Chapter Text
There’s a house, at the very edge of town.
It is in shambles. The shingles falling off, the yard overgrown with wildflowers. The color is all but gone. The palest of yellows, clinging on for dear life, less of a color and more an afterthought. The La Croix of paint jobs.
The parents warn their children to not go there, to never test what resides within. Fortunately, Donghyuck is bad at listening to directions.
He wants to know what is so horrible in that idyllic little cottage. Others call it creepy and haunted, but the blooming roses and cracked birdbath have always been romantic, rather than scary.
Perhaps it is a bit strange that the roses bloom at all times, but mystery makes it all the more delicious. Mystery is the spice of life. Donghyuck would rather wonder why something happens than have an answer set in stone. Imagine and create and believe. Ideas are the strongest. And magic is real.
Donghyuck knows this fact like he knows his age (nine and a half) and his best friend (Mark Lee from the house two numbers down) and he wants to know what witchery lies inside the house at the edge of town.
So Donghyuck Lee, after school one day, tells Mark very solemnly that he is going to the haunted house. Mark is a jumpy boy, the direct opposite of Donghyuck’s bold nature. He does not like the plan. Donghyuck tells Mark to lie for him.
Donghyuck goes to the house alone.
He thinks back on all this, standing on the mat in front of the door. Donghyuck takes a deep breath and knocks twice.
The door is opened by a man who looks both old and young- timeless -who has an aura about him that is comforting. It is sunny and sweet and safe enough, so Donghyuck says hello.
“I’m Moon,” the man replies. He is wearing a rainbow robe that ripples in the afternoon breeze. It is beautiful.
“Your name can’t be Moon,” Donghyuck replies, disgruntled.
“My name can be anything.”
“You were born with a name.”
“I chose my name. The birth name is such a restricting thing.”
“You can’t just choose your name,” Donghyuck argues.
“Fine. I didn’t choose my name. My name chose me.”
“Do I have another name, then? Does the universe speak?”
He is sassing. Moon remains unruffled. Donghyuck's respect for the man grows.
“You can be the sun to my moon. Haechan.”
It’s fitting. Donghyuck likes how it is off-beat and different. “Haechan. Okay, then. What else?”
“Didn’t your mommy tell you to never talk to strangers?” Moon continues, peering over his spectacles. They fit him, too, the round rims balanced precariously on his nose.
“Father tells me not to. My mother tells me stories. Of magic.” Donghyuck does not appreciate being patronized. He hasn’t called his Mom “Mommy” in nearly two years. “I believe you have something you’re hiding.”
“You think I have magic?”
Moon’s eyes sparkle with amusement. Donghyuck wants sparkly eyes.
“How else would your flowers bloom year-round?”
Moon laughs slowly. “I didn’t think anyone noticed.”
“Magic is in the small things. I pay attention to detail.”
“Well, there is magic in stories. Did you know that?”
“Of course I do,” Donghyuck says. “I’m not five. For gosh’s sake.”
Moon considers him for a moment, then pulls the door open completely. “Come along, then, Haechannie,” Moon says, robes fluttering behind him. “For we have some flax-golden tales to spin.”