Eerie Tales from Old Korea

by Brother Anthony of Taizé

  As the fatal moment approached, however, his wife fell silent and then got up and moved to the farther side of the room and sat down in a dark corner. Song looked steadily at her. He was so fortified in his mind because of his entire honesty of purpose that no thought of fear troubled him. He looked at her steadily, and as he looked, that beautiful, mobile face began to change. The smile that had always been there turned to a demon’s scowl. The fair features turned a sickly green. The eyes glared with the same wild light that shines in a tiger’s eyes. She was not looking at him but away toward another corner of the room. She bent forward, her hands clutching at the air and her head working up and down and backward and forward as though she were struggling for breath. Every fiber of her frame was tense to the point of breaking, and her whole being seemed enveloped and absorbed in some hateful and deadly atmosphere. The climax came and passed, and Song saw his wife fall forward on her face with a shudder and a groan and lie there in a state of unconsciousness. But he never moved a muscle. He felt no premonition of death and would simply wait until the queer drama was acted out to a finish.

  An hour passed and then he heard a long-drawn sigh, and his wife opened her eyes. The frenzy was all gone as well as all the other evil symptoms. She sat up and passed her hand across her brow as if to wipe away the memory of a dream. Then she came to, sat down beside her husband, and took his hand.

  “Why did you not do as your father’s voice ordered?” Song gave a violent start. How should she know?

  “What—what do you mean?” he stammered, but she only smiled gravely and said:

  “You heard your father’s voice telling you to kill me but you would not do it; and now let me tell you what it all really means. You have acted rightly. Your own better nature prevailed and frustrated a most diabolical plot. That was not your father’s voice at all but the voice of a wizard fowl that has been seeking my destruction for three hundred years. Don’t look incredulous, for I am telling you the truth. Now listen. For many a long century I was a centipede, but after passing my thousandth year I attained the power to assume the human shape. But, as you know, the hen and the centipede are deadly enemies, and there was a cock that had lived nearly as long as I but never succeeded in killing me. At last I became a woman, and then the only way to kill me was to induce some man to do it. This is why the cock assumed your father’s voice and called to you and urged you to kill me. He knew that on this night at dusk he must have his last fight with me, and he knew that he must lose. So he sought to make you kill me in advance. You refused, and what you have just witnessed was my final conflict with him. I have won, and as my reward for winning I can now entirely cast off my former state and be simply a woman. Your faith and generosity have saved me. When you go to your office tomorrow morning, go at an early hour, and as you pass the place where you heard the voice, look down into the sewer and you shall see, if you need further evidence, that what I say is true.”

  Song assured her that he needed no further proof, and yet when morning came he showed that curiosity is not a monopoly of the fairer sex by rising early and hurrying up the street. He turned in at the Water Gauge Bridge and passed up alongside the sewer. He looked down, and there at the bottom lay an enormous white cock that had lived over four centuries but now had been vanquished. It was as large as a ten-year-old child, and had it lived a few years longer it would have attained the power to assume human shape. Song shuddered to think how near he had come to killing his sweet wife, and from that day on he never ate chickens but set his teeth into them with extraordinary zest.

  A TIGER HUNTER’S REVENGE

  Sung-yangi was a small school boy in the far north of Korea in the town of Kanggye some three centuries ago, but though he was a diligent student, his school life did not run smoothly. The boys were always teasing him because he had no father. One would say in a stage whisper, “Aha, he has no father. Perhaps he never had one.” Another would say, “Perhaps he has run away.” Another still would drop dark hints about a possible crime.

  At last it became unendurable, and the little fellow went home to his mother and announced that he was going to commit suicide. He went and found the family butcher knife and said he was going to let out his life with it. His mother sprang toward him and caught him by the wrist.

  “What do you mean? Why are you trying to take your life?” The boy then told her the innuendoes that his mates had been putting out, but his mother stopped him and said:

  “I will tell you all about your father. He was a mighty hunter. His fame spread all over northern Korea. At a hundred paces he could hit with his arrow any one of the prongs of a spear. His fate was a sad one, and I have never told it to you, but now you shall hear. One day he went away to hunt as usual but did not return. I waited month after month, but he never came. At last a wood gatherer came bringing a torn and bloodstained garment that I recognized as your father’s. Then I knew that a tiger had eaten him. Four months after he disappeared, you were born, and I decided that I would not tell you of your father’s fate till you were old enough to seek revenge for it, but now you are only nine years old and I have had to tell you.” The child stood still with a scowl on his face for a minute and then turned and walked away. The school saw him no more, but he secured a bow and some arrows and every day he would go into the woods and practice from dawn till dark. This he kept up till his seventeenth year, when he had surpassed even his father in his skill at archery. He could hit a spot an inch in diameter at a hundred and twenty paces. He was already fully grown.

  One morning he announced to his mother that he was going to set out to seek revenge for his father’s untimely death. He sped away through the forests till he had left all habitations far behind. He was in the midst of the pathless primeval forests of the northern Pyeongan-do.

  As he was forcing his way through the thick underbrush, he came upon a little hut where he found a very old man. They were both about equally surprised, but when he told his errand the old man praised him highly and said:

  “I have had eight sons. Seven of them grew to be so strong that they could toss huge stones about as you would toss jujubes, but the tigers killed every one of them, and I have only my youngest son left. If you are going to fight the tigers I will give you four things to help you: namely, medicine, a treasure, a stratagem, and a helper.” So saying he drew out a stout box and produced some mountain ginseng, which will sustain life for months, as everyone knows. Next he produced a bisu. Now a bisu is a knife so well tempered and so keen that all you have to do is shake it at a man and he will be cut all to pieces, without it ever touching his body. Then he brought out a black garment that would cover the whole body, excepting the eyes, and make a person invisible—all but the eyes. For the fourth gift the old man led out his only remaining son and said that he should go as the helper of the young hunter.

  Sung-yangi thanked the old man profusely, and the next morning early the two young fellows started out on the quest for a double revenge—one for his father and the other for his seven brothers.

  They plunged into the woods again and, after two days’ tramp, approached the place that was reported to be the home of the tigers, the central citadel from which they went forth to harry the countryside. As they approached this rugged spot, they moved very cautiously, and before crossing the summit of a ridge they would crawl to the top and take a careful look over before showing themselves. As they were thus engaged, on the third day out they peeped over the summit of a rocky ledge and, to their surprise, saw a beautiful house nestled in the valley between two hills. They lay very still and watched for an hour or more, and at last they saw a Buddhist nun emerge from the building and make her way toward a spring of water at the rear. The moment they saw her, the young hunter’s suspicions were aroused. What meant this beautiful house here in the midst of this forest? And besides, the old man had told him that tigers did not always go about in tiger’s skins but often assumed the appearance of a Buddhist monk. So he told his companion to lie in the bushes w
ith his hand on the bowstring and when he should hear the tinkling of the little bell, he should shoot. This bell was one that Sung-yangi wore at his belt for this very purpose. Then the young fellow stalked boldly out and accosted the old woman. She was somewhat terrified at his sudden appearance, but as soon as she regained her composure she begged him to give her some tinder with which to light a fire, as her’s was all gone. He gave her a little and she hurried home with it but soon returned, saying she had used it but the fire would not burn; she begged for a little more. The boy gave it but again she came and asked for more. This was what he had been waiting for. He knew that if he lost his tinder and could not start a fire, he would starve in the woods, and he saw that the old nun was trying to get all his away.

  Suddenly his hand went to his belt, the little bell tinkled, and an arrow came whizzing from the bushes and struck the nun in the side. Instantly her form changed to that of an enormous tiger, and with a roar that made the very mountains tremble, she rose on her hind feet and made a spring at Sung-yangi. But he was ready for her, and while she was in mid-air an arrow from his bow sped true to its mark and pierced her heart.

  This done, Sung-yangi donned the black suit that made him invisible and entered the gateway of the beautiful house. There he found five old monks looking about in a dazed way and wondering what was the cause of the terrific roar they had first heard, and to add to their dismay they saw a pair of eyes, as if they were in mid-air, glaring at them. This pair of glittering eyes circled round them about six feet from the ground and gave them what is commonly known as “the creeps.”

  But they did not remain long in doubt, for soon arrows began to fly from some invisible source, and as each of them found its mark, a monk leaped in the air and fell to earth—a beautiful striped tiger. Sung-yangi thereupon doffed his magic garments and called in his companion, and together they searched the buildings thoroughly to discover whether their revenge was complete or whether some of their enemies were in hiding. As they were passing through the kitchen they met a young woman who appeared to be a domestic servant, but they were most astonished to find her in such a place, for even if the dwellers in the house had been respectable people it would have been no place for her. However, she offered no explanation but simply invited them to be seated in the reception room until she could finish preparing them some food. This seemed a reasonable proposition, and in a little while she came in with two bowls of some kind of soup. The smell was very appetizing, but when Sung-yangi looked in his bowl he saw a piece of skin with what looked like a piece of human hair attached. He turned to the young woman and demanded what it meant. She bowed low and in a faltering voice confessed that they had nothing in the place but human flesh for food. She then pointed to the rafters, where hung thousands of little wooden tags with names written on them. “There,” she said “you see the hopae (Every male citizen is obliged by law to carry on his person a wooden name tag with his name and place of residence for purposes of identification) of all the people that the tigers living here have slain and eaten. They always preserve the tags as memoranda of the events and for purposes of reference.”

  Sang-yangi looked upon the horrid mementoes and shuddered but forced himself to examine them carefully, and before long he came upon one that made him utter an exclamation of grief and horror. It was the name tag of his own father. So he knew that he had come to the right place to secure his revenge. When his companion saw this, he also searched through the tags and found the names of all his murdered brothers.

  That night both of the young men had dreams. Sung-yangi was visited by the shade of his father, who praised him for his perseverance and bravery and placed in his hands a map and a sealed letter, telling him that the former was a map that would show him the best and shortest way out of the forest and that the second was not to be opened till he arrived at his home. The other dream showed the boy his seven brothers, who came and gave him a letter to be opened only in his father’s presence. Sung-yangi’s father also told him that the young woman had been sent by himself to enable them to find the name tags and thus the evidence that their revenge was complete.

  In the morning the proof of the genuineness of the dreams lay there on the floor in the shape of two letters and a map. The young woman was nowhere to be found. With his wonderful knife, Sung-yangi flayed the dead tigers in a trice, and together the two boys made their way out of the forest. Both the letters advised the young men to give up hunting as an occupation.

  HOW JIN OUTWITTED

  THE DEVILS

  In the good old days, before the skirts of Joseon were defiled by contact with the outer world and before the bird-twittering voice of the foreigner was heard in the land, the “curfew tolled the knell of parting day,” to some effect. There was a special set of police called sulla whose business it was to see that no stray samples of male humanity were on the streets after the great bell had ceased its grumbling. Each of these watchmen was on duty every other night, but if on any night any one of them failed to “run in” a belated pedestrian, it was counted to him for lack of constabulary zeal and he would be compelled to go on his beat the next night and every successive night until he did succeed in capturing a victim. Talk about police regulations! Here was a rule that for pure knowledge of human nature put to shame anything that Solon and Draco could have concocted between them. Tell every policeman on the Bowery that he can’t come off his beat till he has arrested some genuine offender and the Augean stables would be nothing to what they would accomplish in a week’s time.

  Such was the strenuous mission of Jin Ga-dong. One night it was his fate to suffer for his last night’s failure to spot a victim. He prowled about like a cat till the wee hours, and then, having failed to catch his mouse, ascended the upper story of the East Gate to find a place where he could take a nap. He looked over the parapet and there he saw, seated on the top of the outer wall which forms a sort of curtain for the gate, three hideous forms in the moonlight. They were not human, surely, but Jin, like all good policemen, was sans peur even if he was not sans reproche, and so he hailed the gruesome trio and demanded their business.

  “We’re straight from hell,” said they, “and we are ordered to summon before his infernal majesty the soul of Plum Blossom, only daughter of Big Man Kim of Schoolhouse Ward, Pagoda Place, third street to the right, second blind alley on the left, two doors beyond the wineshop.”

  Then they hurried away on their mission, leaving Jin to digest their strange news. He was possessed of a strong desire to follow them and see what would happen. Sleep was out of the question, and he might run across a stray pedestrian, so he hurried up the street to Schoolhouse Ward, turning down Pagoda Place and then up the third street to the right and into the second blind alley to the left, and there he saw the basket on a bamboo pole which betokened the wineshop. Two doors beyond, he stopped and listened at the gate. Something was going on within, of a surety, for the sound of anxious voices and hurrying feet were heard, and presently a man came out and put down the alley at a lively pace. Jin followed swiftly and soon had his hand on the man’s collar.

  “I’m afraid you’re caught this time, my man. This is a late hour to be out.”

  “Oh, please let me go. I am after a doctor. The only daughter of my master is suddenly ill and everything depends on my haste.”

  “Come back,” said Jin in an authoritative voice. “I know all about the case. The girl’s name is Plum Blossom, and your master’s name is Big Man Kim. The spirits have come to take her, but I can thwart them if you come back quickly and get me into the house.”

  The man was speechless with amazement and fear at Jin’s uncanny knowledge of the whole affair, and he dared not disobey. Back they came, and the servant smuggled the policeman in by a side door. It was a desperate case. The girl was in extremis and the parents consented to let Jin in as a last chance.

  On entering the room where the girl lay, he saw the three fiends ranged against the opposite wall, though none of the others could se
e them. They winked at him in an exasperatingly familiar way and fingered the earthenware bottles in their hands, intimating that they were waiting to take the girl’s soul to the nether regions in these receptacles. The moment had arrived, and they simultaneously drew the stoppers from their bottles and held them toward the inanimate form on the bed.

  But Jin was a man of action. His billy was out in an instant, and with it he struck a sweeping blow that smashed the three bottles to flinders and sent them crashing into the corner. The fiends fled through a crack in the window with a howl and left Jin alone with the dead—no, not dead, for the girl turned her head and, with a sigh, fell into a healthful slumber.

  It is hardly necessary to say that Jin was speedily promoted from sulla to the position of son-in-law to Big Man Kim.

  But he had not heard the last of the devil’s trio. They naturally thirsted for revenge and bit their fingernails to the quick devising some especially exquisite torment for him when they should have him in their clutches. The time came when they could wait no longer, and though the Book of Human Life showed that his time had not come, they secured permission to secure him if possible.

  At the dead of night he awoke and saw their eyes gleaming at him through the darkness. He was unprepared for resistance and had to go with them. The way led through a desert country over a stony road. Jin kept his wits at work and finally opened a conversation with his captors.

  “I suppose that you fiends never feel fear.” “No,” they answered, “nothing can frighten us.” But they looked at each other as much as to say, “We might tell something if we would.”

  “But surely there must be something that you hold in dread. Yon are not supreme, and if there is nothing that you fear it argues that you are lacking in intelligence.”