i; hex

Joy stood in a narrow alley and inhaled its terrible rotten-garbage scent. The alley was dark although it was still daytime. The steel-gray clouds shrouded November sky wasn’t any help, let alone the dim lamps installed here. Before her, a three-story building in the shape of a prism was standing, old and tired-looking even among the poor buildings in the alley. The plaster of its wall was peeling off and the metal door was smeared in dark bruises and reddish rust on its dull grey color. She stared at the door, studied its plate number, then shifted her eyes to a piece of paper in her hand.

Two months, she thought. Two bloody months to find this address.

She read all of Irene’s books, studied each and every of her belongings. She went to Irene’s parents’ home, flipped out her room until she found an agenda dated back five years ago. It was the same year Irene found her in front of that old church.

The last entry of the agenda was a short one, stated the address of their apartment and some names Joy never heard before. But she found a hasty scribble under all those names. Just three letters.

Hex.

She began to trace this ghost named Hex through all the name presents in Irene’s agenda. It was one tiring quest of long bus rides, walking through every gap of Seoul and knocking on stranger’s doors. Then finally yesterday she managed to get a bit of information about Hex. The woman she met yesterday was Irene’s acquaintance, and she spoke rather fondly of Irene and told Joy how much loss it was to lose Irene. She didn’t want to speak about Hex at first, but Joy was stubborn. The woman gave up in the end. She reluctantly told her about Hex and gave her this address alongside a warning.

You don’t want to be involved with Hex, little girl. The devil will devour your soul.

Be damned with the devil. She didn’t care anymore whether it was a devil or human, the only thing she cared was that its connection to Irene’s death.

She knocked.

On the third knock, the door swung open, presenting a dark corridor with a faint flicker of yellow lamps. Joy took a step forward to enter the place. She jumped in surprise when suddenly the door closed behind her. This is strange, a poor building with an automatic door? She would never think of that.

 Her eyes scanned the long corridor ended in wooden stairs. Pictures and paintings were hanging on the wall on her side as she walked deeper. She recognized some, the replica of Botticelli's Primavera and Rembrandt’s The Night Watch. It made no sense, she thought. The pictures displayed were a combination of random themes from greek mythology to religious-themed to the social issue and landscape painting.   

Loud clattering sound made Joy paused her steps. She didn’t prepare for anything bad. She didn’t expect this eerie place at all. The only thing she could do right now was pressing her back onto the moldy wall, clutching her bag tightly.

A figure emerged from the top of the stairs. It walked down the stairs in a rush and Joy could see that it was a human figure as it approached closer. The figure stopped when she reached the last step of the stairs.

A girl, maybe two or three years older than Joy. She wore a plain shirt and dark-colored jeans and her heels made a faint sound when she walked. In this dim light, her face was a blur, but Joy could conclude that she was no taller than Joy. Her eyes were rather narrow, lined by smokey make-up and she had a pretty, pointed nose. The girl came and stood in front of her, held her hand out.

“Welcome to the outpost. What can I do for you?” Her voice was a kind one in contrast with this cold place.

“Hex. I need to see Hex,” Joy replied. The girl flashed a professional smile.

“Very well, Miss…?”

“Joy.”

“Miss Joy, I’ll take you to the attic,” she said and turned her heels back to the stairs.

“Attic? Excuse me, are you Hex?”

The girl laughed in her light voice upon hearing her question. “No. I’m not Hex. I’m the receptionist, or the secretary, or her apprentice. Whatever you call it.”

Joy didn’t ask more. They ascended the stairs without words, and the paintings staring at them from the walls. It gave Joy a chilly sensation on the nape of her neck. Something about this place was definitely wrong, like this was no place for humans, that a human should never place his feet here.

 At the end of the stairs, Joy saw a frail-looking door. It was a plain wooden door in pale brown, a black iron knocker shaped like a lion head installed under the knob. A symbol of sun circled by vines and flowers is engraved on its smooth plane. For some reason, that symbol seemed familiar to Joy.

The girl didn’t bother knocking the door, instead, she pushed the door with a light nudge. Once the door opened, she gestured Joy to follow her inside.

The attic was a spectacular place. Contrasting the gloomy corridor downstairs, it was surprisingly bright, bathed with light from the shy sunshine through the window and also the little white lanterns hanging from the ceiling.  Joy studied the room, tried to hide her amazement. She had never been in any place like this. It looked like some kind of indoor garden, with pots containing herbs and flowers lined on a large bench. Half of the attic was covered with soil and soft grass where from it sprung various plants. Red rose and white and pink and yellow rose tangled to each other in the corner of the room. There were also freesias, rosa rugosas, petunias and some other plants she never saw before.

Her eyes continued to explore the room until she found an open chamber by the end of the little garden. There was a wooden divan in the middle of it, and at last, Joy saw her.

 She was sitting on the divan, crossing legs there. Her beige skin shone in this bright room, wrapped the thin and fragile-looking body. Her jeans were a mixture of blue and grey, the color of the ocean. Deep purple velvet cloth draped around her, covering her legs, and a long necklace with a yellow sun pendant dangling from her neck in contrast to her black sleeveless top.

The woman was probably in the late twentieth, maybe around Irene’s age, Joy thought. She had long and wavy dark brown hair, messy as if dark tendrils were growing on her head. Her eyes were big, black as night. From the gap of her brick-colored lips, grey breath climbing the air joined by the smoke from lit cigarette slipped between her two fingers.

 “Hex,” the receptionist girl called softly.

The woman –Hex—glanced at them with uninterested eyes. She inhaled the tar once again, exhaled the smoke and coughed.

“What is it?”

Her voice was neither heavy nor rough like Joy’s prediction. Hex’s voice was high-pitched, rather shrilly, reminded her of tinkling glass.

“This is Miss Joy. She wants to see you,” the girl explained.

“Seulgi, I’m not in the mood for listening to little girl’s love problem,” Hex groaned. She slammed the cigarette to the crystal ashtray beside her. The girl called Seulgi sighed. She grabbed Joy’s arm and dragged her closer to Hex.

“It’s your job!” Seulgi snapped. Hex bulged her eyes at Seulgi’s agitated remark.

“It’s not my main job, silly girl. We have enough money until next month so I’m not gonna do any counseling or wish-granting,” Hex snarled.

“Don't be so lazy, Hex! You spend money so easily for your disgusting smoking habit and I'm the one who managed it! Do your job properly!” Seulgi's shout made Hex winced. For a moment, sh