The Head in the Box
That night, Kang Hyeong-seok dreamed.
Doom-doom-doom-doom-doom-doom.
A frantic drumbeat. The dark pressed in on every side, and it was a night when the embers of a hearth fire flickered as though dancing their way up toward the moon.
It was winter. He couldn't feel the temperature, but he could smell the air—that particular chill unique to a winter's night.
Kang Hyeong-seok stared at the people drumming before his eyes. They were muttering something at a rapid clip. It was Japanese, several voices overlapping at once, and the atmosphere went beyond strange into something hideous. Even so, there was Japanese he could catch.
"Ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku, shichi, hachi, kyu."
Japanese for counting numbers.
You...
The one reciting at that blistering pace was the Onmyoji. A man from his memory—this was the old memory his Momjusin had shown him in a vision at the family tomb of the mother Kim Ki-ok had murdered. The same Onmyoji who had once issued orders to a young Kim Ki-ok now stood older still, weaving hand seals as he counted in a clouded, gravel-dry voice.
"Hyaku."
The number climbed past one hundred—
"Nihyaku."
—over two hundred—
"Sanbyaku."
—and arrived at three hundred.
And then, for the first time, as though the count were regressing, the Onmyoji began reciting the numbers in rapid reverse.
The sight was monstrously grotesque. It felt as though something that should never be done was being done.
Don't.
He didn't know what it was. He only knew it must not be done. Kang Hyeong-seok wanted to clamp a hand over the man's mouth that very instant, but he knew it would mean nothing.
This was not reality.
Pad. Pad.
A man dressed in white drew near, cradling a wooden box—one large enough to hold a basketball—against his chest. Between the gaze cast downward and the painstakingly careful steps, even the man's entrance felt like another piece of the ritual.
Pad.
The man halted, knelt before the Onmyoji, then raised the box above his head and bowed low.
I have to see that. Whatever lay inside, he had to confirm it with these two eyes.
Kang Hyeong-seok came to stand at the Onmyoji's side, and the old man's withered hand stretched out and took hold of the box's handle.
Doom-doom-doom-doom-doom-doom!
The drums quickened further. His heartbeat quickened to match. Kang Hyeong-seok watched the box without so much as a blink.
Bang.
And when the lid flew open, he saw it—a mass of dark reddish black, nearly the color of shadow.
What is that?
He leaned his face in close, straining to make out what the thing truly was. The moment he understood, his breath stopped without his willing it.
A human head. The reddish-black hue was lacquer—varnish brushed over the skin to keep the flesh from rotting. The bonfire and the moonlight lay softly over that human head, which even gleamed with a faint sheen.
Gulp.
Only after Kang Hyeong-seok swallowed drily at the grotesque, ghastly sight did it happen.
Crack! Krrk-krrk!
Fissures spread through the thickly lacquered surface, and the head began, little by little, to move. The head inside the box opened its eyes and stared straight at Kang Hyeong-seok.
His eyes flew open.
Riiiiiing!
The morning call rang out, announcing that morning had come. He opened his eyes atop the bed and lay frozen just as he was, staring at the ceiling.
"...Damn it all."
He was awake, but the dream refused to leave him. At a nightmare too vivid by half, Kang Hyeong-seok rubbed his face and rose from the bed.
A revelation? Or just a bad dream? Was it because of what Yoon-sang had said yesterday? Or was it truly a revelation from his Momjusin? He turned it over with his eyes slitted open, then heaved a heavy sigh. The reason was simple: today was not a holiday.
"Time for work."
Muttering it like a groan, he headed for the bathroom to wash up. Every time this happened, it ached a little—how tightly his body was bound to the company.
Arrived at the office, Kang Hyeong-seok told Kwak Young-ho he would be out on a business trip, then went straight down to the underground parking garage. Not to that suspicious factory from before, of course—this one, cutely and cuddlily enough, dealt in baby products.
Thunk! He climbed into the car and keyed the destination into the navigation. Engine started, seatbelt buckled. And yet he didn't pull out, instead drumming the steering wheel with his index finger.
This won't do. He had to get back to the everyday. But that godforsaken factory kept flickering across his eyes.
"Hoooo."
Heaving a sigh laden with worry, he picked up the phone hanging on the dashboard and dialed Shin Yo-sep.
Riiing-riiing—
"What is it?"
"Let's talk for a minute."
Only once Shin Yo-sep's voice had come through did he set the car in motion and continue. "I need you to do something for me."
"Out of nowhere?"
"It did come out of nowhere. And no matter how I think about it, there's no one else I could even ask."
Having worked free of the parking garage, he cruised slowly along the road.
"Ha."
"Are you going to listen or not?"
"Let's hear what it's about first."
Shin Yo-sep must have been in his executive office—just now, there had come the soft sigh of a high-end chair adjusting its recline.
"There's a place that strikes me as strange. I want you to find out what kind of man owns it."
"Why?"
"It's close to the Kim Ki-ok affair from back then."
The Kim Ki-ok case had been something Shin Yo-sep himself had requested. No one alive understood better than he did how grave that matter had been.
"...That's all?"
"For now."
Before leaving the office, he had traded words with Shin Jeong-ah. He had already asked the place he'd visited before to send over samples of burial shrouds, and once they arrived, they would go by express courier to Shin Jeong-ah.
"To dig any deeper, I need something in hand. It'll probably reach me around tomorrow."
As for the shroud itself, he intended to seek out Lee Geum-kyeong's help.
"So what are you doing right now? Driving?"
"Yeah."
"If nothing's urgent, stop by. Faster to talk face to face."
"I'm on my way out for a business trip—no room for that."
"Oh! You're headed to that factory?"
"Regrettably, no. I'm off to look at baby bottles."
He was on his way to collect samples, after all—had he been returning to the office, he might well have walked in clutching a stroller or an armful of baby bottles.
"If it's about your numbers, tell me. I'll have my secretary take care of it. Or I could put in a call myself."
"No. Not necessary."
Hammering the nail down firmly, Kang Hyeong-seok said in a low voice, "It's my workplace. I appreciate you wanting to help, but I know where the line is."
The two of them were in the business of trading favors. On the surface they were a director of Shinjin Construction and a section chief of Daejeong Mulsan, bound as party A and party B on paper—but Shin Yo-sep and Kang Hyeong-seok stood on far more equal footing than that. He had no intention of tipping that ever-tilting two-pan scale to one side.
"And this is the man asking me to run an investigation?"
"It isn't company business, is it."
"Do the people at your company know? You're quietly shameless, you know that?"
"True. Since we're at it, one more favor."
"Now you're shameless right out in the open?"
Strangely, the flow of the conversation made it easy to picture exactly what expression Shin Yo-sep was wearing.
"Look into the people around the factory owner, too."
"...So do I check whether there are any Japanese around them this time as well?"
At Shin Yo-sep, who griped yet did as he was asked, Kang Hyeong-seok wore an apologetic smile, careful to keep his voice from carrying. "You never know—include that too. They say someone is set to take over the factory."
"The owner's changing hands?"
"Doesn't that strike you as strange?"
Strange enough that he was entitled to find it suspicious. And that was precisely why he suspected this person, too, might be very deeply entangled.
"It'll take some time."
"That's fine."
"Hoo. And if you ever end up needing company, be sure to say so."
Kang Hyeong-seok cocked one eyebrow. Even as he looked at the phone with Shin Yo-sep's name lit across it, the voice drifted from the car speakers.
"If the affair swells any larger, I'll be lending a hand myself."
"...You're sure?"
"If I weren't, I wouldn't even say it."
"This has nothing to do with demons."
"Doesn't matter."
Shin Yo-sep had changed somewhat since before—a change tied to the exorcism rite. Kang Hyeong-seok gave a small nod and answered, "If it ever comes to that, I'll call you right away."
"And you—make yourself some time if you can. Once you've stacked up a few more numbers, it becomes possible, no?"
"I'm already working on it."
Shin Yo-sep could never know how devoutly he was hoping the baby bottles at the client he was headed for would turn a profit. If the product was any good, they could move bulk orders of materials like PPSU—the premium resin used in high-end baby bottles—right away. That, too, would count as sales.
"Understood. Hang in there."
A natural lull at the conversation's end settled over the car. Reading the moment, Shin Yo-sep was the first to hang up with that word of encouragement, and Kang Hyeong-seok drew in a long breath and opened his mouth as though in prayer.
"Your disciple asks a boon of you."
It was a prayer to his Momjusin.
"I go to carry out a righteous deed—guard the road ahead, I humbly beseech you."
"Watch over all who take part in this work, that they may come to no harm."
Clunk. Jingle.
Was it because he had just crossed a speed bump? Or had the god given his answer? From the bag resting on the passenger seat, the sacred shaman bells rang, small and soft.
The same hour.
Vrrroooom—
A van rumbled along a road where willows grew thick on either side.
Ziiii— Cigarette smoke streamed out through the open driver's window.
"Hoooh—!"
Exhaling the smoke as though mangling his own features, Hong Gyeong-soo took the incoming call with his brows screwed all the way down. "Yeah. What."
"Hyung-nim, where have you gone?"
It was the spellcaster who trailed after him everywhere.
"Who the hell do you think you're talking to, punk? Since when do I report to you and move on your say-so?"
"Don't tell me it's not the thing I'm thinking of?"
A voice brimming with worry. It needled at Hong Gyeong-soo's temper.
"How many times have I told you! I said don't touch that goddamn thing! That old bastard lied to heaven and to earth, threw my own word back in my face, and pulled that dog's-filth stunt—and you expect me to sit still?!"
"Hyung-nim! Even so—!"
The skin beneath his eye twitching, Hong Gyeong-soo rolled the window up.
Thud.
With the car now sealed completely shut, he burned his cigarette and produced a voice so low it seemed it would sink beneath the floor. "Even so. So what."
"Hyung-nim."
"I know exactly what that goddamn bastard was thinking when he did it! Son of a bitch. And the board I laid out—do you think it's some one- or two-year game? If even one small problem slips in, the whole thing comes to nothing!"
"...Haaah."
"Hanging up."
Beep!
Having jabbed the bright-red end-call button, Hong Gyeong-soo moved the cigarette to his lips, his gaze busy with thought. "That goddamn bastard—since when does a human get off, pulling dog's tricks to defy the laws of heaven? Tsk!"
No one was listening. Even so, he muttered curses without pause as he turned to look back at the rear seat, his pupils steeped in menace.
Slosh. Slosh.
Liquid in the large containers kept chiming at even intervals. Kerosene.
Hong Gyeong-soo glared at the containers for a moment, then slowly turned his head forward. Far, far off in the distance, still impossibly small—the factory that made burial shrouds and urns had shrunk to a single dot, and it reflected in his eyes.