A Grave That Is No Grave

Vrrrrrmmm, ka-THUNK!

They were in a moving car.

The vehicle had just cleared a speed bump, and as the body lurched hard, Yoon-sang — dead asleep until that very moment — cracked his eyes open with a groggy squint.

"Haaaahm."

He let the yawn stretch out long and lazy, then caught sight of Kang Hyeong-seok right beside him and hastily covered his mouth.

"Sorry, Hyung-nim. Guess I dozed off."

"Sleep well?"

"Yes, sir! Maybe it's because I'm next to you, Hyung-nim. I felt so at ease I just drifted right off."

Much like Yoon-sang's sheepish grin, the corners of Kang Hyeong-seok's mouth tugged upward into a faint smile of his own.

"It's farther than I thought, though. We still haven't arrived, by the look of it."

"Ah — we're on the way back."

"Huh?"

"We already went and came back."

Yoon-sang's eyes went round. He whipped his head this way and that, scanning the car, then settled into the expression of a man who had lost his homeland.

"Hyung-nim! You could have told me!"

"It's fine. It wasn't a place for you to tag along anyway."

His conversation with Na Seong-hwa rose in Kang Hyeong-seok's memory, and he smiled bitterly.

It had been such a solemn, weighty occasion that there truly was no seat there for Yoon-sang.

"Still! What if something had happened to you, Hyung-nim?"

"I can look after my own body."

In flesh and in spirit alike, Kang Hyeong-seok was more than capable of that.

"Argh! What a missed chance!"

Yoon-sang scrubbed at his face and turned his gaze to the window.

This was no residential district. Mountains pressed in close, and with nothing around but the road itself, the whole stretch had the feel of an outskirt highway.

"Huh? Where are we, Hyung-nim?"

"Straight to the questions, huh."

Kang Hyeong-seok steadied his breath for a moment, then went on.

"There's somewhere I have to be. Once we arrive, I'll need your help with a few things."

"I'll do anything you need! Just say the word!"

Yoon-sang answered with total confidence, eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"So, Hyung-nim — how did the job go?"

Yoon-sang knew nothing of the conversation with Na Seong-hwa.

So Kang Hyeong-seok took a moment to put his thoughts in order before speaking.

"I found out what he intends. That place we visited — putting up a factory was never the point."

"Then what is?"

Kang Hyeong-seok flicked him a brief glance and continued.

"It's a shrine."

"Huh?"

The last syllable climbed, pure incomprehension.

Which was fair enough. This was the domain of sorcery.

Sorcery is the art of investing meaning in color, form, metaphor — in anything at all — so as to bring a chosen purpose to fruition. That is why those who give themselves over to it never overlook even the most trivial of details. It is an act of pouring one's heart into things, and to repeat such an act is akin to prayer. And prayer is the act of entrusting one's pleas to the divine. Sorcery and prayer, then, wear the same face.

"The man who means to build that 'factory' is named Kim Ki-ok. He's working a sorcery that touches the gods of both our nations — sapping Korea's gods, and clearing the way for Japan's to cross over."

"W-wait, hold on. So this guy is some kind of sorcerer? A collaborator? An... an onmyoji?"

"He's a madman."

Yoon-sang's eyes widened and his jaw went slack.

But there was no simpler way to put it.

"He followed an onmyoji's instructions and made his own mother into a ritual ingredient. A man who would feed on the gods of two nations to fatten his own fortune."

And Kim Ki-ok, mind you, was of mixed blood.

Which made the feat all the more remarkable — in the worst possible sense.

Vrrrmmm.

Inside the moving car, Yoon-sang rubbed his lips together and sank into deep thought. His knitted brows told exactly how hard he was chewing on it all.

"Um, Hyung-nim?"

"Hm?"

"So are we headed to the factory right now?"

Now that he knew Kim Ki-ok meant to raise a shrine and not a factory, he was asking whether they meant to stop it. Kang Hyeong-seok answered with a shake of the head.

"No."

"Huh? Why not?"

"Th-then what, exactly?"

Yoon-sang's eyes were doing the asking for him: are we really just dropping this?

"The rokurokubi is Kim Ki-ok's mother."

"...Right."

Yoon-sang cocked one eyebrow as Kang Hyeong-seok took the left lane at the fork and continued.

"She's become Kim Ki-ok's guardian deity. Setting her free comes first — that's the proper order."

To resolve a grudge was to grant release. They had to cut the ties that bound her to Kim Ki-ok and send her, at long last, to where she belonged — and only then could Kim Ki-ok's scheme be destroyed at its very root.

"Then... Hyung-nim, what happens to Kim Ki-ok?"

Ka-THUNK!

The car bucked over another speed bump, and in the stillness that followed, Kang Hyeong-seok lifted the coffee wedged into the cup holder.

"He'll pay what he owes."

A man whose guardian spirit has left him no longer enjoys its protection. In Kim Ki-ok's case, the karma he had kept dammed up behind spirit-servants and sorcery would come to collect.

Karma that would crash down like a raging wave — an old man's body would be hard-pressed to endure it.

"Ah..."

Yoon-sang swallowed drily and kept quiet for a while. Perhaps the story had grown too heavy for him — but soon the light came back into his eyes and he opened his mouth again.

"So are we going to capture the rokurokubi, then?"

"That's an ugly way to phrase it, but more or less."

"For the stream, I mean. Would it be okay to film it?"

"If you can."

"Huh?"

As the corners of Yoon-sang's mouth collapsed on the spot, Kang Hyeong-seok took a sip of coffee and set the cup back down.

"Kim Ki-ok will have hidden the source of the rokurokubi in the most secretive place he could find."

A place it could never, ever be discovered. Above all, a place no Korean would even dream of laying hands on.

"...And where would that be, Hyung-nim?"

"A grave."

"Huh? A grave?"

"Father Foulmouth tipped me off while you were out."

Yoon-sang's face froze at the last answer he could have imagined —

Clatter, clatter.

— and just then, a sound from behind dragged his eyes away.

What did it take him so long to notice that?

The sound rolling out of the trunk was heavy enough to provoke exactly that thought.

It was the rattle of a shovel and a pickaxe knocking together.

Chirrrr, chirrrr.

The sun had dropped away, and the insects had begun to sing.

Kang Hyeong-seok, who had been waiting in the car all the while, quietly opened his eyes.

"Y-you're awake already?"

Yoon-sang looked like a man praying, desperately, for Hyeong-seok to sleep just a little longer. And no wonder. They were about to climb a mountain and dig open a grave — a matter on an entirely different register from visiting a haunted house.

"Let's move."

"W-wait, Hyung-nim. Just — just a second."

Yoon-sang caught him at the arm as he moved to open the car door, his eyes trembling as if shaken from somewhere deep inside.

"Are we seriously doing this?"

"I know what's worrying you."

They were going to dig up a stranger's grave — not even an ancestor's. The instinctive revulsion alone would be enough, never mind the fear of coming face-to-face with human remains. And above all, it was illegal.

"It's not illegal if there's no grave."

"...Huh?"

"It's a false grave — a gamyo. I doubt there's a real tomb under there."

"Y-you're certain, right? Hyung-nim?"

Kang Hyeong-seok pressed his lips shut, considered for a beat, then nodded.

"Hyung-nim, why couldn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you just say so right away!"

"Everything about the place points to it. And I'll confirm it again before any shovel touches ground."

The rokurokubi was Kim Ki-ok's mother.

Some ritual act had surely been performed on her, which meant he would have buried a coffin with no body inside. Something else would lie there in its stead. He could not yet say what — but he was certain it was something that must ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠never be dragged into the light.

"Aaargh, honestly."

"If you're scared, stay here."

"That's even scarier! Hyung-nim!"

Yoon-sang pulled a face on the verge of tears and fumbled his camera together.

He must have been half out of his mind. Thinking of the stream, he couldn't very well not follow — but if a corpse actually came out of that coffin, Yoon-sang might well end up on the national evening news.

Come to think of it... wouldn't the same go for me?

Why was it that he could picture it so vividly — Kwak Young-ho testifying through his tears, "Manager Kang would never do such a thing!"

"Whew."

Letting out a single long breath, Kang Hyeong-seok stepped out of the car with Yoon-sang and took up the pickaxe and the shovel.

Brand new, the pair of them — bought at a hardware store while Yoon-sang slept.

A tool apiece slung over their shoulders, the two started up the mountain.

Brrr-brrr-brrr-brrr.

The sound of Yoon-sang trembling drifted up from behind.

No exaggeration — he was genuinely shaking, so violently that even the pickaxe slung across his shoulder rattled along with him.

It'll be rough going, but hold on.

It wasn't going to take long.

Krrr-ung, krrr-ung.

There had to be water somewhere close by — toads were calling too. Proof enough of how seldom human feet found their way out here, and it was in just such a place that the grave of Kim Ki-ok's mother lay. The spot Shin Yo-sep had given them.

Skreek!

"Gahk!"

Yoon-sang nearly went down in a slide, and Kang Hyeong-seok snatched his wrist, cutting off the fall before it began. Yoon-sang bobbed his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠head in thanks, face still quivering — pitiful enough to soften anyone's heart.

And still, they had to go.

Tramp, tramp.

Into the depths of a mountain where not even a handful of light existed.

To dig open a grave.

Tap.

Checking their position by GPS on his map app, Kang Hyeong-seok picked his way forward with care. Brush grown to the knee barred the path, and now and then a spiderweb or a moth the size of a man's palm burst out of the dark — and every such obstacle only fed his conviction.

This ground has been left untended.

If this were truly his mother's grave, Kim Ki-ok — a man with money to burn — would have kept it maintained. He had not. That alone made the odds of a false grave considerably stronger.

Tap.

Phone on again, Kang Hyeong-seok found they were close to the gravesite now.

Here.

He swept the phone's light across the surroundings, but only crowded leaves, weeds, and dense branches looked back at him.

"Search around. There'll be a headstone."

"Yes! Yes, sir!"

Yoon-sang answered in a terror-stricken voice ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and began combing the area, his lantern turned down to its faintest glow.

Kang Hyeong-seok, too, was rifling through the brush when his fingers closed over something hard.

"Found it!"

At his shout, Yoon-sang swung the lantern light over first of all. Brightness flooded the clearing, and Kang Hyeong-seok pushed the brush aside, left and right, until the headstone stood revealed.

A stone left to the weeds long enough for moss to have made its home there. The name carved in intaglio was hard to make out — but tracing the strokes with a fingertip, he could read it.

Won Jeong-ja?

"Hyung-nim, I don't think this one's Japanese."

Yoon-sang called over in a voice that held relief and disappointment in equal measure, but Kang Hyeong-seok shook his head.

"No. You found exactly the right grave."

Read in Korean, the characters carved into the stone became Won Jeong-ja.

Read the Japanese way, they became Hara Seiko.

With Yoon-sang's tense gaze fixed on him, Kang Hyeong-seok moved his hand to his pocket.

Jangle-jangle-jangle-jangle-jangle.

Shaking the sacred shaman bells, he took stock of every current of energy around them, missing not one.

A mountain black as ink. The darkness blindfolded his eyes, and in their place every other sense stood razor-sharp.

Jangle-jangle-jangle!

And so many of them — lingering dead, tangled together across the midnight mountain.

Yet among the energies rising from the graveyard, there was nothing that could rightly be called a lingering soul.

Instead, he felt something harsh. Something venomous.

Thud! Thud!

Startled by the sight of Kang Hyeong-seok suddenly tearing into the soil with his bare hands, Yoon-sang stumbled backward — while Hyeong-seok drew a deep breath of the earth-smell clinging to his fingers.

It stank.

Neither a sunny slope nor an auspicious site. If one insisted on a label, this was blighted ground — the ridges around it closing in like a fence, walling this place off.

Like an earthen jar cradling its solitude.

"Let's open it up."

"Yes — yes, sir."

Yoon-sang answered in a quavering voice and wrapped his hands around the pickaxe, while Kang Hyeong-seok shook the sacred shaman bells and began to chant the sacred words.

With nothing but the small circle of his headlamp to rely on, Yoon-sang swung the pickaxe.

THWACK! THUNK!

THWACK! THWACK!

Having torn the deep-rooted brush away, Yoon-sang's breathing grew ragged by degrees. Part of it was simple lack of air, part of it the fear of a dark mountain with scripture droning through the night — but the most decisive factor was the soil of the graveyard, now stripped bare of its covering.

The soil is too black.

Black as ash.

As though it had been scorched by the presence of whatever lay buried within.