19 Oct Dokkaebi

646 – Kingdom of Silla

Queen Seondeok stood at her window and watched the night sky while considering the betrayal of Kim Bidam, chairman of the council of nobles.

“Emperor Taizong is behind this! I know it!” Gim Chun-Chu, her normally composed diplomatic nephew, yelled while angrily pacing behind her. “Women cannot rule? Bidam that fool, he’s the mouth of a jackass! You made Silla a center of art and culture! The people of Baekje and Goguryeo used to laugh at us! But no more!”

She turned and smiled. “Dearest nephew, a tigress does not tell the hare she is a tiger. Fret not, I’ve seen my death, and all will be well. I have decided that Jindeok will succeed me as queen.” She leaned in and whispered, “Then you shall rule well.”

The color drained from his face in shock. “But Your Highness! I am true bone rank! Not sacred bone!”

“Perhaps it’s time for a change,” she said as she headed out of her chambers.

“As you wish, My Queen. Where are you going?”

“I think I will go fly a kite.”

“At night?” he said, once more confounded by his aunt’s actions.

* * * * * *

The burning kite streaked across the sky, high enough for the revolutionaries to see it. She could not help but smirk. Bidam saw a shooting star and took it as a sign that he should lead Silla. Superstitious fools were a threat to the temples of learning she had built, but superstitious fools could easily be frightened. If the star returned, Bidam’s followers would take it as a sign that their cause was lost.

A gust of wind pulled at the kite’s taut line, slicing into her hand. As she reached behind her for the ribbon in her hair, her royal blood smeared one of the chopsticks she used to keep her hair in place.

One Year Later

The former queen’s personal effects were put into storage, forgotten as her successor ascended to the throne. Among the less formal clothing, jewelry, and books was a humble pair of chopsticks she often wore in her hair. One began to glow as a passing dokkaebi spirit took possession of the discarded artifact. Dark hair formed, winding its way around the wooden sticks and attaching itself to a face eerily reminiscent of the monarch.

As the goblin grew, she rolled off the dust-covered table. She stood and pulled the chopsticks from her hair. She tapped the first one on the table.

“Kwangkwang chida! Kwangkwang chida! Eumsig-eul meogda!”

Nothing happened.

“Mustn’t have gotten her blood on it.” She replaced the inert wood back in her hair before picking up the next one. “Kwangkwang chida! Kwangkwang chida! Eumsig-eul meogda!”

This time when she tapped it, a plate of bulgogi appeared.

1985 – Los Angeles, California

“Ladies and gentlemen, your new Powerful Wrestling Women tag team champions!” The announcer’s deep and silky smooth voice blared as the referee raised the hands of the two girls in victory. “Ho Lee-Fuk and Evita Lolita!”

The audience booed and hissed as their opponents, the brunette Bella Ball the Southern Belle and Blonde Bombshell Heidy Husker, rolled on the mat in cheesy agony.

The heels had beat the faces, and the crowd would have none of it.

On cue, Ho Lee-Fuk turned her mocking smile into an evil grin. As soon as the ref loosened his grip on her wrist, she spun behind him. Lightning fast, she delivered her signature “Hanoi Chop Suey” strike to Evita Lolita’s back. Evita went into spasms and fell to the mat next to the other vanquished women.

“Oh my goodness, folks! It’s a betrayal! There were rumors Ho Lee-Fuk knew Evita Lolita was secretly working for the Contras and not the Commies!”

The official in charge of the bell rang it furiously. This only stirred up the crowd. Ho Lee-Fuk fed off the human energy of the crowd. Her kind loved wrestling with humans. She moved to one corner, the ref waving his arms in a prohibitive, albeit futile, gesture as she climbed to the top to give the finishing blow. Once airborne, Bella Ball erupted from the mat catching Ho’s lithe frame in midair, forcing her to tumble.

They practiced the move countless times in rehearsal. Other than the normal bumps and bruises suffered in practice, no one got hurt—except tonight. Ho Lee-Fuk landed on the side of her foot, twisting her ankle. Her weight not being distributed equally, she fell back as momentum carried her forward, snapping her tibia in a nasty compound fracture.

She screamed in inhuman pain. For a second she shifted back into her natural form. Her skin became red like clay. Her face widened. Her canines grew into fangs. Horns sprouted from her head. A momentary loss of control caused the crowd to go silent as they processed what they were witnessing. Then they erupted into cheers, assuming an elaborate stage effect despite the bloody mess of bone that protruded from her skin.

The announcer, officials, and director perched high in their booth remained flabbergasted. They knew this was not in the script.

* * * * * *

Gabriela Paquelo hurried to Gim Hyun-ah’s side in the dressing room. Their personas as Evita Lolita and Ho Lee-Fuk were discarded, leaving Gabriela with nothing but concern for her lover.

“Hyun-ah, how are you?” She brushed the hair from the other woman’s face and kissed her on the forehead.

“I’m good. Did you bring my lucky chopsticks?”

“Of course.” Gabriela handed her the wooden utensils “Don’t know why you’re insisting on bringing these to the hospital.”

“They’re lucky. Can you find some water? None of that tap stuff. Maybe some of that new bottled water from the producer’s lounge?”

“Sure.” She stole a kiss.

Hyun-ah waved as her girlfriend left, and she tried to hide the tear sliding down her cheek. She contemplated her next move. She had revealed her true self. While the audience thought it an elaborate trick, some humans knew they had just seen something supernatural. Once more she had to find somewhere new. She tapped one of her chopsticks on the bloody bandage covering her wound.

“Kwangkwang chida. Kwangkwang chida. Ppyeo gochida.” she said quietly, her voice lyrical as she spoke Hangul. “Kwangkwang chida. Kwangkwang chida. Pibu gochida.”

She gritted her teeth as her bone and skin mended themselves. Through the years, and when she knew it safe to do so, she would reveal herself to a favored human. But this time things were different. The revelation was not under controlled circumstances. She could not afford to get caught, not in the United States where the people did not even pass down stories of her kind.

Able to put weight on her broken leg, she rose from the cot, retrieved her clothes, and slipped unnoticed out the door, leaving yet another life behind.

2019 – Crocker, Missouri

Gravel crunched beneath Hyun-ah’s feet as she explored the backroads of the small town in the Ozark Mountains, located just north of Fort Leonard Wood and the Korean community the base attracted. No one there batted an eye at her Korean guise.

She looked up and marveled at the stars; they were the same ones she lived under in Korea for more than 1,400 years. Out here, away from the light pollution, she thought of the sky over Silla during her youth. To the east, the sky lacked stars. The rumble of faraway thunder let her know she needed to seek shelter. She began looking for an abandoned house to make her new home. This part of the country housed a bonanza of hidden, uninhabited structures. In Arkansas, she spent an entire year in a two-story mansion in the middle of woods—until the property was sold and the owner flew a drone over that portion of his new land, of course.

When the scent of oncoming rain reached her, she found a cozy-looking red structure tucked away behind a small copse. The door creaked on rusted hinges as she entered. The first bolt of lightning illuminated the single room, revealing an ancient chalkboard, desks, loose sheets of paper, and random books on the floor.

“Not much to look at, but you’ll do.” She took a chopstick from her hair and tapped it against her open palm, thinking about how she’d decorate the small space. “Kwangkwang chida! Kwangkwang chida! Sopa-eseo naoda!” She flicked her chopstick and a couch appeared, still wrapped in warehouse plastic. “Kwangkwang chida! Kwangkwang chida! Gaseudeung-eul naeda!” Another flick and a gas lantern appeared.

More flicks and chanting caused more items to disappear from store shelves and warehouses and reappear in her new home. The final item she summoned was red hair dye.

* * * * * *

Hyun-ah sunned herself in a hammock as she read the latest novel by Stephen King. She was a little irked at her chopstick for summoning this partially signed tome.

Fifteen hundred miles away, the horror grandmaster had just finished signing his first name and begun on the “K” when it disappeared from his hands—an event that left the author astounded and wondering if he had just experienced some sort of flashback.

The heavenly scent of pork barbeque drew Hyun-ah out of her book. She swung her legs down and took a moment to enjoy the sensation of her bare feet on the grass before trudging inside her one-room schoolhouse to retrieve a pair of shoes. Her stomach rumbled. If she found human company, so much the better.

She followed her nose about a quarter mile down the dirt road. There she spied a gravel driveway meandering into a grove of evergreens that obscured whatever dwelling stood behind the trees. Her light steps barely made a noise; it was easier for her to appraise her new neighbor before making contact. Her spying was made easier by the sound of a Zune playing an Alabama song, the music struggling to be heard through cheap dollar-store speakers.

A man in a robe and red hat stood with his back to her, tending to the grill on a dilapidated porch in front of a rundown trailer. An opened Meister Brau sat next to an ashtray.

When new, the structure must have gleamed white, but now it was dull and pockmarked with mildew in various shades of black and green. The trailer’s partially missing skirt likely made it harder to keep warm in the winter. A clearly hand-me-down shotgun leaned against the front door. Smoke rose from the pit, and a smaller plume joined it whenever the man took a puff from the freshly rolled cigarette in his right hand. The breeze shifted, carrying with it a piney, skunky scent.

“Hello!” she said, stopping far enough away that he would hopefully not perceive her as a threat.

Startled, he spun around while at the same time backing toward the door. “Ow! Ah, fuck!”

She saw him reach for an old shotgun before cursing and grabbing his back. When their eyes met, he dropped his hand to his side.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m sorry to bother you. I’m your new neighbor and wanted to introduce myself. I’m—” She hesitated as a result of the 1,400-year-old habit of introducing herself the Korean way before pressing on. “Hyun-ah Gim.” She stepped forward and offered her hand.

Wincing, he reached down to shake it. “Emerson. Emerson Dixon. You can call me Emerson or Dixon. But don’t call me Dix—only my ex-wife calls me that.” Emerson smiled at the last bit, using humor to blunt the near-crippling arthritic pain in his back—an effort lost when he straightened to examine the gray meat sizzling and popping on the grill.

The aroma of pork seasoned with garlic and various herbs melded with the charcoal smoke.

“Would you like to join me?” he asked.

“I don’t want to be an imposition.”

Once more he eyed the steaks, his mind calculating the cost of her company in terms of reduced leftovers. Was company worth potentially sacrificing a meal in the upcoming days? “Nah, not at all.”

“It would be my pleasure.” She smiled as she mounted the stairs to the deck. “What is that? Smells delicious.”

“Pork steaks.” He returned to whisking the contents of a Tupperware bowl. “You’re in for a treat. I’m making my family’s secret BBQ sauce! Mind grabbin’ some plates, silverware, and a couple of beers from the fridge, Hyun-ah?” Emerson asked as he checked the meat for the last time.

“I don’t mind.” She rose from her seat.

Her host had been nothing but welcoming. Quick with a joke and charming in his own backwoods way. She felt sorry for him and the way he walked with a limp. Each step caused him obvious pain. She caught herself reaching for the chopstick from her hair; she could fix him, but it was too soon for her to know if it was safe to reveal herself.

She took in his modest abode, cluttered without being filthy. The yellow appliances had likely been out of date even when new. A painting of a volcano on velvet—likely from the ‘70s—hung on a wood-paneled wall—clearly from the ‘80s. Hyun-ah returned with the plates, utensils, and two Meister [my-stir] Braus [brows]. She set two places on the old and rickety plastic patio table before sliding into the matching green chair.

He cut one of the large pork steaks, now dripping with sauce, in half, served her one, and took the other. The other two steaks he took inside to cut up and put in the fridge for the next couple of days. He took a seat as she popped the top of a beer before he could ask for one. The tips of her fingers on her left hand touched her right wrist as she handed the can to him.

“Is the woman serving the man a Korean thing?” he said with a slightly mischievous grin. “If so, you might be welcome anytime.” He took the drink and gave her a flirtatious wink.

“No.” She couldn’t help but giggle at the farce. “Maybe one time. But now it’s customary for the youngest to serve the eldest. Regardless of gender.” It was good that he thought she was in her twenties rather than about 1,350 years older than him.

“I like you. I can tell you don’t take no shit. But you ain’t uptight about it. You’re welcome anytime.”

* * * * * *

Hyun-ah hummed to herself as she made her way through the small Korean market outside Fort Leonard Wood. The humble store reminded her of the ones she shopped in around Gunsan before she left on a GI’s arm in 1977 to come to America. The scents and claustrophobic aisles made her homesick. She wanted to linger but Emerson waited for her in the truck. It was her turn to cook dinner. Knowing that her magical chopstick would summon the bulgogi marinade from a shop like this and not some corporate warehouse or box store, she asked him to drive her to this market.

She paid the shop owner and chatted briefly in Korean. The ajumma smiled and gave her two cans of coffee from a wine cooler next to the cash register. Hyun-ah waved, promising to be back soon, and left. She handed one of the coffees to Emerson as she climbed into the ‘07 Ford.

“Cold coffee?” he asked, his hand wrapping around the frigid can.

“You can drink it like that or I can warm it up in a pot of water when we get home.”

“Seems like a lotta work for something that should be convenient.” He raised an eyebrow at her as he backed out of his spot.

“Meh. Up to you. Some drink it cold. Some drink it hot. Others room temp. Live and let live.”

“Well, it’s too late for coffee. Even if I drank that now, I couldn’t sleep tonight. Much less if I waited the hour it’ll take us to get back to my trailer and get it warmed up.”

She smiled an impish grin. “Well, who said anything about sleeping tonight?”

Emerson almost swerved into the car next to him. “Ex-excuse me?”

“I thought maybe we could have sex.”

Her tone was matter-of-fact. No playful, innocent lilt. No seductive, breathless bedroom voice. Just a comment as if discussing the weather.

“Listen, Hyun-ah, I don’t think that’ll happen.” He squirmed in his seat and rubbed his face anxiously, pushing his red hat up high on his forehead.

“Why not?”

He took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts.

She gave him the space to do so; she could sense his frustration and had learned to give him time to come to terms with what he needed to say.

“My dick don’t work. Okay?” he spoke loudly to mask shame with belligerence. “Besides, what’s a beautiful young lady like you want with a broken old man like me?” he muttered.

“What if I could make it work?” She placed a hand on his knee.

He did not move away.

“Well, looks like you got money. But unless you got and are willing to fork over about $400 for a doctor’s visit … and hell, even the cheap blue pill is 30 bucks a pop. The meds … I don’t see how you’ll make it work.”

“Trust me. We don’t need a doctor.”

* * * * * *

Assuming he would not know how to use chopsticks, she set his place with a fork. Taking a seat, she waited for him to take the first bite. When he did, a smile slowly spread across his face.

“This is pretty good!”

“Thank you.”

After several minutes of not talking, Emerson’s inhalation of the Korean beef dish slowed enough for him to attempt conversation. “So, what do you want to talk about?” He took a sip of the warmed-up coffee.

“What’s your story? Why does your back bother you?” She felt bad when he put his fork down and sighed. A deep sigh that caused his broad shoulders to rise and then droop.

“I was married once. A real productive member of society. Drove a truck for the world’s largest cap maker; the company operated plants across Missouri and down into Arkansas. That was until an accident took me off the road permanently. A semi ran a stop sign. He was trying to avoid a weigh station by taking the backroads.” Another sigh. “I was lucky. The bastard clipped the front of my smaller truck which just threw me around a bit. Enough to break my back but not enough to kill me. Had I been going just a bit faster, I’d be dead. But here I am.”

“That’s horrible. What happened with your wife?” She rose and started clearing the table. The ride into town had done a number on his back and it was painful for her to watch him try to move around.

“Well, she did her best—she and my son—to be supportive. Eventually, the company hired me back but not as a driver since I was then disabled. I did random jobs around the factory for less pay. A few years go by and they are getting killed by competitors who moved south of the border because of NAFTA, so they announce they are laying off a bunch of people and opening a new factory somewhere in Mexico, and not Mexico, Missouri. They shuttered that plant.” He laughed at the dark irony.

“We thought we’d be fine. We sued the pants off the company the other trucker drove for. When the blood-sucking lawyers were paid, we had a cool million in the bank. We thought it was enough to take us through retirement and to the grave. After all, we were millionaires. But we paid cash for a new house, and not some modest ranch but damn near a mansion. A King Ranch F-250 pick-up for me. A Taurus for the wife. A Mustang for the kid, which he totaled and somehow walked away without a scratch. The little bastard. All paid for with cash.”

After another sip of coffee, she detected a slight smile on his face.

“The money goes fast. Then you’ve got property taxes. A little shithook who’s suddenly entitled wanting a limo for prom. A wife who no longer wants to get costume jewelry at Walmart. Then the money runs out. When the money ran out, it wasn’t too much longer before she ran out.”

“She sounds like such a … witch!”

“Eh. It’s okay. I’ve come to terms with it. Last time I talked to her or my son was 2009.”

She wiped a tear from her eye. “You know, you’ve been so kind and wonderful to me.” She took his hand and led him to his couch. “Let me try and make it better.” She gently pushed him to the couch and sat close to him, sliding her legs over his lap and letting her dress slide up, enticing him to touch and explore. She noticed his hand shaking nervously and thought it cute as she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in to kiss him.

She closed her eyes as her lips pressed against his stunned mouth; she could not see his wide-eyed expression of surprise at her forwardness. After a few moments of stillness, she felt him kiss her back. Then his hands began to move. One wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer to him. The other sliding up the bare skin of her offered leg. She did not feel the expected hardness pressing against his pants.

She broke the kiss and looked him straight in the eyes. “I can fix you.”

“I don’t believe anyone can. But you’re free to try, cause if you’re offering what I think you’re offering … I haven’t had it in almost a decade.”

She reached behind her and pulled the chopsticks from her hair, placing the regular one on the end table. “Now, this may hurt but only for a moment.”

He laughed. “I’m sure it will, baby.”

She moved her leg just enough to tap his crotch. “Kwangkwang chida! Kwangkwang chida! Emeoseun-ui seong-gileul chiyuhasibsio!” She then tapped his back. “Kwangkwang chida! Kwangkwang chida! Emeoseun -ui deung-eul chilyohada!”

He could not help but laugh out loud. “Gonna take more than a chopstick and your Korean ta—” He couldn’t finish the sentence before he shrieked as the pain hit him. His back seized and it felt like the time he did not wear his cup during softball. He felt his heart pounding as his blood and arteries were stripped of blockage. When he could, he shot up from the couch, nearly knocking her to the floor. “What the fuck did you do to me!” he screamed at her.

“Do you still hurt?” she queried. This was not the first time she healed a lover’s grievous wounds. She would be concerned if he were not pissed.

“Yes! My fucking back … it-it doesn’t hurt!”

“I fixed the other problem too.” She giggled as she motioned to the bulge in his pants.

He did not say a word, his lips spreading into a wolfish grin as he scooped her up and carried her off to bed.

* * * * * *

The couple lay in bed, the sheets thrown off so their bodies could cool down.

“What are you?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face and looking her in the eye. “A witch? Something else?”

She smiled. “I am a dokkaebi. Or in English, a goblin.”

“Wait, you ain’t human?” He studied her. “You’re too pretty to be a goblin.”

“We can shapeshift to blend into society. We didn’t do it back in the old days. But today with your cameras and technology, we don’t have a choice.”

His face took on an expression of fear, betraying his inner thoughts. “You’re not going to eat me, are you?”

This caused her to laugh. “No, no, no. We don’t prey on humans. You’re a source of amusement for us! We love to wrestle. Carry on. Make love.” She playfully rubbed his chest. “Now, we will play tricks on the jerks. But if a human shows us kindness, they get our favors.”

“So, when I offered you a meal—”

“I knew you were one of the good ones.”

He shifted nervously. “Are you immortal? Were you here when God created the Earth?”

She giggled “Oh no, I’m not that old. I was born about 647 in your calendar.”

He let out a whistle. “You look great for 1,400 years old.” He looked at the incredible woman lying naked next to him. Had it not been for his healed back and manhood, he would think her crazy. “So how did you get here?” he asked as his mind worked on the puzzle of his new lover.

“I came here on a marriage visa with a GI. Once here, he turned into a jerk, and we divorced. I bounced around. Even held a job once. Professional wrestling. I played a character named Ho Lee-Fuk.”

Emerson could not help but laugh at the pun. “I’m sorry, that’s funny in a screwed-up kind of way.”

“It’s all right. But during a match, my partner got her move wrong and ended up breaking my leg. I shifted into my goblin form for a moment, so I left LA. I disappeared, thought of exploring the West Coast and returning once people forgot.

“Fast forward to six months ago. Someone uploaded an old VHS tape of the broadcast to YouTube. Then it went viral and some cryptid hunter started tracking me down. So, I hopped on a train to come to the Midwest and see if I could disappear out here. And that led me to you.”

“I’m glad it did.” He felt himself starting to get aroused again and rolled over on top of her.

* * * * * *

Emerson felt deeply conflicted as he brushed his teeth. He found himself falling in love with the woman who healed him two months ago. Not a human woman—a dokkaebi woman. He questioned the morality of the relationship, if it were a sin and a crime against nature. He thought about asking his preacher, but then he realized how crazy his story sounded. As wrong as the relationship felt, it also felt right.

Finished brushing, he returned the toothbrush to its place in the medicine cabinet and closed it. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His hair had come in thicker and was turning to black from gray. His face looked different. His features were more rounded. His nose was receding into his face and growing wider. It reminded him of a Korean lion sculpture Hyun-ah had shown him on her phone. It seemed like he was becoming someone else.

He worried that he was becoming something else.

“Not like either of you is looking for a soul mate,” he told the man in the mirror. He watched his reflected mouth move as if it were someone else’s. “What’s an old man to a woman who could live forever? She healed you. Perhaps now’s the time to break it off. Hell, you’re gonna go deer hunting for the first time this weekend.”

He began a two-way conversation with himself. “She’s done nothing wrong, and I like the company.”

“But I’m changing.”

“But what’s the best way to break it off with her? What if she doesn’t want to let me go?”

“I’ll just have to find out what’ll make her run away.”

* * * * * *

She looked at Emerson in confusion. “What an odd question? What is the dokkaebi’s Kryptonite? We’re not General Zod from Superman!” She let out a giggle.

“In 1,400 years, something must’ve made you run for your life at least once if not a couple of times.”

She paused, dirty dinner plates in hand. “Well, I hate blood. I think because our physical forms come into being when humans get their blood on something personal to them.”

Emerson nodded.

“So, I think that’s why we tend to not like blood. What are you afraid of?”

A shit-eating grin spread across his face. “Gold.”

“Seriously.”

He let out a chuckle. “Why do you think my family is poor? We’re all terrified of the shiny, yellow metal. I can handle brass as long as it’s not polished.”

She quipped her head to the left. “I think you’re making fun of me.”

“Not at all.”

The way he held his hand up in submission let her believe him. “Okay,” she said with a smile as she took the dishes to the sink.

* * * * * *

Hyun-ah smiled as she approached the trailer. She thought about seeing if he wanted to move in with her. She had scouted a rundown two-story house and, between her magic chopstick and Emerson’s renewed body, they could make a home together. If he wanted to take that step. If not, she thought about moving on. She had heard some great things about St. James, the heart of Missouri wine country along the Meramec River.

Suddenly a sickly sweet metallic scent reached her nostrils, stopping her just before she stepped in the blood smeared on the steps leading to the porch. “Emerson!” she cried out, fearful something bad had happened to him.

He stepped out, dressed in bloody jeans. “Hi there.” He calmly took a sip from a bottle of Budweiser.

“Why?” A tear slid down her cheek. “I healed you! I thought we enjoyed each other’s company!”

“Well, it’s complicated. I’m no good at breakups. And yes, you healed me. But look at me. I’m different. I feel like me, but I don’t look like me. Thank you for all you’ve done, but I can’t pretend anymore.”

“But you could’ve just told me to leave!”

His shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. “Look, I have no idea how to break up with a goblin. I didn’t know if you would eat me!”

She turned, not wanting him to see her cry. She pulled the chopstick from her hair. “Kwangkwang chida! Kwangkwang chida! Geum-i wayo!”

A bar of gold appeared, pulled from a warehouse somewhere in Kentucky. She tossed it over her shoulder, ignoring the sickening dull thwack followed by a thump as she ran away grumbling to herself.

“You can’t trust a man!”