Chapter Text
The room was dark.
Outside, the storm raged. Rain lashed against the windows, sneaking in through the ill-fitting frame. The sound of it filled the room, the hammering accompanied by the shaking of the panes in the violent wind, like a demon trying to break in. Thunder sounded from overhead. For a split second the room lit up as lightning arced across the sky, and then once again the black crowded in.
Mirae was terrified.
The power had gone out soon after the storm had reached its peak. Her hole-in-the-wall apartment had few windows, most of which were boarded up. It was common in this side of Seoul, this underdeveloped, ignored side of Seoul, and all she had was this tiny square in her bedroom, and no light came through it.
There were no emergency lights. There wasn’t much else outside her bed and the few things she owned: some sets of clothes, a few books, the money she’d saved up from her minimum wage job. All she had for light was her phone, and that was quickly dying. Soon the battery would run out, and she would have no defense against the darkness that was already encroaching at her feet.
It wasn’t that Mirae was afraid of the dark. She was used to the dark living in this dingy apartment, in this place crowded with a hundred other buildings where the sun was blocked out by brick and concrete during the day and the pathetic streetlights were too far down to cast any real shadows at night. It wasn’t the dark that made her curl up in one corner of her bedroom, clutching her phone like a lifeline. It wasn’t the dark she was scared of.
Mirae was starting to think there was something in the dark with her.
She could feel it. Not physically, but like something just beyond the point of tangible. The weight of it was heavy on her skin like the gaze of a predator. It was all around her, hiding in the dark, only waiting for the darkness to take her fully before it pounced.
She didn’t know what to do. Should she run? Was there any place she could get to before whatever lurked in the darkness sunk its claws into her? Mirae had no friends in this building, definitely none that would be able to shield her from whatever was watching.
And she could feel it watching. Whatever the thing was it had eyes, and they were on Mirae.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Staying like this was waiting for death. There was no place to run, nowhere to hide. Mirae couldn’t stand it anymore. How much longer? She could feel it just outside her pathetic circle of light, and it could grab her and drag her into the darkness any time it wanted. So why didn’t it? Why was it just watching her? How long was she supposed to feel her heart pound in her chest, just waiting until something ripped it out?
So Mirae swallowed and took a deep breath. Then she called out into the darkness, “What the hell are you?”
She waited, heart hammering between her ribs, but nothing happened. The presence didn’t leave. It didn’t answer. Nothing happened.
“What do you want?” cried Mirae. Her voice rose, veering higher in near hysteria, but she didn’t care. “What the hell do you want from me? Do you wanna hurt me? Kill me? What are you after? What—?”
Something touched Mirae’s foot.
She screamed. At once she curled her feet closer to her body, moving her phone flashlight to see if whatever had touched her was still there.
It was a notebook.
One of Mirae’s, the one she used to keep track of her tight budget. It was open, and the page visible was free of any of Mirae’s messy handwriting, almost entirely blank.
Almost. There was something written on it.
With trembling hands she reached for it. There were only a few words near the center of the page, written in a hand Mirae didn’t know.
We’re sorry for scaring you. We won’t hurt you.
Terror spiked through Mirae’s entire body. She clutched the notebook to her chest, hands now shaking badly. The thing was talking to her. Whatever it was it understood her, and could talk back. It could write.
“What are you?” she asked again. “Who—who is we?”
For some time nothing happened. All Mirae could hear was her own heart pounding in her ears, the violent rain against the pathetic glass windows.
And then a soft tap from the darkness in front of her.
Mirae whipped her phone flashlight to where the sound came from. There was a notepad there that hadn’t been before, one she was sure she’d put in her bag.
Slowly, Mirae crawled towards it, keeping the light on her body as much as possible. She didn’t know how much protection it was but it made her feel safe.
As before, there was a message written on the open notepad. This one was only one line.
We are the dark.
The phone fell from Mirae’s hand. She scrambled to pick it up, feeling the fear rise up her throat like bile, pushed higher with every shuddering heartbeat. She could see nothing in the pitch black around her, but the presence was still there, watching her, talking to her.
The presence. The dark?
Mirae shook her head. That was impossible. What did it mean, saying it was the dark? It made no sense. The dark couldn’t talk to people, it couldn’t watch people—
“What do you mean, the dark?” asked Mirae. She realized she could speak better now, more stable than before. It was better, knowing the thing could understand her, that it was willing to talk back.
A few seconds passed in silence, and then there was another tap behind Mirae. Where she’d left her notebook.
She crawled back, not trusting her legs to be able to carry her weight. More lines had been written on the page, below the first two.
Like I said. We are the darkness itself. We are not monsters, we are the embodiment of the dark. I’m sorry for scaring you. We won’t hurt you.
Mirae stared at the words, and then she glanced back in the direction where she’d left the notepad. Whatever this thing was, it either couldn’t or wouldn’t talk, and refused to write where she could see.
“What do you want from me?” she asked. She put the notebook down, slid it away into the cover of darkness. “Can—you can’t talk?”
The wait this time was bearable. There was less than a minute of silence before another soft tap. Mirae was ready for it this time and pulled herself to where she’d slid the notebook. There was another message waiting for her.
I can talk. But you will hear me in your mind, not through your ears, and you must be in the dark. We cannot come in the light.
It couldn’t come in the light. So she had been right thinking of her phone light as protection. Mirae knew this thing had no reason to tell her the truth, but it had no reason to lie to her either.
It said she would hear it in her mind if it talked to her. Telepathy? Mirae didn’t know, but she would not give permission to this thing to enter her thoughts. Communicating through the notebook was fine.
“Why are you here?” she asked. “What do you want?”
Mirae pushed the notebook in the darkness. She kept the light of her phone trained on her face as she waited. This time the thing took longer answering, and at least a full minute passed before she heard the tap and retrieved the notebook with an outstretched foot.
We won’t hurt you. I was just hoping to talk to you.
The words pinged something in Mirae’s mind, and it took a moment before she realized what it was. We. I. Whatever the creature writing to her was, it used them interchangeably. Was it just one thing, and called itself we? Or was there more than one?
“Who are you?” asked Mirae. “Who… who is we?”
This time she didn’t bother moving the notebook. She just placed it beside her and kept the flashlight pointed away. A few seconds later she heard a soft rustle, almost lost with the rain hammering at the windows, and then a tap.
The notebook had been flipped so that the blank page was facing up. A message had been left near the top.
We are the dark. I was called Seonghwa, once. You may call me that.
“Seonghwa?” Mirae frowned. That was a normal human name, a man’s name. Who would call a dark monster that?
She thought for a moment, and then asked, “How many of there are you?” before moving the light away from the notebook. The tap and message came seconds later.
Of me? I am one. But the dark is two.
“Two,” murmured Mirae to herself. Then there were two, but only one spoke. Or maybe they both did. Maybe this was some game they played before they tore people into pieces.
This was dangerous, talking to something she knew nothing about, something that wasn’t human. But Mirae had to know. So she asked, “Who’s the other?”
The tap came almost immediately. Mirae jumped, and then reached for the notebook again. She frowned when she saw the answer, confused. It was only one word.
San.
“San?” she said aloud. “A—your name is San?”
No, I am Seonghwa. San cannot yet speak.
“Yet?”
It will take him time. It’s no matter. We have time, and for him I am willing to wait until the death of the universe itself.
There was something chilling in the words, and Mirae rubbed her arms for comfort. “Him?” she asked into the darkness. “It—he is a he?”
He is. He was. I don’t know what he’ll call himself now.
The conversation had turned down avenues Mirae had not expected. She didn’t know how to feel about it, knowing there were two of whatever creature this was with her in this room and only one of them was capable of communicating with her. Was the other dangerous, feral like a mindless animal?
The one that talked—the one that called himself Seonghwa—said the other had been male. But he wasn’t now? How did that make sense?
“Who is San?” asked Mirae.
As soon as the question left her lips, as soon as she pulled the light away from the notebook, she felt a surge of fear. I am willing to wait until the death of the universe itself. Whoever this San was, he was somebody significant to Seonghwa. If Mirae had raised a sensitive topic she might’ve written her own death.
She waited, breath caught in her throat. The rain was still coming down heavy, washing over the windows in a steady torrent. Her phone didn’t have much charge left.
Finally, after what felt like an age, something tapped the floor beside her.
It had taken Seonghwa a long time to answer, and so Mirae was surprised to see there was only one new line on the page. One very short, very plain line.
He is my love.
Mirae read the words over and over. His love. What would fall in love with a monster hiding in the dark? Another one of it? But the one called Seonghwa said the other couldn’t talk, so perhaps he was something different. How many creatures waited in the darkness? How many were out there, looking for new prey, watching Mirae every night?
Something tapped in another side of the room, and Mirae jumped. It took her a moment to remember. The notepad. She’d left it behind in the dark. Seonghwa had something to say, something that couldn’t wait until Mirae’s next question.
She pulled herself in the direction of the sound, and her fingers soon hit the edge of the notepad. As expected, there was something new written in it. But the words. The words gripped Mirae’s heart, digging in with cold fingers.
He was a human before, like you.
“What do you mean?” asked Mirae, voice shaking. “What—what do you mean, he was human?”
She pushed the notepad into darkness with trembling fingers. The wait this time was torturous. Mirae’s heart pounded in her ears, blocking out even the sound of the rain against the windowpanes.
The tap cut through, clear like a shard of glass. Mirae grabbed for the notepad blindly.
When I met him, he was human. And then we fell in love. After he died he chose to become a part of me.
Cold terror rose in Mirae’s gut. So much felt wrong in the three short lines written. How much of it was true? He—Seonghwa—claimed that he and whoever this San was had fallen in love, and then after San had died he’d willingly chosen to—to what? Become a part of whatever Seonghwa was?
It didn’t make sense. But Mirae knew that none of this made sense. Sitting in the dark with an entity that could write but not talk, that couldn’t come in the light. It all should’ve been impossible, but Mirae was here, doing it.
She ran her gaze over the same words again and again. After he died. And how had San died? Even if it wasn’t love, Seonghwa had definitely wanted San, and now that he had died he apparently had him forever. So how had San died?
Should Mirae expect the same fate?
A tap knocked her out of her thoughts. It came from the dark, back where she’d left her notebook. Mirae left the notepad behind as she went back, and was surprised to find the notebook closer than she’d expected. Seonghwa had moved it, for her sake. The thought sent a cold shiver down her spine.
Seonghwa had also turned the page, and his handwriting covered the new sheet. Mirae pulled her knees up against her chest as she read.
The moment I first met him I knew he was something special. And he was, so unique, so beautiful.
He allowed me to, so I stayed by his side. Every moment with him was the happiest moment of my existence. And I never quite believed it, but he loved me just as much as I loved him. It made no sense to me, because all I am is this, empty darkness, and he is a star, but it is true. He loved me like I loved him.
It wasn’t always easy. It was hard when he told his friends of my existence, when his grandparents passed. But it has always been worth it. We were together decades, nothing compared to how long I’ve been aware, but so much more valuable. I would not sacrifice one instant of my time with him for the rest of my infinite existence.
He said he wouldn’t leave me, not even when he died. When he passed I kept him with me. And now I wait for him.
There was something chilling behind the sweet words. Mirae couldn’t accept the story as truth. Whatever Seonghwa was he wasn’t human, and he existed only in the dark. If San really had been a normal human, a regular person like Mirae, it was impossible he would fall in love with him.
“He allowed me,” murmured Mirae, reading the words again. Had he? Or had Seonghwa stalked him, slithered into his home like he had into Mirae’s, and then refused to leave?
He claimed he was the dark itself. And there was darkness everywhere, impossible to escape.
If he wanted he could stalk Mirae forever.
The thought sunk its claws into her, refusing to let go. If Seonghwa was telling the truth Mirae would never be free of him if he wanted her. He could follow her forever, in corners and spaces hidden from the light, and when she died he would make her a part of him, like he had this San…
Mirae forced the thought aside. She couldn’t let it consume her, or she would go insane. “You wait for him,” she said. “What are you waiting for?”
You already have him, she thought to herself as she waited for an answer. You already swallowed him up. What more do you want?
Seonghwa tapped the floor beside Mirae. She turned the phone light on the notebook.
I wait for him to feel.
“What are you talking about?” asked Mirae, no longer fighting the keep the shake from her voice. “For—for him to—”
This time it took Seonghwa longer to answer. Mirae fixed her eyes on her phone screen as she waited, at the battery percentage so close to hitting zero. She didn’t want to think about what would happen when it finally died. She hoped she’d charmed Seonghwa enough he wouldn’t kill her, but not enough for him to want to stay.
Finally he was done and tapped the floor. He’d flipped the notebook to a fresh page and written more.
I have existed from the existence of time, but for much of that I was not self-aware. Over time I gained the ability to think, then to retain memories, and finally to feel. Evolution, I guess you’d call it.
I’m waiting for San to evolve.
It took more more years than you can fathom to become what I am now. San is different, because he was human, while I was nothing. I started from nothing. I felt his self-awareness the moment he joined with me, and I believe he is already starting to form thoughts. I am waiting for him to think, then remember, and then feel.
I don’t know how long it will take. I am willing to wait.
“He can’t—he can’t think?” Mirae couldn’t believe what she was reading. “And he chose this? He wanted—he wanted to exist like this—”
A tap cut off her words. Mirae reached out her hand for the notepad, brought it into the light.
He cannot think yet. And he chose this because he loves me.
“He knew what he was getting into?” asked Mirae, but it sounded absurd even as she said it. Who would want this? Eternity being part of some… thing that lived only in the darkness, only just aware of your existence, unable to even think for yourself?
I never before stopped a soul as it passed through after death, so we didn’t know for certain what would happen. He was willing to take the risk.
Just as Mirae finished reading another tap sounded out behind her, and she turned to read the notebook again.
It did work. He is with me, and will be. I only need to wait until he is himself again.
But how do you know that? The words were already on Mirae’s lips before she stopped them. From his words Seonghwa sounded so sure, but how did he know San would be alright? How did he know he would regain his thoughts and his feelings, that he would be whatever person he was before he’d died? How did he know he would be happy?
Mirae didn’t know, and she didn’t dare ask. She felt like she’d already pushed her luck to the edge. And so she said, so carefully, “I hope you’ll be happy together.”
The tap came from where she’d put the notebook behind her.
Thank you.
The brief message left Mirae’s gut twisting with unease. When it was short like this she couldn’t read Seonghwa’s emotions at all. It was obvious he felt very strongly about San, that he was certain he had done the right thing with him—if the story was in fact true. But what was he doing here?
“What do you want from me?” asked Mirae, trying to keep her voice from accusing. “Why did you talk to me?”
She directed the light away from the notepad, and seconds later she heard the tap.
I hoped you could be our friend.
Dread spread through Mirae like poison in her veins. A friend. Like how Seonghwa had managed to trap San in the first place?
“What do you mean, friend?” she asked.
Mirae expected a quick answer, a quick lie, but this time again the tap took longer in coming. It came from behind, from by the notebook, and Mirae was surprised to find more than a few lines written for her.
Truthfully, I have no more interest in speaking to or befriending humans. I have San. But I thought it might help him regain his ability to think if he had someone else to speak to, someone human like he had once been. Right now he cannot form coherent thoughts, much less communicate them to you like I can, but I believe the practice would help.
He is a wonderful person, so loving, so kind. He was such a talented artist too. You would have adored him if you had met him before. I don’t think there was anyone that met him and did not love him.
Mirae read the words over and over, feeling a strange sensation of relief sink in. They didn’t want her. They didn’t want her specifically, they just wanted a human. Maybe she could survive this. Maybe she could live through this unharmed.
But the fear remained. The fear that she was making a mistake by daring to refuse. The fear that what she would say would anger this creature, or both of them, and they would kill her right there, on the floor of her bedroom in her cramped apartment. It snaked in her belly and up through her ribcage, closing around her throat.
“Th—thank you,” said Mirae. She swallowed the bitter fear down. She had to say this, she had to say it now. “Thank you for—for thinking of me. I… I’m sorry. I don’t—I don’t think I would be good for you. For you two. I’m sorry.”
Mirae screwed her eyes shut and waited. Thunder rumbled in the distance, raindrops attacked the glass of the panes and dripped down to the floor. Above it all her heart thudded an irregular beat, heavy in her ears.
Tap.
The notebook. Mirae scrambled for it, brought it right under the light of her dying phone.
I understand. Thank you so much for talking to us, at least for a while.
Again, I’m sorry we scared you. Do you want us to leave?
Tears flooded Mirae’s eyes, blurring her vision. He was offering to leave. He was offering, and it didn’t feel like a trick, like he was playing with her. It felt genuine. Whatever owned the creeping gaze she could feel watching her from the darkness was offering to leave.
Mirae nodded. “Please.”
Her heart beat erratically as she waited. She didn’t know what she was waiting for, but she knew something would happen, and she had to be ready for it, she had to—
Another tap.
Mirae reached for the notebook, and read the message written across the fresh page.
As you wish. We won’t be back again, don’t worry. Thank you for letting us stay with you.
As Mirae’s gaze followed the final few letters, she raised her head and realized something.
The presence was gone. The heaviness of the gaze she’d felt running over her skin all this time had disappeared, dissolved into nothing but empty air. Outside the rain still thundered down, the sky still called out rumbling and flashing white, but inside, inside Mirae was alone.
They were gone.
Mirae’s phone battery finally died, plunging the room into darkness. She buried her face in her hands and cried tears of relief.