I Have Come to Untie Your Han

Kang Hyeong-seok pulled up to the warehouse and reached across to the passenger seat. Clank! The ritual implements rolled up inside the hemp cloth chimed iron against iron, as though they were hurrying him on.

He got out of the car without a moment's hesitation, and the first to greet him were darkness and a chill wind — steeped in a foul, fishy reek that made his heart lurch.

Caw! Caaww-caw!

A murder of crows that had swept across the night sky like a flock of sparrows now perched along the power lines, the branches, the warehouse itself, and screamed until their throats tore.

At the sight, Hyeong-seok hugged the hemp bundle tighter against his side, then lifted his gaze from the crows to the warehouse itself.

The shattered window had been repaired and the walls given a fresh coat of paint — no doubt so the deal wouldn't fall through — but no amount of dressing-up could keep the building from breathing out the air of a haunted place.

Caawww! With the crows shrieking themselves hoarse at his back, Hyeong-seok started toward the warehouse.

Thoughts crowded in and clung to his ankles like shackles. Thud. Thud. But he walked on without a flicker of hesitation. If he did not, Lee Jin-pyeong would die.

There was no time but now — now, while Cheong-geum held the calamity at bay.

Jingle, jingle, jingle. Inside the hemp wrapping, the mudang bang-ul — the sacred shaman's bells — seemed to be cheering him on, sweeping aside the currents of energy that loomed ahead like a wall.

That was when it happened.

"Hey there, folks! Welcome, one and all, my LoveGhosts!"

The voice burst out of nowhere and yanked his gaze clean sideways.

"Yes, yes, we just went live. Come on in, come on in! Today's content is a visit to an abandoned warehouse in Osan!"

Halted mid-stride, Hyeong-seok stared at the young man circling the warehouse with a selfie stick held out before him.

"...Ha."

The sigh escaped him of its own accord. Even at a time like this, there was always one of these guys.

"Thank you for the Super Chat, GhostLover! Love you!"

Hyeong-seok swore under his breath, barely moving his lips, and walked — not toward the warehouse, but toward the man who was clearly a livestreamer. As he closed in, the camera light clipped to the selfie stick gradually brought the man's features into focus. Late twenties, maybe? He had a five-colored shaman's coat thrown over his jeans, yet Hyeong-seok could sense none of the peculiar aura that clung to a genuine practitioner.

"Hey! You there!"

At the sharpness in his voice, the man flinched and whipped his head around. The parasite's eyes blew wide as if he'd seen a ghost, and he stumbled backward a step.

"Wh-who are you?"

Hyeong-seok answered nothing. He simply reached out, took hold of the selfie stick, and pressed it downward. The man shrieked in alarm and clawed at it, trying to wrest it back.

"Uh—ek! Huh? Huh?"

Krak! Hyeong-seok bore down on the selfie stick with all his strength, then spoke, low.

"Do you even know where you've crawled into?!"

"Wh-what? Who the hell are you? You know who I am?"

Perhaps because the camera was rolling, the man kept up his swagger — and Hyeong-seok had no intention of playing along.

Tchak! He seized the man by the collar, stared straight into his eyeballs, and ground the words out as if chewing them up and spitting them.

"I won't say it twice. Get lost, unless you want to die."

Eyes huge with panic, the man looked Hyeong-seok up and down. Then his gaze landed on the hemp cloth, and he blurted out:

"Ar-are you... a shaman?"

Apparently concluding this was all some staged production, the man started rattling off words at his phone.

"LoveGhosts! This is not staged, I swear! Hold on—"

He never got to finish.

Wham! Hyeong-seok snatched the selfie stick out of his hands and hurled it away, then gave the man's collar a violent shake.

"I don't have time to argue with you. Get out while you still can." Hyeong-seok put real force into every word.

Maybe it was because he had just offered up his prayers and devotion. Maybe because he had to sever this death-hex within the minute. Or perhaps because his Momju-sin was with him even now — whatever the reason, there was a weight in Hyeong-seok's voice that could not be defied.

"Ugh... uhh."

"I said get lost!"

Only after Hyeong-seok roared the words and released the collar as if flinging him away did the man, half-crumpled, grab his phone — knocked loose from the stick — throw one wild look back at Hyeong-seok, and bolt.

Hyeong-seok glared after him until he vanished, then drew his gaze back.

"What a moron..."

The curse came of its own accord. It felt like watching a fool play with fireworks in front of a munitions depot.

Hyeong-seok laid a hand on the warehouse door and pushed it slowly open. The belongings hadn't been moved in yet, so the door wasn't locked.

Eeeeeek. Air rolled out to meet him — cold to a degree that made no sense.

Stepping inside, Hyeong-seok began unwinding the hemp cloth from his side.

BANG!

The door slammed shut behind him, hard enough to rattle his resolve. But Hyeong-seok kept his focus on the unwinding cloth, and whistled.

"Fweeeeee."

It was the first time in his life he had ever done such a thing. But tonight he had to throw everything he knew into the breach.

"Fweeeeee. Fweeeeeeeee."

Whistling added to the bleak, black interior only deepened the air's heavy, deathly chill. But he could not stop. If I stop, other people die.

Holding on to that one thought alone, he whistled toward the staircase where he had first witnessed the Sal, the death-hex — and at last, he felt something.

Got it.

A strange sensation — you could almost call it a connection.

Gooseflesh rippling up his arms, Hyeong-seok raised the shaman's bells wrapped in their hemp cloth.

Kla-la-la-lang! Kla-la-la-la-la-lang!

"Fweeeeeeee!"

His body was green and his experience thinner still, but the shaman's bells were sacred objects in their own right — items his Momju-sin had guided into his hands, steeped in numinous power.

Kla-la-lang! Kla-la-la-la-la-la-lang!

The instant that numinous force rode the ringing out into every corner of the warehouse — it revealed itself.

Ugh. A ghost-stench that felt like it was scooping out the back of his brain; Hyeong-seok covered his nose and mouth with the hand holding the bells. Then, a moment later, he lowered the hand and looked at it.

Two of them? No — one person.

Two translucent shadows, superimposed one atop the other. One twisted and thrashed its limbs without a moment's rest, in agony, like footage of a soul burning in hellfire played on fast-forward. The other sat slumped on the ground as though it had given up on everything, hands clamped over its eyes, sobbing.

"Can you hear me?"

At his voice, the thing stopped moving. Pressing his parched lips firmly together, Hyeong-seok held its gaze and went on.

"I have come to untie your han."

Kla-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-lang!

The bells pealed of their own accord, as though they would split apart. The ghost-stench grew sharper still, and his skin began to sting. Hyeong-seok swallowed drily, his face gone ashen and trembling — and the shadow that had been crouched on the ground lifted its head, drawing its hands from its face.

It had no eyes.

As though it had gouged them out with its own fingers, the raw, wound-filled rims held nothing but black void.

"Hooo... hooo... hooo."

Even with the shaman's bells bearing down on it, the energy radiating from the thing left Hyeong-seok dragging in rough breaths.

Then — tup. Tuk. Blood ran from his nose.

Hyeong-seok shut his eyes entirely and drew a deep breath. Each time he did, the ghost-stench poured in and turned his stomach inside out, but he fought to win back his composure.

I can feel it.

Just how far this demon's Sal had spread its roots.

Yap! Yap-yap-yap-yap! The Spitz barked itself hoarse, but the malign thing passed straight through the door — the door of Lee Jin-pyeong's hospital room.

The Spitz scrambled in after it, and what met its eyes was the malign thing standing atop the hospital bed.

Beep. Beep. Beep. The heart monitor beat its steady rhythm while Lee Jin-pyeong lay there, IV lines dangling from him in tangled clusters.

And the malign thing swayed from side to side above him, reaching out its hand.

Shuuuk. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠moment it pushed its hand into his belly, Jin-pyeong's body bucked off the mattress. At the same instant, the monitor began to wail. Beep! Beee-giiiik! And then, its screen still jerking through an erratic graph, it fell silent altogether.

It had passed the point where any medical team could help.

The Spitz barked with everything it had and hurled itself at the thing; interrupted, it drew its hand out of Jin-pyeong's stomach. For a breath, Jin-pyeong's face — contorted with pain — went slack. But the thing did not leave.

Yap-yap-yap! Grrrrrrrr! Lunging with everything it had, the Spitz tried to drive the thing out. Then, in a flash, the thing caught the Spitz by the head and the small of its back.

Yipe! Yeeeipe! Yeeeek! The Spitz's eyes bulged as if they would pop from its skull, its tongue hanging long and loose — and at that moment, Cheong-geum's Salpuri-gut finally arrived, and the thing's movements froze where it stood.

Fwoooooh. Lee Mi-sook walked with the swaying gait of someone not yet awake, a coffee pot blooming white steam in her hands.

Creak. Click. A hand closed around the door handle and turned. In the stillness, the even rhythm of sleeping breath.

Looming over the sleeping Kwak Young-ho, Mi-sook tilted the pot — she was going to pour the boiling water into his ear. And at the very instant the water reached the lip of the spout, about to spill — she went rigid.

Cheong-geum's Salpuri-gut had stopped even her hand.

Hyeong-seok opened his eyes and looked at the vengeful spirit. His heart, by then, was fully stilled.

And so, even with the thing now standing directly in front of his face — it had closed the distance without him noticing — the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠terror from before was gone. If anything, a numinous power was settling into him so deeply that his heart grew calm.

Receiving the Sinnaerim alone would leave you a wreck. That was how Lee Geum-kyeong had once put it — and a Momju-sin of that magnitude had now begun to descend into Kang Hyeong-seok, to keep him safe.

Face to face with the vengeful spirit, he began to chant the Buddha's Crown Heart Dharani Sutra.

His mind settled deeper still, and with a great strength pouring into him, Hyeong-seok slung the hemp cloth over his shoulder. Then, in his other hand, he took up the second implement Cheong-geum had packed for him.

Srrrring. A blade all of fifty centimeters in length slid whispering from its sheath.

The Sinjangkal — the Divine General Blade, the sacred sword through which Cheong-geum served her General Spirit.

The ghost-stench that had packed every inch of the warehouse began, slowly, to gutter out. Kla-la-lang! Kla-la-lang! Kla-la-la-la-lang! With the shaman's bells layered on top, the vengeful spirit heaved out a breath of fish-rot and began, little by little, to fall back.

But when he saw that it still would not leave the warehouse, Hyeong-seok brought the bells down in a great, ringing stroke.

United as one with his god, Kang Hyeong-seok understood at last. Who this person was. What she had been through. Why, steeped to the bone in resentment, she had become a lost soul flinging death at the living.

Flap! He flung the hemp cloth from his shoulder so that it spread out long behind him, and opened his mouth toward the vengeful spirit.

At that very moment, the spirit's two divided silhouettes drew close together, as if about to merge into one.

"Poor soul. Sent off to a spinning mill by parents who turned their backs on you, and never once treated as a person."

The silhouettes drifted nearer, overlapping into one.

"And even in death, not one soul came looking for you. Your parents, your siblings — all gone. Nothing left inside you but the unfairness of it all."

Even the crows outside the warehouse shut their beaks and fell silent — and in that moment, Hyeong-seok achieved perfect union with his god.

Like a true mudang. A mudang is one who prays for others and intercedes on their behalf — even, as now, for a vengeful spirit that had tried to bring ruin to Hyeong-seok and everyone around him.

Kla-lang! Kla-lang! Kla-lang! Swak! Saat! Whirling the shaman's bells and the Sinjangkal together, Hyeong-seok drove out the last dregs of lingering energy — then took hold of the end of the long hemp cloth.

This long hemp rope, too, was an implement Hyeong-seok had begged from Cheong-geum: a chilseong-go, its length knotted seven times through the middle.

Singing the words in the slow, dragging rhythm of a funeral bier-song, Hyeong-seok gazed at the vengeful spirit with pitying eyes.

"Speak, please. Your han — I will listen to every last word of it."

The fire at this abandoned warehouse had been in 1997. In all the years since, no one had ever heard her han. Slowly, the vengeful spirit raised its hand — and pointed at the warehouse door.

At the same instant, the thoughts the spirit sent him began to play through Hyeong-seok's mind like a recording.

At the very center of that sea of fire stood the vengeful spirit — Kim Soon-hee, as she had been in life. Watching her thrash and flail with her hair and clothes alight, Hyeong-seok felt every drop of blood in his body run cold.