The Offering

The wind blew gently on your skin. You triple-checked your map, whose letters and notes had become faint in the setting sun. You pulled out your compass, calculated the proper direction, tested the soil for its wetness. With a single, tired sigh, you knelt down: this was the spot.

You took out the materials from your bag: your camping supplies, of course, but also a bunch of cloths, rope, and rolled up paintings. You fashioned a shrine from some rocks stabilized with soil, and bent some trees together to hang the paintings of brightly-clad deities. You laid out bowls, plates, and cups, ready to offer food neatly for the spirits. Your altar was ready.

You were a shaman. Your mother was a shaman, and her mother before her, and so on, tracing your heritage to a single male shaman, long before Silla conquered your ancestral home. Male shamans were rare, and in uncompromisingly Confucian, unforgivingly masculine Joseon, you were about as deviant as Korean society could make you to be. This ritual you were about to do would get you mobbed back in the city.

Especially this ritual — a naerim-gut, meant to call upon the gods themselves. Nobody knew you were studying how to summon spirits, not even your mom and your cousin whose job it was to do these things, and would tell you not to. This is as illegal as it gets for you, so not only were you hiding from the rich despotic scholars of your hometown, but even your family. Hence why you retreated here, deep into closest edge of the Taebaek Mountains.

Why go through all this trouble? Simple: love.

You took a mat and laid it on the ground, ready to take a brief nap, waiting for the right moment just before sunrise.

In your dreams, you found yourself in the middle of a huge crowd, with more people than you ever thought imaginable, inside a building you couldn’t fathom ever being built by the most skilled artisans in Korea or the Middle Kingdom.

Before you, a stage with mysterious pillars of light of various colors, more brilliant than any fire or gem. And on the stage, four figures — dancing and singing some gut you’ve never heard before, with some language you couldn’t understand.

When the lights flashed on their faces, you saw one of them looking directly at you: a beauty of soft features, a thin frame, and the cutest, most mischievous smile. Another light flashed into your eyes, and the dream ended.

You woke up with a jolt. The sun was starting to peek out of the horizon; it was now or never. You hurriedly prepared everything — incense, the food, your costume, and your drum — and started your song.

You allowed yourself to be taken by the moment, the atmosphere; in the mountains, the energy was strongest, and you’d found yourself in your trance much faster than you’ve ever been. You followed your lessons to the letter: how to sing, how to move your feet, how to breathe.

But in the last moments of your ritual, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking back at the dream you had — of the beautiful woman, of the way she smiled at you — and as you ended your dance, you felt your knees buckle from under you. You’d been in your trance for more than half an hour, having apparently gone through the whole dance twice.

You sat and fanned yourself down, taking off the hat and the outer robes. You were sweating profusely, downing the last of your first container of water. You waited for about an hour, until some of the fruits began to draw in flies. You needed to consume this now, and what was astonishingly way too much for one man to handle, you drifted off to sleep.

This time, you dreamt you were inside a metal carriage. It was huge with no windows, and seats that belonged in a palace (though with an abhorrent color such as it had, it probably shouldn’t). And the air was freezing and dry, more so than any winter wind, though not so much that you felt yourself in danger.

And then you saw her.

Just like earlier, there were four of them, each distinguishable by different hairstyles. Each had some aspect of beauty that you couldn’t describe; even one of them, who — you couldn’t quite explain how you knew — barely looked Korean, still had soft, beautiful features (and great hair!).

But there was, among all of them, her, the one who locked eyes with you last time. Being so up close to her you could see more of the details on her face: the softness of her cheeks, the smoothness of her skin. She wore a thick-looking top, unlike the clothing anyone in your village would wear, which covered up all but her bare legs. You averted your gaze once you noticed, but it was too late — suddenly she looked at you, puzzled.

She tilted her head, and you felt your vision start to spin. She appeared to reach out and tell you something, but all you caught was the first few words:

“I’ll be right there—”

When you woke up, you looked around you. The cicadas were deafeningly loud, though not any louder than they had already been. The moon sat high in the sky, birds and bats flitting about. The forest was still dark, the soil on your feet still cold. You came to the disappointing conclusion: your ritual was a failure.

You felt dejected. Terrified, even, of the consequences of having been gone for a whole three whole nights, unless you made it back home on time later. But you breathed a sigh of relief, since the land before you had no men to catch you, and your little “experiment” was just that: a failed one that yielded no results.

You began the trek home. It was definitely a lot more dangerous to be doing this at night with your stuff, but what could you do? By the time you made it back to the edge of the village, the sun was high in the sky.

Throughout your trek, however, you felt something different about you. At first it sounded like the brush rustling about a lot more, which you chalked up to be wild animals that, at best, had followed you out of curiosity. But when you arrived to the open roads, the feeling remained, this time as if eyes glared at you from far away. Perhaps it was your paranoia.

And then, when you got to your village, the feeling was uncanny, as if someone was practically behind you. You kept looking around, puzzled and distraught, only to find nothing. The longer you were out in the open with so much stuff, the more people would question why, so you went for your house as fast as you could.

You dropped the bags inside your house, before you heard someone call out from outside.

“Son,” your mother called out.

“Greetings, eomeoni,” you bowed.

She stopped in her tracks before she got to you. She scanned you from head to toe, then tried to glance behind you. You looked with her to find nothing.

“Did you do a ritual recently?,” she asked

You scratched your head. “Was it obvious?”

“Son, you smell like you came from the spirit world. And you’re so dirty! You went to the mountains, didn’t you?”

“Well, not all the way, so can you really say I did?,” you laughed awkwardly.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky I have no problem with it. But tell no one. And burn your clothes.”

“But eomeoni, I like—”

“I said burn it!,” she insisted. “You don’t want anything unwanted from outside into your home.” She walked away.

Well, so much for secrecy, but you still got away with it, all things considered.

“Bring home something unwanted,” your mother said. Ominous, but… could that happen?

You started shedding off your clothes to dry. No point burning it if it was still drenched in sweat. You checked it all: your coat and pants, the coat and pants from your costume, and your slippers. Now you were naked, behind the closed doors of your house.

“Huh.”

You turned to the direction of the utterance. Suddenly, you saw a woman stand in the shadows. Your heart raced; she didn’t glow, nor did the world seem to have stopped. It was just you and whatever the hell was in front of you.

In your undergarments, you grabbed the nearest stick you could find, before she walked forward to show her face.

Whatever she was, she wore strange clothing. She appeared to wear a hanbok, yes, but the designs were all weird, in a way you couldn’t describe, other than lines and flowers that weren’t usual for this part of Korea. And the way it was cut, spirits bless you, was atrocious: exposing her bare abdomen, and her legs! Worst of all, her hair — completely undone, with a foreign, impossible color highlighting the front of it.

Truly, you remarked, this had to be a demon.

“What are you?!,” you cried out.

The woman scoffed. “That’s not how this works, my guy.” Her accent was foreign, definitely not from here. Nor was it even Korean, making you all the more confused how you understood her.

“H-how can I understand you? That wasn’t Korean.”

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” she shrugged. Your heart raced at her vulgarity, such irreverent and foul language!

You started to pace towards the door. “Stay back! Or I’ll-I’ll exorcise you, demon!”

“Demon? Excuse you, I am no lesser spirit,” she raised an eyebrow. “I’m the spirit you called for. How dare you question me?”

“T-that’s impossible,” you gasped. “I called for a spirit to give me assistance to find a partner, not some whore—”

With the utterance of your own profanities, you felt an invisible, indefatigable force knock you down to the ground, on your hands and knees.

“Some shaman you are. Last I checked, my appearance and my behavior is no mortal’s business,” she hissed.

“Argh, okay! I’m sorry! Please, let me go!”

She scoffed. “I’ve seen mortals punished for less. You’re lucky I’m not in the mood for anything but to deal with your shit personally.” The force left you, and you instinctively assumed the full bow position in fear.

“What? No, c'mon,” the spirit grabbed your arm and forced you to stand at attention. “I’m not a god either, dumbass.”

Face to face with her, she looked… amazing. Beautiful. Gorgeous. She looked angry, but she was still beautiful.

“I’m so sorry, uhh,” you mumbled. “I’m not sure I’d even get this far.”

“Well, then you’re really lucky you got me,” she smirked.

“Okay,” you said carefully, still catching your breath from the near-death encounter. “How may I… refer to you, your grace?”

“‘Your grace?’ Eugh. Fuck that. You can call me—” The sound that followed didn’t even register; it sounded like a roaring fire, the crashing of waves on a coastline, and the wind right before a typhoon.

“I’m… not capable of saying that name, your grace.”

She groaned. “Fine. How about… Jennie.”

“Jae…ni?”

“No. Jennie. Je. Not Jae.”

“Jennie.”

“Yup.”

“I’ve never heard that name before. Does it have a meaning?”

“First you call me 'your grace’, then question my name? You can’t even say ———, mortal,” she chided, the unpronounceable name uttered once again.

“Sorry, Jennie. This is just… very new to me.”

“You bet,” she chuckled, “you didn’t even know you could smell like the spirit realm.”

“You heard my mother outside?”

“I’ve been around you since you finished your ritual,” she replied. “My guess is, because this is your home and you have an altar over there, I can manifest here visibly.” She pointed to a tiny wooden cubicle by the corner of your common room, which was indeed meant to house any spirits you called on.

“So you heard her tell me to burn my clothes?”

“You could, but you don’t have to. It’s safe,” she waved off.

“I’d get in trouble if I don’t though,” you said, looking for some clean clothes to actually wear. “If I do burn them, will you… disappear?”

“Complicated question,” she said, taking a seat on the floor. “I’m not sure myself.”

“Hmm,” you gave it some thought. “Is there a ritual we can do to move you to this alter?”

“I mean… yeah, sure,” Jennie replied. “Wouldn’t other shamans in your village know I’m here though?”

“It’s just my mom and my cousin who’s out of town. It’s easier to dismiss than having my clothes smell like the spirit world,” you shrugged. Jennie agreed.

“Right, so,” she giggled. “You gotta prepare another ritual.”

“Please no,” you groaned. “I’m actually still full, and I literally hiked down a mountain for three days.”

“You were so funny for that, you know? You’re not trying to get a god to answer this kind of request. Don’t waste your food,” she laughed. “Just something small we can share. Got anything light?”

“Well,” you said, looking through some of your stores, “I got some radish and cabbage kimchi.”

“Perfect,” Jennie clapped her hands. “Now, follow my lead.”

You wore your costume again in a hurry, trying to catch up to the steps and song Jennie was instructing you to do. She was limber in the hanbok she wore, her body twisting and contorting as if she were unbound by it. You were mesmerized, and struggled to keep up as you marveled at her ethereal beauty.

For a brief second, reality bent. The formerly ethereal Jennie picked up a bowl of the kimchi and started eating. You stared at her in awe, just casually chewing the food and nodding in approval at the flavors. You couldn’t help but reach out for her exposed knee, if only to feel that she was there.

You felt the soft, bouncy warmth of skin.

“Yes?,” Jennie raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I’m literally actually here, by the way.”

“Sorry, Jennie,” you pulled back.

“No, it’s okay,” she said, “I’m here now,” Jennie smiled. She reached out her hand, and you slowly held it. It felt warm, but more charged with gi than a regular human. So much more, actually; not even the priests at the temple had this much. You could feel it melt your chest clean through.

“You’re very perceptive,” she praised. “Yes, that’s gi. Spirits do still have those.”

You looked into her eyes. By the gods, she was even prettier now that she wasn’t just in your dreams.

“I’m sorry for staring,” you looked away. “Must be kinda stupid a shaman would be smitten by a spirit.”

“Hey man,” she playfully poked at your thigh. “Dokkaebi are effective for a reason. We’re supposed to look perfect.”

You took the bowls and cleaned up. Jennie trailed behind you, watching you in curiosity.

“Now, about your request,” Jennie continued. “Looking for a partner?”

“Her name is Juhyeon,” you started. “She’s… amazing.”

Juhyeon. Deeper than your infatuation for Jennie was that for Juhyeon. She had everything: she looked perfect, acted modestly, and, above everything, still entertained you. It wasn’t usual for village women to entertain a shaman like you for anything other than prayers, but far too many times has she been there to protect you from the brash gang of scholars that long harassed you and your family — protected only by the vague fear that their lives as bastard sons of courtsmen happened to be on the favorable side.

“She’s pretty, and all the scholars beg for her attention. But I want her to be mine. And I’m just a lowly shaman. So… there’s that.”

“Now that sounds like a man in love,” Jennie said. “What do you need me for?”

“I… have no idea how to do that,” you admitted.

“What the— so you brought me here not knowing what I’m supposed to do?!,” Jennie exclaimed.

“No! No,” you defended. “It’s more that I don’t know where to start.”

She scratched her head. “I mean, let’s start with why. Why are you looking for a partner? Company? A family? Something carnal?,” Jennie pushed. That last one threw you off.

“I mean… I know I want a genuine confidant, an acquaintance to keep the dry moments more… interesting.”

“Dude, you can do that with me,” she rolled her eyes. “You are literally a shaman. Your whole shtick is to talk to spirits, and there’s thousands to talk to.”

“But a spirit can’t… love me,” you replied. “All the other women in the village look at me with disgust. And I’m sure as hell not eligible for the civil service exams.”

“You could ask me for that,” she stepped closer to you. “I could… try?”

You laughed. “I’m not dumb, Jennie. You’re a spirit for women. Otherwise you wouldn’t look so damn pretty.”

“Damn,” she cooed, “boy’s got game. Guess my job’s done.”

“No, please,” you folded instantly. “Truth is, I don’t know how to approach her. And if the gut called you down, then… maybe it’s a sign that I’m gonna have to court her to win her over, and not… cheat my way through it.”

“How noble,” she smiled. “Challenge accepted.”

You walked to your room to lie down, when you noticed Jennie appeared uncomfortable just outside the border of the common room.

“Jennie?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just think— ow— your room is protected, and the altar is too far away.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you urged. “I could—”

“No, please! Get some rest,” Jennie urged. “I’m literally a spirit. I’m fine!”

“Okay,” you scratched your head. “This is still so weird.”

“Eh, I’m used to it,” she said. “Take a nap. Let’s talk about it over your dinner.”

You collapsed the minute you laid down. This time, there were no dreams.

“So, Jennie, why 'Jennie?’,” you asked, cooking a stew.

“Another one of the mysteries of the spirit world,” Jennie remarked from inside the house, nonchalantly leaning on an invisible barrier. “You know what, I have no clue. My guess is that this 'Jennie’ is someone from the future that embodies womanly beauty. The dreams you had where we ‘met’ — those weren’t just the spirit realm. That was a vision of the future. What that’s all about, I don’t know either.”

“Strange indeed,” you thought. “You also had 3 other girls with you. Anything you could tell me about them?”

“Only that for some reason, I know them to be Rosé, Lisa, and Jisoo,” she shrugged.

“Only one of those names sounds Korean.”

“Hey man, we’re both in the dark here,” she shrugged. “Don’t even ask me about that dance they were doing. Perhaps music sounds like that in the future.”

“Didn’t think spirits would be this unsure about the things we shaman need of you.”

“Well, sorry,” she whined. “I mean, what fun is some omnipotent, omniscient deity? It’ll be like talking to some sort of book that always gave you the right answer.”

“Man, would the scholars love that,” you teased.

“Oh, don’t get started on those hoots. I hate them as much as you do,” she said, playfully folding up a paper fan.

You came back with two bowls of stew, one you left by the altar. Just as earlier, Jennie was able to pick it up and drink from it.

“So,” she began, “about that Jeongyeon girl.”

“Juhyeon,” you corrected. “Well… I do have an idea of what I can do.”

“Which is?”

“Foresee if it’s gonna work out, and check out if she’s cursed.”

“Cursed?,” said Jennie. “Is she from an old family?”

“Not from here, but yes,” you replied. “Her father moved here before she was born. So she’s new. Different. Still lowkey exotic, if you catch my drift.”

“I suppose,” she said. “Well, that recent of a move, I wouldn’t question if there were curses involved. Maybe you can bring her over for that?”

“Maybe… I’ll see if I can cook up some excuse.”

“Oh, that’s easy. Have you ever tried reading her fortune before?,” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Perfect! Just tell her you wanted to. Girls eat that cheesy shit up,” she laughed.

“Okay, and if she says no?”

“Then… we cook up another thing for another try,” she said. “Take it little by little.”

“Of course,” you sighed. “Maybe this whole thing is less to grant me my request and more to manage my expectations, no?”

“I dunno, my guy,” Jennie shrugged. “But you gotta start somewhere.” You poured out another bowl and offered it to Jennie.

“Y'know, I don’t actually know your name,” she wondered.

“I’m not telling you shit, in case you’re a dokkaebi,” you teased.

“Fine, ya got me,” she teased back, though you were unmoved. “Oh come on, really? I’m not a dokkaebi!”

“My name with you can be… Taehyung.”

“Taehyung,” she giggled. “There’s something about that name that makes my heart flutter. Not sure why.”

“Really not building your case against being a dokkaebi,” you cautioned.

“Bitch,” she hissed.

The next few days with Jennie around were surprisingly normal.

Being the spirit in your altar, she took on the role of whatever was requested of you. Divination? She’d do her best. Prayer? Probably her weakest suit, save for those concerning relationships. Fortune? You directed them to your mother instead.

“I’m learning a lot being your personal spirit, you know,” she admitted, as you showed a couple out.

“Is it not easy for you?,” you asked.

“It’s… not hard,” she replied, “but it definitely doesn’t just come to me.”

“What even are the consequences of keeping you around for so long?,” you asked. “You don’t feel yourself becoming… violent, do you?”

“Rawr,” she teased. “No, not at all.”

“Terrifying,” you replied sarcastically.

“You need to not be so stuck up, you know?,” she rebutted. “If you’re gonna get Juhyeon to like you, you’re gonna have to make her smile.”

“I’m… funny,” you retorted, though very unconfidently.

“Sure you are,” Jennie laughed. “To me you are. But that’s because I find you charming, not because you actually are.”

“I didn’t ask you to haunt me, Jennie,” you pushed back.

“I’m not! C’mon, here,” she urged, sitting on your lap. She stared straight into your eyes, her irises a deep brown but with a subtle ring of pure white, whiter than her sclera — a telltale sign she was still a spirit.

“Uhhh… what are you doing?”

“Tell me a funny story,” she said, “about you.”

“Why?”

“Just roll with it,” she poked your nose. You gave it a bit of thought.

“Well… there was this time my mother was teaching me how to perform a ritual. I think it was a fortune ritual. But I remember one time I… accidentally stepped into a bowl of tteok. It was really squishy,” you chuckled.

“Gross,” Jennie giggled. “What happened next?”

“Then my mom told me I was gonna be haunted!,” you whined. “I was crying so badly because obviously, I didn’t want to be haunted by my halmeoni. So I remember tearfully dancing a prayer of contrition on my own.”

“Aww,” Jennie fawned, “that must have been so cute.”

“It really wasn’t,” you groaned. “Did you know that very night, my cousin suddenly woke me up to scare me? And then I screamed so loud the neighbors thought it was an animal attack!”

Jennie started laughing uncontrollably, hanging onto your neck to avoid falling down. She pulled you hard enough, regardless, that you fell down with her.

“Dude,” she said, wiping away a tear, “you’re a fuckin’ natural. Please, just be like this with Juhyeon.”

“I can’t,” you sighed, catching your breath. “Isn’t that too casual?”

“If you’re courting her, you have to be casual!,” she said, slapping your chest. You looked at each other, laid down on the floor, and you simply giggled at each other. Jennie’s hair fell over her face, and her eyes twinkled in the afternoon sun — so pretty without even trying.

“Why are you smiling like that?,” she narrowed her eyes.

“Nothing,” you lied.

You dreamt of your house. Not the same house, though it appeared similar to yours in the current moment, but in a field of white grass and a clear sky with the sun shining brightly. You wore clothes of silk, way beyond the income you could ever achieve in your lifetime, and to your side, Jennie, in body-hugging black garment that cut past her knees, and hair that fell down her shoulders plainly. She smiled, holding your hand, and gave you a kiss on the cheek.

You woke up, and your house was empty. The altar still thrummed with energy, but you were physically alone.

You laid back down, closed your eyes, and sighed.

Don’t fall for Jennie.