Chapter 12
Dahye tried to sneak into her apartment, but as soon as the door cracked open, her mother rushed to deliver an ear-splitting slap across her face. The whole room shook as Dahye fell to her knees. Tears glistened in her eyes.
“Where have you been?” her mother said. “We called your phone over a hundred times! Your father has been worried sick—”
Dahye glanced at her father, doubting the veracity of that statement. As always, Abeoji was stone-faced. He sat motionless on the couch, staring at his hands. She touched her stinging cheek.
“All day we’ve been getting calls about you.
Your friends. Your work, for god’s sake.
I thought that was the one thing you had together.
We didn’t even know you were missing. We thought you had gone to work early this morning.
Imagine our surprise when your manager asked if we had contacted the police yet. ”
Dahye flinched as her mother’s hand came flying toward her face again. Omoni’s fingernails clipped the surface of the skin, narrowly missing her cheek.
“Stop!” Dahye cried. “Please stop!”
“You embarrassed us. What if the police showed up here? What if the neighbors saw? After everything that’s happened.”
After everything that’s happened.
When the police visited their home to tell them what had happened to Eunhye, the neighbors didn’t even wait for an hour before brazenly knocking on their door.
Neither Omoni nor Abeoji would tell them anything.
Soon, the whispers began with fervor. Every time the windows were open, Dahye could hear the neighbors talking about them.
“There’s something wrong with that family. Did you hear? Their oldest daughter killed herself. Jumped from a bridge.”
“What a waste. She was a beautiful girl. Smart, too, and respectful. Always said hello whenever I ran into her.”
“Truly. It’s always the parents’ fault. Bad genes. You know how it goes.”
Dahye’s ears had burned, and she had looked up to see her mother standing in the doorway. Omoni had heard everything. Her hands were curled, and she had been shaking. Dahye would never forget her mother’s expression. The pain in it still made Dahye’s skin crawl.
“Did you call him back?” Omoni demanded.
Snapping back to attention, Dahye got to her feet unsteadily. “Call who?”
“Your manager.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Well, why not? Are you trying to get fired?” Omoni turned, hands on her hips, to address Dahye’s father. “Are you going to say anything to her?”
Abeoji was silent. Omoni sighed, wringing her hands. “Haven’t you done enough?” she asked. “Haven’t you … hurt us enough?”
“I don’t want to hurt you at all,” Dahye said. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”
Omoni’s face crumpled. “If you weren’t trying to hurt us, you wouldn’t have …”
Wouldn’t have what? Lived, instead of Eunhye? Given them the diary? Been born?
Her mother righted herself, and the lines of her face grew hard.
“It’s too late now,” she said, suddenly businesslike.
“But first thing tomorrow morning, you’ll call your manager.
He seemed very nice, by the way. Very understanding.
He said it must be your time of the month and that his wife was the same.
” She gave Dahye a calculating look. “I don’t know what’s been going on with you lately, but enough is enough.
We let you do whatever you wanted for these past few years.
Your father and I worried too much about how your sister’s death affected you, and as a result, we were too soft. ”
There was nothing soft about the way they had treated her. Dahye crossed her arms. “I’m not calling him.”
Omoni looked at her before turning again toward Abeoji. At first, she was incredulous. Then her incredulity morphed into fury.
“In fact,” Dahye continued, “I’m not going back to work at all.”
“You’ve lost your mind!” She kicked the front door shut before turning to Dahye.
“You disrespectful, lazy, selfish girl! Yeobo, you need to talk some sense into her. She’s lost her damn mind!
” She grabbed the front of Dahye’s shirt before pushing her to the floor.
“What’s wrong with you? Tell me. What is this about?
” She bent over, staring Dahye in the face, and shook her hard. “Is this about a man?”
Dahye’s expression must have given her away because her mother began to wail. Dahye clapped her hands over her ears. “Didn’t you learn from your sister? Who is he? Tell me who!”
“Nobody,” Dahye said.
Omoni’s face grew red. “You’ve always been a screwup.” She rapped her knuckles against Dahye’s temple. “Head full of silly ideas. I don’t know how I gave birth to you. You’re nothing like Eunhye. We did everything we could to raise you right. We cared for you. We loved you—”
“You never loved me,” Dahye said angrily. “You never cared about me. You only loved Eunhye. Stop trying to fool yourself.”
Her mother stood ramrod straight, the anger pouring from her in waves.
“If you want to ruin your life, feel free. But don’t drag us into it.
We’ve already seen it happen with your sister.
We won’t sit by and watch as you do the same.
” She stomped away. Dahye listened, unmoving. Her father had not yet said a word.
There was a horrible clatter coming from the direction of her room. Only then did Dahye get up. Omoni returned, dragging a bulging suitcase. “What is this?” Dahye asked.
“Your things.”
“My …?” Dahye crouched to unzip it. The suitcase was haphazardly stuffed with her clothes, her underwear and socks spilling out. She picked them up. Everything was damp.
Without waiting for her, Omoni wrenched open the front door and hurled the suitcase out. Everything in the still-unzipped pocket flew onto the floor.
“Where am I supposed to go?” Dahye asked. For the first time, she felt something akin to desperation. She had some savings, but not much. Certainly not enough to live on.
“I don’t care. Just get out. From this day on, you are no longer our daughter.”
+
When Dahye and Eunhye were young, their father would tell them folktales before bed.
Dokkaebi were mischievous but mostly harmless creatures that liked to eat red bean rice cakes and play pranks on unsuspecting humans.
Gwisin, on the other hand, roamed the earth, desperate to fulfill their purpose even after death.
They were usually female, with long, dark hair and pale white skin.
They sought revenge on those who had wronged them while they were living.
“Long ago, there was a young girl who lived in a small village,” their father began one rainy evening.
“She was a good girl who always obeyed her parents.
One night, her mother asked her to borrow a cup of rice from the neighbors.
She was walking along the riverbank when suddenly, it began to rain.
The girl was wearing her only set of good clothing, so she ran under a tree for cover.
The river swelled, and it grew late. While she was waiting, two older boys came walking past and saw her alone.
They were bad boys with bad intentions. They took the girl and hurt her, and to cover up what they had done, they tied rocks to her body and threw her into the water.
At first she struggled, but the river current was too strong, and eventually she was dragged under.
“The girl’s parents searched for her, weeping endlessly. Nobody knew where she had gone. But over the next few days, unusual things began to happen. Rocks were laid out carefully in piles next to the river, and the villagers could not figure out who was behind it.
“Then, one foggy night, someone claimed to see a girl peering out from the river. She was pale white with long hair. The boys heard the rumor and, fearing that the girl’s body had washed up, went to look.
“To their horror, it was indeed the girl they had killed. Only the top of her head was visible above the water. She wasn’t moving.
They went to the edge of the river and threw rocks at her to try to knock her back under, but it didn’t work.
The water was still high from all the rain, and gradually, the current pushed her close to shore.
“It was then the boys realized something. The surface of the river had grown very still, and the current had stopped, but the girl kept moving closer. They fell backward onto the sand in terror. Before they could get away, however, two powerful, clawed hands emerged from the water. The girl’s head emerged fully—and she smiled terribly as she grabbed them by the ankles, dragging them underwater.
“The boys were never seen again.”
As their father bid them goodnight, flicking off the light, Dahye shivered, a chill running down her spine. For once, she was glad to be sharing space with her sister. She could sense Eunhye’s presence on the other side of the room. It was comforting.
“Unni?” she said softly.
Eunhye didn’t respond. Perhaps she was already asleep, Dahye thought.
Or maybe, said another voice in her head, a gwisin, like the one in their father’s story, had come into the room and taken her away.
Dahye sat up, suddenly afraid. The room seemed darker than normal. It was raining, and droplets were rattling against the window. Pulling the blankets off, she dangled her legs off the edge of her bed.
“Unni?” she said again.
Something grasped her ankle. Yanked her down. Dahye clawed at the floor, her mouth open in a howl, and then she heard her sister’s squeal of laughter.
“Don’t be mad,” Eunhye said. She sat up. Only her darkened silhouette was visible.
“I hate you,” Dahye said.
“It was a joke.”
Dahye crawled back in bed and pulled the blanket over her head.
“Come on,” Eunhye coaxed. Dahye scooted over and let her sister climb in next to her.
They both lay still in the dark. Eventually, when Dahye fell asleep, she dreamed about the girl in their father’s story.
Except this time, when the ghost came out of the river, she had Eunhye’s face.