Vicious Spirits

by Kat Cho

  Plus, Junu’s love of making art was no life for the son of a nobleman. Even though he was the second son, he was still a son of a noble house.

  Junu vowed to leave his family behind once he was married. He no longer needed their disdain if he had Sinhye. He rented a small room and waited for the day he’d marry his bride.

  But that wasn’t to happen. His death came while he was still unwed.

  21

  SOMIN OPENED THE cabinet in Junu’s kitchen for the third time without taking anything out. She kept opening it only to forget what she was doing and close it again. Then she’d remember a few minutes later, open the cabinet again, and immediately forget.

  She wasn’t usually this scattered. It was more her mother’s forte to be so forgetful. But Somin had a lot on her mind. Not only was she worried about Jihoon—and Junu, to a lesser degree (or so she told herself)—but there was also something that had been eating away at her already raw nerves.

  When Junu had accused her of sacrificing her own comfort for Jihoon’s, he hadn’t been completely wrong (which she hated). Somin had spent most of the day trying to convince herself he’d been full of it, but the damned dokkaebi was right.

  She hated to think of that time when both she and Jihoon had lost their fathers. One might have thought the shared trauma was what made them so close. But it was actually the only thing they could never connect on. Through an act of fate or perhaps on a tragic whim of the gods, the day of her father’s memorial was the same day Jihoon’s father was arrested. So when she’d needed her best friend most, he wasn’t there for her.

  They both no longer had a father, but through such different paths. Even though Somin had been young, she’d known Jihoon’s parents were cruel. And though Jihoon never said it out loud, she knew he’d lived a horrible childhood under his father’s roof. Living with his halmeoni was the first time Jihoon had felt genuine love. Somin had never wondered if she was loved. And because of that, she felt a need to protect Jihoon.

  Later, Jihoon always said he barely remembered his father. And Somin said the same thing, but it was a lie. A lie started when she was too young to understand the consequences. She thought that if she talked about how much she missed her father, how much she loved him, then it would make Jihoon sad. It was the first time she’d laid aside her own pain for Jihoon. And she’d never stopped since.

  So she mourned her father in private, remembered him in private. Her father had been kind and loving and good. He was taken by cancer. It had been quick, at least according to her mother. Somin wondered if her mother thought that was a comfort. To know he died so fast. For Somin, it felt like an injustice that he was taken from her so quickly.

  The last thing he ever said to Somin was a promise. He said he’d take her to Lotte World when he got out of the hospital. Now Somin knew he was far too weak to ever leave the hospital. She wondered if he knew. She wondered whether he was lying to her or to himself. He’d died the next day.

  Somin closed the fridge again, not finding anything that caught her attention inside. She turned and almost let out a scream. In the doorway to the kitchen stood a dark figure, tall and thin with gray hair and pale skin.

  “Appa?” she whispered before she remembered Junu’s warning. That her father was a ghost and it wouldn’t be smart to interact with him. It was too late now. “Why are you here? Are you trying to warn me about something?”

  “Somin?”

  She whipped around to see Miyoung standing behind her. “I thought you were going to take a nap.”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Miyoung said, rubbing at her eyes like a fussy child. “Who were you talking to?”

  Somin looked back toward the hallway. It was empty. “I was just talking to myself.”

  “Well, you sounded mad at yourself,” Miyoung said, taking out a cup.

  Somin considered telling Miyoung about her father and thought better of it. She had enough to worry about right now. “I guess I’m wondering if you were right. If I could have done more to persuade Jihoon to stay.”

  “I’m sorry I said that to you,” Miyoung said. “I was lashing out at you because I felt guilty.”

  “Guilty?”

  “Yeah, Jihoon was right. Junu shouldn’t have to go alone. But I should have been the one to go with him.”

  “You couldn’t have,” Somin said as she busied herself making boricha. A comforting and familiar drink. Turning to the sink, she filled the electric kettle. “You already look exhausted and you’ve barely even done anything today. That’s why they’re going to that mountain. To help you get better.”

  “And shouldn’t I be the one searching for an answer?” Miyoung asked, her voice rising in agitation. “The last time I sat on my butt and let someone else try to save me, she died.”

  That stumped Somin. She didn’t know how to comfort Miyoung and yell at her at the same time. And that’s what she wanted to do. To tell Miyoung she was an idiot for continuing to blame herself for Yena’s death, but she also wanted to comfort her friend who was still mourning her mother. And Somin knew that when you were grieving, words meant nothing if your mind didn’t want to believe them. “It’s not just about you—it’s about closing the tear between worlds. You’re too weak to make the journey. Trust them to do it. They’ll be fine.”

  “Will they?” Miyoung asked. “Jihoon shouldn’t be trying to take care of me; he’s still grieving his halmeoni. You know he went back to the old restaurant the night after we moved out? Just stood out front, never went in.”

  Somin was surprised at that. “How do you know?”

  “Hwang Halmeoni,” Miyoung said. “She was worried, so she called me. I told her to keep letting me know whenever he’s there.”

  “Wow, Gu Miyoung, taking a page out of my book.”

  “You mean I’m meddling,” Miyoung said.

  “Is that what you think I do?”

  Miyoung’s face fell. “Oh no, I don’t . . .”

  Somin laughed. “No, it’s fine, I know I’m a meddler, but I can’t help it.”

  “Do you really think they’ll be okay?”

  “Don’t worry,” Somin said, even though it was all she was doing. “Junu is smarter and stronger than he looks.”

  Miyoung lifted her brow. “Those are not words I’d have thought would come out of your mouth.”

  “Maybe he’s not the worst person I’ve ever met,” Somin said with a shrug, turning to take out mugs and to hide her flushed cheeks.

  “I’m not really good at this whole friendship thing,” Miyoung said. “But I think I’m supposed to ask you if there’s something you need to talk about.”

  “No, of course not,” Somin said. “I mean, if there was something to talk about, then that would make me weak, right? I’d have been swayed by a pretty face. If there was something to talk about, it would be so embarrassing, right?” She was rambling but couldn’t seem to stop herself.

  “I’m not sure if you’re asking me an actual question,” Miyoung said, looking like she’d just stepped into a room on fire and had no idea how to put it out. Somin would have laughed if she wasn’t currently spiraling.

  “I don’t really know if I’m asking one either,” Somin admitted as she filled two mugs with the steaming tea.

  “Am I supposed to ask a question right now?” It sounded like Miyoung hated being part of this conversation, which made it that much more meaningful to Somin. Because however much her face said she wanted to run away, Miyoung stayed.

  “I just can’t stop feeling . . . things,” Somin admitted. “Isn’t it weird for me to feel anything for him? He’s, like, hundreds of years old.”

  “Do you really want me to answer?” Miyoung asked, still looking slightly perplexed.

  Somin handed Miyoung a mug of boricha. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Well, when it comes to immortals, just because someone’s lived fo
r a long time doesn’t mean they’re mature,” Miyoung said, taking a sip and hissing through her teeth when the tea was still too hot.

  “Are you talking about everyone? Or just Junu?” Somin asked.

  “Someone who’s immortal doesn’t keep aging in the normal sense. They just keep existing.”

  “What does that even mean?” Somin asked in frustration.

  “My mother once explained it to me. I guess she wanted me to be prepared for what it would feel like once I stopped aging. I wouldn’t have felt old the way a human feels old when they age. I’d have felt . . . eternal.” Miyoung blew on her tea and tried another sip.

  “Do you think that’s how Junu feels?”

  “Junu has lived for a dozen lifetimes with a twenty-year-old face,” Miyoung said, and when Somin gave her a blank stare, she continued. “You can’t expect someone who’s physically unchanging to change emotionally the same way you would.”

  “So you’re telling me that even though he’s lived for hundreds of years, he’s still got the emotional capacity of an immature boy?” Somin asked, and Miyoung smiled. “That checks out.”

  “I’m saying that Junu has more emotional similarities with Jihoon than with your harabeoji.”

  “You’re not so bad at this friendship thing,” Somin said, finally taking a sip of her tea. It was still a bit too hot, but it felt good going down, a warm comfort.

  “Maybe not, but this whole caring-about-people thing is still really new to me, and I think it’s affecting Jihoon.” Miyoung blew out a frustrated breath.

  “Should I be asking questions now?” Somin asked. She’d stopped worrying about Jihoon and Miyoung’s relationship after last spring. When two people are willing to risk their lives for each other, it seemed ridiculous to question their commitment to each other.

  “I just have a hard time telling him how I feel. And I think that it’s upsetting him. I’m worried that’s why he felt like he needed to go with Junu. On some ridiculous, over-the-top attempt to prove his love.”

  “Do you doubt his love?” Somin asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “Then, if you really think Jihoon is hurt because you can’t tell him how you feel, maybe you should just practice telling him what he means to you.”

  “Practice?” Miyoung asked.

  “Yeah.” Somin laughed, finally in a position she was comfortable with, confidante and advisor. “Let’s do it now. Tell me what Jihoon means to you.”

  Miyoung started to shake her head. “I don’t think—”

  “Come on, you can trust me. Do you love him?”

  “Of course I do,” Miyoung said. “I just . . . it’s hard for me to say that word. Yena hated it. It feels so loaded.”

  “Okay, then tell me how you feel about Jihoon without using that word.”

  “How?” Miyoung glared into her tea.

  “Just try. What does Jihoon mean to you?”

  Miyoung pursed her lips as she thought. “He’s my . . . umbrella.”

  “Umbrella?” Somin asked. Maybe she’d made the assignment too abstract.

  “Yeah, it’s like an inside joke to us. There was this umbrella that meant something to us once.”

  “Okay, and why is Jihoon this umbrella?”

  “Because he’s . . .” Miyoung trailed off.

  “What? He’s round? He’s made of waterproof material?”

  Miyoung laughed at that, and her shoulders finally relaxed. “No, he’s my shelter. Even in the strongest of downpours, he keeps me dry and warm. I know that with him I’m safe.”

  Somin smiled. “Well, that’s a really sweet way to put it. See? You’re not that bad with expressing your feelings.” Then she sighed. “Makes me want to find my umbrella one day.”

  “Oh, you don’t need an umbrella,” Miyoung said with a laugh.

  Somin narrowed her eyes. “Okay, I’ll bite; what do I need?”

  Miyoung smiled. “You need someone who’ll stand in the rain with you and face the storm.”

  22

  “ARE WE THERE yet?” Jihoon asked for perhaps the fifteenth time. It was just as annoying now as it was the last fourteen times.

  “When we get there,” Junu said through gritted teeth, “I will tell you.”

  “How much farther is it?” Jihoon asked, his voice becoming nasally with whining.

  Junu finally stopped to stare at his pitiful companion. Jihoon looked like a wilted flower. His shirt clung to him and sweat saturated his hair under the blazing sun.

  Junu realized that maybe insisting they hike immediately up the mountainside instead of waiting until the sun wasn’t directly above them had been a callous decision. He wasn’t used to the limitations of a human body.

  He searched the area and spotted a shady area under an overhang. “Come on,” he said. “We can take a rest here.”

  Jihoon let out a noise halfway between a moan and a wheeze as he followed. “I guess I really shouldn’t have slacked off so much in gym class.”

  “Yeah, or you shouldn’t have given up that fox bead.” Junu took out a bottle of water and handed it to Jihoon, who drank it gratefully.

  “Oh yeah, you mean the thing that was slowly draining my life force and giving me seizures? So much fun. Highly recommend, you should definitely try it.”

  Junu laughed. “I’ll pass. But I do always wonder, if you’d have known you had it, if you could have harnessed the energy.”

  Jihoon eyed Junu. “You’re making that up.”

  Junu shrugged. “Maybe. Guess we’ll never know now. Though if I were you, I’d want to know exactly what side effects come from being a glorified safety deposit box for a gumiho bead.”

  Jihoon rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of curiosity in them, and perhaps a bit of fear.

  Junu wanted to poke at Jihoon again, to see if he could get the boy to believe more tall tales, but he heard the shuffling of approaching footsteps and he turned to face the new person.

  It was an ajumma. Her steps slow and labored.

  “I see you’ve found a nice spot. Any shade to share?”

  “Of course,” Junu said, shoving Jihoon aside to offer her a prime spot in the center of the shade.

  “You’re sweet,” she said, patting him on the arm. Her hand froze a second, her fingers tightened a tad on his wrist. Then she smiled as she leaned back and let out a long, grateful breath.

  “I’m reminded I’m not as young as I used to be. Every time I come up here, it gets harder and harder.”

  “Do you like hiking?” Jihoon asked, starting to hold out his water bottle before realizing it was empty.

  Junu pulled another bottle from his pack and offered it.

  She shook her head with a pursed smile. “I’m not one for hiking for pleasure. But when there’s a purpose, I can do it.”

  Something about how she spoke struck a nerve in Junu. His voice was measured as he asked, “And what purpose is that?”

  “Oh, I think you already know. A creature such as yourself. You’re good at observing others.”

  “Are you a ghost or a demon?” Junu asked.

  “Do I strike you as either one?” she asked, her smile becoming sharper as she watched him.

  “No,” Junu said slowly. “Shaman, then.”

  That made Jihoon’s eyes widen, and he took a small step away. Junu wondered if he even realized he did it. Not that Junu blamed him. The last time Jihoon had come up against a shaman, he nearly died.

  “It’s odd to see a dokkaebi and a human traveling together. And as you’re on my mountain, it seems like something I should take seriously.”

  “Is your god the sansin of this mountain?” Junu asked, glancing up at the craggy peaks.

  “He is.” She nodded. “And if you’re here to cause mischief or make problems, then I’m afraid I’m going to have to
ask you to leave.”

  “We’re not here to disturb your god,” Junu assured her. “In fact, we weren’t planning on letting him know we were here at all.” He didn’t add that the last time he’d been on this mountain, the sansin had banned Junu.

  The shaman turned to Jihoon again, who gave a weak smile. Then she nodded. “Make sure your business is done before nightfall.”

  “We will,” Junu promised.

  With that, the shaman turned to make her way up the path again. She stopped and turned back, looking intently at Jihoon.

  “There’s a strange energy in you,” she said. “Like you’ve held more than one soul.”

  Jihoon seemed at a loss for words. He looked imploringly at Junu for help.

  “He’s a very generous boy,” Junu said. “Some might say his heart is two times the normal size.”

  The shaman’s eyes narrowed; then she let out a dry laugh. “You know, I never did like you chonggak dokkaebi. Too smooth for my liking.” She turned to go and shouted a reminder over her shoulder. “Done before nightfall.”

  THERE ARE AS many sansin as there are mountains in Korea. They usually don’t leave their mountain. So, if one does not do anything to disrespect a sansin on his mountain, they are safe from his wrath.

  Unfortunately, Junu got on the bad side of a sansin.

  He only met the god once and it was not a pleasant experience.

  Desperate from losing everything that connected him to his human life, Junu thought to take out his rage on the shaman that had turned him into a dokkaebi. She’d promised that revenge would soothe his battered soul. But it had only served to break his spirit.

  He found the shaman praying beside an altar of rocks, stacked high in honor of her god.

  “Stand and face me, witch!” he shouted.

  She kept her back to him and did not speak, just continued to pray to the sansin.

  “I said stand. Or I will strike you down where you sit.” Junu pressed forward, a knife grasped tightly in his sweat-slicked hand.