air.

Jangle-jangle-jangle-jangle!

By the time the bells had rung and he had recited the Jinmyeong Chuk-sa-gyeong to the end, the blood had stopped at the shaman's lips.

Yoon-sang stared at him in open awe, and even the men who'd tried to bar his way stood thunderstruck. Slipping the bells away, Hyeong-seok pointed at one of the bystanders.

"Get her to a hospital, right away. She's lost a lot of blood."

"Uh—y-yes."

"Move!"

"Yes, sir! Right away!"

Flustered, the crowd hurried to make ready to take the shaman to a hospital. She was carried out and loaded into a car while the others set about clearing the ritual site—and through all the bustle, Yoon-sang's overburdening gaze clung to him with remarkable tenacity.

"Hyung-nim, seriously—wow. Just, wow."

Hyeong-seok clicked his tongue softly and shook his head. Even the ones packing up the site were sending him glances heavy with awe. And ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠yet the Rokurokubi's face still seemed to flicker before his eyes, so he worked his lips in silence.

The stew bubbled and burbled. In a drivers' diner nearby, Hyeong-seok and Yoon-sang sat across from each other, spooning up kimchi jjigae.

"Eat up, Hyung-nim!"

Yoon-sang ladled stew into the small dish in front of him; Hyeong-seok poured a cup of water and set it down across the table.

"Wow, Hyung-nim, you're seriously incredible. I mean, how did you shut that whole thing down in one move?"

"Let's eat first."

Hyeong-seok scooped a spoonful of stew from the dish and swirled it through the rice in his stainless-steel bowl. Come to think of it, he hadn't managed a proper lunch. The sight of rice soaked crimson with broth brought a twinge to his jaw and a flood of forgotten hunger.

"Whew—hoo!"

He took an enormous bite, then managed a chopstickful of the stir-fried anchovies that had come with the meal. A drama was droning from the TV mounted on the wall—was it really already that hour?

"Oh, and Hyung-nim—I did ask. You know, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like you told me to."

That was when Yoon-sang broached it, topping up his dish with stew broth.

"Was it the landowner? Or one of the villagers?"

"Ah—honestly he seemed like just a bystander, but I think he was a local."

Yoon-sang's eyes wandered as though feeling after his memory, and he went on.

"He says the number of people around here having nightmares has shot up lately. It's strange, isn't it? There's barely anyone left in this village, and they're all having the same nightmare."

"So they called in the shaman?"

"Yes. Apparently there's an evil spirit going around—that's what I heard."

Yoon-sang narrowed his brows and murmured, "Could it be a Rokurokubi?"

"It is."

"What? You saw it?"

Hyeong-seok nodded, and Yoon-sang set his spoon down, eyes and mouth spread wide.

"Then lead with that! Wh-what was it like? It really was just a head, floating there?"

Hyeong-seok pushed a breath out between bites and pointed at the camera perched on the chair beside Yoon-sang, cradled like some precious relic.

"I pressed the shutter, but I can't say whether it caught anything."

Clatter!

Yoon-sang shoved his rice bowl clean out of the way, snatched up the camera, and began checking it over. He jabbed at a few bewildering buttons—then swung his fist with the joy of a man who'd just won the lottery.

"There's something hazy! Here, here! It got captured!"

"Does something like that even make broadcast material?"

"It's plenty, Hyung-nim. Truly, thank you."

Even if the diner owner hadn't been watching them with a look that plainly asked what the hell those two were up to, Yoon-sang would have bowed all ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the way to the floor anyway.

"You're the best, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Hyung-nim. Wow—what even gave you the idea to catch this on camera?"

He hadn't pressed the shutter with anything of the sort in mind. Still, Yoon-sang was so conspicuously overjoyed that Hyeong-seok simply picked up his spoon without a word.

"Hyung-nim, how about round two at a beer hall? My treat!"

"I don't make a habit of freeloading off my juniors."

Yoon-sang's face abruptly flooded with emotion, his lips moving over some silent words. He called me his little brother. That was roughly the shape of it.

"None of that. No round two—get some rest. I've got a stop to make."

"I'm coming with you."

"You're not even going to listen?"

"Wherever you go, Hyung-nim, I'd follow you into hell itself."

His eyes said he meant every word.

"Hah. You don't seem like you'd stop no matter what I said anyway."

"Hahaha! So where are we going?"

"To ask whether it knows anything."

Yoon-sang's face formed a silent Huh? as Hyeong-seok shifted his gaze to his rice bowl.

"On the way in, I spotted a jangseung standing near here."

A carved figure raised at the entrance of a village. This one had been so poorly kept that at a glance it looked like a tree stripped of its bark, but it was a true jangseung all the same, crowned even with a wooden bird-pole. The guardian deity of the village—if anything around here knew something, it would be that jangseung.