Chapter 22
Changelings, Changelings, Changelings
“Oh dear, why are you apologizing, photographer? You’re not even family.”
The elderly neighbors all waved their hands dismissively.
“I’ll try to get in touch with the family somehow.”
“You can reach them?!”
“Maybe if I go through a few people, I can.”
The elderly folks began pouring out stories from the past, one after another.
“You probably know already, but the person in Unit 102 isn’t… normal. We’ve lived in this villa for twenty years, and we’ve suffered more than a few years because of 102.”
“Just look at the state of the house! And it wasn’t just us; even the neighborhood police had a tough time because of them!”
What on earth was the state of the house?
And why were the police involved?
Tarim didn’t rush them.
“Of course, of course.”
“It wasn’t just once or twice. Every time she saw a child on the street, she’d bring them back to her house. Imagine how scared the kids’ mothers were! Thankfully, this guy and I were always sitting out here on the bench, so we caught it right away and called the police, who would quickly find the kids. Oh my, the first time she dragged a kid home, the whole neighborhood went crazy. The kid’s mother grabbed her by the hair. That’s how terrified she was.”
“Pulled her hair…?”
“Sure. Even though 102 was much older, what mother stays calm when their child goes missing? And she wasn’t in her right mind, so there was no reasoning with her, no apology, no nothing. It was the dead of winter, snow piling up, and the mother lost it—grabbed those long locks with both hands and shook her, crying hysterically, then threw her right over there.”
The old man pointed to a flower bed lined with lettuce and sesame leaves.
“102’s skin and bones, you know? Still, she got right back up. Then, as the police were bringing the child out, she screamed, saying we were stealing the kid. Ugh, even thinking about it now gives me chills. Two officers had to pull her off.”
“But she never hurt the kids.”
“That’s why they let her go quickly. Took the kid back to her messy place and cooked rice to feed them.”
Cooked rice she probably never even ate herself.
The old man clicked his tongue.
“…She must’ve lost a child before.”
“If that’s true…”
The old man, who had been vividly recounting the events, suddenly quieted down, then burst out again.
“Still! Even if that’s the case, how could her family leave her like that? Wandering the neighborhood, skin and bones, barely surviving… We’ve all suffered, sure, but it’s just not right. Not right!”
His dry palm smacked the vinyl-covered floor.
Just as Tarim was about to speak, the elders’ gazes shifted behind him.
At some point, Muru had come out of the villa and was approaching.
Tarim hesitated, unsure how to introduce her to the bench guards and explain what they’d just heard.
But Muru looked completely dazed.
“Are you okay?”
“…I don’t think there’s anyone home.”
“……?”
“The door’s open… I looked inside…”
Muru’s face had gone pale, as if she’d seen a ghost.
The elders seemed to sense what was happening but said nothing.
Muru gently tugged at Tarim’s sleeve.
Her hand was trembling uncontrollably.
Standing before the open front door of Unit 102, Tarim was speechless.
From the entrance onward, all the way into the unseen interior, the space was packed with junk and trash, leaving only a narrow gap barely wide enough for one person to squeeze through.
Bundles of cardboard boxes tied with plastic string, small appliances no better than scrap metal, empty PET bottles, crumpled plastic bags—all stacked solidly from floor to ceiling.
Before the visual shock, it was the unbearable stench that hit first.
The smell spilled into the hallway, with cockroaches covering the floor in a thick black layer.
Muru spoke.
“It’s not just this.”
She squeezed her body through the narrow path.
Tarim, with his larger frame, barely managed to follow her inside.
As they neared what looked like the living room, the source of the smell became clear.
Even amid the chaos, there seemed to be some sort of order—piles of food waste, wrapped in plastic bags, rotting in one corner.
“Ha…”
Both Muru and Tarim couldn’t stand it any longer, covering their mouths and noses with their sleeves.
With the windows blocked by the heaps, the house was pitch dark, and they couldn’t even locate the wall with the light switch.
Tarim turned on his phone flashlight and moved further inside.
Past the rotting living room and toward the bedroom, the piles gradually thinned, making more space.
The door was open just a crack.
“…Here.”
More shocking to Muru than the mountains of garbage filling the house… was the bedroom.
Muru, leading the way, pushed the door slowly open.
The bedroom had no trash at all.
The only things inside were a single futon carelessly laid out, a few neatly placed writing utensils on the pillow…
And—
Words.
Words crammed across the walls like a scream.
Muru stood frozen at the doorway.
Tarim left her there and scanned the room.
The windows were thoroughly sealed with layers of newspapers, covered with writing of different sizes.
Some words were scribbled too wildly to read, and even the neater parts made little sense.
“Surveillance… conversation… last night again… noise… even police cooperating… lost pillow in this world… today’s completion… but focus…”
Every word, filling all four walls, felt urgent and frantic.
Muru shook her head to clear her mind.
Get a grip, Ju Muru. Focus.
The dizzying words seemed to grow out of the darkness, about to burst from the walls at any second.
When she tried flicking the light switch, the power didn’t come on—clearly disconnected.
As she steadied her spinning head and swept the flashlight across the room, her beam caught on something near the floor in a corner.
Sneakers.
Exactly like the ones she was wearing.
There it is again.
She swallowed her ragged breath.
Standing behind Tarim, who was examining the wall, was the phantom.
Wearing jeans and a white shirt, just like Muru.
The silver necklace she had worn to meet her mother glinted at the nape of its neck.
The phantom stood with its head hung low, raising its right hand up.
Following that arm, Muru lifted her flashlight higher, higher…
The ghost’s finger pointed to the spot on the wall where Tarim’s hand was now feeling.
There, four letters were written again and again.
Muru mustered her courage and took a step closer to the ghost.
The same ghost who had appeared beside the dining table when she brought home her mother’s documents…
The same one who had stared at her with bulging eyes when Tarim confessed about the missing person case…
Now pointing to the same word repeated over and over.
Ah.
Maybe… you’re not just a hallucination made by my brain…
A theory she had shoved aside since the first time she saw the phantom suddenly surfaced again.
“Is it… really a ghost?”
“Huh?”
Tarim turned around at her unconscious muttering—
And as always, the ghost vanished instantly.
Muru approached the wall the ghost had pointed to.
At her eye level, dozens of times, over and over—four letters:
“Changeling”
The word appeared not just here but scattered across other walls too.
Tens, even hundreds of times, overlapping in pencil, pen, and marker.
Suddenly, Tarim recalled a forgotten memory.
“I remember.”
“Huh?”
“My mother… I think this was the nickname she used for you. ‘Changeling.’”
The madness lingering in this old villa had unknowingly tied itself to an unexpected person.
Tarim’s mother.
And Muru’s mother who had lived here.
How were the two connected?
Why had they both used the same word?
There was only one link between their mothers.
Ju Muru.
“I heard the house has been left like this for about three years,” Tarim said.
“I asked the grandmas earlier. They said the younger sister called an ambulance and took her away. They haven’t seen her since. And that sister hasn’t answered any calls either. Muru… We can’t be sure it was your mom who lived here. It could’ve been a tenant.”
“…I think it was Mom.”
“Why?”
“A changeling is a fairy that steals babies.”
“…….”
“Mom lost me once… and then got me back.”
Now they had to find her.
Whether it was her mother… or her mother’s sister.
After learning the whole story, Muru promised the elderly neighbors she’d clean the house thoroughly as soon as she found her mother.
The elders sighed with relief.
One elderly man, whose husband had texted Unit 102’s sister without reply, even shared her phone number with them.
Muru and Tarim, now overwhelmed with indescribable feelings, returned to their Jeep.
“So… the aunt took your mom?”
“Seems like it. I always thought Mom and Aunt lived together, but maybe not.
From what the elders said, they weren’t very close… not answering all those calls.”
