The Bell Rings on Its Own

Following the navigation's guidance, Kang Hyeong-seok turned the wheel. It was ten o'clock on a weekday morning: a street all but empty of cars, an aging residential quarter that looked likely to be slated for redevelopment before long. Unkindly described, the place was shabby; kindly described, it was the sort of neighborhood that stirred up childhood nostalgia.

They said she's the Director's niece, but this all seems surprisingly ordinary. Then again, she wasn't even his direct kin. And she must have needed a place in a hurry, so her options would have been limited to begin with.

Kang Hyeong-seok switched off the engine and got out of the car.

He had dressed a shade lighter than his usual business casual: a black sweatshirt and jeans. The backpack was his everyday one, though instead of a laptop it held a screwdriver, a pair of work gloves, a hammer, and the like. And tucked carefully into his pencil case, the Mudang Bang-ul — the sacred shaman bells.

There was no particular reason to bring them along. But they were a treasured divine artifact, and he disliked letting them out of arm's reach if he could help it.

Ding-dong! He had just pressed the doorbell, its chime itself a trigger for old memories.

Bang! The door flew open as if she had been waiting, and a young woman thrust her face out.

"Who is it?"

Caught off guard by the abrupt appearance of Shin Jeong-ah, Kang Hyeong-seok dipped his head and gave his name.

"Kang Hyeong-seok, from Daejeong Mulsan..."

"Oh! Come in. Thanks for making the trip out."

The expressionless Shin Jeong-ah summoned a working professional's smile and gestured him inside, and the tension drained out of him. Kang Hyeong-seok followed her in with a careful look.

Not quite what I expected. She was pretty enough to be called a beauty, and her crisp bob gave off the air of a capable office worker. But with the corners of her eyes turned upward, there was a coldness about her as well.

"Could you start by putting up the shelf and the hanging rack in the small room?"

"Of course."

"I'll be cleaning in the meantime, so let me know when you're done."

"And please, feel free to speak casually with me."

"We'll see."

Ah. She really is a cold one.

With a low sigh, Kang Hyeong-seok opened his bag in the room Shin Jeong-ah had pointed out. Her belongings had apparently been delivered from the storage service that morning, and a fine film of dust already lay over everything — though fussing over that, too, was hardly his job.

Thock, thock, thock. He was piecing together the shelf's frame, cushioning each blow of the hammer with a cloth.

"Have some of this while you work."

Shin Jeong-ah appeared without warning, set a can of coffee down beside him, and was gone again before he could get a word out.

Is she just like that, naturally? The sense that this was a woman he would find difficult to get close to, in any number of ways, struck him as strongly as the sweetness of the canned coffee.

Thock, thock, thock.

"Shelf assembly's done!"

"Okay."

Shin Jeong-ah brought in boxes and began filling the shelf with her things, working now in the same room as him. Neither of them spoke, and the air grew stiff — until it was Kang Hyeong-seok who broke the silence first.

"I heard you'd be joining us as a Section Chief."

"You even heard about that?"

"Yes. I hope it wasn't out of line."

At that, Shin Jeong-ah shifted her gaze to him.

"Sounds like you asked around quite a bit."

"It happened to come up, that's all. If it displeased you, I apologize."

"It didn't."

For all that, her face made it plain how displeased she was. Her eyes asked why on earth he would know even that much.

Lips pressed firm, Kang Hyeong-seok spoke as he tidied the hanging rack in his hands.

"It seems I make you uncomfortable."

"I'm sorry — what?"

Perhaps because of the feeling seeping into his voice, her eyes narrowed to slits.

"I was told you'd be joining our department. I only came to help, at the Director's request."

"...I'm sorry?"

"If I make you uncomfortable, I'll get up and leave."

And to show he wasn't merely being polite, Kang Hyeong-seok pulled off his work gloves. The moment he moved to open his bag and pack the tools in as well, Shin Jeong-ah blurted out, flustered:

"Y-you're from the company?"

Kang Hyeong-seok stopped, hand frozen on the zipper, and looked up at her.

"You didn't know?"

"Agh! Ugh!"

Emotion broke wide open across her face — a face so relentlessly expressionless until now that he'd begun to wonder whether that blankness was simply her nature.

"I'm so sorry. Excuse me for a moment."

Phone in hand and face thunderous, Shin Jeong-ah stormed outside. She stayed on the call a long while, and came back with her gaze lowered and her shoulders slumped.

"I'm sorry. My uncle — no, the Director — said he'd found one person to help me out, so I assumed you were from a staffing agency."

Utterly flustered, contrition written all over her, she seemed not to know what to do with herself.

"Was that the Director you were just speaking with...?"

"No! My aunt. Ah—"

Shin Jeong-ah squeezed her eyes shut, raked a hand irritably through her hair, then bowed her head to him.

"I apologize. That was mortifying."

"Not at all, Section Chief. I understand completely."

"Haah, honestly. I never saw it coming — I could just die of embarrassment."

Irritation climbing all the way to her face, she repeated her apology over and over.

"When we have a welcome party, drinks are on me. I hope you'll let all this go."

"...Of course."

"I really am sorry. Truly."

She apologized so abjectly that refusing to accept it would have been its own cruelty.

Still, that stiff air from the beginning had lifted.

They reintroduced their names to each other, ages included, and carried on talking in a far more comfortable atmosphere than before.

"I'm two years older than you, by the way."

"You're my senior in the company as well, so please feel free to speak casually."

"Oh, but still..."

"Honestly, it's easier for me that way."

Shin Jeong-ah gave an awkward laugh and nodded.

"All right. Casual it is."

She must have felt looked after. It had been a misunderstanding, yes — but he had still made her uncomfortable, and here she was responding like this.

In truth, Shin Jeong-ah was watching him with a quietly grateful expression.

"So what about your own work today, Hyeong-seok?"

"Department Head Kwak Young-ho sorted it out for me."

"Ha. Now I feel even worse."

"He'll understand completely. He's a good man."

"Is that so...?"

"Yes."

"What are the others in your department like?"

The conversation rolled ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on as they worked — and it was just as Kang Hyeong-seok was putting the finishing touches on the hanging rack that it happened.

Ring.

The Mudang Bang-ul tucked inside his bag had chimed all on its own.

His hands stopped. Rigid, he stared at the bag on the floor, then slid his eyes to Shin Jeong-ah in front of the shelf.

"I said, what are your coworkers like?"

"...You didn't hear something just now, did you?"

"What do you mean?"

Her response made it clear she had heard nothing at all.

He looked at the bag, then shook his head and answered.

"It's nothing. I must have misheard."

"You must be tired. Sorry ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠about that."

"It's quite all right. It's not exactly strenuous work."

"Hold on — I'm ordering food, so let's eat before we keep going. You haven't had lunch, have you? Is jajangmyeon okay?"

"Ah — yes. Thank you."

"I'll place the order, so take a breather, Hyeong-seok."

Shin Jeong-ah stepped out of the room to make the call, and Kang Hyeong-seok opened his bag to confirm the Mudang Bang-ul was still where it should be.

There it sat, exactly as he had left it, inside the pencil case.

Which meant there was no way to write it off as the bell knocking against something.

...What was that? Why did it ring on its own?

This was no ordinary shaman's bell. It was a divine artifact, an object imbued with genuine spiritual power — and it had sounded with a chime that only Kang Hyeong-seok could hear. That was what gnawed at him.

Kang Hyeong-seok returned the Mudang Bang-ul to its pencil case and his bag, then drifted slowly toward the wall where the hanging rack stood.

Ring.

Hearing it chime again, he turned his gaze to the wall behind the rack.

Was something there?

But nothing in particular caught his eye. It was only a wall, papered neatly in white.

Confirming that Shin Jeong-ah was still on her call, he stroked the wall with his palm.

It didn't ring for nothing. There's something here.

He was just raising a fingernail to probe beneath the wallpaper when—

"Do you want tangsuyuk, too?"

Shin Jeong-ah had come back and cut straight through his concentration.

He took his hand off the wall and shook his head.

"I'm fine. Jajangmyeon is plenty."

"Really? — Yes, sir, we'll pass on the set. Just the original order: one jajangmyeon and one jjambbong."

As Shin Jeong-ah finished up the order, Kang Hyeong-seok stole a sidelong glance at the wall behind the rack.

By every appearance, a perfectly unremarkable wall.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

And yet, soft and steady, the Mudang Bang-ul kept on ringing.

Each chime fanned that faint, prickling dread a little higher.

"You've done plenty. I'll manage the rest myself."

It was just past three in the afternoon. The unpacking was nowhere near finished, and still Shin Jeong-ah was telling him to head home first.

"No, let's at least see the unpacking through together."

"It's fine. There's personal stuff in there. I'd rather do it alone."

Kang Hyeong-seok looked at the empty cartons blanketing the floor, the boxes not yet even opened, and gave a small nod.

Everything that required real muscle was already done. What remained was minor tidying at most; he wasn't exactly indispensable to it.

"Understood. Then, about that—"

He had just turned his gaze toward the small room when—

Vrrr!

His phone went off as if to hurry him along, and when he checked the caller, his brow drew tight.

Executive Director Shin Chang-yong.

"Excuse me — I need to take this call."

"Oh, of course, go ahead."

He brushed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠past Shin Jeong-ah and stepped outside the house, pressing the call button and raising the phone to his ear.

The line went dead at once.

Judging by the flow of the conversation, this seemed to be a personal summons — but the man had sounded so urgent that Kang Hyeong-seok couldn't help wondering whether something had happened at the company.

"Was that the Director just now?"

"Yes. He wants me at the office right away."

"The office? Is something the matter?"

"I couldn't say. He did say to come quickly."

He was on his way back regardless — Shin Jeong-ah had already sent him off. He slid the phone into his pocket, peeled off his gloves, and went back inside to collect his bag.

And yet something about simply returning to the office like this didn't sit right with him.

It was the small room. The one where the Mudang Bang-ul had rung.

"Excuse me, Section Chief."

Kang Hyeong-seok pointed at the small room visible past the entryway.

"That room there — you weren't thinking of sleeping in it, were you?"

"No, that one's going to be my storage room."

Good.

Something about that room refused to sit right. He'd had neither the time nor the standing to examine it properly, but the feeling had come through unmistakably: that was not a room to fall asleep in.

"Understood. Then tonight, when you sleep in the main room — keep that door shut, and leave the window in there open."

Shin Jeong-ah looked at the small room, plainly baffled, then met his eyes.

"Why?"

"The remodeling must be fairly recent. There's a smell of paint in there. It can't be good for you."

Her eyes went wide. Then she gave a little hmph through her nose and nodded.

"Got it. Thanks for looking out for me."

"Not at all. Then I'll see you at the office."

"Right. And Hyeong-seok — thank you for today."

Kang Hyeong-seok bowed his head once toward her and walked to his car. Then, turning it toward the office, he watched Shin Jeong-ah's house shrink away in the rearview mirror.

Strangely, the place kept snagging at his gaze, over and over.

As if he were looking at a house where something that had no right to exist was dwelling.