Chapter 11

“I think… the dog that died a year ago is still living in our house.”

“Have you actually seen the dog yourself?”

“No. I’ve never seen it with my own eyes. But objects keep falling by themselves, doors keep opening on their own even when nobody’s there. It’s exactly like the kinds of trouble my dog used to cause when he was alive.”

Yoon Semi turned on her smartphone and showed Mugyeong and PD Park footage from her home security camera.

Sure enough, despite there being no wind at all, the bedroom door opened by itself and framed pictures hanging on the wall suddenly fell to the floor.

Mugyeong’s eyes widened in surprise.

PD Park sharply asked,

“This building is pretty old, right?”

“Yes. It’s over thirty years old.”

“Then is there any chance the building might be tilted?”

Semi shook her head.

“I called a technician last week. They checked the floors, walls, and doors with leveling tools. They said nothing was slanted at all.”

PD Park nodded as though that made sense.

This time, Mugyeong asked the questions.

“How long has this paranormal activity been happening?”

“About a month.”

“And before that? Nothing similar happened?”

“Hm… actually, this house belongs to my boyfriend. I only moved in about a month ago myself, so I don’t know how things were before.”

“Then what about your previous home?”

“Nothing happened there at all. That little brat Taro never visited me even when I begged him to appear in my dreams just once.”

The woman smiled bitterly.

Faint shadows lingered beneath her eyes.

“If I appear on this show… does that mean I’ll be able to talk to ghosts too?”

Caught off guard, Mugyeong nodded automatically.

Honestly, as someone who wasn’t actually a shaman, he had no idea whether shamans could communicate with the ghost of a dog that couldn’t even speak.

But Semi’s expression looked so desperate that he felt like he had to say yes.

“Then if you meet our Taro… please ask him something for me.”

Her voice trembled.

“Why did he suddenly come back after never responding before? Is there some reason he can’t go to dog heaven…?”

Before she could finish speaking, tears suddenly streamed down her face.

Mugyeong panicked awkwardly, unsure what to do.

Meanwhile, PD Park calmly pulled tissues from her bag and handed them to Semi.

Unho barely reacted at all, as though situations like this were familiar to him.

“And please… help send our Taro somewhere good.”

Semi cried harder.

“If we need to perform a ritual or anything, I don’t have much money, but I’ll pay somehow. Why can’t he even go to heaven…? Maybe I’ve committed sins in my life, but my baby never did anything wrong.”

Unable to continue, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed for a long while.

Filming had to pause.

In the awkward silence, Mugyeong could only dart his eyes around nervously.

“I’m sorry. I thought I’d gotten better already, but talking about Taro again after so long made me cry.”

“Please don’t apologize.”

PD Park comforted her smoothly.

“He was family. Even after a long time, it still hurts.”

Trying to lighten the atmosphere, PD Park began asking questions about the objects around the house.

The small two-room villa where Semi and Guijun lived was simple, but traces of the couple’s happy memories filled every corner.

Photos of them laughing together.

Handmade pottery that looked like they’d crafted it together.

Candles and anniversary cards.

There were also portraits of the two of them hanging on the wall.

Guijun’s portrait was stylishly painted and instantly recognizable.

But Semi’s portrait…

barely looked human at all.

“What about these portraits?”

PD Park asked carefully.

“Who painted them?”

“Guijun and I painted portraits of each other.”

“Wow. Guijun-nim’s portrait looks exactly like him. Semi-nim, you’re really talented.”

“Thank you. I actually majored in Western painting.”

Mugyeong eagerly joined in.

“Oh, then are you a professional artist?”

“No. I used to work in art therapy for children.”

“That’s really amazing.”

“I love children, and listening to people comes naturally to me. I also taught art classes at kindergartens all around Seoul.”

But suddenly, the brightness faded from Semi’s face again.

“Then last year… the center suddenly fired me.”

Her voice grew quieter.

“And now hardly anywhere’s hiring anymore. Honestly, I don’t even know if I’ll ever be able to do that kind of work again.”

Mugyeong desperately shot signals toward PD Park with his eyes.

Thankfully, she immediately understood.

“But the portrait of you hanging over there…”

PD Park hesitated tactfully.

“How should I put this…? It feels a little abstract.”

At that, color returned to Semi’s face.

“Guijun is really bad at drawing, right?”

She laughed softly.

“He can cook, clean, do basically everything else perfectly, but his drawings are truly terrible.”

“He sounds very domestic.”

“He is. On his days off, he always insists on doing everything himself and tells me not to lift a finger.”

Semi blushed slightly.

Mugyeong quietly sighed in relief and thanked PD Park with his eyes.

Barely saved.

At the same time, though, he found it strangely fascinating.

The idea that someone could exist whose mere mention brightened your mood.

Did everyone eventually meet a person like that at least once in life?

Now that the atmosphere had lightened a little, Mugyeong finally pulled equipment from his bag.

Holding up several ping-pong-ball-sized plastic spheres toward the camera, he explained,

“These are called cat balls. They light up whenever they detect movement or vibrations. Apparently animal spirits especially like them because they’re shaped like toys, so I thought they’d be useful today.”

He lined the balls across the living room floor about fifty centimeters apart before lightly nudging one with his hand.

The ball flashed red and blue while rolling, then went dark again once it stopped moving.

“Alright, we’ve confirmed the cat balls are functioning properly. Now we’ll wait and see.”

The four people sat silently in the living room.

About thirty seconds passed.

Then suddenly—

one cat ball lit up.

And immediately after that, as though the light were spreading between them—

all six cat balls activated simultaneously.

Mugyeong looked startled.

The response was far too immediate and obvious.

“O-oh… they’re extremely active. Is there maybe construction nearby or something…?”

He pressed his hand against the floor, checking for vibrations.

But there was nothing.

“No vibrations at all….”

In the late-afternoon living room filled with long shadows, the six flashing cat balls looked bizarre—

like police sirens blinking across the floor.

PD Park quietly added,

“The cat balls are staying activated continuously. That’s unusual. The spirit here must be very strong.”

“Taro…?”

Semi called out tearfully.

“Are you here?”

The instant she spoke—

every single light shut off at once.

As though answering her directly.

Semi immediately collapsed into sobs again.

PD Park turned toward Unho, who had remained silent the entire time.

“Teacher Cheongun, what do you think? Is there really a dog spirit inside this house?”

Unho answered calmly.

“…I’m not sure.”

“But the cat balls were flashing just now.”

Mugyeong protested hurriedly.

Thankfully, Unho didn’t seem to doubt him.

“Animal spirits are timid and weak in presence. Since a stranger like me entered the house, it may have hidden itself.”

Then he asked,

“Under what conditions did the paranormal activity usually occur?”

“Mostly during the daytime. And whenever I played lullabies, the activity seemed to become stronger. Taro used to love falling asleep while listening to music.”

“Good.”

Unho nodded once.

“Then could you play a lullaby now?”

Semi opened a music app and turned on Schubert’s Lullaby.

Soft music-box melodies slowly filled the dim house.

Then suddenly—

the cat balls on the floor began flashing again.

“O-oh!”

Mugyeong shouted in surprise, but Unho immediately gestured for silence.

Standing quietly, Unho slowly observed different corners of the house.

It almost looked like he was counting something invisible.

“Ms. Yoon Semi.”

He spoke suddenly.

“Have you ever personally seen the spirit itself?”

“No.”

Semi shook her head.

“Then why are you certain it’s Taro?”

“Because it keeps opening and closing doors and touching objects around the house exactly the way Taro used to play.”

Unho asked again.

His tone resembled an interrogation.

“You’ve never seen its face. So how can you be sure it’s your pet?”

“…What are you trying to say?”

Semi’s expression stiffened in confusion.

“It could be another dog.”

“…What?”

“It could even be a cat. Or a rabbit. Or a duck.”

Unho’s voice remained completely calm.

“What about a monkey? They like playing tricks too.”

“That’s incredibly rude.”

Semi snapped sharply.

But Unho didn’t even blink.

Instead, he pressed harder.

“Why are you so certain?”

“I’m telling you because I’m the owner!”

Semi finally exploded.

“So what if you’re a shaman?! What exactly do you know?!”

Mugyeong became visibly restless.

This felt way too harsh.

Shouldn’t someone stop Unho by now?

He desperately looked toward PD Park for help—

but she simply continued filming silently.

“You know this spirit is Taro?”

Unho’s eyes remained fixed on Semi.

“Or you desperately want to believe that?”

“….”

“If there’s a reason you need to believe that, then tell us honestly.”

The instant those words landed—

Semi reacted as though stabbed with a needle.

She leapt to her feet and furiously shoved the three of them toward the door.

“Please leave!”

“I’m done filming!”

Mugyeong trudged silently out of the villa with the others.

Today’s shoot was completely ruined.

At this point, he’d be lucky if they didn’t get backlash for being rude to the client.

He wanted fame—

not controversy.

Depressed, he stared down at his feet.

But PD Park seemed to think differently.

“Teacher Cheongun.”

She spoke calmly.

“Should the three of us discuss this separately?”

“Yes.”

Unho nodded.

“My shrine isn’t very far from here. Let’s go there and talk.”