Satanas Chapter 1.1 - Bell

The year is 1879, Joseon. A village in Dangjin, Chungnam Province.

I still cannot forget that day. That night was dazzlingly bright with the fire lit on the torch stand, and my head was in a whirl from the tumultuous tangle of gongs and large gongs, drums and hourglass drums, and the noisy sound of the flute.

A short while ago, it was said that a mansin shaman and a few of his attendant monks had come down from Hanyang. The people from the neighboring village, who had heard the news and flocked to have their fortunes told, were all of one accord in extolling the shaman as spiritually potent. As it happened, a couple who had been troubled by a daughter suffering from a divine illness rushed to him with open arms, so how could they not run rampant in this land touched by the Lord’s authority? For they had placed those with vain beliefs at their feet.

“Today, o spirit of the deceased, how pitiful and wretched you are…!”

A sacrificial table, twice the size of a twenty-dish set, was set up in two tiers, and the severed pig heads were hung in clusters on a perch, swaying with every gust of wind. I remember how, whenever a head would spin around and face my way, I would flinch in surprise and hide behind my mother’s skirt.

“Unable to escape the path of death, I have died in vain, what am I to do with this body…!”

A saekdong-jeogori, a child’s multi-colored jacket, swirled its colors in time with the furiously spinning body. Reflected in the crimson fire, it glowed as if soaked in blood. The indigo kwaeja worn over it fluttered in the wind, puffing up, and the red hat, stuck with bristling pheasant feathers like a pointing finger, scattered its long ribbons.

An old woman’s vivid eyes peeked out from behind a fan dancing in the air. I stared at the sight, unfamiliar and entranced, but soon shook my head vigorously.

“Mother, is it alright for us to watch such vulgar things?”

“Jinha, a gut is not a bad thing.”

“But the Lord said…!”

Heeik. The sound of bundled bells brushed past my ear. The shaman’s eyes, revealed from behind the fan that sliced through the air, were fixed on me, and I felt as if I were being hunted.

‘You are tainted.’ 

The eyes, glinting and flashing with light, were saying this to me.

“In the east, the Blue Emperor General! In the south, the Red Emperor General!”

The sound of the drum, the lowest layer of the music, gradually grew louder. The ringing of the large gong, which had been struck with small hand movements, also intensified, and the sound of the small gong rose in excitement. The dancing shaman politely set down his fan and bells, then picked up two swords.

“Namu Amitabha, Namu Amitabha, Namu Amitabha!”

I swallowed dry saliva that would not gather. Seureung seureung, the sound of metal scraping against metal sent a chill down my spine. The shaman, who had closed his eyes with a look of ecstasy and begun to jump about wildly, circled around the young girl who was huddled on one side of the straw mat, trembling.

“Namu Amitabha, Namu Amitabha, Namu Amitabha!”

At the climax of the musical instruments, not only my mouth but my throat as well became completely parched. All the villagers watching clasped their hands together and chanted, ‘We pray, we pray.’ My mother watched the ritual with interest, but I could not.

I was scared and afraid.

“Did you think you would live for a thousand years, to die from an illness, hey, you evil spirit, begone…!”

“Ueueueu, eueu, eueueuk….”

“O, sun setting in the western mountains, take this helpless, cruel thing with you! Will you not get the hell out!”

When the shaman’s command pierced the night, only the sound of the crackling bonfire remained. The girl, who had been moaning and writhing in agony, curled her entire body into a ball. The shaman once again raised the two swords high and made a motion as if to strike down. Then, the girl abruptly lifted her head, shot to her feet, and pushed the shaman away.

“You wreeetch!”

“Eh, Mother!”

“O, Mother!”

“Mansin-nim!”

The voice, close to a scream, was filled with rage. All the villagers were so startled their mouths fell open. The girl’s eyes, rolled back in her head, darted around, and then she snatched the sword the shaman was holding. As everyone gathered sucked in their breath, the tip of the raised sword pointed at us, who were surrounding them.

Slowly, the girl’s feet ambled around the shaman. When her foot, clad in a beoseon sock, primly lifted, the people gasped and clutched their chests in shock.

“Jinha, stay here! Understand?!”

My mother said, pulling me away as I stood there, unable to tear my eyes from the bizarre scene.

“W, where are you going, Mother.”

My mother’s hands, which had been holding mine tightly, let go. The white mourning skirt, puffed out around her waist, grew more and more distant. Her shrinking back soon disappeared into the darkness. Another gasp erupted from the crowd, and my eyes snapped back to the ritual grounds.

Now, the girl began to jump in place with thuds. Kwang kwang. Each time, the shaman would choke out pained groans and crawl on the ground. When the monks who had rushed out supported the shaman crawling out, the girl jumped even higher.

“A wench like you cannot suppress me! Cannot! Cannot!”

To my eyes, it looked as if the girl were stomping on the shaman’s body and jumping. Her upturned eyes scanned all of us slowly. Kung kung, each time the wind blew under the white skirt and made it billow, her pale shins were visible above the beoseon. It was a moment when all of us were staring blankly, not even realizing how indecent it was.

“W, what is that…?!”

A startled voice burst out from somewhere. A man dressed in a thin ramie hemp vest was pointing at the girl’s leg.

It was blood. Blood was flowing. Trickling blood was soaking her white under-trousers and her beoseon. One by one, the terrified people began to back away. Bajak, bajak. My feet, which would not move, crushed the sand-filled ground.

Her face, illuminated by the blazing torches, was that of a Death Demon torn from a painting of the Eight Hot Hells. Cackling and giggling, her beoseon-clad feet, jumping on the straw mat, showed no sign of stopping and were menacing. Now she even raised both arms, swinging the sword wildly, so no one dared to think of stopping her.

I knew instinctively. I had to go. I had to go and bring the priest.

“What in the world are you all doing!”

Just then, an old woman’s scolding voice was heard.

“I told you not to even think of doing this! Because you do these profane things, the evil spirits cling even more! Huh?!”

“No, Elder! What do you mean, profane things! Right now, to save my daughter…!”

“If you want to save your daughter, you must not! Bring her here!”

The old woman was the guardian elder of the village where I lived.

“Goodness, Elder. Are you saying we should offer up some strange prayer to that Lord or God or whatever he is?! Huh?!”

“Watch that mouth of yours before I drive a stake through it! Not another word and bring your daughter!”

And she was the one who had introduced our villagers to the New Learning (Catholicism). Next to her, my mother stood, panting, drenched in beads of sweat.

“Hek, hek, heok…”

“Any words will do, so everyone must pray with one heart, understand?”

The people from the neighboring village all said we were crazy, but I took out the rosary hidden in a corner of our thatched-roof room and ran out. It was not just me; all the people of our village did the same.

We bound the girl’s body to a post so she could not move an inch. The girl, who had been letting her tongue hang out and drooling like a starved beast, her gaze changed when she saw the entire village appear with rosaries wrapped around their hands. The eyes that had been spewing curses were now filled with fear.

“H, hey, Elder! What are you people doing with my daughter right now!”

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen. I believe in God, the Father almighty, Creator of heaven and earth.”

The girl’s eyes soon became like those of someone on their deathbed, and she twisted her body grotesquely. Kkagak, kkagak. The sound of her gasping for breath was eerie and terrifying, but I did not stop praying. No, we did not stop praying. In the end, a few of the men were unable to join the prayer because they were holding back the father who was trying to charge in. The more that happened, the more tightly we squeezed our eyes shut.

“He ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of God the Father almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the living and the dead.”

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name….”

It was chaos that erupted while the blue-eyed priest, who was here for missionary work, was away. Yet, even in the absence of the priest who delivered God’s word, we made a faith bloom like a pure, feverish flower. It was an effort solely to save one young girl.

“For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved, Amen.”

“Amen!”

“Aaaaaaahk!”

Our prayers continued for nearly a full two hours.

“Hey, you damn-deserving scoundrels!”

Pararak, the sound of thin paper fluttering in the wind was interspersed here and there. Huddled in groups of three and five around a single person who had opened a Bible, we paid no heed and recited the Lord’s words.

“You’re going to kill someone at this rate!”

“That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus.”

At times, desperate screams that weakened us were heard, but our faith was not one to crumble so easily.

“And shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead.”

“Amen.”

We shut our ears, instead of looking at the fragile girl before us. We focused all our senses solely on the prayer.

“Thou shalt be saved.”

“Amen.”

The girl’s scream, let out until her throat was raw, echoed through the sky that was approaching dawn. At the same time, the crow of a rooster was heard once. No sooner had the scream, which seemed on the verge of breaking off, ended than the girl’s whole body went limp.

“Truly, truly be with us… Amen.”

And our prayer, too, came to an end.

“Oh, the injustice!”

The father ran to his daughter, calling her name at the top of his lungs. He hastily untied the ropes and embraced her small body, weeping and wailing. A few of the people from the neighboring village, who had been watching and anxiously stamping their feet, also ran over to support them.

“F, Father… Father, I was so scared….”

Her face, which she barely managed to lift in her dazed state, had returned to normal. Her braided hair was a tangled mess, but the murderous look and beastly behavior were nowhere to be seen. Only after confirming that she had returned to her downy, unblemished cheeks and innocent eyes did sighs of relief escape from here and there.

“Th, these crazy people almost drove my daughter to her death! Huh?! Do you think I’m going to let you people go?!”

While we were rejoicing as if we could leap for joy, the girl’s father, in an enraged voice, hurled invectives at us. However, we did not let a single one of the curses he hurled enter our ears. We were simply reveling in our victory as children of the Lord. We never imagined that the father’s curses would truly come to pass and drive us to our deaths.

I still cannot forget that day. It was a night that used the starlight flowing in the sky as its kindling. Our surroundings were dazzlingly bright, and only the prayer of unwavering faith could soothe my fearful and confused heart.

It was the first exorcism of my life, achieved with a rosary and a worn-out Bible.

🕷️

The government soldiers stormed in less than a day after that incident. The girl who had been possessed awoke safely, but her father could not believe in the conviction we had shown. He believed everything was the power of the shaman’s gut, and with vicious curses, he debased us, calling our actions the devil’s temptation.

The year is 1879, Joseon, a time of relentless persecution of Catholics.

For us, who had been living in hiding, to come out into the world to save one young girl was a life-risking act. But the price was unspeakably horrific. In the midst of a summer past the peak of the heat, we were treated worse than mere beasts.

On the soles of our feet as we walked to the fortress in Seosan, blisters formed and blood beaded. They would burst and peel, again and again, without time for new skin to grow. The sight of us, each with a noose around our neck, being dragged in a single file, looked just like a string of dried corvinas, and like the pig heads that had dangled at the ritual site.

Even in that moment, we recalled the Lord’s path of suffering. Upon His blood-stained feet as He climbed the hill of Golgotha with the cross on His back, we placed a kiss named prayer.

Upon reaching the fortress, we were locked in prison cells one by one. Before being locked up, my mother and I clung to each other and cried.

“My son, you must live…?”

“Mother, I’m scared….”

Her dry hands held me in a continuous embrace. The touch of her hand stroking my cheek still remains in my memory. She was trembling so much, that tremor is still vivid. Though she herself was afraid, she held onto young me and did not let go until the moment we parted.

“If anyone asks, say you don’t believe in this stuff. Understand?”

“W, w, what about you, Mother?”

“Mmm, don’t you worry about this mother… Here, take this.”

What my mother gave me was the silver ring she always wore on her left hand.

“M, it’s yours, Mother, why are you giving it to me….”

“I’ll come to get it later. So you must keep it, understand?”

“M, Mother!”

We were not even given time to prepare for our farewell. Suddenly grabbed by the scruff of my neck and dragged away, my mother grew distant, and our outstretched hands could not touch. Her fingertips fluttered pitifully in the empty air. And yet, until the very end, my mother smiled at me. With eyes filled to the brim with clear water.

That was the last I ever saw of my mother.

One day, the sound of thick raindrops seeped into the prison cell, where not even much sunlight entered. It was around the time I was growing tired of counting the days by distinguishing day from night. Suddenly, the door to my cell opened, and a government soldier’s rough voice was heard.

We, who had been crammed into the cramped cell, were like a school of dried pollack. Those who were moving their limbs for the first time in what felt like an eternity staggered out of the cell, and I, too, followed behind them.

Above me, the scorching sun beat down, unfiltered by a single cloud. The sunlight, which I hadn’t felt in a long time, was so intense. The useless thought that my eyelashes might just crumble away even crossed my mind.

“Among you, whoever steps on this and passes will be set free, and if not, you will be struck down with this stone. Is there anyone who will apostatize?”

In the open space, there was a long stone like a plank. On top of it, which looked considerably heavy, lay a rosary and a cross, but not a single person came forward to do it.

I wanted to live. I wanted to live, so I tried to stand up. I, I will step on those things and pass. I should have said that. Hadn’t my mother instructed me? To live, no matter what.

“I, I…!”

From my parched mouth, my voice would not come out properly. As I hesitated and tried to stand, someone grabbed my ankle as if to shatter it. The swarthy face glaring fiercely at me was very familiar. A young man from the village who often chopped and brought me firewood. He had been baptized with me.

“You filthy turncoat bastard. Shouldn’t we die together if we die, and live together if we live?”

“M, my mother told me I must live.”

“You think your mother is alive? You idiotic bastard. Your mother has been dead for a long time now.”

Perhaps it was because of that, that my buttocks, which had lifted from my heels, slumped back down.

The thin, stained piece of cloth smelled. It was placed over my eyes, obscuring my vision. In the end, no one who denied the Lord came forward. With my hands tied behind my back, isolated in darkness, in that moment I focused all my senses on my hearing, which had become extraordinarily developed. My knees, kneeling on the ground, were getting wet, acting as my eyes. Perhaps the heavens, too, were watching those heartless men, for they sent down rain from a dry sky to cool the scorching sun.

The dawn of yesterday, which should have been quiet. Why the crows had cried so mournfully, I thought I finally understood the reason now.

“Euaaak!”

This is what the sound of breaking bones is like. This was the kind of scream that arose from the agony of a perfectly healthy body being crushed. The sound alone conveyed the pain of flesh being torn and a spine being snapped. I clasped my rain-soaked hands together on my skinny thighs.

Like my mother’s hands that used to envelop young me, I began to pray, strongly clasping my hands that would not stop trembling.

Lord, please make me deaf.

“Next.”

They do not know what they are doing.

“Aaaaaeuk!”

Lord, please forgive them.

“Next.”

The sound of the downpour grew stronger, but the death-rattle screams were not muffled in the slightest. And then my shoulder was seized. Realizing my own fate to be shattered to pieces soon, I was dragged out like a worthless rag.

My tattered clothes, soaked with rain, clung clammily to my withered body. I do not know why the rain hitting my face felt so cold and bitter, even in the final moments. The bright sunlight that whitened my covered vision was so dazzling that my eyes stung and ached.

“Carry it out.”

Why do you not lessen even one bit of pain just before I am cast away. Love and forgiveness, I have not violated a single one of the teachings of sacrifice.

Wadeudeuk.

Something hot kept surging up. At first, it came out only from my narrow throat, but then it began to burst from every possible orifice. All my ribs were broken and pierced my organs, and my crushed body, soaked in the crimson fluid that flowed from my ruptured viscera, became a pulp.

And yet, my consciousness clung on tenaciously. I was thrown onto a pile of corpses like that, but the rain would not stop.

How much time had passed? As if there was still something left to be drained, blood continued to seep from my eyes, nose, and mouth. No sooner did it emerge than it was washed away by the rain, and once washed away, it would immediately flow again.

As the sun that had risen over Seosan began to set, the heat of midsummer gradually subsided and dew began to form. I squeezed out my last bit of strength to open my drooping eyelids. I wanted to at least watch the burning sunset until the very end.

Just then, the rain stopped and the heavens opened. A sound of music, the likes of which I had never heard in my life, echoed faintly. Its magnificence was so grand that it filled the rivers and mountains, making even my cooling heart leap. A pure white light poured down from the open sky, and the warm, white rays embraced my chilling body.

The sound of the heavenly army’s hooves shook the whole earth. The grand melody, which had been faint, was suddenly very close. Dozens of knights who had sprung from the ground stood in a line. They all blew trumpets with draped banners, and it seemed as if they were welcoming me so grandly that it felt like it was healing even the pain that had seeped deep into my bones.

And from a far-off place, another sound of hooves was heard. In that moment, I was certain.

An angel had surely come to take us.

“Your earnestness has called me.”

Otherwise, there was no way such a beautiful person would come to save me.

“I have known your suffering.”

A voice with a languid tone caressed my weary self. The long hair fluttering atop the galloping horse was so dazzling it felt as if my eyes would go blind. The captivating sound of the hooves beat against my ears in time with my gradually slowing heartbeat.

“I have heard your voice.”

A red robe, fastened with a gold brooch, unfurled and billowed in the wind. It looked just like the wings of a giant eagle, no, the wings of an angel. The mane of the white horse he rode on glittered as if shattered by the sunlight, and all that light enveloped his body.

“I have come to save you, foolish lamb.”

The man dismounted from the saddle. His steps, light and delicate, were elegant and beautiful. The clothes visible through the robe, which almost brushed the ground, were embroidered all over with gold thread.

He removed the hood attached to his cape. The golden circlet on his forehead reflected the light, emitting a radiance. When the energy of that radiance had faded slightly, a blood-red jewel set in the center flaunted its luscious appearance.

“…forever.”

Was it a simple coincidence that the angel’s first words disappeared in the dense rain and tilting wind? Or is it that I cannot remember? Instead of searching my memory for the lost voice, young me rolled my bloodshot eyes and wandered through the water-soaked clouds.

But when the man extended a snow-white hand that seemed to pull the sun’s rays with it, I corrected my wandering focus and looked at him again. Platinum blond hair that held the sunlight. Eyes that resembled the dawn sky where the morning star rises. I was mesmerized by that beauty and nodded my head.

“Arise, Tadeo.”

Someone whispered close to my ear. It was the voice of the angel who had saved me. It was like a torrent of water that broke through an invisible wall and invaded my world, and it washed deep inside me, waking my sleeping body.

And then I woke from the dream.

🕷️

When I woke from my sleep, my whole body was shivering. Getting out of bed, Tadeo noticed the door to his room was open and slipped his feet into his slippers. The voice that had woken him was not a delusion. He felt reassured by the sign that someone had visited his room. He was habitually fiddling with the silver ring that glittered on his left hand.

As he stood on the floor, the burgundy dressing gown he wore fell around him. It was a gown that looked old and frayed. The oatmeal-colored t-shirt worn underneath was stretched out and sloppy. As Tadeo tied his belt and left the room, the faint warmth of the crackling fireplace wafted towards him.

Bell was standing by the window.

“Bell.”

Bell’s long hair, which fell just past his chest, glittered alone in this space where the fireplace was the only light. His head and gaze, tilted slightly, turned towards Tadeo. Soon, he raised the wine bottle in one hand and gave a soft smile.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Bell offered, then turned his eyes back to the window. Tadeo followed his gaze, but all that could be seen was steamy glass.

Bell, you must be seeing something.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“I had a dream about when I first met you.”

Tadeo answered Bell’s question. His voice was as sunken as a foggy London morning street.

“A nightmare, then.”

Without tearing his gaze from the window, Bell’s assertion was as light as the smile on his lips. Tadeo simply smiled without a word. In the dream that made him reflect on the meaning of his newly given life, what was more intense than death was Bell. Therefore, he could not agree with Bell’s declaration that it was a nightmare.

“Sit. I’ll warm you some milk.”

With even a light movement, Bell’s hair and the hem of his indigo gown fluttered easily. He wore nothing under the gown, his bare skin exposed. Tadeo had to briefly turn his eyes away from the broad chest with its firm muscles, uselessly scratching the frayed part of the armrest with his fingernail.

Bell did not feel the cold much. So indoors, he only wore trousers and a gown. In winter, his milky-white skin felt particularly pale, and Tadeo, who was sensitive to the cold, would shiver just looking at him.

Tadeo curled his body in the armchair and quietly watched Bell pour milk into the brass pot in the fireplace.

“Sugar?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Beautiful Bell. He was sometimes like the mane of a golden-shining lion, sometimes like a puppy with caramel-colored fur that smelled sweet, simultaneously crossing between moonlight and sunlight. This was because every time his dazzling platinum blond hair was lifted, the silver hair hidden in between would reveal itself.

“Where have you been looking all this time?”

The milk was sweet. ‘It’s hot, so be careful.’ Steam rose from the mug handed over with the kind words. Bell walked back to the window. At this time of the morning, dew and fog would be mixed together, making it hard to see all of London, yet he kept looking out the window. As if he was interested, then bored, then observing, like a person who might leave at any moment.

“Somewhere over there.”

“…”

“A place beautiful and full of turmoil.”

The voice that answered with folded arms was drawn out and languid at the end.

“…Do you want to go?”

“If you go too.”

Tadeo could not continue and just fidgeted with the mug. It was clear he was bored with reality. At some point, Bell had started to find being by his side tedious.

“War never ceases anywhere in the world, Bell. It’s dangerous for you to go alone.”

“Haha. Who’s worrying about whom, really.”

Bell, who had approached and placed a hand on the armrest, leaned in close. Bbigyeok, Tadeo shot his head up at the groan of the old leather chair being pressed.

“War has never ceased in the world, Tadeo.”

Bell’s face was close enough for their noses to touch. Platinum blond hair that held the sunlight. Eyes that resembled the dawn sky where the morning star rises. The inner corners of his long eyes were sharp, and the deeply set eyelids were close to the eyebrows, which could make him look fierce. It was exactly as he had seen in the dream.

“Thanks to humans, who are cruel and incomparably cunning.”

His dark eyebrows seemed to show the movement of each and every strand, and his nose was high and straight. A glow played on the cheek where the shadow cast by that nose fell.

He had never existed in human history, but he was one who had watched over us since primordial times. As Bell tried to straighten up, sweeping back his fallen golden hair, Tadeo grabbed him abruptly.

“Bell.”

Then he cupped the strong-lined jaw and pulled him closer.

“What do you think you’re doing right now.”

Bell asked, his face showing interest for the first time in a while.

“I have something to ask you.”

“Ask away. I’ll answer anything.”

“In the dream… I couldn’t hear your last words clearly.”

His eyebrows, which had a slight mountain-like arch, twitched. London’s morning fog had settled in Bell’s blue eyes. How long had it been since his focus, which was always on a distant place, was set on him? Tadeo’s jet-black eyes trembled like small ripples on a calm water surface. It was a movement to gauge Bell’s expression. But his inner thoughts were still impossible to read.

“So.”

The one thing that was certain was that he did not look pleased.

“Actually, my memory is… not very….”

Kwang kwang kwang. Just then, a loud knocking sound came from the front door downstairs. Startled, Tadeo flinched and tried to rise from the chair, but Bell pressed down firmly on his shoulders, which were much narrower than his own.

“Finish what you were saying.”

“That is, my memory….”

“You don’t remember?”

“…I don’t remember.”

Tadeo was always honest. Bell straightened his back, which had been bent to meet Tadeo’s eyes while sweeping his hair back. His broad shoulders straightened, and the thick column of his neck rising from behind his ears stood erect. His towering height, enough to touch the ceiling if he stretched out his hand, even lent an air of intimidation to his downward gaze.

When he tilted his head askew with his eyes lowered, the hair he had swept back fell forward again. Sarak, the air surrounding them was so quiet it seemed as if even the sound of his hair falling could be heard.

“Then you probably don’t remember what you and I did either.”

Tadeo’s answer could be known without even needing to hear it. Because the expression he revealed was so pure and foolish. I don’t know anything. Bell’s irritation finally boiled over.

“Bell?”

Bell just stared down at him with a frightening gaze. Under that gaze, which crushed and overwhelmed its opponent, the clothes Tadeo wore were already torn to shreds and he was stripped bare.

He’ll probably push me away with a pathetic strength that’s not even laughable, his voice flustered and angry. No. For some reason, I feel like you wouldn’t even be able to get properly angry.

The weakness that could be held and shaken in one’s hand was quite to his liking, but the upright and straight-laced priggish disposition was so unbearably boring it was not worth associating with. To Bell, Tadeo’s existence was exactly that. So upright even in imagination, he disliked it to the point of wanting to twist it, yet the way he possessed both fortitude and weakness at the same time also suited his taste.

“The mark.”

“This?”

When Bell asked, Tadeo lifted his shirt with a casual attitude. Beneath the lifted clothes, his bare skin, white for an Easterner, was visible. The gaze that traced his skin paused for a moment on the nipple, which had a faint reddish tinge. Then it took in the cross pattern engraved in the center of his chest. At that, Bell’s brow furrowed sharply.

“The color has faded, a lot. It’s strange.”

Tadeo said, rubbing over it.

Kwang kwang kwang. Once again, someone knocked violently on the front door.

“Father Tadeo, are you in there!”

“Oh, that’s Inspector Lestrade.”

“Go see.”

When Bell gestured dismissively with his head, Tadeo shot up. His back, as he descended the worn-out stairs, looked quite hurried. His black hair, fine and prone to tangling after sleep, disappeared briskly from view. Bell threw himself into the armchair with a flop.

When he threw his head back, the long hair that had been brushing his cheek fell back. His smoothly chiseled cheekbones and sharply defined jawline were revealed. He fluttered his softly lowered eyelashes, then closed his eyes completely. A wine bottle dangled from one of his languidly draped arms.

“An apostle of God, or something like that….”

This is a bit of an excessive trespass.

“…This is pissing me off.”

While Bell was mulling over Tadeo’s words, the messy head of hair that had disappeared beyond the stairs stood before the front door. After unlatching the lock and opening the door, a dense fog clung to his cheeks like barnacles.

“Good morning, Inspector. What brings you here so early in the morning?”

“Uh, well…. Good morning, Father.”

“It’s a cold day. Would you like to come inside?”

“I will. Thank you, Father.”

Every time Lestrade opened his mouth, his whitish mustache fluttered with his rough breath. Lestrade was a middle-aged man with a fleshy double chin. He sweated a lot and had a habit of always carrying a handkerchief to wipe it, and today was no different, with beads of sweat soaking his wrinkled forehead.

Lestrade took off the derby hat on his head and stepped inside the entryway. His woolen coat smelled of a damp and clammy London morning, as if morning dew had clung to it. He followed Tadeo up the stairs. Each time his heavy weight stepped down, the old wooden stairs made a loud noise.

“The smell of alcohol hits you first thing in the morning. It seems the rumor that many priests are alcoholics is true, haha.”

As soon as he entered the living room with the fireplace, the scent of wine hit him. Lestrade, who had been looking around the living room while making a joke, met Bell’s eyes. He saw the wine bottle in Bell’s hand and promptly shut his mouth.

“I was the one drinking.”

Bell was still sprawled in the chair.

“Bell likes wine. Shall I get you some warm tea?”

“No. I’d rather have a drink. No, no. This is not the time.”

Lestrade fidgeted in place without even sitting down. Seeing him babble incoherently while fumbling to take off his leather gloves, Bell completely turned his head away and ignored him. Only Tadeo, who was heading into the kitchen to fetch tea, pricked up his ears.

“Actually, there’s a place you need to accompany me to. There is a child I would like you to see, Father.”

Lestrade said, hastily pulling a handkerchief from his inner pocket.

The hem of the black cassock fell to his ankles without a single wrinkle. The collar, fitted with a white Roman collar, seemed to envelop Tadeo’s thin neck completely. Thanks to his straight and long frame, he did not look small, but he had an overall slender build. Was that why? His neat, uncurved silhouette exuded a sense of mystery beyond mere chastity.

A drizzling mist was falling when they left the house. Tadeo, holding the hem of his clothes to keep it from getting wet in the rain, stepped over a puddle. Following him was Bell, dressed just as smartly as Lestrade. Lestrade, leading the way, opened the carriage door, and Tadeo and Bell boarded in turn.

“The road is a bit messy. It’s a child born in the slums near the brothels, and, well… what do you call it?”

“Are you referring to the phenomenon of demonic possession?”

Tadeo, who had been staring only at the raindrops beading on the window, quickly spoke up. The carriage they were in was heading for Whitechapel. The fog grew thicker with the drizzling rain, as if the entire city were submerged in it.

“Yes, yes, that’s right. That’s it, that’s it.”

“In that case, the one at the parish….”

“I went, but he was away on a trip. He told me to speak with Father Tadeo. Said to investigate and submit a report to the parish.”

‘Oh, I almost forgot,’ Lestrade added, handing over a letter he pulled from his coat. The letter, sealed with wax, bore the seal of the Church of England. As Tadeo tore open the envelope and checked its contents, Bell, who had been sitting silently with his arms crossed, glanced over. It was a permit from the Church of England authorizing an investigation to determine the authenticity of the possessed person.

“Do you know anything about the child, roughly?”

“Eh, so, her name is Manila Harrison. Ten years old. Born to parents who make a living by birthing and selling their children.”

The hand that was putting the letter back into the envelope paused for a moment. At that, Bell’s eyes shot up.

“They only sell the daughters. Because they make money. I think she was the fifth child….”

“You’re a policeman.”

“There’s nothing I can do.”

At Bell’s words, Lestrade replied, constantly wiping his forehead. Tadeo’s face was reflected clearly in his foggy, rolling eyes. His exceptionally red lips quivered and then pressed firmly together. His fingertips, holding the letter, were tensed. The carriage shook entirely as the fast-moving wheels hit a stone. Tadeo’s hand holding the letter also fell limply onto his thigh.

A slum in Whitechapel. Water that smelled of grime flowed along the side of a quiet village road. The lives of those who shared a single water tap and toilet were, as always, wretched. Lestrade held his nose as he got out of the carriage, assailed by the smell of filth from all around. When a rat brushed past his trouser cuff, his heavy body jumped and flinched wildly.

They knocked on the door of a house with white stucco walls.

“Mrs. Harrison, are you there!”

Not long after Lestrade called out loudly, the old door opened. Eyes that protruded like a goldfish’s were visible through the crack in the door, which was not even open a hand’s breadth.

“Is that you, Inspector?”

“It is.”

“And the priest?”

Her rolling eyes stopped on Tadeo, who stood beside Lestrade. ‘What’s with the yellow monkey….’ The softly muttered, insulting words were clearly heard by Tadeo as well. The door swung open, and a woman in a tattered shawl waved her bare arms and shot at them.

“Hurry up and come in, hurry! It’ll be trouble if rumors spread!”

Unable to resist the woman’s urging, the three men came inside and briefly looked around the house.

“What do you mean, rumors spreading?”

“There are things like that.”

When Tadeo asked, the woman answered curtly and walked to the fireplace.

“The stench has gotten worse.”

“I just can’t live here.”

The house reeked of rotting meat. Lestrade muttered, pinching his nose, and the woman waved her hand as if utterly disgusted. Tadeo, who had been examining the table and chairs with chipped paint and the walls that let the wind whistle through, slowly moved his booted feet and asked in a low voice.

“I’d like to see the child. Where is she?”

The woman, lighting a cigarette, pointed silently with her hand. It was a place that seemed to be used as a storeroom, with a very small door. The woman took a deep drag of her cigarette, exhaled the smoke, and approached, knocking roughly on the door.

“Hey, Manila! Hey, girl!”

“Excuse me… you don’t have to do that. I’ll go in myself.”

“Do as you please, then. I don’t know anything.”

Tadeo stared fixedly at the woman as she turned away. Was she really desperate? It was not the attitude of someone who needed help. Not a single cross could be found in the house, and the woman was just puffing away on her cigarette and snorting dismissively.

No matter where he looked, it was far removed from religion. It was highly unlikely the woman had called for a priest herself. Tadeo guessed that Lestrade, who had become a devout Catholic based on the recent exponential increase in exorcism cases in London, had probably recommended it, and he let out a faint sigh.

“Bell, stay here.”

“Why not go in together.”

“No. Don’t you remember what happened last time?”

‘Ah, last time.’ 

Bell, dressed in a fancy three-piece suit, picked a random chair and sat down, nodding his head. The woman, who was puffing out clumps of smoke, kept stealing glances at Bell, her eyes repeatedly drawn to his splendid appearance.

The possessed, who were inhabited by evil spirits, all adopted a submissive attitude upon seeing Bell. They trembled in fear, and in severe cases, even foamed at the mouth and fainted. It was a natural phenomenon. It was only right for an evil spirit to recognize an angel. However, before being evil spirits, they were possessed humans. Innocent human beings who had committed no crime.

Knock knock knock. Tadeo knocked on the storeroom door.

“Manila, I’ve come to help you. May I open the door?”

His voice was very gentle. But from inside, no words or any sign of movement could be heard. He waited quietly for a response, then knocked again. Bell, who was watching this, stood up and slowly approached. Tadeo held out his hand to signal Bell not to come, and carefully brought his ear to the door.

It was just as he brought his ear to the door. Beok beok beok beok, from inside the room where there had been no sign of movement, the sound of frantic wall-scratching was heard. Startled, Tadeo flung the door open.

Inside the cramped and damp little room, a young girl was all alone. As if trying to make a doggy door, she was on all fours like a dog, scratching at the wooden plank floor that could not possibly be dug through. The bizarre action soon stopped. As soon as the girl saw Tadeo, she pushed herself up from the floor and shot to her feet.

“Hello, Manila.”

The room was truly ice-cold. The young girl was wearing only a thin nightgown that came down below her knees. The child’s thin legs were covered in bruises, and not an ounce of baby fat clung to her gaunt cheeks. The sunken areas around her eyes were dark, and her glaring eyes were shot with red, as if burning with anger.

Tadeo gave a pitying look at the small hands, whose fingernails were all broken and beaded with blood.

“Kkieeeeek!”

As if startled by something, the child scrambled on all fours like a beast and burrowed into a corner of the room. It was an astonishing speed. Her gaze, as she cowered and trembled, was directed slightly above Tadeo. When he glanced over, sure enough, Bell was standing there.

“Bell, I told you to stay put!”

“I was just giving a warning. Is that not allowed either?”

“It’s not. Don’t provoke her.”

The narrow eyes visible between his black hair were quite stern. His attitude, different from usual, was an immediate source of amusement for Bell. You only get this resolute at times like these. When Bell showed a sly grin out of interest, Tadeo chided him in a gentle voice. ‘Don’t joke around.’ However, a sense of resolve could be felt in the hand that pushed against his chest. No sooner had the slender hand that touched his chest pulled away than Bell snatched it.

“Don’t be rash with your pity. Your opponent is.”

“My opponent is a child. Before being a possessed person.”

The face that answered, cutting off Bell’s words, was dry.

“Wait here.”

With those final words, Tadeo closed the door.

“Thank you, Father…. I was so scared….”

The girl’s frail voice was heard. However, Tadeo remained standing, facing the firmly shut door. He did not give a single glance even at the sound that seemed to be a sob, or perhaps a sniffle. He pulled out the hand he had stealthily slipped into his black cassock pocket. Jeolgeureok jalgeureok, a string of rosary beads, carved from transparent crystal, trailed out of his hand.

“But… what is that you’re holding in your hand?”

Jjallang, a cross, crafted in the shape of a blooming lily, was the last to reveal itself. The child who saw it asked nonchalantly. The questioning voice was not just artless but even a little sly. It consistently used a voice without lies or pretense, but Tadeo knew better than anyone.

That it was the being’s ‘disguise.’

Tadeo wrapped the rosary, which had rose patterns, once around his hand and slowly turned around. The child was still tucked into the corner. As he took a step, the child asked again.

“What are you doing, Father?”

However, Tadeo did not meet her eyes, nor did he stop his approaching steps.

“I’m asking what you’re doing.”

The eyes of the child, who kept squeezing her body into the corner from which there was no escape, widened. Jjallang, when he held out the hand wrapped in the rosary, the five-decade rosary string with rose patterns dangled down. At its end, Jesus, wearing a crown of thorns, hung on the cross. The movement of the swaying holy object was reflected perfectly in the child’s eyes.

“I’m asking what you’re doing, I am. I asked what you’re doing, I did!”

“I will offer the Lord’s Prayer.”

The thin voice rose to a piercing shriek. The screaming yell stabbed at the ears and filled the entire room. But Tadeo did not even blink an eye. He carefully supported the cross at the end of the string with his other hand and placed the hand wrapped in the rosary on the child’s head. At that, the small body, startled as if burned, began to thrash about wildly.

“Get it off! Won’t you get it off?! I said get it off, you son of a bitch!”

“Our Father, who art in heaven. Hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come….”

The screaming voice gradually changed color. The girl’s voice would emerge, scratching her throat, but then a gruff male voice would be intermittently mixed in. Her complexion, drained of color, turned ashen, and her bulging, glaring eyes looked as if they would pop out at any moment.

A gaunt hand, its vitality drained to a purplish hue, abruptly seized Tadeo’s arm holding the rosary. The force with which she struggled to pull it off was tremendously strong. It was impossible to believe it was the strength of a ten-year-old child.