The car wheels screeched to a halt over the gravel parking lot. The young man leaned forward, to examine the estate before him through his windshield. The GPS stationed on his dashboard politely announced that he had reached his destination, to which he nodded thoughtfully. He hadn’t been there since he was ten, because his grandmother much preferred to visit them in Seoul herself after her husband died. His father obviously tried to object, but the old women was quiet strong for her age, and didn’t once complain.

When the lovely women eventually passed away, it was a sudden shock to the whole family. However that also meant they needed to drive out there to settle Grandmother’s affairs, clear out the house, and figure out what was to be done with the estate, all before the coming funeral. Uncle said he would come to help clear out boxes. However since the young man didn’t see his truck in the driveway as he got out of the car — and being late himself already — he was convinced the man wouldn’t show until the solicitor was meant to. Which wouldn’t be till tomorrow afternoon.

Regardless, the young man had other things to worry about. He was supposed to propose the subject and thesis for his history dissertation to Professor Cho on the coming Monday, and he only had this weekend to prepare. Instead of sifting through a pile of history books and downing four iced coffees form Caffe Bene in the university library, he was spending his Friday afternoon driving all the way to the Busan countryside. Sure the family tried to convince Grandmother and Grandfather to move closer to the city, but they wouldn’t budge. They kept saying how important it was that they stayed.

The young man stood before the beautiful estate, its architecture both Victorian as well as traditional Korean. It was built during the Japanese occupation, though Grandmother hadn’t said much else about it. He pushed the doorbell, humming as he tapped his foot.

“Sweetheart!” Exclaimed Mother, opening the door widely to embrace her son. “Your father is just out back cutting weeds and mowing the lawn. I’m trying to box up stuff here on the main floor.” She guided him in as she spoke, and he set his laptop bag down by the door as he shuffled out of his shoes.

“Do you want me to help you with the boxes Mom?” He raked his fingers through his hair, following her into the living room. It was a big building, and the kitchens were much farther from the dining room and living spaces since that was once where servants would prepare meals and do other chores.

“Well, it would be nice if you could help with some of the stuff upstairs. I have no idea what to expect from the attic…” Mother sighed, trying to find her place among the organization. She had been trying to safely pack all the antiques without breaking any of the porcelain statues or old paintings.

“I could take a look at the attic if you want, so that you and Dad don’t have to worry about it later on.” He shrugged, rolling up his sleeves.

“Would you Sweetheart? I would be so thankful!” She turned to smile at him.

He wasn’t sure what to expect from the attic either. His grandparents had always been reluctant to let anyone throw stuff out. The house was neat and tidy enough, that he was certain the bulk of their hoarding would be somewhere in that attic. Mounting the grand staircase, and making his way up to the second floor, he took his time walking down the hallway. Paintings and old photos were hung on the walls. One photo had a group of army buddies, another was a woman embracing a little boy, which seemed more modern — and considering the hair styles — appeared to be from the 60s or 70s.

Eventually he came upon the next stair well, and made his way to the third floor. At the end of that hall, after passing empty rooms that smelt of moth balls and were draped in white linen, was a compacted ladder. It was folded against the sealing, so he reached up to pull it down. Stepping up a couple rungs, he could reach the trapdoor that would open up into the attic. It had trouble budging, but after a number of awkward grunts and his face changing to a faint red, it eventually swung back. A cloud of dust descended from the darkness above him, so the young man couldn’t help but revert back into the hall, coughing.

Grandfather always kept extra supplies in all the hall closets, and from the time he was six and decided to journey through the house at night, he knew Grandfather kept flashlights and packs of batteries in the closets as well. So once he got his hands on a flashlight that would turn on and off properly, the young man made his way back to the ladder. Climbing it and crawling into the attic wasn’t the hard part, the hard part was trying to locate a light switch. Even with the flashlight it was hard to tell where he was standing. Metal beads dangled from above, and seemed to swing right into his face at that very moment. Of course, he would pretend he found it in less embarrassing manner, when he pulled down on it.

Alumination filled the room, and he was pleasantly surprised by the less excessive amount of boxes and furniture that was stored up there. He began by pulling the tarps off of boxes, trying not to jump at the squeal of mice. One tarp in particular, revealed a beautiful old trunk. Most were faded and patchy boxes, but this one was a sturdy wood, with bronze adornments and a lock on it. He brushed the dust off the place across the top in order to read the cryptic words.

‘HERE LIES THE REMAINING LEGACY OF THE OPERA GHOST’

“What one earth does that mean?” He muttered under his breath, taking the lock in one hand. The rest of the trunk might have been in decent shape, but the lock seemed rusted and could easily be broken. So he grabbed his flashlight, and ed the hilt downward against the lock. A crack echoed around the attic, as the lock itself fell from its place.

The lid of the trunk creaked as he pushed it back, revealing what looked to be some sort of article of clothing, wrapped in parchment paper. He pulled the paper back carefully, revealing what was most likely an old wedding dress. He lifted it out of the trunk, and set it on top of a nearby box, so he could search through the stuff packed beneath. The young man retrieved next, an old edition of The Chosun Ilbo, dated January 1st 1940. His grandfather would have still been quiet young, so it seemed this truck belonged to his great grandparents.

The whole trunk was filled with old papers, books, news articles, and what seemed to be a series of diaries. However, one headliner grabbed his attention most of all. FIRE AT THE OPERA CAUSES MULTIPLE DEATHS. He sat back against the trunk, and started reading what he could from the slightly faded text. Most of the article was describing the police’s findings on how the fire was caused, but what caught his eye was a particular name. ‘Not long before the fire, it was stated that the rising talent Kim Jennie had gone missing.’ His eyes widened. That was his great grandmother! The date of the article was March of 1930, but said something about strange occurrences at the Opera, dating back a number of months.

Sifting through the diaries, the earlies one he could find started its entries in late 1928. He flipped forward to April of 1929. The page had a ticket stub glued to it, and a clipping from a performance program was also wedged between it and the previous page. The writing was that of a young women, who was bright and clearly excited.

I can’t believe I’ll be performing tonight! The Angel said I would get my chance and he was right. Even though I’ll just be in the chorus, it’s the first time I’ll get the chance to sing on stage instead of just dancing. If only father were still alive to see me, though I do hope he is watching me from above.

This was captivating. He new little about his great grandparents since Grandmother and Grandfather rarely spoke of them. But to think that all of this…an opera singer, a fire….he knew none of it! He searched through some more papers till he found what appeared to be a letter, addresses to ‘DEAR JENNIE’.

It is my greatest of honours to see you sing. But you have to realize! You must love me! Can’t you love me? My throat dries up and I can’t think without you near me! You must stop seeing that pompous young man. You belong to me!

The writer in question, had addressed themselves as O.G. “As in Opera Ghost?” The young man pondered, picking up the diary again. What he had found wasn’t merely a collection of family memories. It was the chronicle of a dark, and bloody time in his family’s lineage. One surrounded by such a rebellious times in Korean history.

It had all started a few month prior to May of 1929, when a young ballerina was visited by a voice in the night. Only, things didn’t start to go south till the Opera manager grew ill and needed to return home to Japan. Now two young men, having had their rise in women’s clothing design, bought the most popular opera. They of course new little of what to expect; especially when a corpse was found not two days into their new job.