SHUDDER 1

The boats had been tied up at the harbor for days. The furious waves crashed in so fiercely that they seemed ready to swallow even the crookedly lined telephone poles. Each time a massive swell rose, the tethered boats would lift in unison, then sink, colliding with one another and producing eerie creaking and scraping sounds.

The relentless wind riding the waves rattled the glass doors of the sashimi restaurants, which were tightly packed together, without pause. Some of those doors were so badly shattered that they looked downright ghastly.

A few days ago, a rumor spread that Old Man Kim, who went around with a handcart collecting discarded small fish from fishing boats, had been swept away by the waves. Since then, the coast had been devoid of human presence. Only the precarious streetlights flickered, guarding the dark harbor.

The storm warning issued for the nearby seas was said to lift by tomorrow afternoon. But none of the villagers believed the forecast. It wasn’t that they doubted the authorities, who treated the words broadcast on television as eternal truths. It was just that, after thirty years of living by the sea, one could gauge from the feel of the air alone when the sky might finally calm its grim whims. This sea wasn’t going to quiet down in a day or two.

It was the fishing season, and there was a mountain of work to be done, yet they’d been idling for days. The food they’d stockpiled was slowly running out, and life went on with nothing to grasp in their pockets. Still, the people weren’t impatient. Long experience had taught them that fretting wouldn’t change a thing.

As the tedious days dragged on, the villagers gathered at the community center, teahouses, or taverns to play seotda. The sashimi restaurant owners, who hadn’t seen a single customer—or even a short-arm octopus—in the ten days since the boats stopped coming in; the day laborers stranded on the island, unable to go to town; and the fishermen, who should have been busy mending nets, all joined in.

With liquor-fueled, bloodshot eyes, they glanced at each other’s cards. It was just a game for a few thousand won, but there was no better pastime to while away the idle hours.

“Here’s a nine-bbi!”

“I’ve got a three-eight gwang-ddang, hyung.”

“Huh? When did that get there?”

“Is there a ghost in your palm that snatches gwang cards? Why do they always end up with you?”

When holding two hanafuda cards as if they were gold, they could hear even an ant’s footsteps. But the moment the cards were flipped, the place erupted into a clamor like a bustling market. Living their lives battered by the rough sea winds, the men all had loud, coarse voices. Each time they opened their mouths, it was like ship horns blaring from all directions.

The one who collected a few crumpled thousand-won bills hurriedly gathered and shuffled the cards, lest the tide turn. Their nimble hands deftly mixed the deck, their hips twitching with excitement. Once the cards were dealt again, the small tavern with only three tables fell silent as a grave—so quiet you could almost hear the eyeballs darting to peek at opponents’ hands.

Breaking the tense silence, an old sliding door creaked open. Mr. Park, who had been staring at two hanafuda cards with bleary, drunken eyes, glanced up. Recognizing the newcomer, he returned his focus to the seotda game and greeted him.

“Hey, Gijeong, you’re here?”

“Hello.”

“What? Your dad sent you to fetch booze again?”

“Yeah.”

“Ugh, I’ve botched this round too.”

Mr. Park tossed down his hopeless cards and half-turned toward the door. Gijeong stood at the entrance, holding a battered old kettle, still lingering by the doorway. Though he was old enough to pull his weight as a man, he looked as timid as a bookworm, hesitant to step into the tavern.

To be fair, his father was much the same—ordinarily a meek, reserved man who did as he was told and never spoke ill to others. But once he drank, he turned into a reckless, unstoppable scoundrel.

Gijeong’s pale face, inherited from his mother, was marred with dark bruises. Clicking his tongue bitterly, Mr. Park nodded toward the inner room for the hesitant Gijeong.

“The lady of the house must be in there somewhere.”

Gijeong gave a slight bow to Mr. Park, who was rejoining the card game, and stepped forward.

Opening the side door of the cramped tavern led directly to a small kitchen. An old-fashioned kitchen with a clay stove topped by a cauldron and stacks of aluminum pots layered high.

Outside the kitchen was a modest water tap, and across from it was a single room where the tavern’s owner lived. Gijeong stood before the worn, cracked wooden door, clearing his throat.

“Um, ma’am…”

He stopped short. A pair of heeled slippers and crumpled sneakers were jumbled together in front of the door. The faded sneakers clearly belonged to an adult man. The tangled mess of two different pairs of shoes felt oddly embarrassing. Perhaps it was because of the crude rumors about the tavern owner, who, after losing her husband in an accident, supposedly never locked her door.

Gijeong instinctively stepped back. Maybe he was too conscious of it, but it seemed like faint, excited moans were leaking through the door in broad daylight. It was unmistakably the tavern owner’s voice, yet also a sound he’d never heard before.

“Hng… ahh… haaa… oh, I’m done for!”

The tavern owner gasped as if her breath would give out any moment. The intimate sounds of slick flesh pressing and rubbing together slipped through the cracked door. He could vividly picture a lustful male, eagerly sating his desires atop her heaving, curvaceous body. The sour stench of that dark beast’s groin seemed to hit his nose all at once.

Occasionally, the sound of a liquor kettle or a rice wine bowl, carelessly knocked over by her frantic hands, rang out from the room. If not for the piercing moans now and then, one might have thought a person was being torn apart by a wild animal.

“Haa, hng, ahhhhh!”

Soon, a faint scream erupted from the tavern owner. Gijeong’s shoulders flinched at the sound. The aluminum kettle slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor.

He flailed to catch it but to no avail. A dull metallic clang echoed loudly. He quickly bent down to pick up the now even more dented kettle and its detached lid.

Just then, the door swung open. A wave of humid, tepid air rushed out, along with an unfamiliar, fishy smell. Gijeong instinctively turned his head away.

“…”

“…”

His eyes met those of a man stepping out, adjusting his pants. His breath stopped for a moment. It was an instinctive reaction. Was this how a turtle felt, encountering a frenzied tiger on a deserted path?

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the man. Though he’d never come face-to-face like this, he knew exactly who he was. Unless you were a newborn or a fool who couldn’t tell faces apart, everyone in the village knew him. Jangyeop. His surname was Hwang, wasn’t it? His name was always mentioned around the harbor.

“What, kid?”

Hwang Jangyeop stared at Gijeong with cold eyes. His voice was so rough it was almost heavy and dull. Gijeong shook his head as if it were nothing. Only then did Hwang Jangyeop scratch his shoulder, marked with vivid nail scratches, and slump onto the threshold. He pulled the last cigarette from a thin pack, crumpled the empty pack, and tossed it away.

His lips, biting the cigarette, were chapped and pale. Perhaps he only shaved when he felt like it, as his rugged jaw sported patchy stubble. His skin, untouched by cosmetics, looked as rough as sandpaper.

He was barely in his mid-twenties, but whether due to his sun-weathered skin or his fierce demeanor, those meeting him for the first time often guessed he was over thirty. His sharp, single-lidded eyes and jet-black pupils exuded a wild, untamed nature fiercer than the angry sea.

Hwang Jangyeop tried several times to light his cigarette with a cheap lighter from the local teahouse, but it wouldn’t catch, likely due to the damp air. Finally, the cigarette’s tip began to burn. He sucked deeply, hollowing his cheeks, and furrowed his brow as was his habit. His thick fingers, holding the slender cigarette, stood out.

He’d gone to sea before even finishing elementary school. After over a decade hauling nets, his hands were calloused and yellowed. His blackened nails never came clean, no matter how much soap he used. That’s just how grime works.

“Look at that face.”

Hwang Jangyeop suddenly sneered in a low voice. It took Gijeong a moment to realize the jab was aimed at him, as Hwang hadn’t even glanced his way. Gijeong touched his bruised eyelids and scratched at the kettle’s handle with his nails.

Hwang Jangyeop took another drag and looked at Gijeong, then let out a dry, brittle laugh. It might’ve been mockery.

The salty sea breeze climbing over the wall stung his eyes. Hwang Jangyeop’s eyes narrowed instinctively, making his expression even fiercer.

“Tch…”

Hwang Jangyeop. He was a notorious troublemaker, said to bed any woman he locked eyes with, regardless of age. Yet, for some reason, no one spoke ill of him. The villagers seemed to take his antics as a given. Their gaze toward him bordered on awe, despite his lack of any admirable deeds.

Hwang Jangyeop’s mere presence in a room carried an inexplicable weight. Was that why men and women alike found reasons to revere him in their own ways?

Hwang Jangyeop scanned Gijeong up and down, who neither approached nor retreated, then stood and dusted himself off. Dragging his worn sneakers, he stepped down to the water tap. His shadow loomed over Gijeong. The closer he got, the more a strange, musky smell pricked Gijeong’s nose. A sour taste pooled under his tongue.

Hwang Jangyeop snatched the aluminum kettle from the frozen Gijeong. Turning it over, he chided him.

“Some kid with no blood in his head, drinking in broad daylight.”

“It’s for my father. And…”

“And what?”

“I’m taking a break from school. But I’m an adult.”

Hwang Jangyeop let out a short laugh at the bold reply. Maybe because he was used to seeing people worn out by fishing, he’d pegged Gijeong’s pale, smooth face as belonging to a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old. He’d seen him in a school uniform around the island a few times too.

In a village where education took a backseat to survival, starting school a year or two late wasn’t unusual. Still, Gijeong’s soft appearance made it hard to believe he was an adult.

Hwang Jangyeop stared at Gijeong, then took the kettle and headed into the kitchen. He ducked low to pass the threshold. Gijeong followed, intending to grab the filled kettle and leave.

Hwang Jangyeop deftly scooped rice wine from a jar by the stove. Too impatient to use a ladle, he tilted the jar itself, filling the kettle to overflowing. The tendons in his hand and the muscles in his forearm twitched as if alive.

The heavy kettle was thrust into Gijeong’s hands. He took it with both hands, fidgeting with the handle again.

“Uh, about the payment…”

His voice trailed off. His ears burned red. He lowered his eyes, avoiding Hwang Jangyeop’s gaze.

There was no way he had money to pay. If he did, he wouldn’t have endured his father’s blows to fetch the liquor. Still, he knew it was shameless to ask for credit.

“I’ll talk to noona about it…”

Hwang Jangyeop’s words cut off as his eyebrows twitched. A loud gurgle came from Gijeong’s stomach. His ears and neck flushed red with embarrassment. He twisted his body slightly, as if to muffle the sound. It was no use. His stomach only growled more defiantly.

“…”

Hwang Jangyeop stared at Gijeong’s gaunt abdomen, driven by survival instincts. He didn’t sneer this time. Instead, he straightened from leaning against the stove and walked to the opposite cabinet. On it, side dishes were covered with an outdated calendar.

He lifted the calendar and piled various pancakes and skewers onto a plate. Then he shoved the greasy plate under Gijeong’s nose. Gijeong stared at the food, then accepted it without hesitation.

Hwang Jangyeop’s lips curled as he watched Gijeong stuff the food into his mouth without refusal.

“What, you ate your pride for breakfast?”

But Gijeong didn’t care and devoured the side dishes. The cold food felt like a lump in his chest, but he staved off his hunger without pausing to breathe, like someone who hadn’t seen food in days.

And why not? For over ten days, every boat in the village had been docked. There weren’t even finger-sized fish scraps to pick up from the fishing boats. With no work and nothing to scrounge, their meager livelihood only grew more desperate.

Hwang Jangyeop sucked on his shortened cigarette. Gijeong coughed from the acrid smoke but didn’t stop eating. A human pushed to the brink of survival is as blind as a beast, if not more so.

After filling his stomach somewhat, Gijeong fiddled with the remaining food, then abruptly flipped the kettle’s lid and stuffed the leftovers into its concave underside. Hwang Jangyeop watched his actions closely but didn’t ask what he planned to do with it.

It wasn’t for feeding dogs or pigs, that much was certain. It wasn’t hard to guess Gijeong’s circumstances. If even a healthy young man like him lunged at food with wild eyes, how much worse off were the others in his household?

“Thank you.”

Just for a few cold side dishes, he let his guard down and bowed, his glasses nearly slipping off.

As if ready to leave, Gijeong, who’d been stealing glances at Hwang Jangyeop, headed for the tavern’s side door. With each step, rice wine sloshed from the kettle’s spout, leaving spots on the floor.

Clicking his tongue, Hwang Jangyeop went back inside the room.

“Was someone out there, oppa?”

The tavern owner, sprawled limply, asked in a languid tone. Hwang Jangyeop didn’t reply, instead grabbing her shoulder and turning her over. He buried his face in her full breasts, slipped between her sturdy thighs, and pressed himself against her wet core. The tavern owner groaned but kept chattering.

“Mm… sounded like that kid. Ngh, the one from the blue gate house up the hill. The widower’s eldest son.”

“Blue gate house?”

“You know, the one whose wife ran off with another man. Since then, that mister’s been drowning in booze. He’s always slinking around for free drinks, and I can’t stand the sight of him. I showed my annoyance, and maybe he’s got some shame, ‘cause he keeps sending that kid instead. I heard there’s a younger sibling too, just a little thing. What’s he thinking, really?”

“His wife ran off with another guy?”

“Yeah, why?”

The tavern owner looked curiously at Hwang Jangyeop, who rarely showed interest in others’ family matters. He gently brushed back her sweat-dampened hair, then grinned at her longing gaze. There was something mischievous in his smile.

“Anyway… women with loose hips ought to be done away with.”

“What? Ahh! Easy… ngh, ah, haaah!”

Hwang Jangyeop’s member thrust in, roughly driving forward. The sound of flesh pounding echoed loudly. Her softened flesh, already tender from their earlier encounter, was stirred and tangled in a frenzy. Unusually aroused, Hwang Jangyeop rampaged like an excited bull.

Her fleshy thighs quivered with the searing heat. Her feet slipped, kicking the floor repeatedly. Moaning near screams, she writhed, gasping and waiting for the climax.

“Hey, Jangyeop, you heading in?”

Late at night, Mr. Bong, called out for drinks, greeted Hwang Jangyeop as he was leaving the tavern. He threw a suggestive glance, as if asking after the tavern owner’s well-being. Hwang Jangyeop only nodded and stepped out.

The island village at night was pure darkness. Only the harbor had occasional streetlights; the houses had no lights to be seen. Everyone had gone to bed early. The sound of waves crashing against the breakwater was the only constant.

The salty breeze grazed his back. Each gust stung the scratched skin on his back, a fair price for indulging in lust, but it irritated him nonetheless. Frowning, he muttered a curse under his breath.

He walked along the coast. Reaching the harbor and turning toward the community center, his house was at the end of the path. It was a prime spot in the village—no flood risk, plenty of sunlight, and a clear view of the sea he’d faced his whole life.

He spent more time away from the house he shared with his mother than in it. A place to sleep could be found anywhere, as could a meal. So he only stopped by to change clothes or grab what he needed.

His mother didn’t seem to mind. Even before his father passed, she’d head to the mainland whenever she could, disappearing for months until her money ran out. Always putting herself first, did she have any deep love for her son? Now, too old to wander, she simply relied on him.

As he reached the harbor, Hwang Jangyeop narrowed his eyes. Someone’s silhouette flickered in a place that should’ve been empty. Despite the rough waves crashing in, the figure paced aimlessly, staring at the black sea. The faint streetlight revealed and obscured the wanderer’s face.

A pale face and glasses. Those two clues alone told him who it was. Gijeong. He had a young child on his back, gazing blankly at the surging sea.

“What, trying to die? Checking the tides to see when to jump?”

Startled, Gijeong flinched and looked around. His eyes soon landed on Hwang Jangyeop, stepping into the streetlight’s glow. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, but not entirely. It would likely stay that way as long as Hwang Jangyeop was near.

Hwang Jangyeop spat on the ground without hesitation. Before he appeared, Gijeong had been staring desperately at the dark sea. He turned slightly, revealing the round head of the sleeping child on his back. The kid looked about four or five.

At that age, a child should be plump all over, but the child’s arms, goosebumped in the cold sea breeze, were painfully thin. The sharp lips, sucking a thumb, looked blue in the night. The rasping breaths were harsh on the ears, with faint groans of pain. Something was clearly wrong, likely from eating something bad.

Hwang Jangyeop furrowed his brow and called out to Gijeong, who showed only his back.

“Hey.”

“…”

“Hey, you little bastard. Look at me when I’m talking.”

He snapped, grabbing Gijeong’s chin roughly and yanking his face toward him. Too weak to resist, Gijeong’s frail body followed limply.

Under the flickering streetlight, Hwang Jangyeop studied Gijeong’s face. His eyebrows rose higher. Bruises, unseen in the daylight, darkened his eyes. His lips, split again, were caked with blood. Barely meeting Hwang Jangyeop’s piercing gaze, Gijeong slowly shifted his eyes aside.

“Your face looks worse.”

Hwang Jangyeop let go of Gijeong’s chin with a scowl. Gijeong only rubbed his jaw with the back of his hand. The brief grip had left his jaw tingling.

Hwang Jangyeop slowly scanned Gijeong from head to toe. Now that he looked, Gijeong was wearing different clothes from earlier at the tavern. A spotless white shirt and navy pants, likely his school uniform, judging by the name ‘Yeom Gijeong’ embroidered on it.

A schoolbag dangled from the wrist supporting his younger sibling’s bottom. Even while being beaten by his drunken father, he’d grabbed it, determined to go to school.

A sudden urge for a cigarette hit. Habitually patting his pockets, Hwang Jangyeop remembered he’d smoked the last one. Clicking his tongue bitterly, he stared at the black, surging sea, just like Gijeong. A massive wave crashed, reaching Gijeong’s feet before retreating with a growl. To think he’d attempt such a reckless escape—when would this angry sea calm? Shaking his head in disbelief.

“You gonna stand here till dawn?”

“I can’t go home.”

“No boats are coming. Not tomorrow, not the day after.”

Cutting him off sharply, Gijeong turned to look at Hwang Jangyeop. His calm eyes held no resentment, yet they were somehow hard to meet. Hwang Jangyeop’s brow furrowed deeply.

Gijeong’s sunken eyes were filled with an indescribable emotion. Resignation, perhaps, but not quite. A deep despair at a life with no escape, yet not entirely pitiful.

“Urghhh.”

Just as Hwang Jangyeop was caught by Gijeong’s strange gaze, the child on his back suddenly retched, spewing yellowish vomit. A sour stench stabbed the nose.

Gijeong’s shirt was hopelessly stained. Seeing it, Hwang Jangyeop felt an inexplicable pang.

Gijeong quickly set his sibling on the cold ground and patted their small back diligently.

Undigested food scraps were scattered in the vomit. They looked like pieces of green onion pancake—the cold side dishes Gijeong had carefully packed into the kettle’s lid earlier. A starving child must’ve gobbled it down too fast and upset their stomach.

“Ugh… urk… cough. Hyung, my tummy hurts, hyung… waaah.”

The child, spewing vomit from nose and mouth, wailed pitifully. A hollow laugh escaped. At an age just learning to speak and recognize people, the one they instinctively called for wasn’t their mother but their brother.

Gijeong hugged his barely sitting sibling, wiping their sweaty forehead and cleaning their soiled mouth with his shirt hem without hesitation.

“It’s okay, Kiyoung. It’s okay. Hyung will make it stop hurting.”

Hwang Jangyeop watched Gijeong, near tears as he soothed his sibling, and scowled irritably. He couldn’t stand such pathetic scenes, let alone getting tangled up in them. Shaking his head as if he’d seen something repulsive, he turned away.

But before he could take a step, Gijeong’s trembling voice stopped him.