Chapter Text
Prologue
There is a little music box in the window of the shop.
Taeminnie has been staring at it for weeks.
Her job cleaning the office next door pays just enough to keep a roof over their heads. It takes two more part-time jobs, one folding facemasks and the other delivering banchan, to keep them fed and him in kindergarten. There is hardly any money left for other necessities like soap and clothes, much less birthday or Christmas presents.
But every time Kyungsoon sees her son’s face pressed against the dusty glass of the shop, she wishes that, for once, things could be different. He’s a good boy, the best child a mother can ask for. He deserves so much more than she can give him.
The week before Christmas, she gets a small bonus from the office. The first thing she does is to run next door and ask the middle-aged man behind the counter how much the music box costs.
“Sorry,” he replies gruffly “it’s not for sale.”
⌘
There is sweet potato roasting on a bed of coals. There’s half a fried chicken – an expensive purchase, but she can use the bones to make soup – and spring onion pajeon too. For presents, she has bought herself gloves and a thick, woollen jumper for him. It feels wrong not to wrap them but wrapping paper is a luxury she can’t afford right now.
It doesn’t seem like she ever will.
Her life was not always so miserable. Her father was a teacher and her mother, a housewife. For as far back as she can remember, Christmas always meant came with a table laden with food and brightly-coloured presents under a tree. Whatever their financial struggles might have been, Kyunsgsoon never wanted for anything – until she became pregnant out of wedlock.
Sometimes Kyungsoon wonders what her life would be like if she had kept her legs shut like her parents expected her to.
Her son is a blessing far greater than presents and feasts, Kyungsoon tells herself whenever her mind wanders down that road, though sometimes she’s just repeating the words without believing them.
Today is one of those days.
The potatoes cook just in time for their neighbour to drop Taeminnie off after Mass. He comes running to her, eager to show off the little gift bag of chocolates and crayons that the church gives away each year. Their neighbour, though not much better off than them, has also given him a little toy car; she recognises it as a hand-me-down from their eldest son, but she’s grateful nonetheless.
“Come and eat,” she says “while the food is hot and then we can see our presents.”
⌘
She’s cleaning up and listening to her son make a variety of car sounds when there comes a knock on the door.
It’s late and she’s not expecting any guests.
On the other side of the door is a young man, a stranger. From what little Kyungsoon can see through the crack that the still-latched door allows her to open, he’s tall and dressed in a suit. His shoes, meticulously shined, look like real leather. It’s plain that he doesn’t belong in this neighbourhood. Or that he’s a part of its seedy underbelly that she’s managed to avoid, until now.
“Good evening,” he says. “Sorry to interrupt your Christmas, but we have some unfinished business to settle.”
She’s not stupid enough to fall for that. “I don’t think so,” she says, injecting finality into her voice though her bones are trembling. The door is cheap plywood that a child can kick in; if he’s intent on violence, it won’t hold him back.
“You were after a music box in my shop, right?”
The hammering of her heart slows a little. “I was told it wasn’t for sale.”
“Yes. And yet, it’s mysteriously disappeared.”
Kyungsoon keeps her voice low despite her anger. “I’m not a thief.”
“Then you wouldn’t mind me having a look around, right? Otherwise I’ll have to call the police.”
“Go ahead.”
“Tsk.” He regards her as if she’s gum stuck at the bottom of his expensive shoe. “I’m already late for a Christmas party. I’m sure the police won’t be happy to be called out for petty theft either. Why waste everyone’s time when this can all be handled in five minutes? It’s not like you live in a mansion that’ll take a day to search through. If you didn’t take it, what are you afraid of?”
Though Kyungsoon knows that his accusations are baseless, she also knows that he has her trapped. He’s rich and the police will bend over backwards to accommodate him; she’s poor and even if he murders her, he’ll get away with it. All over a music box.
She unlatches the door and opens it; Taeminnie leaves his toy to come and hide behind her. “Who’s this?” he asks in a whisper.
But the man hears the question nonetheless. With a bright smile – a smile that reminds her of a shark – he kneels and extends a hand to her son. “Hello there, little kid.”
“I’m not a kid.”
Kyungsoon wants to tell him not to talk to her son, but he speaks before she can. “Well, not-a-kid, I’m looking for something of mine. It’s a little music box. Have you seen it around?”
Silence.
“I… I don’t know... what is a music box?”
It’s a lie. Kyungsoon’s heart skips a beat.
The man’s smile turns even more cruel. “Has your mother told you what happens to little boys who lie? No? Well, what happens is demons come and steal the part of their soul that lied when they’re sleeping. With each lie they tell, they lose a little more of their soul until there’s nothing left and they shrivel up and die.”
“Don’t talk to my son like that,” Kyungsoon snaps. She crouches between them, pulling Taeminnie to face her. “My lovely son, Umma isn’t angry with you. If you know where this ahjussi’s music box is, you can tell me.”
“In my bag,” he whispers. His eyes are full of tears. “I wanted to give you a present. Jinhyuk and Heejin said I should.”
“How touching,” the man sneers.
Kyungsoon ignores him. “Can you get it for me?”
He does and she holds it out to the man, praying that this will be the end of it. Technically, they did steal it. If he wants to make their lives difficult, he can. “Here.”
He doesn’t take it. He barely glances at the music box before turning his attention back to her son, who’s trying his best to hide behind her. “You know what,” he says eventually “it’s just a trinket. You can keep it.”
“What?”
He shrugs. “There’s too much clutter in my shop anyway.”
Kyungsoon doesn’t trust him or his sudden change of heart, but what else can she say?
“Hey kid,” he says again “what’s your name?”
“Lee Taemin.”
“Merry Christmas, Lee Taemin.” He holds a hand out, patiently, until her son overcomes his shyness to shake it, and ruffles his hair too. Kyungsoon doesn’t like him touching her son, but they’re at his mercy now. “Enjoy your Christmas presents. We will meet again in the future.”
The certainty in that statement makes Kyungsoon’s hair stand on end, but before she can question him further, he stands up and bows slightly to her. “Well, goodnight. And goodbye.”
“Goodnight,” Kyungsoon answers faintly.
⌘
The day is warmer than expected, for which Kyungsoon is glad. She swings Taeminnie’s hand in hers as they walk to the market, where Christmas things left over will be sold off cheaply. She’s hoping to get some parsnips and sesame leaves, and if they’re lucky there’ll be sliced fish for hwe that’s no longer fresh enough to eat raw but which she can stew.
“Umma,” he says, slowing down and dipping behind her skirt.
“Yes?” Kyungsoon looks around to see if her son recognised anyone – a neighbour or church member – but there’s no one. “What is it?”
“What is wrong with that ahjumma?”
Kyungsoon looks again. There’s a lady walking fast with steamed buns in a bag, but there’s nothing especially wrong with her. The other people on the road are all men. “Which ahjumma?”
He points to an empty corner. “That one.”
There is nothing in that corner, only a shop that’s closed. Kyungsoon feels a jolt of unease. She can tell when her son is playing the fool and right now, he’s not. “The ahjumma is there?” she asks to confirm, pointing at the empty spot.
He nods.
“And what’s wrong with her?”
“She…” he’s so pale as he struggles with his words. “Her head… it’s half. She only has half a head.”