Final
The Collector
Then there was light.
The vast darkness surrounding him turned to a bright array of light in the blink of an eye. Everything was a blur and it took second for his pupils to adjust. He was in his own neighborhood he had recently moved into. Tall houses lined up together with peculiar colors shading its exterior. There was a small and narrow driveway where vehicles could pass through, unable to hide from the sight of the neighbor.
He craned his neck, staring at the house of which the driveway he had occupied for an entire night. A tall semi lit window came into his vision, along with the image of a girl calmly brushing her hair. Her eyes—glowing bright as the fervent sun—stared at him. Then she got up and left.
The leaves were rustling against the wind, knocking on the glass of the now empty window aisle. It oozed a ghostly tune as he crouched himself up difficultly. He wanted to rub his eye, but realized the presence of a half empty Vodka bottle in his right hand. Had he been drinking? Was he hungover? That explained his incredible headache.
The front door clicked open, and out walked the girl with the beautiful eyes he was so drowned in. He immensely felt better—she was, after all, his wife.
“When will you get your life together, Hoya?”
Her voice was serene, one of the many reasons for being the woman he had fallen in love with. She didn’t judge, nor did she condemn. Her tone was almost, expectant. This was not the first time he had passed out and awoken on the cemented driveway.
“What happened, Biah?” He used her shoulder as support when he raised himself to his feet.
“As usual,” she spoke in such a way that was detached from reality. A small smile slipped her lips, and she was not going to elaborate him with the usual answer.
Biah had probably grown tired of telling him he had gone out drinking to relieve some stress. She knew his work was falling apart, and she was always patient with his drinking habits. She accepted it with excruciating patience, saying she loved him despite it all.
Except that Hoya could never remember drinking anything.
Sometimes he thought something was wrong with him, like he’d have a mental illness hidden within. Or perhaps he possessed a sixth sense that allowed him to hear strange sounds at night.
“Did you hear that?”
Hoya was quiet as soon as he posed the question, remaining still to seek his own answer. It was during these empty nights when he picked up distant sounds that resembled faint agonizing cries.
“You’re tired. You should go to sleep.” Biah turned to him with a loving smile.
He was lying in bed, and she was sitting behind her vanity table—her work station, she claimed. Biah was a housewife, and in her free time she was passionate about making small dolls out of whatever leftover material she could find at home. Hoya had suggested her to sell them for some extra income, but Biah was too fond of her creations to give them away. It was all part of a collection, she said.
Hoya pushed the blanket away and descended the bed as it echoed a horrible creak. He walked to his wife and knelt down besides her. His arms were circled around her and he started planting light kisses on the back of the shoulder.
“Come sleep with me,” he whispered, hot air brushing against her bare skin.
She giggled, allowing his attempts to gain her attention. “I am almost done with this one.”
Hoya watched her tall fingers moving delicately, threading a needle through the hole of a unique dark purple colored button. She moved the thread in and out, looping through the holes, and finally attached it to the faceless doll. The buttons were always transformed into the eye.
“I like that color. Do you think you could replace the buttons on my shirt with it?” Hoya asked, linking his hands around her waist so his chin could rest against her shoulder like a perfect fit.
Again, she giggled as if he had said the funniest thing she wasn’t supposed to laugh at. When her laughter died down, her voice was equally faint. “I am afraid these are the only buttons available, honey.”
Hoya frowned. Didn’t she get them at a DIY store?
The whispers of the night did not subdue over the course of the next few days. Whenever he was conscious enough, he would hear those desperate howls masked beneath the whistling wind out on the cold barren night. And at other times, he would find himself subsconscious on his driveway. He’d wake up with another bottle of Vodka he does not remember touching.
Hoya was so convinced of a mysterious cause going on at his house he had called in a supernatural exorcist.
Her name was Kim Haeah, and she looked too attractive for the hideous outfit she wore. He figured the white overall covering the female’s head from top to bottom with only her eyes showing was a standard procedure. was covered by a semi transparent satin sheet. She wore a huge necklace made out of different stones; gems of amethyst, beads of sapphire, and treasures of topaz hung around her neck. Every stone dazzled against her plain white outfit.
“Do you pick up any presence of a vengeful spirit?” Hoya had asked her, straightforward.
“I do not sense any of the alarming stories you have told me of,” Haeah said, proceeding her ritual from one room to another.
“Do you not hear any strange sounds?”
“I hear the stillness.”
Hoya pressed his lips together, so convinced that he couldn’t be the only one to hear those cries at night. “Miss Kim, maybe you should consider staying over for the night? These sounds are more imminent at night and I—”
“That won’t be necessary.”
His offer was cut short by the uninvited presence of his wife standing at the doorway to the kitchen. Biah was wearing a pink pastel colored apron tied around her waist. Hoya was sure the kitchen was empty several minutes ago.
“Miss Kim, this is my wife Lee Biah,” Hoya quickly introduced the supernatural expert who extended her hand for an awkward greeting.
“I apologize for my husband. He has been stressed with his work lately and is starting to hallucinate. Doctors say it’s an after effect of his constant drinking,” Biah said with the most sincere chuckle she could muster.
“Actually, I do think investigating the house at night would be ideal. Please let me know what time would work best for the both of you,” Haeah accepted the interrupted offer.
Hoya was so preoccupied setting up another appointment and ushering the girl outdoor, he did not notice the smile stiffen on his wife’s face. As soon as the door closed, Biah had pressed herself up against him and buried her head against his chest.
“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t working today?” She asked.
“I must have forgotten,” he replied with a sheepish chuckle. Truth was, he didn’t want to scare his wife with his assumptions that their house was haunted. She’d get scared and it pained him knowing he wouldn’t always be there to protect her.
Biah lifted her face to meet his eyes and smiled so gracefully at him. “Next time, tell me when you’re staying at home. I’ll cook dinner for you.” She tiptoed to give him a small peck on the lips.
Hoya wrapped his arm around her slender body. His lips creased along to that contagious bright smile of hers. “What are we having for dinner tonight?”
“I was about to start cooking, actually” Biah replied, and indeed the kitchen was still empty. But it did not suffice for the red stains blotting all over her pink apron.
Where had she been all along?
Days…. Weeks… Nearly one month had gone by and there was never any news of Kim Haeah. Many times Hoya had tried to reach her, but to no avail.
“Baby,” he called out to his wife one night. It was one of those rare nights when he’d experience a massive headache, but he was sure to wake up in bed instead of at the front porch. His blackout episodes had occurred more often within the week. Sometimes he wondered how his wife possessed such amazing virtue of patience.
“Hm?” She hummed lightly from her vanity table. Her arms were moving against the shadows; looping the thread within the hole.
“Have you heard anything from Haeah?”
“Not at all, honey,” she replied, and the presence of an unreal singsong voice had crept its way up .
Hoya moved to her side, standing so close so that her head could rest against the front of his upper torso. He caressed light strands of hair away from her face, a gentle move that engraved the smile on her face as she worked. He had so many questions, but all were nullified by a bigger mystery burning within him when he sighted something odd.
“Babe, are you no longer using buttons for the eyes?” He remarked, staring at the faceless doll gripped in her hand. One eye was sown using a beautiful dark blue sapphire stone, and another topaz gem laid idle on the table surface.
“Not this time. This time it weren’t buttons,” Biah answered, her hand never stopping when she pierced the needle to the skin where the eye was supposed to be, securing the sapphire in its place.
“I’m adding this to the collection.”
Hoya did not realize he had detached himself a little from her. He recognized those eyes, those beads. He had seen it on the necklace Kim Haeah was wearing during her visit.
The morning sunlight harassed his eyes when he tried to lift his eyelids open. There he was again, nearly dead and extremely hungover on the front porch of their house. The familiar Smirnoff bottle of Vodka was in his grip. It had the same red colored label and was only half empty—the same condition he remembered the bottle was in last time. A quick thought flashed his mind. Had he been holding unto the same bottle all along, or was it his drinking habit to consume only half of it?
By the time he had picked himself up to return inside the house, Biah was already cooking haejangguk, known as the best cure to a hangover in Korea. The spicy aroma prickled his taste buds already, and Hoya was caught in its inviting scent.
“The neighbors are starting to talk,” Biah suddenly informed him, aware of his idle presence at the kitchen entrance. “They think you’re a drunkard.”
Hoya approached her. He wrapped his arms around her smaller frame, giving her a backhug which she loved so much. He planted soft kisses against the back of her loose straight hair, and she giggled. “Am I a drunkard?” He asked for the opinion of the one person who mattered the most.
“They know nothing about you,” Biah replied, hands continuing to stir the orange shaded soup in slow circular motions, constant in her pace.
“And you do?” He asked with a playful chuckle.
“Of course.” Biah turned to face him, the soup ladle left unattended within the cooking pot. There was a bright flicker in her eyes when she leaned in for a light kiss. “I know everything about you.”
And in that small moment, Hoya caught the subtle change in her tone. Another question perked the back of his head; how much did she truly know that he himself was unaware of?
That night, Hoya made a firm decision to go out with several friends to hit the bar. Though he had been hungover so many times, he never truly remembered enjoying the night. His wife told him he had been drinking all by himself to wash his pain away, but a drink is truly enjoyable when shared with a couple of good friends.
“So where have you been?” Sooyeon said, lifting her shot glass up to do a cheer with the others before drinking it all in one gulp.
Hoya mimicked the movement and let out a loud satisfied grunt when he placed the shot glass on the counter. “I guess I have been busy.”
“You don’t know how many times we tried to reach you, but your wife always picks up our call and tells us you’ve fallen asleep,” Sungjong said with a disappointed sigh.
“My wife?” This was another event Hoya was not aware of. “When did you call me?”
“We called you last night. I didn’t know you’d be sleeping at 9PM,” Sungjong’s tone morphed to one of mockery. The friends roared with laughter, but Hoya could not join.
Biah told him he had been drinking at a nearby bar and she found him on the doorsteps as usual when she woke up in the morning. It did not line up with the fact she had told his friends he had fallen asleep so early. Something was going on and he was more convinced she was hiding something.
“Actually, I need to tell you something,” Hoya began, unable to keep the secret to himself. He had to let it out. He needed opinions. He needed help.
“What is it? You’re scaring us,” Hyesun said, noticing the fall in Hoya’s smile and the absence of color in his current complexion.
“I keep hearing voices at night at my house,” Hoya began, but quickly shook his head when the others paled. “Not just at night. I hear them when the house is in complete silence.”
“Is it haunted?” Hyesun questioned.
“I called in a paranormal, but she mysteriously disappeared,” Hoya said. He thought of the doll Biah was making, the one with the eyes of sapphire and topaz.
“Does your wife know?” Sooyeon asked.
Hoya pursed his lips, wondering how much of the truth he should expose to them. But they were his friends, and he needed a trustworthy outlet. So with another gulp of his shot, he began confessing the weird hangovers, the constant Vodka bottles, and moreover, his wife’s strange behavior.
“Where have you been?”
Hoya was surprised when, as soon as he flicked the light on of their living room, Biah was sitting on the couch wearing her short silky night dress. She had her legs crossing the other, and he couldn’t help but let his eyes linger on her exposed thigh. It distracted him.
“I was at the bar with some friends,” he stammered a reply, quickly meeting her eyes.
“Who?” She tilted her head sideways curiously.
“Sooyeon, Sungjong, and Hyesun.” The names rolled off his tongue so easily, because he was unable to keep secrets from her. Despite her weird behavior, he found his love for her too big to surpass his suspicions. Though seeing her smile falter at the names of his female friends made him rethink his decision.
Biah got up from her seat, stepping forward to her husband who remained motionless next to the front door. As usual, she’d circle her arms around his waist, feeling up his body that had gotten skinnier.
“What did you talk about?”
“About work, taking some days off for a vacation, and… The usual stuff,” Hoya answered vaguely. He couldn’t possibly confess he had told them his suspicions regarding her. It would kill her if she knew he thought of her in such ways.
She removed her head from his chest, meeting his eyes in a familiar gaze—not loving, but one that searched his eyes for the truth.
And they both knew she found none, for he was lying.
Weeks went by and Hoya found himself awake on the front porch more often, always the stupid Smirnoff Vodka bottle in his hand. He had tried the taste of it once at the bar, and he despised it. So how did it constantly end up in his hand?
He marched into the house, angrier than usual, and no longer consumed by his confusion. Biah was in the kitchen cooking his hangover soup like always, almost as if she had expected he would be unconscious on the front porch that morning. Had she completely given up on trying to wake him up? Was she ever going to scold him for supposedly being an alcoholic?
“Morning, honey,” she called out when his rushed footsteps entered the kitchen. She did not have to look over to identify him, but did take a quick glance when he didn’t respond. He was searching for his phone, and her fingers let go of the ladle in anticipation.
He had enough. He needed to talk. He needed answers. His friends had been avoiding him ever since he had told them about the truth. They must think he was a lunatic for doubting his wife.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Biah asked calmly, and never before did Hoya realize the true eeriness in her voice. It was as if she was asking to make sure he wouldn’t provide an answer she did not seek for.
“I’m looking for my phone,” he murmured while slamming his fist on the dining table. His wife flinched a little, and an expression of worry fell on her face. But he couldn’t get trapped, not now. So he quickly went upstairs to their bedroom.
He searched their bed, noticing the bed sheets were messy and indented with the sign of someone’s warm presence. It looked like he had been sleeping there all along, but he had woken up on the front porch.
In his silent observation, he did not hear Biah’s steps chasing after him. Her panting resonated in the room as she leaned against the door, watching her husband continue his frantic search.
Then, his eyes slowly trailed towards her vanity table—his loving wife’s work station. Among the collection of her many dolls stuffed in one wooden basket, he found three new ones sitting in front; two female dolls and one male.
“Are these new?” His voice trembled when he slightly turned his head to meet her eyes. She looked so delighted that he had inquired about her latest work.
“Yes, there were more buttons available this time.”
Hoya’s stomach churned with a sickening twist. He wished he wouldn’t have recognized those buttons, but he did. He now understood why his friends never called him back.
That same night, he felt the familiar headache reappearing—the very symptom he experienced before he’d wake up on the street the next morning. His wife was already asleep next to him on their king sized bed. He carefully moved out of the bed unnoticingly and tiptoed his way out.
The hallway was empty and deserted, but the whispers of the night returned. They were more vivid this time, like loud hissing noises mixed with the uncontrollable sobs and desperate plea for help. He still couldn’t pick up any coherent words, but sensed the hopelessness in their tone.
He walked around the house with a burning curiosity that overshadowed any fear remaining. Whether they were ghosts or something far worse, Hoya needed the answers he was so desperately seeking at this point.
A sudden noise from the garden caught his attention, and his first instincts told him to go explore. So he did. Empty handed, he ran to their garden, creaking the glass door open to be welcomed by the surrounding darkness.
The wind gushed an eerie tinge of coldness against his skin which his pyjamas could not defend. He wrapped his arms around the other to keep himself warm, but again, useless attempts.
He heard a noise again from a distance, and his head jerked up with quick reflexes. Maybe it wasn’t a ghost after all, for he vividly and tangibly heard the creaking of branches against the ground. He hoisted himself to the direction of the noise, and before he knew it, was running across the garden.
The nausea in his head reappeared. He tried his best to hold it in. Clenching his teeth helped reduce the pain a little, giving him enough strength to run towards the mysterious figure that became more visible in his vision, but not enough to identify the appearance.
“Wait!”
His legs was weakening and his eyelids felt heavier. The pain in his head resembled an invisible force pulling against his hair, poking small needles all over his scalp. He cried out in pain. The strength of his knees gave way and he collapsed unwillingly towards the ground.
“Wait!” He called again to the black silhouette. His vision was distorted when he laid on the ground, feeling the cold and damp grass prickle the side of his cheek. He managed to read the figure’s body language and examined fear in the way its body escaped. The person was running away.
It didn’t take long before another person appeared in his fading line of vision. It was a woman—one he could recognize all too well. She was holding a large shovel in her hand, approaching the figure on the run.
Before his consciousness disappeared, he saw the horrific sight unfold before him. His loving wife gripped the shovel in her hand, adjusting her hold on it before swinging it to the other. The clanking sound of metal striking the flesh, along with a woeful cry filled his ears like a lullaby before he dropped his eyelids shut.
He had come to full consciousness the next morning, lying wide awake in their cozy bed. Her side was empty, but he heard the sound of her humming from the kitchen downstairs. It was odd not to see a Vodka bottle this time, since the pain and exhaustion he felt was very much similar to the times he had a hangover.
Everything was a mess. His work was already falling apart and he was on the verge of getting laid off. Now, it seemed his marriage was coming to an end too. When he said his vow at the altar, he didn’t know he’d be wed to a murderer.
Biah could reason all she wanted, but he had witnessed the proof with his very own eyes. His gaze rested upon the vanity table, carefully watching the dolls and realizing what they stood for. Every single one of them represented a missing person—one whose life she had probably taken. The buttons was a sick and twisted souvenir she’d like to remember every single one of her victims by.
“Oh honey, you’re awake,” Biah’s voice interrupted his train of thoughts. She was standing at the door, holding a food tray in her hand. Steam vaporized from the soup bowl resting on top.
“Is that hangover soup?” He asked dimly, wondering whether she was going to tell yet another blatant lie. For all he knew, she could’ve been feeding him sleeping pills all along to make him lose consciousness. Maybe she needed him gone whenever she did her… Work.
“No silly, this is seaweed soup. It’s a good cure for the sick.” Biah laid the tray on the night drawer and sat on the edge of the bed to face him. She carefully took the hot bowl in her hand, and scooped some of her home cooked dish. “When I found you, you were sleeping on the garden.”
Hoya watched her expression, that beautiful eyes flickering against the sunlight, and her red lips pouting together to blow the soup as her rosy cheeks puffed up so adorably. His heart still fluttered near her like the first time he had laid eyes on her radiating beauty.
Could he be wrong? Surely a woman as graceful as his loving wife wouldn’t commit such horrendous crimes. She was incapable of hurting an ant, let alone stand a human being. He no longer had a grasp of reality and fantasy even when facts presented itself before his eyes.
“Biah,” he spoke, his tone gentle when his fingers laced itself around her small wrist. She looked up at him with her lips still pressed together, so innocent and beautiful. But he needed answers.
“We promised to tell each other everything, right?”
Biah blinked, but soon bobbed her head jovially. “Of course, because we love each other.”
Indeed, love was too strong a verb to be applied in this situation. He took the bowl from her hands and returned it to the tray. Then he took her hand in his, brushing their fingers to intertwine in a fluttering hold.
“Is there anything I should know?” He then asked, his voice firm and his eyes stern. “You know I will love you no matter what.”
He didn’t know how many times she had practiced her alibi, but her smile never faltered from her face like the perfect porcelain doll she was. There was zero guilt and no fault when she spoke in her loving and convincing way.
“I keep no secrets of my own.”
Hoya frowned at her, unconvinced. She was never a good liar, and he knew she was speaking the truth. Yet, he firmly believed there was a mystery he could not get his fingers on.
“I think we are out of my aspirins. Could you buy more at the pharmacy?” He suddenly asked.
“Oh! Is your head hurting?” She asked worriedly, placing the back of her hand against his forehead to measure his temperature. A small gasp escaped , and she quickly tucked him back in bed. “I will go get the medicine.”
Hoya felt bad for lying, but it was the only way to usher her out of the house. She was constantly around to cover the fact, that perhaps, the biggest secret was kept in their very own house.
Biah brushed his hair aside as her lips pressed against the top of his forehead. “I’ll be back soon. Rest up, honey,” she said delicately and left the room.
He waited for silence to succumb his surrounding; for the front door to close, for her footsteps to descend the front porch, and for the car to drive away from its parking spot. When silence fell on him once again, he opened his ears to absorb those whispers. This time he was sure of its existence.
He scurried out of bed and began exploring the house he wasn’t all too familiar with. He had only been there for nearly three months after their recent move, and there was suddenly so many secrets he did not know of. He had seen Biah keep the master keys in the second drawer of the vanity table, one that could open every door of the house.
The stillness was eerie and he hated himself for growing accustomed to it. He welcomed them like they were part of the ambient noise he had to hear in order to live through the day. His fingers trailed the surface of the wall, a Victorian floral wallpaper he was never fond of, but Biah adored the pink stained flower petals.
The cries were louder and more coherent when he descended downstairs. He opened one of the doors that led to the basement and laundry room. He had never set foot inside since Biah was in charge of the house chore. But opening the door was like opening the gateway to hell. The whispers at night morphed to loud hysteric cries in brim daylight. The muffled incoherent noise audibly cried out a crystal clear desire to be saved. It reached his ears in every disturbing sense possible.
His mind tried to comprehend what had happened, numerous possibilities occupying his thoughts. His legs moved on it own, carefully descending the stairs as more cries welcomed him with every step.
The basement was dark, but did not hide the black door blending in between the dark stone brick wall. The cries of anguish were louder, and his heart raced with the possibility of what he would find behind the door. He didn’t realize his hands trembling when he tried inserting different keys into the hole. Trying again, and again, and again, until one clicked.
He latched the black steel handle, pushing it open to reveal the true reality of hell on earth.
There was a chamber far wider than he dared to imagine, filled with excruciating heat of an invisible fireplace. It resembled the torture chamber of the olden medieval times; stone walls, rocky floors, and numerous items, tools, and torture devices he had never before seen in his life. A part of him did not wish to know how those sharp tools functioned.
“You monster! Let us out of here!”
The familiar voice jerked his head sideways. He realized there were cages all around—human cages.
“Sungjong!” Hoya’s voice was nearly caught behind his throat when he ran up to his beaten down friend. He was bleeding from his head and one eye looked so deformed. Two buttons were missing from his shirt.
As soon as he reached the cage, he noticed everyone retreating in fear, keeping a safe distance from him.
“You can’t keep us here forever!” Sungjong spoke again, and there was the frightened tremble when he could no longer hold the eye contact with his former friend.
“I know, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think my wife would do this to you.” Hoya was frantically looking around him to find the key of some sorts. He remembered the ones he still had in his hand and began inserting them to the keyhole of the cage. His heart was rushing so hard in fear, caught in the moment of panic and fear all at once.
“Your wife?” Sooyeon spoke the words with a scoff of disbelief, twitched open beyond a normal human’s length and was sewn back together using a loose white colored string, now blood stained. “You are the one who did this.”
His movements stopped.
What were they talking about? There were so many questions in his head, and the deeper he dug to answer them, the more unanswered riddles appeared in its stead. He was willing to accept Biah in her murderous state, but then…
“Howon?”
Another familiar voice made Hoya flinch as he turned to the door he had foolishly left wide open. Biah was standing there, still in her pink coat and a plastic bag of the nearest pharmacy in her hand. She stared at him wide-eyes, as if surprised at his presence, but for a different reason than his.
Did she just call him Howon?
“Why are you here? You’ve never appeared around this hour,” Biah continued, checking her watch before throwing her puzzled gaze back on him.
“Who is Howon?” His voice was barely audible when he looked her in the eyes.
Biah took a while before her eyes enlarged in realization. “Hoya, you are not supposed to find out!” She panicked.
Hoya was too tired of her lies, he refuted her hands away when she tried to hold them in hers. “Who is Howon?” He raised his voice when he posed the similar question. Only this time, he expected answers. And judging on her shrinking figure, he knew she was finally going to satisfy him with the truth—the answer to his lifelong questions.
“Howon is the monster inside you,” Biah spoke softly. “The collector.”
Suddenly it hit him like a switch had gone off. His terrible hangovers weren’t because of alcohol, but was merely a fabricated scenario Biah had created to protect him from finding out about his other self. The reason he couldn’t remember certain events at night was simply because he wasn’t the one experiencing them.
Biah wasn’t the dangerous one. As much as he loved her to accept her murderous nature and decided not to surrender her over to the law, she also loved him so much to the extent of becoming an accomplice to his murderous alternate persona.
“You know, no matter what, I promise to always love you.” Biah’s words filled his ears like honey despite the terror laced with it. She walked up to him, pressing her lips against his dry ones.
A twisted acceptance fleeted through his mind. If he was able to accept her in her murderous state, and she managed to accept him as a psychotic lunatic, he could learn to comply to accept his other self.
It didn’t take long before he returned her kiss, moving his lips along to hers. He felt whatever good thoughts he had left taken over, and he shut his eyes to morality and righteousness.
Then there was darkness.
Thank you to whoever endured reading this weird attempt at dark romance with a plot twist. This probably wasn't what anyone had in mind when I was assigned the original prompt for the contest. But the ending is meant to be vague, so if you have a lot of questions, good. If you perfectly understood, even better! Basically, Hoya has split personality and the one torturing the people around him was his other persona, Howon. Biah was just an accomplice, trying to protect Hoya from Howon. Yet she participates in the two acts because she loves them as one person. Ah, it's unconditional love gone wrong~
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