They found the monochromatic photograph and the jangseung piece when they were clearing out Grandmother’s cabinet. The picture displayed a family of five posing in front of a camphor tree, staring at Minji from inside their fenced garden. Photography, in all its beautiful cruelty, had frozen them in that image forever. Grandmother pointed out their faces. She pointed out the smiling jangseung near the fence, too. To Minji, it looked like a road marker with an old man’s face whittled into it rather than a town’s sacred protector from evil.
“This was… fifty years ago. That’s your father,” Grandmother said. “There are his two brothers. We didn’t have the youngest daughter yet. Immigrating was hard. No one had money.”
“I know, Grandmother,” Minji said. She brushed Grandmother’s wispy hair behind her ear.
“The country had been split in half. We were scared,” Grandmother said. The photographs trembled in her veiny hands. “I didn’t want to lose anyone. I told the young kumiho, ‘If you help me cross, I’ll give you a home. I’ll give you my grandson in marriage when he grows up. Be good to him.’ Only did it because I needed to. That’s the only reason, Lanh. The only one. Kumiho won’t help for nothing. Most won’t help. They’re evil.”
“I know, I know,” Minji said. The room smelled of disinfectant. She turned up her nose. “Good thing you don’t have a grandson.”
Grandmother’s wrists trembled as she pushed the jangseung piece into Minji’s hands. It was a sharp chunk of wood with an eye carved into it. The eye stared at Minji.
“For safety, Lanh,” Grandmother said. “It’s all that’s left of our old home. Please. Keep it with you. If the gods are punishing someone for taking this, it is me. I’ve done many bad things.”
Minji sighed. “It’s Minji. You mean Minji. Grandmother, I’ll be fine. I promise.” She patted the old woman’s hand.
“I’m sorry,” Grandmother said. “This is my fault.”
* * *
The apartment was awful, but it was cheap. That was all that mattered. It had a window. That was a bonus. The last little rattrap Minji lived in had no windows at all, and she’d prayed and penny-pinched until she’d gotten an apartment with one. To honor that, bright posters covered the walls around the window, shimmering visages of mansions, palaces, sunsets on the Taj Mahal, and cocktail party art nouveau. The rest of the apartment was less bright. Roaches hid in the corners. Dresses hung from the back of the front door. A room stocked with two broken chairs, a table, a mini fridge, a stove, and a Keurig made up the kitchen. On a nearby table, a dented, empty chocolate tin bubbled over with pins, needles, thread, patches, and dried out orange peels. Bills lay heaped on the table.
Minji woke up with her hair in shambles and pajamas crooked. She blinked sleepily. Light poured in through the tiny window, stabbing her eyes and warming her face. Minji pulled on sweatpants and ambled into the kitchen. She began making coffee in her broken Keurig. It fizzed and bubbled. Minji closed her eyes: if she could lean against the counter without fully awakening for another five minutes, she would. The scent of coffee almost masked the stench of her apartment’s decay beneath her feet. The mold is back, Minji thought. Great.
Her cellphone rang. Minji brushed crumbs off its cracked screen and answered. A smooth, feminine, far-too-awake voice filled its crackling speakers. It reminded Minji of a news anchor.
“Hello,” the voice said. “This is Song Lanh, correct? Our wedding was arranged.”
* * *
“It has to be a joke,” Riya said.
“I don’t know what else it could be.” Minji checked her nails. She tilted her head to press the phone against her ear. The morning rush had faded, and the subway wasn’t too busy. She swayed with every turn and metal rumble. Her purse knocked against her hip. “Grandmother doesn’t play jokes, but there’s plenty of family I haven’t met yet. It has to be one of them.”
“Let me get this straight,” Riya said. Minji heard rustling as her friend adjusted the phone. “Some stranger called you, dead-named you, claimed you two had an arranged marriage, made a date with you, and hung up. And you don’t know what her name is.”
“I picked the restaurant,” Minji said. “I’ll know her name soon enough.”
Riya’s sigh was a crackle of static. “Why are you doing this? You don’t have to meet whoever your Grandmother arranged a marriage with. Your grandmother is senile, and she doesn’t know what’s going on half the time. They have to know she is.”
“Riya, my grandmother doesn’t know anyone young in America.” Minji glanced over her shoulder, uneasy. “She told me she arranged my marriage before immigrating. That was over thirty years ago. The woman on the phone with me sounded my age. It’s impossible they’re the same person.”
“Maybe it was her daughter?”
“No,” Minji said. “She specifically said ‘our marriage was arranged.’ Our marriage. I need to know what’s going on. If this is a joke, it isn’t funny.”
“Minji, I know you don’t like to leave things unfinished, but be careful with whatever is going on. Please.”
“I know. I will," Minji said. "I’ll call you when it’s over. It shouldn’t take more than two hours.”
Minji snapped her flip phone shut as her stop came up. She gathered her coat closer, trotted into the station, and climbed the stairs into the outside. Overcast clouds plastered the sky. New York seethed with taxi exhaust and pedestrians. Minji hurried down the street. She caught her anxious reflection’s eye in a store window. Don’t worry, she told herself. You’re a beautiful woman. It will be fine. Minji got to the restaurant before her date did. She squeezed herself into a back table while she resisted chewing her nails. Was that a turned up nose from a waiter, a sneer at her borrowed perfume? It better not have been. The restaurant’s paper crane napkins glared at her. Minji swore she heard thunder in the distance.
At nine thirty, right on the dot, the restaurant door swung open. The copper bell above it rang. A young Korean woman walked through the door before examining the front tables. She strode towards the end of the room. Minji realized she was looking at her date. The woman was shorter than she’d expected. Minji had thought her confident voice indicated someone bigger. She wore iridescent sunglasses that covered half of her face, a pencil skirt paired with a yellow blouse, and black pumps. Her golden face pinched into a sharp chin and round nose. Every tilt of her hip set her on a new trajectory until the next one angled her in the opposite direction, swaying her forward. It was the walk of a hypnotist who gyrated their body into a spell made of sensuality and mischief. Minji stood up to greet her.
“Hello! My name is Chae-Seon. Call me Chae.” The woman smiled, flashing her teeth. Her sunglasses glinted. “Thank you for meeting me.”
“Song Minji,” Minji said. “Pleased to meet you.”
They shook hands. Chae’s long nails cupped Minji’s fingers. Minji thought her palm was too smooth. It felt as though Chae had ground layers of calluses off to find softness.
“The weather picked the perfect time to be difficult, didn’t it?” Minji said. “It’s being beyond rude. Especially when I have a date.”
Chae’s laughter fluttered through the air like so many sparrows. Minji let herself relax, marginally. Even if this woman believed the insane idea that their arranged marriage held any water, she could at least enjoy the adventure. They settled into a booth near the back with rain pattering the window nearby. Minji restrained her twitching. I wonder if she’ll ever take off those sunglasses, Minji thought. She looks like a disco ball.
“So, Song Minji,” Chae said. Waiters bustled by with clinking plates. Chae fiddled with the menu before her. “Not Song Lanh?”
“No,” Minji said. She ignored her rapidly beating heart. “Not anymore, I’m not sorry to say.”
Chae hummed. She propped the red leather menu up on its corner. Minji’s hands gripped the booth edge until her knuckles paled. Chae’s mauve pink nails breezed through the pages.
“The yagkwa looks good,” Chae said. Minji started, but Chae continued. “So does the duck soup. Is it?”
“I don’t know,” Minji said. “I’ve never eaten here before. If I knew how to judge food ahead of time, I’d tell you.”
Chae pursed her glossy lips, flicked the menu shut, and folded it onto the table. She smiled. Her happiness nettled Minji. What was so funny? Was that condescension? Minji took stock of the nearby emergency exit.
“I’m ready to order if you are,” Chae said. “Pick whatever you want. Lunch is on me.”
Minji ordered ginger tea and vegetable bibimbap. Chae ordered duck soup and a glass of rice wine. They nail-tapped and small-talked their way through waiting and, when the food arrived, they snuck words around their steaming plates. Minji caved at the smell of wine. She partook in a glass, ignoring Chae’s pert grin. It was 11:00 AM. They finished their lunch. Marrying Chae-Seon looked appealing on the sheer basis of being treated with a full meal every week. Chae finally removed her steam-misted sunglasses. Her eyes were brown and angular. Minji envied her eyeliner. Chae reminded Minji of her grandmother’s youthful face in the family photo. They’re both gorgeous, Minji thought. A scar blotched Chae’s left cheekbone right beneath her eye. It was the only flaw in an otherwise porcelain-smooth face.
Something about Chae’s gaze pinched her nerves. An electrical current stung Minji’s fingertips.
“Were you going to say something?” Chae said.
“Nothing,” Minji said. The pinching feeling intensified. “I was thinking that you’re not that bad, for an arranged spouse I’ve never met. That’s all.”
Chae smiled. It let Minji in on a secret she had yet to hear. “I’m glad I have your stamp of approval. I was thinking the same thing.”
“For someone who personally arranged a marriage with my grandmother, you look very… young.”
Chae raised her hand to face, framing her sharp cheekbones with her nails. “Thank you. For being two hundred going on thirty, I’ve held onto my youth.”
Minji forced a laugh. Two hundred going on thirty. What kind of a weird joke was that? Chae seemed more amused by Minji’s reaction than her own joke. She leaned back into her chair, all sinew.
“We have a lot to talk about,” Chae said. “Perhaps too much for one date. If you would like to meet up for coffee sometime later, I could explain more.”
“Maybe.” Minji swept the hair out of her face.
“You know, when I first imagined meeting my spouse-to-be, I didn’t think they’d be this pretty,” Chae said.
Minji smiled. “That is me. You expected handsome, I bet.”
“No matter,” Chae said. She steepled her fingers, counting her thoughts like so many abacus beads, while Minji gulped more wine. The thoughtfulness in her Chae’s face made Minji drink faster. “It’ll take some time to organize the venue, of course, and hanbok shopping is a hassle. But ceremonial dress shopping always is. We’ll need to send out cards, too. Perhaps a few umbrellas are in order. I’m expecting sunshowers. But this will work out. All you need to do is change back.”
Minji’s glass slipped off its coaster.
“What?”
Chae spun her finger. Her lipstick remained perfect. Not a single pink crescent kissed the rim of her wine glass.
“It’s clear you’re stuck shifting between forms,” Chae said. “That’s awful, and I cannot imagine what you have gone through. But help is here now.”
Chae’s hand crept on top of Minji’s. Her nails felt longer, sharper.
“I’ll talk you through the shifting, if you need that. You deserve wholeness. So change back,” Chae said. “I wanted to be the bride and I intend to. After you’ve done that, we’ll have our wedding. Then you can shift into whatever form you want. It'll be easy.”
The din of the restaurant sounded far away. The waiters, ringing bells, chatter, and clanking plates were submerged, Minji thought. Underwater. Waiters and people segued around their bubble of space. She got the distinct feeling no one else in the restaurant could hear them. Chae looked at her expectantly. The angles of Minji’s body suddenly felt too masculine for her. Minji pulled her hand out from under Chae’s.
“I can’t do that,” Minji said.
“I changed three times before I got here,” Chae said. “I don’t see why you can’t.”
“I can’t,” Minji said. “I’ve always been like this. Just not on the outside.”
She propped the menu open in front of her face. Coldness radiated off the rain-soaked window. The wine turned to a heated, twisting pit in her stomach.
Chae narrowed her eyes. “I see.”
Dessert arrived. Minji had ordered three plates of pricey yagkwa rolls. She didn’t touch them. Chae paid for the meal with a check, and Minji bolted without tipping. Rain trickled down the back of her shirt. Even in the mist, Minji felt Chae-Seon watching her from the restaurant. She resisted sprinting for the subway stop. The back of her neck itched. As Minji crossed the last street, a dog ran by, almost tripping her. Minji glimpsed a scar on its cheek. Her stride quickened.
Something moved in her peripheral vision. Was that rain on her neck, or sweat? She fled down the subway stairs, tore her ticket from the dispenser—the angular-eyed businessman behind her brushed hands with her getting his ticket; Minji flinched away—crammed herself onto the nearest train, and grabbed a seat. Her reflection in the train window had a nose that was too wide, a jaw too defined. Her skirt felt like a joke on her pencil hips. Minji wanted to scream. She longed to rip her mirrored face out of existence. Her stomach flipped when she saw a teenage girl holding onto a pole next to her. The girl’s pink nails glittered in the train light. Minji didn’t dare look up to see her face. A panic attack beat on the inside of her ribs, boiling upwards. Minji’s stop was a mercy, so much so that she almost tripped off the train. Someone behind her murmured “Too much wine, sweetheart.”
Minji didn’t stop running until she reached her apartment, locked her door behind her, and slid onto the floor.
* * *
Middle school was not meant for people like Minji. At least Minji did not think it was. For much of it, Minji ended up sitting in her parents’ van on the way home while her mother ranted at her. Another fight, Lanh? Really? You’re lucky they didn’t expel you! Mother tore at her hair. What will your father think? We didn’t raise you to be like this.
That made the two of them. Minji had not expected to be like this either. Yet even then, she found herself growing inside her prison of meat, stretching her limbs into her truth. By the time senior year of high school rounded the bend, Minji stood on a spindly bridge of fear and misunderstanding with her parents.
Lanh, we can’t watch this, her father said. He handed her graduation gown to her. Stop this or leave. You have until May.
Graduation morning, Minji locked herself in the school bathroom. She trimmed her black hair, filling the sink with its chunks, and wove extensions in. She painted her nails. Squeezed into her skirt. Stuffed her bra. Pulled on her heels. Slipped on her gown. Mother gasped when she walked on stage. Father was speechless. Minji kept direct eye contact with him as she took her diploma. She foresaw coupons, late rent, cheap ramen, and long explanations. She pictured praying for places to sleep, hunting for hormones, buying dresses, crying the days she didn’t pass, laughing at her new freedom, worrying about how her transition shaped her, and finding a new family.
I’m not scared of you, Minji said. I’ve made my choice.
* * *
After Minji recovered, she fled to Riya’s apartment. She felt better about having problems if she didn’t deposit them on her own doorstep. Riya sighed when she showed up. It did not prevent her from letting Minji in. Dark shadows underlined Riya’s eyes. Minji knew that they were only there when she visited. Riya was more emotional while transitioning than she had ever been—though it wasn’t like Minji had finished; bills had interrupted—and Minji’s wreck of a life gave Riya anxiety. Riya was a stout, pretty woman who looked tired with the world. Her greeting to Minji was a lecture on how she’d made her worried. Minji responded by sprawling onto the singular broken couch and crossing her legs. When Minji didn’t respond to her rant, Riya grimaced and silenced. Minji knew that expression: surrender.
“Well, she’s crazy,” Minji said. “I’ve figured out that much.”
“That’s no surprise,” Riya said. “I could’ve told you that.” She sat with her cooling mug of tea in her hands. Fading tracks of henna dotted her knuckles. “Who is she?”
“I’m not sure who she is,” Minji said, “or what she is. We’re definitely not having a coffee date.”
The itchy feeling from earlier crept into her neck again. Her terrified run had dizzied her. Already, her dysmorphia whined in her bones again, rooting her out of her own body.
Riya wrinkled her nose. “What she is? She’s a person, Minji. Even if she’s a crazy one you should avoid. I’m glad you’re not going on a coffee date with her. You tend to end up drinking coffee with people who hate you. If you want it, I have tea.”
“No thank you,” Minji said. She felt too queasy to drink anything.
Riya leaned over her broken coffee table, placing her hand on Minji’s. It was hard not to shrink from Riya’s more delicate fingers. Jealousy and shame engulfed Minji. I’m disgusting, she thought. Chae clocked me the instant she saw me. How did I go out into public today proud of myself?
“Hey,” Riya said, “I’m here for you. Tell me everything.”
Minji went through everything, from the initial meeting to being stalked on the metro. A few times, Riya squeezed her hand hard enough to cause pain. Minji didn’t complain. If today was a day Riya liked physical contact, it was a miracle. Minji tried to ignore the feeling of spider legs on her skin. When the self hatred peaked, it got easier to do so. She had bigger problems to deal with.
For the umpteenth time, Minji broke down on Riya’s couch. It didn’t take much for them to both end up crying. Minji wiped her face for the last time as evening fell, bringing darkness with it. Half of the lights in Riya’s apartment didn’t work. They turned on her dim lamps. Both of them stifled their restlessness.
“It’s dumb,” Minji said, “but the more I think about the date, the more I think of grandmother’s story.”
“Which one?” Riya said. “The fox lady one?”
“The one about the kumiho, yes,” Minji said. “I wouldn’t call them ladies. They slide between shapes. They’re not anything. Grandma loved telling stories about them shapeshifting and eating livers.”
“Sexy,” Riya said. “My kind of lifestyle.” Minji snorted.
“I don’t know,” she said. “There’s a lot of murder involved. That’s too much effort for me.”
Riya’s phone lit up. MOM❤︎, the caller ID said. Riya turned her phone over.
“Sorry,” Riya said. “She’s calling to see how my last appointment went. Keep going.”
Minji pushed through another wave of envy. I’m happy for Riya, she told herself. Really. Really. If anyone deserved support, it was kind, kind Riya. Minji would have bitten off a finger for Riya if she had to. It didn’t make witnessing Mama Riya's support any less hard. Minji tried to focus.
“When I was younger, Grandmother always told us that our family came here because a kumiho helped them,” Minji said. “She said that it asked for a home with them in exchange for helping them immigrate. When I got older, she told me that the kumiho didn’t want to be with us, but needed us to get what it wanted. She said she felt the same about my grandfather. They got married because they had to. She acted like a perfect Korean woman and wife, because she had to. When I was around Chae, I felt the same way.”
“What do you mean?”
“Chae is rich,” Minji said. “Her spouse could afford a transition.”
“Oh my god.” Riya pressed her hands over her mouth. “Minji, please don’t tell me you considered marrying her.”
“Until the transphobia and stalking showed up, yes. How else was I supposed to feel, Riya?” Minji stood, waving her hands. “I’m miserable where I am right now. I want my transition! I want my house! I want my full life! We should both be princesses, and there are worse things than entering a loveless marriage to get that. Before it went south, Chae was what I wanted anyway, or wanted to be. It could have worked.”
“Those are two different things, Minji!” Riya was on her feet now, and Minji smelled the argument brewing. A draft blew through the room. “We’ve been over this! Listen, I know you’re hurting. But you have to take care of yourself. You can’t do things like this."
“That’s not your choice to make,” Minji said.
“If you think I’d let my best friend get married out of the blue for something they’d regret you’re wrong.”
“If you were there you’d get it.” Minji dug her nails into her arms, hating the muscle she felt. “The whole thing was like being hit by a train. The instant I saw her, she acted like she knew me. Like we’d been on five hundred dates before and now it was time to talk about getting married. She was beautiful, poised, and wealthy, and confident, and I spent the first half an hour looking at her and not knowing if there were butterflies in my stomach because I was in love with her or wanted to be her. I’d felt it before, but never this bad. Do you know how many other Korean women I’ve met here who were interested in me? None. Then one showed up, and she was everything. When she ripped the rug out from under me, I felt guilty for running from a woman who treated me like garbage. Guilty! I felt like I turned my back on all I ever wanted, all because I kept myself safe. It’s been hell, Riya, and while you’re my sister, I don’t want your opinion right now. Not while your parents are paying for your transition.”
“You could have told me this at the beginning.” Riya wiped her face. “I’m grateful for my parents. I am. But it’s not easy for me either. Even though I know I’m lucky.”
Minji found herself shaking. She inhaled, trying to stop it. Tears stung her eyes but she refused to let them flow. I’ve cried enough today, she thought. I’m done. She pressed her lips together. Chae’s flawless face resurfaced in her mind. The back of Minji’s neck prickled. Angry envy clawed through Minji’s heart, and much to her repulsion, no shortage of longing.
Shit, Minji thought. Why is this so complicated?
“I’m scared for you, Minji,” Riya said with the look of a kicked dog. “That’s all. I don’t want to control you. I’m only worried about the situations you get into. I want you to be safe.”
“I know,” Minji said, pinching the bridge of her nose, trying to pull her pieces together. “I know.”
Minji sat. Riya didn’t.
“For once, I want an easier way out,” Minji said. “I’ve waded through enough shit and self hatred to earn a smidge of happiness without fighting for every inch anymore. The world owes me. I want it to pay up.”
Another chilly draft blew through the room. They heard claws scrabble on the dumpster outside. Riya groaned.
“Great,” she said, “it’s the raccoons again. I better close the window before they get in.”
Riya disappeared with her tea mug into the kitchen, leaving Minji on the couch. The musty drape behind her separated the kitchen and nearby window from the narrow living room. Minji toyed with her hair and stared at the cracking wall. She rubbed at her neck. The prickly feeling had only worsened during her and Riya’s talk. A hand alighted on her shoulder. Minji started.
“Riya! Don’t do that! I didn’t hear you coming.”
“Sorry,” Riya said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She leaned over the couch. It was a silken smooth movement. Her hair dripped onto Minji’s shoulder. Goosebumps broke out across Minji’s arms, and she leaned away as Riya crept closer to her face. Another draft blew past. Something clattered into the kitchen sink.
“You’re being weird,” Minji said. “Stop it.”
Riya smiled. The smile spread across her face in a symmetrical wave. The prickle on the back of Minji’s neck grew almost unbearable.
“I won’t delay you much longer, Minji. I promise. You know,” Riya whispered, “I feel the same way you do. The world owes us. But it’ll pay up before too long. I love you too.”
The out-of-sight window thudded shut. Before Minji could reply, Riya squeezed her shoulder and headed to the bathroom in the hall on the right. Her footsteps padded into the darkness. Minji was sitting in numb disbelief when Riya appeared again from the kitchen on the left, her hands tucked into her armpits.
“I can’t believe them,” Riya said. “The instant I got there, the raccoons were gone. Imps. I don’t remember opening the window, either. I hope someone didn’t try breaking in. Were you talking to yourself?”
The feeling of spider legs on her neck vanished. Minji felt sick.
* * *
When the persimmons dried up and the Japanese moved in again, the Korean people were in trouble. As the rifles and uniformed men grew thick, the trouble grew, too. It shouldn’t have been Chae-Seon’s business, but it ended up so. Soldiers stomped through the markets. Peasant women sobbed at their altar in the woods before cousins, fathers, or soldiers bundled them up and took them away, like any other supplies for the war. Life in Korea took an interesting turn. Chae-Seon couldn’t hear another woman cry about worldwide bloodshed before their curiosity overwhelmed them.
Don’t mind the human prostitutes, the kumiho court warned. We can’t help you if you help them. Become too involved with the humans, and you’ll be kicked out.
Chae didn’t listen. Chae never did. To them, this was a game: they had never participated in a mortal war before. It was a quaint event! Why not participate? There was blood in the water, Chae knew, and the young soldier’s liver they had eaten tasted of Pacific salt and sweet metallic agony. Something big was happening. Cheon-Seon could not sit by idle while it happened, especially not when the village women, their only source of entertainment away from Grandmother’s eyes, were disappearing.
So Chae-Seon left court. They pulled on a comfort woman’s skin and slept with foreign men so Korean girls didn’t have to, then left the money under deserving pillows. They marched in a soldier’s uniform. They pinched yen cent by cent, watched young men die; they barked at convoys. They mended clothes, clutched children, slept in graves, flew through the fiery hills, faced rape and ruin, wept over a conquered land, and cut their feet on broken promises. Emotions came, hollowing them; hollowing her, him, it, they, and all Chae-Seon had been. Love, Chae realized, hurt.
Fairytales lost their moonlight. Chae-Seon the kumiho limped home to the nearest kumiho court, a palace of deceit and gardens that rested on a rocky beach. By then, they were weak. All of their forms were bedraggled. But Grandmother was not happy to see them.
Look at you! Grandmother cried. What have you done to yourself? Two of your tails are gone! You’re practically a human! Chae-Seon, are you crying?
Yes, Grandmother, Chae said. I’m happy to see you.
No grandchild of mine will cry. Grandmother sniffed. Is that heartbreak on your breath?
Grandmother, please! Chae crawled forward. I didn’t mean it! I only wanted to not be bored, that’s all! Let me come home!
Grandmother backhanded them. Her iron ring tore open Chae’s cheek. Chae-Seon collapsed, clutching her face. Her tears dripped onto her hanbok like so many beads. It did not matter that Grandmother had gifted this dress to them for Lunar New Year. All of the favor held in its vast, glittering skirts was gone.
You’ve strayed too far, Grandmother said. Her nine tails thrashed behind her. How disgusting. You smell of the world. I no longer know you. Don’t come back.
The court left Chae-Seon broken on the beach, wind howling in their ears and pebbles clenched in their helpless fists. For the first time, Chae considered leaving Korea.
* * *
Work the next day flew past in a blur. Too quickly, morning melted into noon, with noon melting into afternoon right on its tail. Minji hated how fast the sun died. She spent the entire day hustling through a cramped, hot kitchen. When she wasn’t being burnt by grease, she was wary of leaving the kitchen. What if one of the customers hassled her? What if Chae-Seon stalked her? Minji’s recent paranoia grew with every hour. She left the fast food joint with blisters on her sore heels and the chatter of customers still in her ears.
When Minji got home, she locked her door behind her, tore off her hairnet, hung her keys up, and crawled into bed. It felt wrong to have excess lights on. It meant more bills. Minji curled into a ball and stared at the tips of her outstretched fingers. Moonlight painted streaks across the middle of her floor. Somewhere, far off in the city, police sirens screamed. They frayed Minji’s nerves. She rolled onto her side with annoyance. What was she? A dog, ready to bristle at a moment’s notice? Minji kept her cellphone close and charged. At the last minute, she remembered Grandmother’s gift.
Minji dug beneath her bed to locate the jangseung piece. She clutched it to her chest. The piece’s firmness was soothing. It was the last existing item grandmother had brought over from Korea. How long had she held this close on that miserable boat? That determination had to mean something, Minji thought. She squeezed the wood and tried to stay awake. It did not last. Sleep seized her around three am. She drifted into limbo.
An hour later, Minji awoke to the sound of a door unlocking and two bright, shiny pricks of eyes staring at her from the darkness.
The cot snapped when the kumiho landed on her. Metal screamed, bending. Blankets flew. Screaming didn’t help. Nor did struggling. The kumiho suffocated her like three hundred pounds of lead. It crushed her waist to the bed. Claws raked her skin before Minji’s pinned wrists burned under an iron grip. Minji shuddered when she smelled its rank, cinnamon and rot breath, all while its teeth neared her face.
“You’re hideous,” Minji said.
“That’s no way to speak to your wife,” the kumiho said.
“We’re not married.”
The jangseung piece brushed Minji’s fingertips. If she flinched, she’d lose it. Fear tightened her chest. Focus, she told herself. She avoided looking at the fox-like face above her, but she couldn’t help but notice a familiar scar. Silk sleeves of a golden and red hanbok pooled over her arms and drowned her. Below the waist, the hanbok ended in shreds. Minji couldn’t breathe.
“But we will be married,” the kumiho said. “As soon as you stop being difficult. Change.”
“I told you, I can’t,” Minji said. “I won’t. It doesn’t work that way.” She bit her cheek when the kumiho leaned forward. Its nose now almost touched hers. Dead stars glowed in the kumiho’s eyes. Minji tasted blood.
“Don’t act like this,” the kumiho said. “Please. All you have to do is be Lanh for me for one ceremony, for one day. You’ll never have to again.”
Minji’s arms started numbing, but she felt the jangseung piece in reach. She stretched her wobbling fingertips.
“Something like you wouldn’t understand,” she said.
Beneath the hanbok’s silk Minji’s wrist verged on breaking. Tears beaded in her eyes. The kumiho stared at her in disbelief.
“No. I don’t understand,” it said. “I left my home. I tore my last hanboks to pieces to make a sail for your family. I burnt my old tongue to learn this one. I forced myself into the shadows. I pictured your future face to keep myself alive. And still!” The kumiho’s tail thrashed. “I gave up everything for you! After all of this, I deserve to be a bride. I want the dress, the goose feathers, the sly congratulations; the hahm at my doorstep, the lift over the threshold, the sake and chestnuts caught in my skirts. I’m done carrying others. I want to be the one carried. It would take seconds for you to agree! Why are you bent on making me hate you?”
“Like you love me,” Minji said. She sounded wheezy to herself. Where was the wood fragment?
“I’m broken and ugly, but I do,” the kumiho said. It stroked her face with one clawed hand. The hanbok sleeve slithered onto her neck. Minji felt a hard object beneath her fingers. “I can’t hate you without loving you, which I do. Very much. Now change your form, Song Lanh.”
“I’m not Lanh!”
Minji stabbed into the spiral of red and gold silk. Flesh sizzled. The kumiho screamed. It was the sound of a fox and person in one. Blood splashed Minji’s hands, the kumiho’s weight lifted, and Minji tumbled off the bed. Her face smashed against the floor. Minji pushed herself up on her hands and knees, gulping air.
The kumiho wailed. Bone cracked. Fox fur tried simultaneously slithering into skin and dog hide. Minji watched in disgust as a broken kaleidoscope of man, woman, and animal bubbled around the wooden spike embedded in the kumiho’s collar. Spasming flesh and screams braided together. The kumiho’s writhing hand burned whenever it tried to touch the wood. Blood smoke boiled towards the ceiling.
“You’ve ruined me!” the kumiho cried.
“I don’t want you!” Minji shook her fist. “Leave!”
The kumiho sobbed. In a flame of flowing silk and smoke, it leapt out the window. Minji threw her arm up as glass shattered and sprayed across the room. When Minji got to the window, lightheaded and bloodied, she saw nothing but hanging laundry.
* * *
When the war ended, it took Korea’s unity with it. Chae hid in the woods as foreigners grabbed Korea by the head and tail and tore it in half. They could do nothing about that. The only possession they had left was a hanbok, and hanboks did not stitch countries together. Chae-Seon sculked around the southern countryside for several months. They spent their time sleeping. For food, they binge-ate their way through graveyards—which had many, many new graves. For entertainment, Chae perched in a camphor tree outside a house, watching the family inside go about their business, and the crumbling jangseung outside watched Chae.
One day, while Chae was sitting in the tree, feeling sorry for themselves, they heard a woman crying. Their ears perked up. The young wife of the family was kneeling in front of the jangseung. Dirt smeared her hands; tears smudged her face.
Please, gentle guardian, she said, help me. I am begging you.
Chae-Seon knew an opportunity when they saw one.
After they made their deal, Chae-Seon yanked on a human form and entered the family house for the first time. They marveled at the dining room table, the photos on the walls, the folded laundry on the chairs. The young wife was nervous. She kept Chae away from the bedroom with her children in it. The wife brushed her hair behind her ear as Chae stared at her reflection in the tiny living room mirror.
You want someone to take care of you, right? the wife said.
Yes, Chae said, turning away from the mirror. That’s what I want. What do I need to do?
The wife inhaled. She picked up a pair of sewing scissors from the pile of laundry, then gingerly slid her hand beneath Chae-Seon’s hair. Her hand was cool against the back of Chae’s neck. Goosebumps pricked Chae’s skin.
You need to have children, so you need to get married, the wife said. But first, you need to be a woman. A real woman.
The children were napping. The men were at work. The wife cut Chae’s hair, filed down their fangs, plucked their eyebrows, and clipped their claws. Chae scraped the ‘they’ off their tongue to escape the uncomfortable look on the wife’s face. They twisted their body into a woman’s. That day, they learned one key thing: if they wanted to be taken care of, they required a husband. Which meant Chae needed to be a wife. It was a dream that breathed desperate life into them again. But despite their new shape, no husband came. Chae knew where the young men of Korea were: buried. They had feasted on potential husbands the past few months. But if there were no husbands in Korea, Chae thought, human or otherwise, who would have them?
When the family stood on the beach three months later, ready to sail to America in the boat Chae-Seon had built for them, the waves were savage. The wind howled, tearing at the hanbok sail. Yellow-grey skies loomed above them. The husband and uncle held the children close. The wife clutched her newest baby to her breast. They all reeked of fear.
Please, Chae-Seon, the wife said, bless us. Give us safe passage.
I won’t do it for free, Chae said. Their curves strangled them. They had not shifted in so long. You’ve asked for plenty already, and we have a long journey ahead of us.
I’ll give you anything you want, the wife said.
Chae-Seon remembered the wife discussing her arranged marriage.
I want your grandson, Chae said.
###
Minji couldn’t afford a new window. In the end, she pinned a black plastic bag over the broken window frame, and that was that. When Riya asked what happened, Minji told her that a robber had broken in. Riya bought it. Minji restrained herself from telling her everything. She has no reason to believe me, Minji thought. I don’t know if I believe what happened myself.
The next three weeks were a whirlwind of paranoia and awkwardness. Minji’s nightmares kept her clutching a knife close at night and staring at the window. Sometimes, she heard the scrabbling of claws on the street outside. Was it the kumiho or a stray cat? Minji never found out. The noises always vanished before she could investigate. After a week they ceased altogether, as did the heavy footsteps in the apartment hallway. Grandmother was the only one Minji told the full story.
“Proud of you, Minji,” Grandmother said when she finished talking. She patted Minji’s cast with a gnarled hand. “Proud of you.”
Minji tried not to sniffle at hearing her name. She probably thinks I’m a long dead great aunt, Minji thought. Dementia is eating her brain. But it was a small victory. She would take it.
Piece by piece, Minji’s life returned to normal. The cast around her fractured wrist became an annoyance instead of a reminder. Work was cumbersome, but Minji forged on. Rent needed paid.
Minji awoke one early morning to plastic rustling. She sat up, groggy. Daylight had yet to arrive, but its potential loomed over everything. A full red moon hung in the sky.
The kumiho sat in her windowsill.
For a moment, Minji didn’t dare approach it. She gripped the kitchen knife beneath her bed with her good hand. The kumiho remained still when Minji crept into the center of the room. Their shadows melded together. It wasn’t wearing a hanbok this time, Minji thought. Only a thin camisole and shorts. One side of the camisole was pulled up higher.
“Well?” Minji said.
“I’m sorry,” it said.
“I’m sure you are,” Minji said.
“I mean it,” the kumiho said. “I’ve learned.” The camisole slipped. Minji glimpsed the jangseung piece’s eye peeking from a mound of scar tissue. “I know what I missed.”
“Do you?” Minji tasted anger. “You didn’t understand the first few times.”
“I know. I’ve been foolish.”
The kumiho bowed its head. Minji flinched when it went to its knees, crawling towards her. Its stretched form suited neither the motions of a fox nor a person. When Minji brandished the knife, it stopped in front of her.
“Don’t be afraid,” it said. “I won’t hurt you. I’ve come to apologize. The past month has been agony for me. I cannot shift. I am suffocating. Until now, I’ve been terrified. If this is how you felt when I tried to change you, I understand.”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Minji said.
“I swear on a grandmother’s love that I am,” the kumiho said.
“Yours? I don’t know your grandmother. How do I know she’s not a monster?”
“No,” the kumiho said. “Yours. Mine is the reason I fled to America.”
Without its hanbok, it looked diminished. Its fur had lost much of its previous luster. The kumiho beared its throat to her, unafraid. Minji lowered her knife. Fear made her wrist ache, but she could not bring herself to hurt it. At least not now.
“What do you want?” Minji said.
The kumiho showed its hands to her. Burns covered its fingers. Thin, raw scars laced its palms. On its shoulder, the unburied part of the wooden spike glimmered in the moonlight.
“I want your mercy,” the kumiho said. “I am cruel, even when I try to be kind. I have always known that. But I know that you would not let me suffer this way. Even if you hated me. You’re like your grandmother, and that comes from her. You are nothing like me, Minji. Which is why I ask for your forgiveness.”
Minji wrinkled her nose, disgusted yet touched. She did not like the admiration in the kumino’s gaze as it watched her. At least it was honest, she thought. Minji set her knife down.
“...fine,” she said. “But only because my family wouldn’t be here without you.”
The kumiho shivered in excitement. Minji grabbed the jangseung piece with her good hand. Electricity danced through the end of her fingertips. Her hair stood on end. Minji pulled. With a sucking noise and a dribble of blood, the wooden spike crept out. Minji clenched her teeth when she heard the kumiho hiss.
“Brace yourself,” she said.
The wood slid out in a wave of blood and rotten flesh that turned to dust. Minji felt the reverberation when it hit the floor, even if the kumiho’s cry kept her from hearing it. It danced away, clutching the hole in its chest. She edged away from the bed as the kumiho perched on the windowsill to lick its wounds. All too soon, its lantern eyes were focused on her again.
“Thank you,” the kumiho said.
“You’re welcome,” Minji said.
The kumiho lowered its hand from its wound. “Even if you haven’t thought of my proposal, I have. I would still like to marry you, Song Minji. Perhaps we can have two brides at the ceremony. Who knows? I could warm up to being a groom.”
Chae looked incredibly pained while making that last declaration. Minji restrained herself from throwing up when the kumiho’s body folded itself through skin and marrow origami. The cracks in the kumiho’s guise were palpable. Its transition was slow, uneven. All shifting defied nature, but Minji knew this wasn’t right. She battled with her nausea even as a Korean man perched on the windowsill before her. The scar tissue on his shoulder churned.
“I can be anything you want,” the kumiho said. Minji closed her eyes when she heard bone rearranging again.
“Stop,” she said. “I want you to stop.”
“If you wish,” Chae-Seon said.
It was only Minji and the kumiho, staring at each other. Minji felt Chae’s strain from a distance. They relaxed after Minji kicked the wooden spike under the bed.
“If it appeals to you,” Chae said, “I could take you back to Korea with me. My Korea. You could be immortal. If not, our relationship wouldn’t last long. Humans live such short lives.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We do have a court, you know,” Chae said. “I’m not allowed back if I’m alone. If I was accompanied, maybe. It’s feasts, peacock gardens, and pavilions for miles. Time changes differently there. You could go with me. You would never die.”
The red moon ripened. Pre-dawn moonlight spilled through Minji’s window, shimmering along her posters, broken glass, and peeling wallpaper. The posters formed a holographic spot on the dingy apartment wall: a portal into a new world. The kumiho basked in the moon’s radiance.
“I’ll think about it,” Minji said.
Chae smiled with teeth whitened by a thousand lies. “Please do. You’d be welcome there.”
“Don’t push it,” Minji said. “Forgiveness doesn’t mean I’m agreeing to anything.”
“I won’t,” Chae said.
Minji looked at the moon outdoors with her heart tearing in two. I want this nightmare to end, she thought. Why did this have to happen to her? When Chae noticed her expression, they sighed.
“You truly don’t want this, do you?”
“No,” Minji said. “I don’t.”
Chae rubbed the scar on their face. They drew her bundle of limbs up close to them. They were haggard in the moonlight.
“Looking for a human husband was a bad idea," they said. "It wasn’t what I wanted, but it sounded the closest. I should have known better.”
They looked out the window. Minji rested her hand on her healing wrist. Relief fluttered in her chest, but she couldn’t accept it yet. This isn’t over until it’s over, Minji thought. But she had to know.
“Why did you do this?” Minji said. “You didn’t have to follow me. You didn’t have to carry my family over. No one forced you to.”
“I couldn't find happiness in my home, so I thought that I could find it in someone else's.” Chae gazed at the moon. “That didn’t work. Then I thought that if I copied your Grandmother’s family, and followed them here, that would work instead. But it hasn't. Maybe it's time to accept this country has nothing for me. People have nothing for me. Not anything I can fit into. After this, I’ll leave you be. No more marriage proposals. If I want someone to take care of me, it has to be me.”
Chae rose, preparing to leap from the windowsill. They moved with terrible, inhuman grace. Minji pictured them meeting her grandmother in the woods and making the offer: if I help you leave the country, will you let me into your home, and will you take me with you? It was easy to see Chae-Seon perching in the camphor tree outside the house, watching her grandparents interact through the kitchen window.
“Before you immigrated, what did Grandmother tell you to do, if you wanted to be looked after?” Minji said.
Chae shrugged. “She told me to be a woman. I listened. I only stopped it when she no longer recognized me. Illness is quick to ruin your people.”
“I suppose that she didn’t give you another option,” Minji said.
“No. She didn’t.”
It was too easy to picture Chae obeying Grandmother and squeezing themselves into an imperfect shape. Minji understood. She had been there before. She looked at the creature perched on the windowsill, their shoulders drawn in, knees together, face tired and defeated. Dawn threatened to arrive. For the first time, Minji truly felt sorry for them.
“Do you want to come in?” Minji said.
Chae paused. “Really?”
“I have coffee,” Minji said. “If you want some before you go.”
“I’d like that very much,” Chae said.
The Keurig smoked and spluttered its way through a package of coffee beans. Minji and Chae-Seon put her two chairs to use. They made the coffee and looked at each other, saying nothing at all.
Outside, through the rays of sunshine, it began to rain.
Sara Sirk Morató (she/they) is a bisexual latina obsessed with the horror and magic of everyday life. She relates to monsters more than she should. Some of Sara’s work can be found in Sink Hollow Vol IV, Color Bloq’s RED collection, and Runestone Vol 4.
Twitter handle: @bolivibird.