#132. Don't write your name in red (Shamanism 11)

The most successfully marketed piece of the Korean superstition is undoubtedly the folklore of fan death. It sounds incredible, but I grew up being scolded by my parents and grandparents for falling asleep with the fan on and door closed, and hearing stories of "near-death experiences" of my classmates, where they almost suffocated to death because they forgot to set the timer on their fan.

But in fact, the Koreans are quite superstitious; there are many other taboos in the Korean culture that were passed down through many generations. I encountered one such piece of taboo that I had forgotten about for many years just a few weeks ago.

I was headed home after a three-month stay in Paris, and I was doing some last-minute shopping at the Charles de Gaulle airport for my family, just minutes before boarding started. I hurriedly went to the counter, paid by my credit card, and the store clerk gave me the receipt to sign, and pushed a red pen towards me to use.

I'm not particularly afraid of airplanes, nor am I superstitious, but I had to resist the urge to pull out my own non-red pen and sign the receipt -- somehow, the fact that I was moments away from boarding a plane for some seven odd hours made me remember my mom (and my teachers) telling me not to write anyone's names in red, because that's bad luck. Like, really bad luck, as in death-grade bad luck. Just to bring closure to the story, I did end up signing my name in the red pen that the clerk gave me. I'm a woman of science, after all!

I had forgotten about this experience almost immediately, until my friend Jess brought this up in a completely unrelated conversation a few weeks later! She was completely confused about why Koreans avoided the colour red, especially when almost every Korean has a personal seal (called "도장") that you stamp on legal documents, using red ink.

If you don't have your own 도장, sometimes you press your fingers against the red ink, and stamp with your fingers instead.

Anyway, aside from the case of 도장, the Koreans generally avoid writing their names in red, and it would be a social faux pas to write someone else's name in red. I mean, what are you trying to do? Curse them to die?

No one ever explained to me why writing names in red was bad, so I did some research. It seems that there are three plausible explanations, and all of these are so interesting -- I hope you enjoy them as much as I did!

1. Sejo of Joseon Dynasty

Sejo (세조), not to be confused with King Sejong (the creator of Hangul), was not a particularly well-regarded king. He was the second son of King Sejong, and thus not eligible for the throne. However, his older brother Munjong (문종) died after only two years on the throne, and his only son, Danjong (단종), was only twelve years old when he ascended the throne, and by this time, all of his grandparents and parents were dead. 단종 really didn't have anyone in the world who would look out for him.

Long story short, 세조 killed his nephew 단종 and became the king of Joseon. In the coup d'état that he staged, he planned to kill everyone who supported 단종, so he made a death note (called 살생부 in Korean). 

Many Koreans don't like to acknowledge Sejo as a proper king. So many people call him 수양대군 instead, refusing to use the -jo or -jong suffix accorded to kings, and using -대군 suffix for princes.

He used his nephew's name to call every highly ranked government official to the Gyeongbok Palace (경복궁), and killed everyone whose names were on the so-called death note. The legend has it that the names of the people to be killed were written in red.

2. Qin Shi Huang of China

Qin Shi Huang (진시황 or 진시황제), literally meaning the first (시) emperor (황) of the Qin Dynasty (진), is probably the most well-known Chinese emperor in Korea. Although he seems to have done well politically as well, he is known in Korea for his antics relating to shamanism. He built a large mausoleum for his afterlife (and didn't finish by the time he died), built the Great Wall of China, and searched everywhere for the herb of everlasting youth (불로초). 

This is what his tomb might have looked like; SO extra!

This obviously greedy man also loved the colour red; red was always a lucky colour in China (something that carried on to the present-day China), and Qin Shi Huang supposedly decreed that no one else was allowed to write their names in red. If someone broke this decree, they would be put to death. It is said that people were afraid of writing their names in red from then on, and this Chinese fear eventually made its way into the Korean peninsula.

3. The Korean War

During the Korean War (6.25전쟁 in Korean, because the war started in the morning of June 25), many young Korean men either volunteered or were drafted into the war. The Korean casualties were large, around 140,000 soldiers and an additional 350,000 civilians from South Korea were killed during the three years of war (and around 800,000 deaths in North Korea).

It is said that when the notices for the soldiers killed in action were sent to their families, their names were written in the notices in red. I can easily imagine people dreading seeing their loved ones' names in red, and it is the last plausible explanation for why the Korean people are so afraid of writing names in red.

If I had to make a choice among the three, I'd put my money on this last one; the Korean war was recent enough that many witnesses are still alive, my grandmothers included. And interestingly enough, North Koreans seem to have less fear of writing their names in red; often writing the Kim family's names in red. So it seems that this superstition is specific to South Korea only, which makes me think that this superstition came into being after the Korean War.

A North Korean textbook, talking about the great revolution Kim Il-Sung started (to be honest, I have no idea what revolution they're talking about!)

So, there you have it. I don't really love that the Koreans are so superstitious; nonetheless, it does make me a little bit more content that there seems to be an interesting piece of our history (or maybe three!) embedded in this particular superstition. Somehow, this makes it a little bit more okay for me!

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#121. 도화살 -- Fated to be attractive (Shamanism 11, feat. Sulli, IU)

My mom was just in Korea for a visit, and on her way back, she brought back some Korean cosmetics for me (if you ever visit Korea, remember that these make the best souvenir gifts!) She excitedly told me that she chatted to the store clerk, and got some of the most popular cosmetics items for me, including these eyeshadows in the photo below. Alas, the Korean popularity does not necessarily translate to something that is wearable as a daily makeup in North America.

Thanks, mom! Believe it or not, I'm sincere.

While I was a little taken aback by these colours, I was willing to give it a try. And I knew exactly what kind of look I would be aiming for. One of the most popular makeup trends today is called "도화살 메이크업" (makeup "메이크업" in the style of "도화살," which honestly has no translation in English.) Long story short, the Korean women are trying to imitate the looks of the popular celebrity Sulli (설리) by using red or pink coloured makeup items. Yet, it's not that they are trying to be Sulli (who has had her share of scandals, and many Koreans do not look kindly upon her).

Sulli is one of my favourite Korean celebrities! She is so beautiful, and so interesting (although she has her faults).

Let's start at the very beginning.

Many Koreans believe in what we call "사주팔자." Most Koreans take this word to mean "fate," and they believe in it with a reserved respect. While almost no one puts a blind faith in 사주팔자, people generally don't mind having their 사주팔자 told every once in a while (traditionally, people want to hear their 사주팔자 on New Year's Day, and before their wedding, or other big life events). In Korean, you say:

"나 내일 사주보러 가려고" (I'm going to get my 사주팔자 told tomorrow -- you often shorten it to just "사주".)

The way 사주팔자 works is very mysterious to me; the idea is that based on when you're born (the year, month, day, as well as the time of your birth -- these four (사) data points are the pillars (주) of your purpose on earth, by which you are assigned a role in life -- you are assigned eight (팔) Hanja characters (자). In this age of technology, you can find these eight Hanja characters by an online calculator, for example, here (fill in the first line only; these are your birth year, month, date, hour, minute, and location (You probably want to enter the time of your birth in Korean time, but I'm not sure.) Then click "만세력 (Manse calendar)").

These eight Hanja letters written in four columns (from left to right, time, day, month, and year), if interpreted correctly, supposedly tells you of your course of life, and the role you were given by the skies.

Of course, actually interpreting them correctly is said to take decades of learning and practice. As a result, of all the shamanistic beliefs that exist in Korea, the people who engage in the interpretation of 사주팔자 are probably one of the most socially accepted (some people don't even include them in the category of shamans, preferring to view them as "the wise," if you will; some people learn how to interpret these as a hobby).

By interpreting these columns correctly, you can perceive your good fortunes (called "신"), and your misfortunes ("살"). So Koreans would often talk about "신살," which are your good and bad fortunes. As you might have guessed, the word "도화살" is a type of "살", a bad fortune. 

So, why would the Korean women try to look like they have a 도화살, a bad fortune?

This is because 도화살 is an interesting bad fortune. The word "도화" literally means "peach blossoms" in Hanja. The word "도" means "peach" (for example, one type of peaches is called "천도" or sky peach), and "화" means "flower" (as in "국화" meaning chrysanthemum, or "화관" meaning flower crown). In pure Korean, one might instead say "복숭아꽃", where "복숭아" means "peach." So why would peach blossoms signify bad fortune?

Peach blossom, or 도화 in Korean

Peach blossoms are not necessarily known for their beauty (unlike roses, for example). Nonetheless, they have their own charms, and they have such delicious smell that entices the insects to flock to it. The insects (not just the bees and butterflies, but all sorts of terrible insects, too) apparently become addicted to the aroma of peach blossoms eventually, and they will die around the peach blossoms after pining for it for days (to be honest, I have no idea if this is true or not, but this is what the wise people of 사주팔자 say!)

In the olden-day Korea, where sex was viewed as a negative thing, it was said that if a woman has a 도화살 in her 사주팔자, then she would not be able to satisfy her needs with just one man, and that she would end up prostituting herself, or become a 기생 (Korean version of Geisha -- notice the similarities in the pronunciation!) If a man married a woman with a 도화살, he would lose all of his chi ("기," life energy) and die early. 

If a man had a 도화살, then he would eventually become enticed by drinking and women, and eventually lead his family into destruction. For this reason, whether someone had a 도화살 or not was an important question to ask each other before a marriage.

In Korean, if you have a 도화살, you say:

"나 도화살 있어." (I have 도화살).

However, times have changed. Sexuality is not so stigmatized anymore, and being attractive and charming is now a positive thing. For example, for celebrities, who make their living by attracting love and admiration from many people, it would be advantageous to have a 도화살 in their 사주팔자 (in fact, you can even have more than one!) and even the average Koreans started wishing for a 도화살.

현아, of the Gangnam Style fame, is another celebrity who is said to have 도화살.

People who are born with a strong 도화살 are said to have a certain look (remember that the Koreans believe that one can guess certain aspects of a person based on how they look!) -- in short, the people with a 도화살 have a certain pinkish sheen in their face that makes them look very attractive. Here is how the people with 도화살 supposedly look like:

- softly arched eyebrows, like the crescent moon

- light brown and moist eyes

- the "inner V" part of your eye should be sharp

- white and soft skin

- round nose

- long eyelashes

- red and plump lips

- brown hair (as opposed to jet black that is typical of Koreans)

- flushed cheeks

In particular, Koreans place a particular emphasis on how your eyes should look -- they should look like you had just cried, looking moist and red around the rim -- it's supposed to evoke the "instinct to protect" from men, "보호본능" in Korean. The upper lashline does not go up as they travel towards the outside of your eye, and maybe there is a beauty spot around your eye.

And this is why the pink and burgundy eyeshadows are popular in Korea! The Koreans try to use these reddish shades to create the look of the women with a 도화살, in the hopes that this look will bring them popularity.

It is mostly understood and accepted among the Koreans that 설리's face is more or less the textbook definition of how a woman with a 도화살 should look. Interestingly, in the early 1900's, there was a very famous 기생 (Geisha) of the Joseon Dynasty named 이난향 -- she must have had very strong 도화살, given her occupation. And she looks almost identical to 설리!

When this photo first surfaced, this freaked a lot of people out, and surely it contributed to the popularity of the 도화살 makeup.

And this is why 설리's nickname among the Koreans (fans and non-fans alike) is "인간복숭아," or "human peach." Not only does she remind people of a peach, people are also referring to the fact that it almost looks like she was fated to be a successful celebrity, and they are acknowledging the fact that 설리's 사주팔자 probably contains multiple 도화살s (the maximum number that you can have is four). You might say something like:

"설리는 도화살이 적어도 서너개는 될듯" (Sulli probably has 3-4 도화살s.)

Interestingly, the popular singer IU, who is good friends with 설리, wrote a song for 설리, titled "복숭아 (Peach)." The lyrics tell the irresistible charm of 설리, and you can pick up some descriptions of the 도화살 there.

To close this long post, let me explain how to tell if you have a 도화살. Go back to your Manse calendar, enter your birth data, and look at the bottom row of the eight Hanja characters.

- If the second character from the left (子 in the above example), or the last character (辰 in the above example) in the bottom row is one of 寅,午, or 戌, then you have a 도화살 if you can find the character "卯" in your set of eight Hanja characters.

-  If the second character from the left or the last character of the bottom row is one of 申,子, or 辰, then you have a 도화살 if you can find the character "酉" in your set of eight Hanja characters.

- If the second character from the left or the last character of the bottom row is one of 巳, 酉, or 丑, then you have a 도화살 if you can find the character "午" in your set of eight Hanja characters.

- If the second character from the left or the last character of the bottom row is one of 亥, 卯, or 未, then you have a 도화살 if you can find the character "子" in your set of eight Hanja characters.

There can be at most four 도화살, and the more 도화살 you have, the more of a femme (or homme) fatale you are. I have never seen 설리's 사주팔자, but I definitely wonder how many 도화살 she has! As for my attempt at the 도화살 makeup, while it didn't turn out too terribly, I decided to reserve it for the occasional days when I feel like trying something new.

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#117. 반다비 -- Can you bear being the mascot of the paralympic games? (Shamanism 10)

Many of the anglophone fairy tales start with the phrase "Once upon a time..." Korean fairy tales often begin with the phrase:

"옛날 옛적에, 호랑이가 담배피던 시절에..." (A long, long time ago, back when tigers used to smoke tobacco...)

And the story I want to tell in this post is very relevant to this particular phrase, so let me begin my story with this:

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옛날 옛적에, 호랑이가 담배피던 시절에, there lived a tiger (호랑이) and a bear (곰). They both badly wanted to be humans. Luckily for them, the son of the Sky-God, whose name was "환웅 (Hwanung)," had descended to the earth, and was living in the Korean peninsula.

The two animals went to 환웅, and asked if he could turn them into humans. 환웅 agreed, and gave them some bundles of mugwort (쑥) and garlic (마늘) -- the Koreans believed (and still do today, to some degree), that these ingredients purify the mind and the body. 환웅 told the animals that if they were able to remain in a cave without seeing the sunlight for 100 days, while subsisting on the 쑥 and 마늘, then they will turn into human beings.

Mugwort and garlic. Mugwort is a pleasantly bitter-tasting herb that grows everywhere in Korea. You can eat this raw, or put it into your fermented-bean soup, or use it as a colouring and flavouring agent in your rice cake, etc. It is also used in traditional medicine.

The tiger, being used to the freedom of running around in the sunlight and eating meat, gave up rather quickly, and left the cave. However, the bear was slow and steady, and she stayed in the cave eating only the 쑥 and 마늘. On the 21st day, the bear transformed int a beautiful woman.

When she emerged from the cave, 환웅 named her "웅녀" (in Hanja, this means "Bear-Woman") and took her as his bride, and the two went on to have a son, named 단군, and he eventually founded the nation of 고조선 (Gojoseon), often considered to be the beginning of the Korean history.

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This story is known to every school-aged child in Korea, since, if you believe the legend, this is how Korea came to be. In fact, you can find various temples, as well as shamans (called 무당 in Korean) around Korea that worship 환웅, 웅녀, or 단군.

A portrait of 단군, the son of 환웅 and 웅녀, probably drawn for the purpose of worship.

While I do not mean for this post to be a history lecture, there are a few interesting points about this legend. First, it is widely accepted that the nation of 고조선 was founded in 2333 BC (the ancient civilizations were just beginning to flourish elsewhere in the world!) which puts 고조선 squarely in the bronze age. And indeed, many relics have been found throughout the Korean peninsula to support that there was indeed civilization during the bronze age.

고조선 precedes 삼국시대 (the Three Kingdoms Era, which began around 300 BC) which I have mentioned in a few of the posts in this blog (you can find them here, here, and here), and the existence of 고조선 is also confirmed in the history texts written during the Three Kingdoms Era.

So, there is a very fine line drawn between the legend and history -- a country that began with an unbelievable legend is proved to have existed! While many modern historians believe that the tiger and the bear are symbols for two tribes (and the bear tribe probably won some power struggle), most Koreans, especially in the early years of the long Korean history, probably grew up believing that they were descended from the Sky-God and the Bear-Woman. There were rituals dedicated to 환웅, 웅녀, and 단군, some of which continue to this day within the native Korean shamanism -- of course, most Koreans do not subscribe to this belief anymore, but their attitude towards those who do is not simple derision; most Koreans will be respectful towards their beliefs.

Furthermore, the name of "단군" is so familiar to everyone that you can use it in everyday conversation. For example, if you see someone who is particularly rebellious towards the traditional Korean culture, you could say something like:

"널 보면 단군할아버지가 눈물흘리실듯" (I think the grandpa 단군 might cry seeing you.)

Here's a religious picture drawn by a Korean, which includes various native Gods of Korea (환웅, his father the Sky-God, and 단군) as well as Jesus and Buddha. Many aspects of these religions are intertwined within the Korean community!

Anyway, this story reflects how the Koreans view bears. To the Koreans, bears are steady and constant. They work hard, and they endure the hardship in anticipation of the rewards to come (this is perhaps a bit more serious than the honey-loving and slightly dumb bears that you can fool by playing dead, in the Western psyche.)

This makes a bear a perfect candidate for a mascot for the Paralympic Games. The athletes competing in the Paralympics have overcome tremendous personal difficulties in order to be there. They are resistant, they are strong, and they have persevered.

This is probably the species of bear that 웅녀 was, as this is the native species of bear in Korea.

The native species of bear in Korea are called "반달곰 (Half-moon bear)" or "반달가슴곰 (half-moon chested bear)" due to the moon-shaped fur on their chests. From this name derives the name of the Paralympics mascot, "반다비."

Here is 반다비 wearing the cute 어사화, the hat of the winners!

So, when I saw the announcement for the mascot for the Paralympic games, I thought it made very good sense. There is the added advantage that the 반달곰 are native to the Gangwon province, which is where PyeongChang is! So somehow, this mascot is the perfect blend of showcasing our long history, the native wildlife, and the display of our admiration for these athletes who have been through so much in their lives.

Let me close this post with one food for thought: in English, there are expressions such as "I cannot bear to do this task." In this phrase, the verb "to bear" means "to work through" or "to persevere." As I cannot think of any Western-based stories that should suggest the relationship between the two-fold meanings behind the word "bear," it amazes me that somehow these double meanings exist in both English and Korean. Are they related? Where did this even come from?

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#87. How the Korean dragons are born (Shamanism 7)

I've always been fascinated by dragons. While most mythical animals of the Orient and the Occident remained largely disjoint from each other, the idea of "dragons" seem to be common in both cultures. My personal far-fetched hypothesis is that perhaps the idea of dragons orally descended through stories from pre-historic times, when men and dinosaurs co-existed. From a linguistic point of view, if this were true, it would be pretty satisfying, because the Korean word for dinosaur (공룡) literally means "scary (공, as in 공포 "fear") dragon (용/룡, meaning dragon)."

In any case, there are some physical differences between the Korean dragons and the Western dragons. The Korean dragon (called "용") is described as having the face of a camel, the horns of a stag, the eyes of a ghost, the body of a snake, the scales of a fish, the hair of a lion, and the talons of a hawk.

When you put the above description together, you get roughly this picture.

The Korean dragon has amazing powers that are unparalleled by the other mythical beings. It is able to fly (despite not having any visible wings), it can control the weather, and it can breathe fire as well as cause frightening storms in the sea. This means that if humans dare to displease the 용, it can make your life very difficult. In particular, it could cause drought (Korea was an agricultural society, so this can lead to mass starvation), and only when the humans apologize in earnest will it bring rain.

Because of its strong magical abilities, the 용 were revered in Korea. The traces of this can be seen from the language. The face of a Korean king was not called "얼굴" -- as a sign of extreme respect, they were called "용안," meaning "the face of a dragon." The royal garb was called "용포" (the robe of a dragon) and so on.

Despite all this, however, the dragons seem to have a pretty sketchy origin in the Korean mythology.

The Koreans believe that only the snakes that have lived a thousand years have a chance of becoming a dragon. These large snakes, called "이무기," usually lived near a secluded pond, would spend their days meditating and hoping to become a dragon. They would develop scales after 500 years, and become a dragon after another 500 years, if it has lived a commendable life for the past 1000 years. When it does become a dragon, it would develop the rest of the features of a dragon (the horns, the talons, etc.) and rise to the sky.

The pure Korean word for a tornado, therefore, is "용오름," which literally translates as "the rise of a dragon." While tornadoes are very rare in Korea, it has been observed in the waters, and given that the 이무기 live near the water, this must have activated some imagination.

To ancient Koreans, this looked like a newly-born dragon.

However, if the snakes fail to be a dragon after 1000 years of wait, this is when things become problematic for the Koreans, as they are really bitter (I mean, wouldn't you be?) To make things worse, apparently 1000 years of meditation will still give them some magical and physical powers, most of which gets used for harming the innocent villagers!

Many legends (although there is not a single one that is particularly iconic) speak of sacrificing a virgin to pacify such snakes (often this is an annual event, which must have been a terrible burden for the villages). Then a hero (often in the form of a Buddhist monk or a known Korean historic figure) shows up and defeats the snake using various means (some legends talk about a full-on battle, some speak of a self-sacrifice where the hero gets eaten by the 이무기 after having slathered on poison all over their body).

Of course, since the dragons could control weather (very important for the farmers!) the dragons figure into the ancient shamanism a fair bit. Many Korean shamans would conduct a religious ceremony (called 굿) aimed at pleasing the dragon and bringing the rain. Unlike the other creatures introduced so far in the shamanism series, this is one deity worth worshiping!

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#81. 괴담 -- Just how real is the tiger-demon of Korea? (Shamanism 6)

I'll admit it, I slept with the lights on after I wrote the tiger-demon article from last week. Something about the Korean horror stories (especially if they're claimed to be true) freaks me out; maybe it's because there's traces of shamanism in my upbringing (and as a consequence, a small part of me believes these stories); or maybe it's just the sheer number of these stories, and how they all seem to match up. There were so many stories that some media outlets even wrote articles about them!

These kinds of news articles actually appeared in media.

Tiger-demon aside, there are actually a surprising number of these stories in the Korean society. These "scary urban legends" are often called "괴담."

The letter "괴" is Chinese meaning "strange" or "scary." For example, "괴물" is a "monster" in Korean, aliens are sometimes called "괴생명체 (strange life-forms)" and demons are called "요괴 (magical and strange beings)."

The letter "담" means "story" and it is used widely. If you want to read about someone's experience, search for "경험담 (experience story)." If you want to hear about the time when your friend saw something happening, ask about their "목격담 (witnessed story)."

So "괴담" means "strange story" and you will find so many "장산범 괴담" on the internet.

Anyway, here is the story that really scared me, with some edits to make the story clearer. As before, if you'd like to read the story in Korean, you can find it here.

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 My grandmother is 93 years old. Yep, she is pretty old. But she is still full of life. She can still walk well, and she can down an entire bottle of soju if there is a family gathering. She likes to sing, and her memory is top-notch. She remembers even the smallest events in my family from many years ago.

Anyway, this is a story that my grandmother often told me when I was in elementary school and middle school. It's the story of a 범. Every time she told this story, she always looked tense and shivered.

Whenever she sees a tiger ("호랑이" in Korean) on TV, she always says that this is not a 범 (while it is another word for a tiger in Korean, it seems that at least some people distinguish them, at least in these stories!) She says that 범s have magical powers, and that they are snow-white.

When she was in her 20s, my grandmother lived in the 황해 province, which is now in North Korea. One day, she went into a nearby mountain to pick some wild fiddleheads with three friends. While they did this often, that particular day, they decided to go a little deeper into the woods in hopes that there will be more fiddleheads.

Indeed there were a lot of fiddleheads and other wild edible plants, and they filled up their baskets with them. My grandmother remembers that on that day, they ate lunch of barley rice (보리밥), soybean paste (된장), and cucumber kimchi (by the way, this is a totally standard meal in the 1920-30s of Korea). Then they decided to leave the mountain early because it looked like they could be trapped in a storm if they stayed too late.

Unfortunately, they didn't bring enough water. As they finished lunch and started to come down from the mountain, one of their friends was whining about how thirsty she was. But as they were near the summit, they couldn't find any water.

All of a sudden, they heard the sound of a stream, where the water seemed to be flowing (in Korean onomatopoeia, it is described as "졸졸졸 시냇물 흐르는 소리 -- the sound of flowing stream.") All four of them heard it.

The friend who was whining didn't want to get separated from the group, so all four of them set out to search for the stream so she could drink some water. Although they followed the sound for some time, they couldn't locate the stream. Sometimes they could hear the sound, and sometimes they couldn't. They were so tired so they gave up on the search for the stream and turned back to get back on the mountain trail.

Then they saw the thing on their way back up. Two lights not unlike the headlights of a car shining down at them. My grandmother described it as a thing covered in white fur. Very fine, very soft, and long. While it was clearly not human, it felt human. It was standing there, between them and the trail, looking down at them, and making the sound of the flowing stream from its mouth. It wasn't growling or roaring.

The four women screamed and ran down the side of the mountain, already having dropped all of their baskets full of fiddleheads, and even losing some shoes in their panic. And behind them they could still hear the sound of the stream following them.

About halfway down, they saw a little hut, probably used by those who look for medicinal herbs in the mountain. They ran inside the hut, locked the door, and cried in their panic. Then the sound of the stream stopped.

They could hear something coming up to the door. It circled the hut, then called out the name of the friend who was whining earlier of thirst. The voice was so full of warmth, and so soft. The friend recognized it as her mother's voice. No one dared to answer, and it started to rain. So instead of trying to get back to their village, they all fell asleep in the little hut together.

In the dawn of the next day, when the woke up, the friend who was complaining of thirst was gone. The three remaining women searched for her frantically but could not find her. Their return to the village of course put everyone in panic, and the Japanese police force with their long swords (this would have been in the Japanese occupation era) searched the village and the surrounding areas. But no one ever saw the friend again, and they never found her body either.
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I'm still not sure why I am so fascinated by these stories, but all of these shamanism theories aside, it's good fun to read scary stories once in a while and get some organic goosebumps in the heat of the summer, no?

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#75. Korea might still be haunted by tiger-demons (Shamanism 5)

We continue our journey into the Korean folklore, to talk about tigers, which were ubiquitous in Korea until just a few decades ago (unfortunately, they are believed to be extinct now).

Tigers hold an interesting place in Koreans' collective consciousness. They are undoubtedly the strongest of the animals that roamed the Korean mountains, which terrified yet inspired awe to the people of Korea. Despite the fact that many people were killed by tigers (and thus, tigers are almost always described as antagonists in folklore), Koreans also likened themselves to tigers, by asserting that the Korean peninsula looks like a crouching tiger (a 무리수, if you ask me!)

And later, during the Japanese occupation era, the Japanese did not like this comparison, and their historians started asserting that the Korean peninsula looks like a rabbit. We are mature, no?

If beliefs are the food necessary for the survival of mythical beings, the tiger-demons would be the first mythical beings that survive to this day, as many Koreans swear having encountered the tiger-demon. The Korean internet seems to be flooded with true stories (or at least, what the netizens swear to be true stories!) of these strange encounters.

First of all, the standard Korean word for a tiger is "호랑이." This word actually comes from Chinese. But there is also a pure Korean word for a tiger, which is "범." To most Koreans, these two words are completely synonymous.

However, if you ask your grandparents, they might tell you that a 호랑이 and a 범 are two completely different creatures. While a 호랑이 is just a normal tiger, the elders often claim that a 범 is a demonic being that is much more sinister than a 호랑이. This 범 is most often seen in the 장산 area near Busan, so people often call this demon "장산범" or "tiger of 장산."

First of all, a 장산범 does not look like a regular tiger. It is covered with long, flowy white fur, much like the silky hair of a woman, and bright blue eyes that glow in the dark. It is said that once you look into its eyes, you will be so mesmerized that you won't be able to run away. It is extremely fast, and usually uses all four limbs to move (people describe the movement as "awkward crawling"), although it is capable of standing in its two hind legs. It is capable of mimicking sounds of all kinds.

Several people who claim to have met a 장산범 sketched the pictures of the beast; surprisingly, many of them look very similar! Coincidence?

What makes a 장산범 terrifying is that it seems to have some magical powers. Once a person is eaten by a 장산범, his soul is trapped by the tiger-demon. His soul then lives near the jaw of the tiger-demon, and it must aid the tiger-demon in finding other prey before being released from the indenture. This enslaved soul is called a "창귀" in Korean, and it often leads the tiger-demon to the homes of the people that it used to know when it was alive. (the letter "창" means "to go insane," and the letter "귀" means "ghost." That's pretty dark, no?)

When a tiger arrives at the door to the house of its prey, the 창귀 will call out people's name in the most moving voice you can imagine. It pleads with you and it evokes such feelings of longing that people cannot help but answer to this call. However, if you do answer, you will fall under the spell of the tiger-demon, and you will not be able to resist going outside to meet the tiger-demon, and be eaten. However, the 창귀 can only call out your name three times, so it is said that even today, people living in a deserted mountainous area will only answer once their name is called a fourth time.

There are many stories on the internet, but here is a short one by an anonymous Korean internet user. I've translated it, but it is edited somewhat from the Korean version, to get rid of the unnecessary detail. If you'd like to read the full, original Korean version of the story, it is posted on my Twitter account.

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When my mom was young, she took her younger brother (my uncle) to the next town over. She lost track of time because she was having too much fun, and she only started on her way home when the sun has almost set.

My mom lived in a small village in the countryside, so there was a significant distance between villages, so she had to hike over a small hill (now, that village is too deep inside a mountain for people to live, but I've seen the village on my way fishing). At least because of the development plan by the government, there was a clear path between the two villages.

While she was walking on the path holding onto my uncle's hand, she felt something scatter and land around her feet. ("툭" is the Korean onomatopoeia; I'm not sure what the English equivalent would be). When she looked down, it looked like some sort of topsoil had been thrown at her feet.

But she lived in a rural village, so it wasn't unusual that there was dirt on the road, so she kept on walking with her brother. But after only a few steps, she felt the soil being scattered around her feet again. Only then did she remember what her mother had told her:

"There is a beast named 장산범. It will sometimes appear to the lone travelers on the mountain paths and throw dirt at them, so that they will look up and lock eyes with it. Once you look into its eyes, you will fall under its powers (the Korean verb is "홀리다," like how the vixen can also put you under her spell!) so never look in the direction where the dirt came from."

Remembering this, she told her brother to never look around and look straight ahead, but from the corner of her eyes, she could see a white figure following them behind the trees. It would run for a few steps, pause, and throw dirt. Then it would run a few more steps, pause, and throw more dirt, and it followed my mom and my uncle until the end of the mountain path.

My mom thinks that it hesitated to attack right away because there were two people, so it tried to put them under its magic by trying to get them to look into its eyes. When I first heard the story, I laughed it off, but my mom is usually very serious and doesn't joke around much, so I am forced to believe at least some parts of the story. Plus, it agrees with most of the other accounts on the internet!

Back then, my mom lived in 주촌 of 김해, which is still a very rural village which bases its economy on agriculture and pottery.

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Whether the Koreans believe stories of this kind in earnest, I don't know. But you will certainly find people who will swear that they have seen a 장산범 at some point in their lives, and you will find yet more people who are willing to listen to these stories and pretend to believe. Why the 도깨비 and the 여우 seem to have fallen into the realm of folklore while 장산범 still has some foothold in the Korean culture, I do not know. Perhaps it just survived by the virtue of a lucky draw. But perhaps it is due the Korean reluctance to part with the idea of a tiger, as they want to believe that Korea is ultimately a country much like a tiger.

This story is also fascinating to me for a completely different reason. Although there are many well-known beings in the Western mythology as well, if someone walks into the room and announces that they saw a vampire, or a leprechaun, they will likely meet with snickers and sarcasm. On the other hand, there are a few mythical beings that the Koreans can claim to have seen, and still have a sympathetic audience. To me, this shows that traces of shamanism are still present in the Koreans' lives.

As long as it doesn't interfere with your day-to-day life, and as long as it is not hurting anyone, a touch of mythology, and a touch of the belief in the magical beings doesn't really seem so bad to me. On the contrary, it adds a new dimension to their lives, and it keeps life a little bit more interesting.

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#69. The vixen sister (Shamanism 4)

In continuation of last week's story, I continue with yet another story about a vixen.

In the Western folklore, the fox is often seen to be of neutral gender -- by this, I mean that when a fox appears in a story, unless explicitly told of its gender, there is no reason to assume that the fox is either male or female.

However, in the Korean folklore, you almost always assume that if a fox appears in a story, then it is female (hence my translation as a "vixen" rather than a "fox" -- both are just called "여우" in Korean.) They have magical powers (mostly used for hiding their real identities), are malicious, and -- just like the Western foxes -- sly. Combining these two facts, it is no coincidence that Koreans often call the women who try to manipulate others using their femininity "여우." For example, the Koreans may badmouth the women who suddenly become full of 애교 (aegyo) in front of men by saying:

걔는 정말 남자들 앞에서는 여우야 (She is such a vixen in front of the other men).

 While this seems like a simple comparison between these women and what is considered the most sly of the animals, even this simple phrase is deeply rooted in this well-known Korean folklore, often referred to as "여우누이전" ("누이" is an old Korean word for "sister (both older and younger)" and "전" just means "folklore.")

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 Once upon a time, there lived a husband and wife, who had three sons from their marriage. However, they longed for a daughter, and they prayed to their god for a daughter daily. It seemed that their wish was not granted, as the wife did not seem to become pregnant. In their frustration, the couple said, "If only we could have a daughter, we wouldn't even mind if our three sons were dead."

If you've traveled around the Korean countryside, you may have seen a tree with a lot of colourful cloths tied to it along with a small temple. This means that the area is sacred in the Korean shamanism. Back in the day, most villages had one of these, called "서낭당," and this was a place of prayer. If you acted disrespectfully, you would have gotten punished by the local gods, and the children were forbidden to play in the sacred place.

Their god, upon hearing this, became enraged at their blatant disregard for their sons' lives. So he cursed the couple, although he allowed the wife to be pregnant with a daughter.

After the daughter was born, the household animals mysteriously dying off one by one. The couple, worried, asked their eldest son to investigate the cause, by standing watch over the animals one night. While the eldest son was dozing off in the stables, he was woken by the sound of footsteps. When he looked up, he saw that his younger sister had snuck into the stables, and had killed one of the horses. She opened up the horse, took out its liver, ate it raw, and disappeared.

Shocked and shaken, the eldest son went directly to his parents and told them about his sister. His parents, who had taken to doting on their daughter, were enraged at this story and bade the eldest brother to leave their home.

The animals continued to die off, and the second and the youngest sons were also met with the same fate as the oldest son.

The three brothers spent the next few years under the protection of a Buddhist monk ("중" in Korean), who fed and clothed them, and also taught them many things. All this time, the brothers were worried sick about having left their parents alone with their sister. They eventually decided to go back home to see how things were.

The Buddhist monk, fearing for the sons' safety, gave each of them a small 호리병 (these were made by scraping out the inside of a gourd -- a type of a pumpkin -- and drying them out, or they were made to resemble the shape). The eldest's 호리병 was yellow, the middle brother's blue, and the youngest's red. The monk told the brothers to throw the 호리병 in case of danger.

This is a 호리병. As an aside, have you ever heard people describe someone as having a "호리병 몸매?"

When the three brothers went home, they were astonished to see that only an abandoned house stood where their old house used to be. As they stood, thunderstruck, their sister came out from the abandoned house and greeted the brothers in tears. When they asked where their parents and servants were, the sister responded that they all died from illness.

A page from a Korean book depicting this story, where the sister (who clearly doesn't look right) is rushing out to greet the brothers.

Sensing danger, the brothers said, "Dear sister, we have come a long way and we are very hungry. Do you think you could find some food for us to eat?"

When the sister went into the kitchen to prepare food, the three brothers took flight. However, the sister had immediately realized that they were running away, and chased them at an unbelievable speed.

Terrified, the eldest son threw his yellow 호리병 between himself and the chasing sister. Immediately, an endless expanse of thorned hedges appeared between the brothers and the sister, and the brothers were able to put some distance between them.

However, the sister soon caught up with them again, and this time, the middle brother threw his blue 호리병. This time, an ocean appeared between the brothers and the sister, but the sister overcame that in time too.

A page from yet another Korean storybook telling the story of 여우누이.

Finally, terrified and fearing for their lives, the youngest brother threw his red 호리병. Immediately, huge flames engulfed the sister in pursuit. She was burned to death, and the flames disappeared.

In the place where the sister's body should have been was the scorched body of a vixen. In hearing the couple's unreasonable prayer for a daughter, they had angered the gods, who had given them a vixen child instead of a real daughter, who then proceeded to ruin the entire family.

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 So, vixens were sly beings that misled the people around them to hide their real identities. I am aware that the foxes are rarely portrayed as protagonists in the Western folklore; however, in the Korean folklore, the foxes, or rather, the vixens, were downright evil. The way to defeat them was first and foremost to be vigilant, so that you are not caught unawares, and to hope for a little bit of divine intervention (in both stories of the vixens that I've presented, they appear in the form of a Buddhist monk!) After all, the foxes are not particularly powerful, so you just have to be not tricked.

I do, however, wonder why the foxes in the Korean folklore are almost always women. No doubt this negative portrayal has somehow contributed to the Korean sexism, which often sees women as sly, two-faced beings (we do this sometimes in the Western culture too, but Koreans are much worse at this.) My guess is that among the animals familiar to the Korean terrains, there was the natural choice for the most powerful animal -- the tiger, who are almost always portrayed as being masculine (on the other hand, bears or wolves were also common in Korea, and they are fairly neutral in gender).

For what it's worth, tigers are often portrayed as antagonists too -- the powerful yet stupid kind. Sexism much? (To be continued in the next installation!)

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#63. Beware of the vixen (Shamanism 3)

Gather around with your roasted chestnuts and a blanket, lie on the warmest part of the stone-heated floor, and I'll tell you some stories from my childhood that my grandparents have told me. Through the "folklore" series of this blog, you will get to meet the Korean deities and the demons, which form the basis of the modern Korean shamanism as well. I will upload a folklore every Wednesday.

There are several aspects of the ancient shamanism that survived up to the modern day Korea.

One aspect is called "풍수지리." It can be decomposed into three parts: 풍 + 수 + 지리.

• 풍 means "wind" in Chinese. For example, you will see on your fan the option "강풍" meaning "strong wind," as well as "약풍" meaning "weak wind, or breeze."
• 수 means "water" in Chinese. "수요일," or "Wednesday" is the day of the water. "생수" means "mineral water" and "약수" means "water that's good for you like a medicine."
• 지리 means "geography."

In the Korean shamanism, "풍수지리" refers to the belief that the geography (how your house is situated, for example) is linked to your luck and misfortune. Sounds crazy, but some people believe it to this day.

Another aspect is called "관상." This word means that depending on how your face looks (each type of face is called a "상,") your fate is already determined by the heavens. Sounds crazy, but people still believe it. A very light usage of this classifies the Korean women into "강아지상" and "고양이상," i.e. a puppy-type face and a kitten-type face. But there are hundreds of different "상"s in the study of 관상 ("관상학," it's called.) The Korean shamans are said to be able to look at someone's face, and read off their future.

The left is considered a clear puppy-type face, the right a clear kitten-type face. Do you agree?

The Koreans learn about these things through various folklore. I was never taught any of this, as my family was a fairly strict Roman Catholic family. But my grandparents still told me these stories, from which I learned how the shamanism worked.

Here is a story about the shamanism, and a vixen ("여우"). Just like in the western folklore, foxes are usually portrayed as negative beings, presumably because they were always killing livestock. In the Korean folklore, however, foxes are always female. They can transform themselves into humans (often beautiful women, although not always), and they are very good at misleading humans into thinking that they are seeing things. The phrase "여우에 홀리다" is something that many Koreans grow up hearing. The Korean vixen are often malicious, magical, and evil. Unlike the 도깨비, you want to stay away from them. If you do encounter them, you want to try your hardest to kill them, because otherwise they will kill you.

Thus begins another story of my childhood, through which I learned about 풍수지리, 관상, and 여우.

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Once upon a time, there lived a father with his three sons. The father was very ill, and he soon passed away. The sons were preparing for his funeral in their sorrow, when a Buddhist monk ("중") passed by. Being faithful in heart, the three brothers invited him in, and fed him, to show their respect for the Buddha.

The monk, in his gratitude, offered to the three sons:

"I learned a little bit of 풍수지리 during my meditations. If you'd like, I can tell you where to bury your father so that your family will prosper through the coming years."

The sons gratefully accepted this offer, and the monk looked around their village with the three sons. The monk stopped at one spot. He hesitated for a while, looked carefully at each of the brothers' faces, then said to himself, "I believe that the youngest can withstand it."

He then told the three sons, "this plot here is very good (in Korean, such a good plot to bury the dead in your family is called "명당" -- if you manage to find such a plot, your family will prosper), if you can keep your father here." The three sons were confused about why they might not be able to keep their father there, but as the monk had claimed this plot to be 명당, they went ahead and buried their father there.

That night, the eldest son had a dream. Their father appeared in his dream and begged, "I can't sleep peacefully here. Please bury me somewhere else." The eldest son, upon waking up, told his two brothers about his dream, but as the two brothers still believed the monk, they decided to keep their father there.

The next night, the second son had a dream, in which the father begged him to please move him elsewhere. Again, the three sons talked, but the youngest son convinced the other two to keep the father at the plot.

The next night, the youngest son had a dream. His father appeared in his dream and begged him, "I already begged your brothers to move me, but they will not listen. Will you please tell your brothers to move me?"

The youngest son, being suspicious, said, "as you are standing in the dark, I cannot properly see you. Will you please come out and let me look upon your face one more time?"

The father then said, "I am already beginning to look terrible. But I will let you hold my hand, like how you used to when I was alive." The youngest son agreed, and the father held out his hand.

The youngest, holding tightly onto the hand, called out his servants, and called out:

"The dead cannot come back to life and walk. This is surely a demon pretending to be my father. Bring your clubs and kill this thing!"

When the servants came with their clubs, it seemed to them that the youngest son was holding onto their long-dead mother. They hesitated to lift their clubs against their old mistress and a woman, but the youngest was adamant, and the servants eventually clubbed the mother to death.

As soon as the woman breathed her last breath, the woman turned into a dead vixen.

In their astonishment, the three brothers sought out the monk and told him of their experience. The monk said, "The 명당 that I had sought out for you had one fault; a vixen was living in it. I knew that the vixen would try various things to get the plot back and also to harm you. But I also knew, upon looking at your faces, that the youngest son would be match enough for the vixen."

Thus they were able to bury their father in a 명당, and true to the monk's word, their family prospered for a long time after that.

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Lastly, notice how a Buddhist monk also knew 풍수지리, which is an aspect of shamanism! Through its long history, a lot of the Korean religions mixed with one another to create a unique brand of religion. This is fairly common to this day.

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#57. How to beat a hobgoblin in wrestling (Shamanism 2)

Gather around with your roasted chestnuts and a blanket, lie on the warmest part of the stone-heated floor, and I'll tell you some stories from my childhood that my grandparents have told me. Through the "folklore" series of this blog, you will get to meet the Korean deities and the demons, which form the basis of the modern Korean shamanism as well. I will upload a folklore every Wednesday.

I was an easily frightened child. When I heard my first 도깨비 story, my grandparents told me not to be afraid. "There are much worse demons out there," they said. "The 도깨비 is not really your enemy. If you know how to deal with them, you will be more than fine."

Here are the few things that they told me. The 도깨비 more or less looks and dresses like a very strong human male. They may or may not carry around a 도깨비 방망이 (a magical club that conjures anything you want), but the one thing that is sure is that they will always want to engage you in some competition. Their favourite competition is wrestling (씨름). They just want to prank you and have a good laugh -- It's much better than most other demons, who just want to kill you.

"And here's how you beat a 도깨비 when they ask you for a game of 씨름," they said.

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Once upon a time, there was a farmer who really liked to have a drink at the end of the day.

This day also, he had gone to the pub in the next village over to have a drink with his friends, and he was coming home, slightly drunk but in a good mood. When he was just about ten minutes away from his village, he saw a tall man blocking the road. The man was almost ten feet tall.

"I'll let you use the road, if you can beat me in the game of 씨름," the tall man said.

The farmer, who was not a weak man himself, agreed, and they started wrestling. The man was very strong, and the farmer, no matter what he tried, could not beat him (you have to either force the opponent's knee or his back to touch the ground). Now, the easiest technique (and really, the only viable technique if you're not a professional wrestler) to try in the game of 씨름 is to try to knock out one of your opponent's legs by using one of your legs as a hook. But no matter what the farmer tried, the man was like a mountain.

So the wrestling went on all night. As the dawn approached, the farmer, finally feeling clear-headed after the night of drinking, looked down. To his surprise, he realized that the man had only one leg. His right leg, which is the leg that the farmer has been trying to knock out all night, was not actually there. The man was a 도깨비.

Gathering his wits about him, the farmer hooked the 도깨비's left leg, and down the 도깨비 went!

While the 도깨비 was dazed in shock, the farmer dragged the 도깨비 to a nearby tree, and tied it up tightly to the tree. Exhausted, the farmer went back home, and fell asleep.

The next morning, the farmer, remembering the previous night's encounter, went back to the tree to check on the 도깨비. The 도깨비 was no longer there; tied to the tree was an old broom.

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"Remember," my grandparents said. "The 도깨비 is very strong. The only way to defeat it in wrestling is to remember to hook its left leg and knock it out, because they have only one leg. But don't worry, because whether you win or not, the 도깨비 will let you go in the morning."

Then my grandmother, who is always a little bit mischievous and loves to tease, added, "but if you don't manage to defeat the 도깨비, you will be sick for fifteen days." Okay, thanks, grandma.


Anyway, so, there are two things that I want to point out (Koreans would learn it through repeated exposure. But maybe you want to know it sooner.)

First, how are the 도깨비 born? It seems that they are made from well-used household objects, such as brooms. Koreans believed that if you use something for a long time, those objects get a soul of its own! And since you go back a long way with these objects, they rarely mean you real harm. They're happy to have some fun with you.

This also illustrates something that is at the core of Korean shamanism, which believes that everything (including the inanimate things) has a soul. The Korean shamans worshipped certain animals and sacred objects, while other things were condemned as having cursed.

If you think about it, this is not a bad way to think about your everyday life -- if you believe that even the most mundane things have souls, you would naturally be a lot more respectful. Maybe you wouldn't litter, because that piece of trash could have a soul, and curse you for littering. You would think twice before plucking off that flower, lest the soul of the flower appear in your dreams.

So, while the word "shamanism" definitely comes with some sort of a negative connotation (maybe that people who practice shamanism are uncivilized), there are always two sides to a story!

Secondly, the Korean demons, including 도깨비, seem to have a common special power. They are able to distract you enough, to make you imagine seeing things that are not actually there. For example, the 도깨비 in the above story was able to trick the farmer into thinking that he was a real person (when in reality, he has only one leg!) Other demons often do this as well. When this happens to you, Koreans say that they have been "귀신에 홀렸다," or "mislead by a demon."

This second part, some Koreans still believe. There are still malicious beings in the modern Korean shamanism, and Koreans often believe that these demons are responsible for seeing things that are not actually there. If they were grossly mistaken, they still often say:

내가 뭔가에 홀렸었나 봐. (It seems that I was mislead by something supernatural.)

 I added the word "supernatural" into the translation even though it isn't really explicitly present in the Korean sentence, because the use of the verb "홀리다" already implies a supernatural being.

While this of course provides a terrifying element to the Korean folklore, there is also a positive side -- if you are able to pay attention and stay focused, you should be able to overcome the demon's powers, and see through what they really are (really, nothing but an old broom!)

So, there it is. Always remember to have your wits about you, and remember, it's the left leg!

(Also this seems like a good time to say that I don't actively practice shamanism... I'm an atheist, so there are no religious motives behind these posts!)

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#51. Hobgoblin's magical club (Shamanism 1)

First, an announcement! I'm back on Twitter! I had given up for a while because I didn't know how to effectively use it. But now I'll use my Twitter account for your practice. Tweet your attempt at Korean slang at my Twitter account and I will tweet back with corrections (or affirmation that it is correct).

And now, I start the first installment of a series that I hope will tell you about the Korean shamanism, a topic that has long fascinated me. Most Koreans kind of learn by experience (it's not like most of us explicitly practice shamanism, or take a shamanism class!) so my hope is that you'll have a similar experience through the stories that I grew up with. Questions? Complaints? Leave them as comments. Here goes!

Korea has always been, and still is, a fairly pagan country. Throughout the history, many different kinds of religion were mixed with each other, and created a very unique brand of religion that does not exist outside of Korea. Korea has its own native gods, its own fairies, and its own demons, and much more.

Unfortunately, most of the folklore is based on oral tradition. While the Western parents put their children to bed with a fairy tale, Korean grandparents (Korean families all lived together in one big house!) would entertain their grandchildren through the long winter nights over roasted chestnuts (군밤) and sweet potatoes (군고구마) over a charcoal warmer (화로). 

So, gather around with your roasted chestnuts and a blanket, lie on the warmest part of the stone-heated floor (아랫목), and I'll tell you some stories from my childhood that my grandparents have told me. Through the "folklore" series of this blog, you will get to meet the Korean deities and the demons, which form the basis of the modern Korean shamanism as well. I will upload a folklore every Wednesday.

Yum!

Well, that's the mood that I want to set for these folklore series. I want you to imagine that you're huddled in a warm room with your grandparents, and they're about to tell you a story.

But let's be realistic here. It's summer. It's hot (sorry, southern hemisphere readers!) You don't want a bunch of hot charcoals in your room. So I'm going to do what the Koreans do, and start off with a scary story. Scary stories give you goosebumps, and you also get goosebumps when you're cold. So, in Korea, summer and scary stories go together. Most scary movies open in the summer, and people sit around telling each other scary stories in a summer campground. So that's what I'm going to do. Not going all out with the scariest story I know just yet, but I still want to talk about a demon, rather than a god.

So, here goes. This story is called "도깨비 방망이 이야기 (story of hobgoblin's magical club.)"

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Once upon a time, there lived a good, but poor woodcutter (나무꾼). He lived with his parents and his wife, and he supported all of them through woodcutting. One day, while he was cutting wood as usual, he came upon a hazelnut bean (개암 열매).

"Wow, what a lucky day!" he exclaimed. "My parents would love this hazelnut!"

As he returned back to gathering wood, he found yet another hazelnut bean. Ecstatic, he cried, "Now my wife can also taste this hazelnut! What a lucky day!"

In a little while, he chanced upon a third hazelnut. Totally satisfied, he told himself, "This one is for me."

Unfortunately, the day had already gotten dark, and he could not find his way back to his hut, where his family was waiting for him. Not wanting to risk the treacherous paths in the mountain, he looked for a shelter for the night, and soon came upon an abandoned house. He huddled down in a small empty room, and fell asleep.

Houses like this, called 초가집 (house of grass roof), is where most Koreans lived, unless they were upper class.

But he was soon awoken by very loud noise. Terrified, he peeked outside his room. There were a bunch of 도깨비 (often translated as hobgoblins) sitting around and being merry. Now, 도깨비 are supernatural beings that look almost human. They're not exactly malicious, but it's not exactly friendly, either. They're playful and strong, and you should be a little afraid if you encounter it.

Afraid is exactly what this woodcutter felt. He hid in his little room and watched the 도깨비 wave around their magical clubs (도깨비 방망이). They yelled, "금나와라 뚝딱! (give me some gold! 뚝딱 is an onomatopoeia)" while waving the club, and gold magically appeared. Then they yelled, "은나와라 뚝딱!" and some silver appeared.

The 도꺠비 방망이 is often depicted as a spiked club

Seeing all the wealth made the 나무꾼 feel hungry. As the hazelnut beans were the only things he had in person, he cracked one of them with his teeth.

CRACK, it went. The 도깨비 heard it, and wondered what was making this loud noise.

The woodcutter bit into another hazelnut as he couldn't contain his hunger, and CRACK went the second hazelnut. The 도깨비, startled, looked around and still could not figure out what was making the noise.

Still hungry, the woodcutter cracked the third hazelnut. CRACK. The 도깨비, terrified at this unknown noise, finally fled, leaving their 도깨비 방망이 behind. The good woodcutter went home in the morning with the 도깨비 방망이, and he was able to support his family very well without ever having to cut wood again.

If you HAD to encounter a Korean demon, I'd say that 도깨비 is probably the best. They look like very strong humans (some say that they have horns, some say that they don't), they're fun-loving, they're open to conversation with humans, and most of all, they're kind of dumb.

The good woodcutter's neighbour, who was not an honest man, became jealous of the woodcutter's sudden wealth. He nagged and nagged the good woodcutter until the good woodcutter told him of his secret, and how he obtained the 도깨비 방망이.

So the neighbour retraced the woodcutter's steps. He also found three hazelnut beans. The first, he declared, was for himself. The second was for his wife, and the last was for his parents (A big no-no, according to Confucianism! Parents are always first, and you put yourself last.)

He found the old abandoned house and hid in the room that the woodcutter told him about. Sure enough, the 도깨비 appeared and started playing with their 도깨비 방망이 again, conjuring up gold and silver.

The neighbour bit into his hazelnut. CRACK. The 도깨비 started looking around. Excited, he quickly bit into his second and third hazelnuts -- CRACK -- CRACK!

However, the 도깨비, instead of fleeing in terror, looked straight into his eyes, and said, "You're the reason we lost one of our magical clubs the other day! We will make you pay for that today." Then the 도깨비 proceeded to beat him up with their magical clubs until the crack of the dawn, and they disappeared. The disheartened neighbour came back home with nothing but bruises.

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Do Koreans still believe in the 도깨비? Not really, except a very small minority (I'll come back to this at another time.) But 도깨비 still makes appearances in many Korean literature, TV shows, and manhwa. It is a supernatural being particularly beloved by the Koreans, because it is right in the border between friendly gods and malicious demons. So it is unpredictable and it loves to have fun! (See how humour has always been a big part of the Koreans' lives?)

Many Korean children are introduced to the Korean demons via 도깨비, because they're really not that bad. Preparing your children for the 도깨비 meant that your children was ready to understand humour. And as a result, it is probably the most well-known and iconic of the Korean demons!

So, remember: always have your wits about you. As long as you can do that, 도깨비 can be defeated, and you will be handsomely rewarded!

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