Immediately upon entering, the light changed to a soft, gloomy green twilight, and the bustling sounds of the outside decreased to a dull murmur.  Inside the courtyard was like another world--a secret garden--though made less of beautiful plants, and more of an abundance of overgrown weeds that you couldn’t name, but still...the charm lay less in what they were, and more in the fact that they had been allowed to grow to such prodigious heights, and in such profusion.  

You come on like a drug.  I just can't get enough.  I'm like an addict coming at you for a little more.  And there's so much at stake, I can't afford to waste, I’ve never needed anybody like this before…

As you slowly entered further into the property, the signs of dereliction were even more evident--both on the house, and in the courtyard, and you turned down your music to a whisper, to ensure that you could hear anything approaching.  Smiling, you allowed a shiver to creep up your spine, intentionally scaring yourself--for the full experience.   To be honest, as creepy as the house looked up close, you were less frightened of gwishin and more of possible creepy squatters, or--horror of horrors--to discover that the home was not, in point of fact, abandoned, but that the person living there just dug the Addams Family aesthetic, in which case you would be the creepy one.

Enchanted, you took your time exploring, all the while keeping an eye on both the house, and the entrance to the property.  True, the building was supposed to be vacant, but as you roamed, your eye caught small clues here and there--an ill-tended, but obviously harvested vegetable garden, a random Bulgeun Angma banner, a discarded, but rust-free bicycle--that told you that someone--within the last few years at least--had been...if not in residence, then a frequent visitor.

I have my reasons.  Call it my defense.  Be careful what you’re wishing…

Though you itched to step onto the hanok’s terrace, and possibly try your luck inside, you did have limits and, curiosity satisfied after your exploration (more like curiosity diverted after the vampires of the place--in the form of tiny winged nuisances that gave, not eternal life, but hot itchy bumps--had risen to avenge your impudence), you turned to leave, though you did pause to idly wonder just what it would be like to explore the inside.  Still, even if you didn’t run the risk of coming face to face with the home’s own personal Boo Radley or Mrs. Haversham, you couldn’t trust the building’s structural integrity, and you did not want to be the person who had to call the police to save her from trespassing in someone’s derelict old house, after having destroyed their property.  

So, you began the long trek back to the outside--just as carefully as you had come in--ducking and weaving to avoid touching any of the plants for fear of taking home a little eight-legged hitchhiker.  But, it was funny… For as long as you had been nosing about, under the guise of exploration, any tingles of the spine had purely come from your own silliness in setting the mood for yourself, but now...as you turned to leave...you felt it.  The sensation of an intense gaze following your path out of the property.  Refusing to let fear make you react, you set your jaw, and kept your steps as sedate as they had been the entire time, even though your shoulders wanted to hunch to protect you against the burning sensation on the nape of your neck.

Finally, unscathed, you emerged from that other world, back into the crisp brightness and cheer of a perfect autumnal day.  Smiling, you allowed yourself one shudder to release tension, before looking back at the hanok, committing the property to memory.  It had been a fun experience, one that you were glad to have had, and you were grateful to yourself that you had been brave enough to do it, and even more grateful that you hadn’t been caught.  Grinning jauntily, you continued home, visions of hot cider and hotteok dancing merrily in your head.  

You are a secret; a new possession…

I like to keep you guessing.

***

I long to have one moment close to you

but you would leave me forever.

So I kept the distance between us,

as I wanted to be at a place where I will always be able to see you.

Yijeong Hanim

“Hey.”

Wiping your forehead with your wrist, you looked up from where you were artfully positioning grapes and strawberries onto a two-tiered bamnamu cream birthday cake.  “Why?”

Your coworker, Gwan Ara leaned on the doorjamb, grinning obnoxiously.  “Employee lounge.  There’s another one for you.”

This was the fifth time this week that someone had flowers delivered to you at work. To your frustration, none of your coworkers ever seemed to remember anything about him other than, “Super hot,” and the cards never bore a name, only obscure quotations--usually from various poems. You’ve never been one much for poetry, but oddly enough, the lines chosen all seem to resonate.

The first bouquet had been pure white snow drops, the next cheerful yellow jaebi.  After that had followed a wild spray of violet norugwi, and then bright red anemone.  

“What is it, now?”

“Polemonium caeruleum.”

Pausing, a grape lightly gripped between your fingertips, you gave her a look.  “In Korean.”

“Well,” she whipped out her phone, “according to Naver--”

“No, no...I don’t need to fall into that rabbit-hole.  Just tell me what they look like.”

“Kind of lavender.  Pale violet?  I don’t know, I’m not a flower person, hence--” she waved her phone.

“Are they pretty?”

“Of course they’re pretty.  Our Gallant Stalker wouldn’t give you less than the best.”

“I wish that you’d stop calling him that.”

“Well, Secret Admirer is so last century.   How about Dashing Stalker?”

“Ara…”

“Fearless Yandere?”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“I’m on break.”

“Lucky me,” you muttered.  “Why is it,” you started, spreading a sliced strawberry to look like a fan, “that whenever there’s work afoot, you’re suddenly on break.  How many breaks do you have?”

She waved a negligent hand, “As many as I need to get me through the day.”

“Well, while you’re tormenting me, do you think that you could slice a kiwi?”

“Oh, look at that,” Ara said, looking at a freckle on her wrist.  “Seems like my break is over.”  With a teasing finger wave, she walked off, finally leaving you alone.

Looking down at the almost finished cake--the first one of 32  for which you were responsible-- you smiled ruefully.  “Works every time.”

***

Passing the antique store was your favourite part of the walk to and from work.  You weren’t particularly into antiques for the sake of antiques, but you had to acknowledge that beauty played a much larger role in the craftsmanship of the past.  Also, the store owner obviously had a whimsical eye--the displays were always artfully arranged to tell a story, and whenever they created a new one, you enjoyed stopping on the way home to look over it--think about elements that you particularly enjoyed, versus ones that you might change, and create a story in your mind for the mise en scene.  

To your joy, a new display greeted you when you reached the store after work.  The entire thing was exquisite, but there was a piece in particular that caught your eye--an elegant set of black lacquered Japanese chopsticks, inlaid with mother of pearl, nestled on a bed of red velvet inside a beautiful antique rosewood box, the top inlaid with golden birds preparing for flight.  You loved pretty things, but rarely had a chance to indulge in them, though you knew quality when you saw it.  Tilting your head, you examined it, trying to imagine the type of person to whom it once belonged.  They hadn’t been used--that much was obvious from the still-flawless finish.  You didn’t have much use for things that were beautiful with no purpose, but oh!  Something about the elegance of the set tugged at your heart.  “What would even be the point of owning something that you can’t use?  Even if it is so pretty…”  Sighing ruefully, you tried to tear yourself away, but found that you couldn’t leave without looking...just a little bit longer…  Finally, when a particularly chilly, errant breeze lifted the uncovered hair on the back of your neck you shivered, and shook your head.  “Alright.  That’s enough.  Time to go.”

You could hear your name, whispered on the breeze as you walked home. The cool night air gently nipped at your cheeks as you kept your pace, your breath visible in little puffs, even in the dwindling light. You tried not to react to the whisper, having grown used to it when you were out and about ever since...ever since you had had your little urban exploring jaunt, but whenever you looked around, you never found anyone that could have been making it. It was just your mind, you were certain, playing on your hopes and dreams. Besides, you had bigger things to worry about.

Grimacing, you hunched your shoulders a little more, eyes trained on the ground. You were not looking forward to getting home, your stomach twisting itself in knots at the thought. How you wished you could live almost anywhere else.  It wasn’t the apartment itself.  That--a quaint little old house that had been turned into four apartments--you loved.  Until your new neighbour moved in downstairs.  

The ajusshi obviously had money, which is why you wondered what his reasons were for rooming in your tiny little quadruplex.  He had a car, a Rolex and, what looked like expensive--if tasteless clothes--but though he had obviously nice things, it was just as obvious that he cared more about his possessions than his body.  A stretch of brown gums stood where his front teeth should be, and he wasn’t taking good care of the rest, either--their original white having faded to a shade closer to goldenrod.  HIs skin was covered in burst capillaries, his nose was bulbous and almost purple, and the whites of the eyes nestled in his puffy lids, a rather pustular shade of yellow.  HIs hair was perpetually greasy, and dandruff drifted down to earth like a cloud of winter snow whenever he moved. 

All of this, you could tolerate--after all, ugly was not a crime--if not for the fact that whenever you saw him, it was either in two states--leering, or drunk and leering.  The proprietary way he undressed you with his eyes whenever you were in a one mile radius of him made your skin crawl, made you want to do something...drastic.  Unfortunately, you were not a homicidal maniac, so those thoughts stayed locked tight in the recesses of your id, coming out to play only when you had acute insomnia  and needed to think of something pleasant to help you drift off to sleep.  Even worse than that, though he often held loud drinking parties that lasted long into the night, if you so much as breathed too hard after the sun went down, he’d be at your door, pounding like the gestapo.  You already detested sudden loud noises, having grown up with a less than stellar homelife, and the constant apprehension of not knowing when he would come beating on your door--sounding as if he were trying to break in--made you feel like you were constantly on eggshells.  

You watched television with captions, listened to your music with earbuds, and used your computer with headphones.  Cooking only happened in daylight, and woe betide you if you tried to warm something up after dark only to forget to stop the microwave before it dinged.  You were surprised that there wasn’t a dent in the door from the ajusshi’s meaty fist.  

He was outside, even as you approached, a cigarette dangling casually from his lip as he talked to someone in the driver’s seat of a car.  Looking at the ground, you thought unobtrusive thoughts, hoping to slip by him noticed. 

No such luck.

“Agasshi…”

Stopping in the doorway, you dropped your shoulders and sighed, hating the way he called you with such familiarity.  Without turning around, you tilted your head.  “Yes?”

“Why don’t you come here a little while.  Let me introduce you to my friend.”

Turning, you eyed the equally broke-down ajusshi in yet another expensive car.  “Oh, look at that.  Looks like between the both of you, you have one good set of teeth, well done!”

A flash of pure menace ripped across your neighbour’s face before the smarmy smile was once back in place.  “Agasshi...that wasn’t very nice.”

“I’m not very nice.  And I don’t like you.  We’re only neighbours, and that’s annoying enough.”

His eyes dragged down your body, and you wanted to scream.  “Agasshi...I could be so good to you.  Don’t you like pretty things?”

“I do, which is why this conversation is over--I’m sick to the teeth with looking at you.”  Without another word, you spun on your heel and climbed up the stairs to your own apartment.  “Freaking creeper,” you muttered, just loudly enough for him to hear.  Peeking outside, you saw him still talking to his friend, so you took the opportunity to make yourself a quick bokkeumbap before settling down for the night with a book, and a cold bottle of soju.  A few hours later after a quick shower, you crawled into bed for the night, gratefully relaxing in your fluffy nest of covers and pillows, weary down to your bones.  Gratefully, you closed your eyes, sighing as your back slowly settled into your soft mattress.  

They shot back open as the first few strains of Na Huna’s 1972 banger Mulhyebanga Donunde blasted through the floor.  Idly, you flipped through your mental catalog of homicidal fantasies as you leaned over and grabbed a fresh set of earplugs from your side table.  Ah, yes, you thought---settling back against the covers, and stuffing your ears with the violently orange foam--the burying him alive scenario.

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