Her phone! She pulled it out and dialed mom, but nothing happened. Zero bars. No matter how many times she tried. What’s going on? What’s happening?
Think logically, she told herself. She must have wandered into some disused part of the garage. She tried to retrace her steps, but all the levels and ramps looked the same, no matter where she went. That’s it, I’ve gone insane.
She refused to let herself cry. She just needed to figure things out. Every place with a way in must have a way out. There was definitely an explanation—it just seemed scary because she couldn’t think of it yet.
And then she noticed the orange pylon, on its side. Have I just looped around to where I started? It hardly seemed possible, but that must be it. She went to another ramp and ran up and up. But when she walked into the next parking area, the pylon was still there, in the same place. Every level was exactly the same. She was nowhere. She was trapped.
Young-hee sat down. Out of ideas, she yelled, but no one answered.
And then, a doorway caught her eye, and she walked over to it. It was dark greenish-brown, not blue. It was wood, not metal. Taller and thinner than the other doors, it looked handmade, almost elegant, like the door to a traditional home. Instead of a regular knob, it had a heavy metal ring. Curious, she turned the ring and pushed.
Finally, a door that opened. It revealed a pitch black stairwell leading up, with no lights and no signs. She strained her eyes and, high above, she thought she could make out the distant, dull glow of daylight. And for a moment, she felt cool air against her face. Young-hee looked back at the eerie garage and, not knowing what else to do, she stepped into the darkness and began her ascent, using her mobile phone to light her way.
The stairwell turned a corner, turned again, and Young-hee found herself standing outside in the sun. For a brief second she wondered what had happened to the rain; but then her eyes adjusted to the light. This was not Seoul. This was nowhere Young-hee had ever been before.
The Hammer of Wealth
Long ago, when the Tiger used to smoke a pipe, there lived in a quiet village a hard-working young man named Hongjo. His family was very poor, so he traveled far and wide over the surrounding hills, chopping wood to sell so his parents and sister and brother would have a little more money.
One day, after a long day of chopping far from home, he came across a strange walnut tree. He picked a bag of walnuts for the family to enjoy. Hongjo realized it had grown too dark to go home. Fortunately, in a clearing by the walnut tree, he saw an empty, battered house in which to spend the night.
It was a cold evening, so he started a fire in the fireplace. As soon as the wood lit, strange sounds came from the fireplace. Scared and seeing nowhere else to hide, Hongjo climbed into the rafters.
From there, he saw half a dozen dokkaebi—goblins—tumble out of the fireplace. Like all dokkaebi, they were short and very ugly, with dark gray, leathery skin and a single, stubby horn on their foreheads. The goblins danced around the house merrily, boasting of their mischief that day.
“I pulled the tail of a cow and made it kick his owner and run away,” laughed one.
“Well, I snuck into a woman’s kitchen and knocked the rice pot’s lid into the hot pot, ha-ha.”
“I danced under a rich man’s home, making the floors creak and scaring the whole household.”
After a time the goblins grew hungry. The head goblin took out a big, wooden hammer and slammed it against the floor. “Tukdak tukdak,” he shouted. “Bring us food!” And—poof!—piles of hot meats and soups and rice appeared. Greedily the goblins ate, and working up a thirst, the goblin again swung his hammer. “Tukdak tukdak, bring us drink!” he shouted, And—poof!—bottles of soju and magkeolli appeared. Quickly, the goblins drank too much and became drunk and silly.
From high above, Hongjo watched their merrymaking and eating and drinking, and he grew very hungry. Suddenly, a huge kko-reu-reuk noise rumbled loudly from his hungry belly.
“What’s that?” asked the drunken goblins, all confused. “It sounds like thunder. Rain will probably leak into this old house, and we hate rain.”
Hongjo worried that any more stomach noises would reveal him to the dokkaebi, so he decided he had to eat something. But the only things in his pockets were the walnuts. Desperate to quiet his belly, he tried to open one quietly with his mouth, but it was no use. Ttak! The walnut made a huge noise as it cracked open.
“Oh no!” said the foolish dokkaebi again. “The roof is caving in. We’re in danger! Run!” The goblins all ran away. But, in their haste, they forgot the wooden hammer.
Hongjo dropped down from the rafters and ate his full of the dokkaebi’s delicious food. But as he was eating, he saw the hammer and picked it up. “Tukdak tukdak,” he said, “Bring me gold!” And—poof!—huge bags of gold appeared. From that day forward, Hongjo and his family were the richest people in the province, and they were very happy … at least until his younger brother found out where Hongjo got the magic hammer. But that is a story for another day.
Young-hee looked up, down and all around, confused and overwhelmed. She was surrounded by trees and a pine forest, but not like any she had seen before. The trees loomed huge, each the size of an apartment building, with thick gnarled branches like arthritic pretzels. The bark cracked with ridges as thick as her thigh and pine cones as big as watermelons. The trees were unreal, their greens and browns too vivid to take in.
Everything else was like those mammoth trees, bigger-than-life. And unreal. No, super-real. She was standing in a field of grass, but the blades ruffling against her legs felt soft as silk, and the wind blowing through them sounded like a gentle, faraway song.
Trying to take it all in, Young-hee stepped back and bumped into a door—wooden, like the one in the apartment basement. Set into a tree’s giant root, it swung open easily, revealing ugly concrete stairs—the way back to the parking garage. Her first impulse was to run back down, to escape the scary strangeness. But, aside from the shock of wandering into a new world, she felt surprisingly little fear as she moved away from the door. It wasn’t even like making a decision.
The sun was directly overhead, and yet the light was soft, bathing everything in a warm glow that felt more like evening. She was standing in a clearing. In the center, the branches of a big hedge twisted like playground equipment. To one side was a large and incredibly ornate fountain with multiple levels of water cascading from pool to pool. As she got closer, she realized that the water was flowing with gravity in some places, but against it in others. She carefully slid her fingers into a stream that poured upward, blithely disregarding physics. At least, any physics Young-hee had ever studied.
In the churning water she could see myriad fish in explosive colors and impossible shapes. She tried to try to touch one, but as soon as her hand broke the surface, the fish swam up the fountain, out of reach. She thought the laughing, gurgling of the fountain sounded a little like crying.
At first, this place almost hurt to look at, but increasingly Young-hee found it beautiful. Through a break in the woods, she made out a big, grassy hill and, further away, the purple points of mountains. It was hard to explain or understand—leaves looked like leaves, sky like sky, but everything familiar was also strange.
Reflexively she reached into her pocket for her cell phone to photograph the huge trees, but they were too big for the frame. She tried a selfie with a giant pine cone. But when she checked, the images were jumbles of unintelligible pixels. She checked for messages or emails. Nothing.
With soft, deep buzzing a dragonfly rose from behind a tree. Brightly colored as a peacock’s tail, it was a bigger than real-world dragonflies and had more wings. Young-hee held out her hand, palm up, inviting it to land. After hesitating, it settled on her hand. Maybe she should try to pet it?
“What do you think you’re doing?” came an angry voice behind her. Startled, she turned, but saw only forest. And two jangseung totem poles, like the ones at her apartment complex. “
Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me,” said the voice, coming from the jangseung.
“Er,” said Young-hee, tongue-tied. “I was playing with the dragonfly.”
“Do you want to lose a finger?” asked the second jangseung. “Or, heavens forbid, your whole hand?”
Young-hee was perplexed. It was just a cute little dragonfly. But as she turned to point at it, she saw its impossibly large mouth, open very wide and filled with long, sharp teeth.
Before it could chomp, a branch from a nearby tree swung down and gently bonked the toothy not-so-dragonfly in the head with a giant pine cone. Young-hee jerked her hand away. “Tsk! None of that,” said the first jangseung. “You are free to eat what you will in the Jade Swamps and the Empty Forest, but not here. You know that.” Young-hee could have sworn she saw the creature nod. “Now, be gone.” The creature got back up on its six legs and took to the air.
“Thanks for your help,” said Young-hee, feeling terribly dumb. “That was really…” Young-hee trailed off as she realized she was talking to two totem poles “… nice.”
She checked out the defenders of her fingers. They were definitely jangseung—wooden carvings about two meters tall, stuck in the ground. Unlike the ones by her apartment building, these were real wood, wonderfully intricate, their paint fresh and bright, and most lively. The first jangseung had black hair and a big red mouth, with almost fleshy lips—Young-hee guessed it was female. The second had a black hat and a scruffy beard, clearly male. But they were alive.
“Tell us,” said the female totem pole, “what manner of creature are you?”
“Creature?” repeated Young-hee, taken aback. “Excuse me?”
“No, you may not be excused,” answered the male jangseung. “We are the guardians here and require an answer. What manner of creature are you?”
“You are not a fairy, obviously,” said the female. “Or a witch or an imp. And I’m fairly certain you are not a fox.”
Fairies?, Young-hee wondered. Does Korea even have fairies? I thought they were a European thing. “You’re jangseung,” she said, stating the obvious and feeling dumb for it.
“Of course we’re jangseung,” said the male. “What else would we be?”
“Maybe she’s a golem,” said the female. “They’re not too bright.”
“Are you a golem? The penalties for a golem crossing a jangseung’s territory unbidden are most severe. How did you get here?”
“I’m not sure,” said Young-hee, truthfully. “I just got lost, walked up some stairs and came out over there.” She pointed across the clearing to the brown door in the tree root.
“Huh, I never noticed that door before,” said the female.
“Me neither. Very peculiar. All the more reason to know what she is.”
“I… I don’t know what you mean,” said Young-hee.
“She doesn’t know very much.”
“Definitely a golem.”
“No, I mean, I’m nothing special. Just a girl.”
“‘Nothing special’,” echoed the female jangseung. “Just a … waita-minute … a girl?”
“From the mud world?” said the male totem pole. “A bear daughter?”
“A human girl?”
“Er, yeah,” said Young-hee. “I mean, yes, to the human part. Not the bear part or the mud.”
There was a brief pause, then both jangseung started talking rapidly at the same time.
“Could she be a true girl?”
“It’s been an age since I saw a human. What could it mean?”
“Why now? We shouldn’t be hasty.”
“Do you think she’s here to fight?”
“Could she tip the balance?”
“She doesn’t look like much of a fighter.”
Young-hee didn’t understand. Fighting? Balance? This was way out of her league. “Uh, excuse me?” she ventured. “I never meant to make trouble or offend anyone.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, dearie,” said the female jangseung, her scowl softening. “We’re being terribly rude. These are difficult times and sometimes Cheonha and I forget our manners.”
“So … am I allowed to pass?”
“Oh, yes. A bear daughter? Of course.”
It was a promising response, and Young-hee relaxed a bit. “You’re the first real jangseung I’ve ever met, but you both look very beautiful and elegant. And you saved me from that nasty dragonfly thing, so I really owe you. Thank you so much.” Young-hee bowed politely as she finished speaking.
“You are very gracious girl, and grace is always appreciated,” said the male, bowing his wooden body politely. “I am General Cheonha, and my bride is General Jiha. We are the guardians of the jureum forest and surrounding lands, from the Crying Stream to the Swollen Pond, and from the Lonely Wastes, past the goblin market, to Haechi’s Horn.”
“Haechi’s Horn?”
Jiha gave a flick of her head toward the steep grassy hill beyond the forest. “Haechi’s Horn. Because the hill is so steep, like the horn of a haechi.”
“Ah,” said Young-hee, looking at the hill towering over them. “Well, it is wonderful to meet you both. I’m Young-hee. I’m nothing special like a general or a guardian, just a normal girl. I’m certainly not a bear.”
“A bear daughter,” corrected Jiha. “You are a human, descended from Ungnyeo the bear and the first son of heaven.”
“Wait, are you talking about that Dangun story?” she asked, remembering the old Korean tale. Young-hee wasn’t up on mythology, but had read the tale in a comic book. “Is that where I am? In the world of Dangun and stories like that, not the real world.”
“Well, that depends,” said Cheonha. “Our realm is as real as any other. But it hasn’t been the first world in a long, long time. Not since your mud world took our place.”
“Took your place …?”
“Yes, long ago, before the Second Great Giants’ War,” said Cheonha. “Before the nine-headed ogre Agwi Kwisin stole the daughter of the vice regent, when the river fairies still ran wild, and the evil yellow dragon came down from …”
“I’m sure the girl doesn’t want to hear the convoluted history,” interrupted Jiha. “Besides, as long as we are here, no one has to fear ogres or tigers or the like.”
Cheonha seemed ready to argue with his wife, but a shadow passed across the sun, covering Young-hee and the forest in darkness. Young-hee looked up, expecting a cloud, but was surprised by the silhouette of a bird so immense that its shadow lingered for seconds. It had wings the length of a soccer field, and a body the size of a whale, but its glide was light and graceful as a helium balloon. One beat of its wings sped it out of sight behind Haechi’s Horn, and a few seconds later, Young-hee was almost knocked off her feet by a gust of wind that whipped the trees and grass.
“Wow,” she said again.
“Ah, a crane!” said Jiha. “One of the ten symbols of life. Very good luck.”
“That was a crane?”
“A great crane. It’s been a long time since I saw one.”
Young-hee decided that, strange and overwhelming as it was, this world was amazing. Certainly more than school or her ugly apartment or the muggy Seoul summer. “Could I look around? You mentioned a goblin market?,” she babbled with gleeful excitement. “Or maybe I should climb Haechi Horn.”
“Hmm,” said Jiha, thinking. “You are free to go where you will, of course. But care is always needed, especially for a bear-child.”
“Oh, right,” said Young-hee, remembering the toothy dragonfly. “But you said you were guardians of this forest and around here.”
“True,” said Cheonha, “but there are still dangers. What you need is a guide.”
“I don’t suppose jangseung can get up and walk around in this world, can they?”
“Hehe, no. But our friend Grandma Dol can,” said Cheonha. “Isn’t that right, grandmother?”
An old woman, large and lumpy, with chalky skin, shuffled out of the forest. She moved slowly but steadily, using a ca
ne, with a large bag strapped to a wooden frame lashed to her back. She wore a bulky, gray traditional hanbok, like Korean peasants in old paintings. After a long pause, she asked, “Eh? What are our guardians rattling on about today? Never have I heard such a chatty couple of jangseungs.” She talked as slowly as she walked, but with the same assuredness of purpose.
“Greetings, forest elder,” said Cheonha, his beard swishing as he talked. “We do have a favor to ask of you. And your partners, of course.”
“Oh, and what’s that? To buy all of my wares, sparing me a tiring day in the market?”
“I’m afraid we don’t have the jungbo for a single one of your famous lanterns. But we’d like you to show the market to our friend, Young-hee.”
“Your … friend,” said Grandma Dol.
“She is from far away and would like to learn more about our world and customs,” said Jiha. “Could you show her around and keep her safe?”
Grandma Dol shifted her shoulders to adjust the heavy load. She flashed Young-hee a quick look, just a once-over, but it felt like the old woman had seen into her soul. Her face was heavily lined, stoic, and unreadable.
“Very well,” she said, resuming her slow, steady pace. “Come along, child. The goblin market is fast-moving. You could get lost if you aren’t careful. Stay close.”
Young-hee leaned in close to Jiha. “You said I was the first person you’d seen in a long time,” she whispered. “What about Grandma Dol?”
“Don’t be fooled by appearances. Did you see her skin? She is really a stone.”
“A stone?”
“Yes, a very old, wise stone. You may see many things that look like people, but you are the only bear-child around. Never make assumptions. Now, don’t dawdle. Stay close, and she’ll keep you out of trouble.”
“Thank you so much, General Jiha,” said Young-hee more loudly. “And General Cheonha. I won’t be long.” The jangseung shouted cheerful goodbyes as Young-hee scrambled to catch up to the old stone woman—a quick task, given Grandma Dol’s pace. If she really was a stone there was no telling how old she might be, and in Young-hee’s experience, the older someone was the more carefully you should treat them.
Young-hee and the Pullocho Page 4