As Minsu left the tea shop, her mind raced with the cryptic words Kim Hyowon had spoken. The village that had once felt like a peaceful retreat now seemed shrouded in layers of secrets, each one waiting to be uncovered. The calm, familiar streets felt foreign now, as if the very air around her had shifted, thick with unspoken truths.
She couldn't shake the feeling that she had just touched the surface of something far larger than she had ever imagined. Her aunt's sudden disappearance, so many years ago, had never made sense to her. But now, with Kim Hyowon's cryptic words echoing in her mind, Minsu realized that there was more to her aunt's departure than she could have guessed. She had thought she was alone in her search for answers, but now she wondered—was she really the only one?
Determined to get to the bottom of this mystery, Minsu walked back to her hanok, the cool afternoon breeze brushing against her face, bringing with it a sense of clarity. She needed to do something—anything—to uncover what had truly happened. But where to begin? The tea shop was a start, but Minsu knew she couldn't rely on just one conversation.
She returned to her home and spent the afternoon cleaning and organizing. The familiarity of her surroundings, though comforting, couldn't fully ease her restless mind. The quiet of the village felt strange now, as though it was hiding something from her. When she had finished with her chores, she finally sat down at the small desk in the corner of her room, staring out at the garden, deep in thought.
The next morning, Minsu rose early, her mind still consumed by the mystery. She had decided that the best course of action was to explore the village further. Perhaps there were others who knew more about her aunt's disappearance, or maybe, she could find more clues hidden in the familiar places of her childhood. She couldn't just wait for answers to fall into her lap—she had to seek them out.
As she wandered through the village again, she passed by the familiar spots—the bakery with the warm scent of freshly baked bread, the well in the center of town, and the old woman who always sat under the plum tree, knitting scarves. But today, they seemed different, as though they were hiding something from her, something she hadn't noticed before.
Minsu's next stop was the small library in the village square. It had been years since she had spent much time there, but she remembered it as a quiet place where she could escape into books, even when she was younger. She pushed open the door, the creak of the hinges sounding louder than she expected. The musty scent of old paper and dust filled the air, and the soft rustling of pages could be heard in the background as a few elderly villagers browsed the shelves.
As she wandered down the aisles, Minsu's gaze fell upon a section she had never paid much attention to: the local history and family archives. She picked up a faded ledger and leafed through it, her fingers brushing over the yellowed pages. Names of families, dates of births, marriages, and deaths—all were recorded here. She paused as her eyes caught a name that seemed familiar, a name she hadn't expected to see in this book: her aunt's.
Minsu's heart skipped a beat. She had to know more. She pulled the book from the shelf and flipped through the pages until she found the entry. It was brief, almost too brief. Her aunt's name appeared, but next to it was a note in the margins, written in delicate handwriting: "Disappeared—last seen near the outskirts of the village."
Her heart pounded in her chest. This was the first concrete clue she had found in years. Her aunt had been seen leaving near the edge of the village? Minsu tried to recall any memories from that time—anything that could give her a hint of where her aunt had gone, or why she had disappeared.
Before she could read more, the librarian, an elderly man who had worked there for decades, approached her. "Looking for something, Miss Minsu?" he asked kindly, his voice soft but carrying the weight of years of knowledge.
"Yes," Minsu said, feeling slightly flustered. "I was just reading about my aunt. She... disappeared a few years ago, and I was wondering if there was anything more about it in these records."
The librarian's expression shifted slightly, though it remained neutral. "Ah, your aunt," he said, his tone a little too careful. "There are many stories about people who disappear in this village. Some are never found, and some... well, some people don't want to be found."
Minsu narrowed her eyes at his cryptic words. "What do you mean?"
The librarian hesitated, then leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a whisper. "There are things in this village, things that are better left alone. People who leave... sometimes, it's because they've seen too much. Or they've crossed paths with the wrong people."
Minsu felt a chill run down her spine. The librarian's words were like a warning, but Minsu wasn't about to back down. "Do you know where she went? Or who she met before she disappeared?"
The librarian shook his head slowly. "I can't say for certain. But there are always rumors, Minsu. Some say it's the old house at the edge of the village—abandoned, forgotten by most. But you'd be wise not to follow those whispers. Some doors are meant to remain closed."
Minsu's mind was racing now, the mystery deepening. The old house on the edge of the village. She had heard the rumors, of course, but it had always seemed like a place best avoided—an old, decaying house that no one dared to approach. But now, it felt like the key to the answers she was searching for.
"Thank you," Minsu said, her voice steady despite the growing unease within her. She closed the book, the librarian's words echoing in her mind. Some doors were meant to remain closed. But some doors, Minsu thought, needed to be opened—no matter the cost.
She left the library with the book in her hands, a new determination in her heart. She was going to find the old house. And she was going to uncover the truth about her aunt's disappearance.
Minsu's footsteps were steady, but her mind raced as she walked through the village, the librarian's warning ringing in her ears. Some doors are meant to remain closed. But in her heart, she knew she couldn't leave this mystery unsolved. She had come back to this village to find answers, and now, the old house at the edge of town seemed to be the key.
She made her way through the village, her thoughts consumed by the possibilities. She had heard the rumors—everyone had. The house had been abandoned for years, ever since the old couple who once lived there had mysteriously vanished. The walls were said to be covered with strange symbols, and the air around it always seemed heavy, as if the house was holding its breath, waiting for something. But despite the fear and suspicion surrounding it, no one dared approach. It was a place untouched by time, a place forgotten by most.
When she reached the edge of the village, the house came into view. It stood there, as if it had always been part of the landscape—old, weathered, with a sense of sorrow hanging over it. The windows were dark, the door slightly ajar, creaking softly in the wind, as though it was inviting her in.
Minsu hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel her pulse in her ears, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her. Was this the right thing to do? Was she ready to uncover what lay behind that door? And if she did, would it bring her closer to the truth—or would it drag her deeper into the darkness?
Taking a deep breath, Minsu pushed open the creaky door. It swung inward with a protesting groan, and she stepped into the dimly lit room. Dust motes danced in the air, and the smell of mold and decay hung thick. The house felt heavy with secrets, each room holding whispers of the past.
As she moved deeper into the house, Minsu couldn't help but feel a chill in the air. Her footsteps echoed in the silence, and the walls, once vibrant with life, now seemed to close in around her, as though they were watching her every move.
The first room she entered had an old wooden table, its surface covered with dust. Shelves filled with faded books lined the walls, their spines cracked and worn. She moved toward the table, brushing her fingers over a stack of papers. The papers were yellowed, the ink faded with age. It was almost as though time had forgotten this place, as though no one had been here for years—except for her, of course.
Then, something caught her eye—tucked underneath the papers was a small leather-bound journal. The cover was worn, and it felt oddly familiar to her. Minsu picked it up, her fingers trembling slightly as she opened it. The handwriting inside was neat, elegant even. And as she read the first few lines, her heart skipped a beat.
October 7,1999.
She came to the house today. She didn't say anything, just stood there in the doorway. Her face was pale, but her eyes—they were full of somthing that I couldn't quite place. Fear, perhaps. But also something more. I knew she had to leave. I had to make her leave. It was the only way to protect her.
Minsu's breath caught in her throat. Her. This was about her aunt. The writing, the date—it all matched. Her aunt had been here. She had come to this house before she disappeared.
The journal continued, but the further Minsu read, the more the words seemed to spiral into something darker.
October 10,1999.
I couldn't stop her. She came back. She wanted to knowwhat happened to the people who lived here. But she doesn't understand. They were never supposed to find out. I warned her, but she wouldn't listen. She couldn't. Not after what she saw. Not after what i told her. The others will come for her. They'll take her.
Minsu's hand trembled as she turned the page. The rest of the journal was filled with fragmented entries, some unreadable, others too disturbing to make sense of. But one thing was clear—her aunt had been involved in something far more dangerous than she had ever known. Something that had led to her disappearance.
Just as Minsu closed the journal, a soft creak echoed through the house. She froze, her heart leaping into her throat. She wasn't alone.
She turned slowly, her eyes scanning the shadows. The door to the next room was ajar, and she could hear faint footsteps approaching. Minsu's breath hitched. The air around her seemed to thicken, and the room grew colder.
"Who's there?" she called out, her voice shaky but determined.
There was no response, but the footsteps continued. They were coming closer.
Minsu's instincts told her to leave. To run. But her feet felt frozen to the spot. Her aunt's journal burned in her hands, the secrets of the past now in her possession. She couldn't turn back now.
She stepped cautiously toward the source of the sound, her heart pounding louder with every step. As she neared the threshold of the room, the door creaked open fully, revealing a figure standing in the dark corner.
It was Kim Hyowon.