Legend [YEONBIN] ✓

three

Yeonjun was dreaming. He knew this even though there was nothing to particularly signal this. It was just an overwhelming sense of knowing.

The forest was silent as he wove through trees made silver by the moonlight. Fog obscured the forest floor, so he couldn’t make out his own feet. For all he knew, he floated above the ground, as his steps made no sound. In fact, nothing did. No rustling of leaves from wind or birds. No snapping of twigs from scurrying creatures. No noise of any kind broke the complete stillness of the woods.

He’d never been aware while dreaming before, but it had been a strange night all around, so what was one more weird thing to add to the pile? He remembered hearing someone say that if you could lucid dream, you could make yourself do things, like breathe underwater, or fly. He mused over it a moment, then took two running steps before leaping into the air . . . and falling to the ground with a thump. Twigs and leaves dug into his cheek as he fell on his face.

“What are you doing?”

He jerked up to stare into the empty forest. Then he stood and looked down the path. Nothing. When he turned back, a familiar boy stood there. His eyes hooded by shadow. His arms folded. His tails fanned behind him.

At the sight of him, the woods came alive again. The whistling of wind blew at the boy's hair. Leaves crunched as he took a step back. And the call of a far-off bird echoed dimly as he stared at him.

“What’s happening? Why are you here?” Yeonjun tried not to stutter.

“This is a dream, but how you got here I’m not sure. It’s worrisome.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, but the boy didn’t answer.

His head cocked to the side, his eyes lifting to the moon as if listening to a faraway call.
Then, without warning, he yanked Yeonjun behind a clump of thick bushes.

Yeonjun yelp of surprise was muffled by his hand.

“She’ll hear,” the boy whispered. There was steel in his voice.

His words were enough to keep Yeonjun silent. Hadn’t he just learned to believe in monsters?

Every movement of the woods became a threat. The howl of wind through branches. The snap of twigs as creatures skittered. A rustle to his right. A flash of pale movement.

“Was that—?”

The boy shushed him and held up a thin arm, pointing to their left.

A lithe shape lurked among the trees, almost invisible. Its graceful movements made no sound, like the mist of fog sifting through the forest. It had a sharp snout and pointed ears, thick red fur, and bright eyes. And behind the fox wove nine tails.

The gumiho paused, his head perked up, eyes tracking toward their hiding place. Yeonjun held his breath. The fox stepped forward when a crack echoed from farther in the woods. He took off toward the sound in a flash.

Yeonjun finally exhaled and glanced at the boy. He let a handful of stones drop in a rain of thuds.

“Who was that?” Yeonjun asked.

“My mother. She doesn’t like humans.”

“And you do?” Yeonjun rose, and the movement made his head spin.

“I don’t hate them,” he conceded. “Though it’s worrisome that you’re here.”

“You said that before. What does it mean?” The forest tilted to the left, then to the right, like the sway of a ship on the sea. He felt like he was being pulled somewhere he didn’t want to go and tried his best to hold on to this place, this dream.

“Why did you pick up my bead?” the boy asked.

“Your bead? You mean that pearl?”

“Why were you in the forest tonight?”

My dog, he tried to say, but bile rose in his throat instead of words.

“Did you know I’d be in the forest? What did you want with my bead?” The boy’s voice sounded garbled, like it was processed through a synthesizer before reaching his ears.

“What’s happening to me?” Nausea rolled through him, thick and sticky, as the surrounding trees did tight pirouettes.

The boy watched him curiously. “When the body wants to wake, it doesn’t matter what the mind desires.”

“I’m waking up?” Yeonjun asked. “Then why do I feel so funny . . .”

Before the boy could reply, the forest floor fell from under Yeonjun’s feet.

He dropped into darkness, his screams absorbed by the earth as it swallowed him.