Curse of Loneliness

The Red Woman

Elias had been lying in bed for two days now staring at the ceiling he had now feared and questioned. He had felt like he was paralyzed and completely glued to his bed.

Not only he hadn't slept or eaten—which he is used to—he hadn't even blinked. He made sure to look out for anything that could possibly be watching him in his house. Whatever wasn't human. What he saw wasn't human.

The clear memory runs through his head repeating the same scene. It was a mistake to look out his door the past day. Where he was hoping to catch fresh air—even though it was foggy—and try to remove the memory of the voice calling his name.

Instead, he was met with the sight of a woman facing her back towards him. Long, healthy white hair and a long, red and green hanbok.

Elias froze in place, looking at the woman as she stood lifelessly, seeming to be watching the plants. She didn't move at all and neither did Elias. The wind began to blow, but the woman's hair did not flow along with it. It stayed still as if she was a statue. This terrified Elias, he had seen a ghost. And he was beginning to be approached by her as she slowly turned her head towards him. Slow and steady like a doll.

He only saw her eye that was looking straight at him. That lifeless eye with pure blackness in it. But before he could notice anything else, he closed the door and planned to shut his windows. But as he walked towards his windows and looked outside, the woman was completely gone.

Two days had passed after that now. He was in pitch darkness—since he still closed the blinds and locked all his doors. He was convinced that he had seen a ghost. And because of that, he remained in bed for more time until he heard a faint knocking on his front door all the sudden. And his heart began thumping and kicking, he could hear his own breathing and see his chest sway up and down within seconds.

He stood up and began walking towards the door. He felt as dizzy as ever, seeing colors of green as the couch and the kitchen table moved closer to him as if he was high; but he had not smoked in years.

Finally, his trembling, sweaty fingertips interacted with the doorknob. Slowly beginning to press and turn, and the door began to open.

There was no one or nothing. It was empty, and foggy just like the past few days.

He stared at the empty environment. Was he really seeing things? He could never know, as he looked around his house and noticed that Bingo was at his kitchen table, looking at Elias hungrily. Though Elias was in fear at the sight of his own pet, was anything even real?

He couldn't tell anymore, even though he had felt the cold, wet nose of the mouse as it sniffed Elias' hand.

He was back in his room again, sitting in his chair. He knew he could possibly have something that could relate to all of this, something that could tell him what was real and what was not.

Even though he had looked through everything in his desk, everything on his bookshelf, he had found nothing. And ended up with the old, red book in his hand—the one with the handwritten Korean letters. He stared at it for a moment, beginning to remember something he had seen several days ago. His eyes widened and his heart dropped, suddenly turning pages and pages careful not to break any of them. He stopped at a page of a drawn portrait of a woman with white long hair and a long hanbok.

He was shocked and confused. Had he really seen her? Or was she just a ghost? Was she out of his imagination? Elias couldn't take his eyes off the drawing, noticing more and more similarities to what he had seen in his yard. Whether it was a human or not.

He suddenly flinched and nearly dropped the book out of his hands as he heard another knock on his front door. This time, louder than the past one. He stood up, letting the book fall to the ground and closed the door of his room and locked it. Completely refusing to even look at the door anymore and picked up the book to walk to his bed.

He stayed in his bed for hours, hugging the red book as if for comfort. As if the red book was his only company—yet he knew that Bingo was still outside at the kitchen table waiting for food.

He looked down at the book in his hands, embracing it and protecting it from whatever was outside in his house invading his yard as he heard several more knocks. Soon, as the knocks stopped he opened the book again to be met with pitch black Korean letters, that he was now hoping to fully understand. Believing that the red book was connected to him. He was connected to the red book; he was connected to the woman.

Same last name, same hopeless eyes. What else could he be connected to about the woman who had written in this book? The one whom he had seen in his yard? He was thrilled to know. He was thrilled to find out the meaning of his misery. He was thrilled to find out everyone's misery.