Patrick trembled at the eerie wind and rain sounds. Yet, thanks to the bed and bedding that had earned every coin, he must have dozed off without realizing it.
whisper whisper—
‘Who’s talking while I’m asleep?’
He was deep in a sweet dream when he heard voices that sounded like children chattering. Thinking the kids had already arrived, he strained to listen—but when he cracked open his eyes, all he saw was pitch-black darkness. Outside the window, the world still hadn’t reached dawn, as if time itself had paused. Even the rooster—usually so reliable—was silent tonight, leaving only the cool patter of rain.
gulp.
Still, someone was whispering at the edge of his hearing. The moment he realized it wasn’t the children, gooseflesh erupted all over him.
‘Oh, please. Don’t do this to me for real.’
I’m the kind of guy who’s never even watched a horror movie.
[It’s gone, it’s gone!]
[It was here. It was here!]
[Someone must’ve taken it. It’s ours! It’s ours!]
The voices seemed to come from outside the house. As Patrick recognized the words, he nearly fainted.
‘I can’t hear it! I can’t hear it!’
He covered his ears, burrowed under the covers, and bit his nails, willing the voices to disappear.
[Huh? I smell something delicious in there! I smell it!]
[Let’s grab it! We’ll grab it!]
[But someone else is in there… I’m scared, I’m scared!]
Then, abruptly, the whispering stopped.
[Can we have this? Can we?]
“Arrgh… gurgle.”
The moment the distant voices crackled right beside his ear, Patrick bit back a scream and collapsed.
“Sir! Aren’t you getting up? The sun’s already high in the sky!”
As usual, the children who’d made his house their hideout roused the unconscious Patrick.
sizzle sizzle—
“Teacher, do you want some? We made omelets.”
“…Those aren’t my eggs?”
“They were piling up. If we don’t eat these soon, they’ll spoil.”
Even half-awake, Patrick’s first instinct was to claim ownership of those eggs. But seeing the children bustling about as usual made him wonder if the nightmare had really happened.
‘Maybe my energy’s low these days.’
He really should catch a chicken for some restorative meat.
While such pointless thoughts drifted through his mind, the children finished setting the table: colorful vegetable-studded omelets, pan-fried white fish coated in egg, plus bread everyone chipped in to bring, a bit of cheese, thin slices of salt-cured ham, dried fruit, and jam.
“I won’t eat the salad.”
“Come on, try some of everything!”
“If I say I don’t want it, I don’t want it. Do you know what awful dream I had last night? A salad won’t give me any energy.”
They’d even picked chicory and lettuce from the garden, added some herbs, and tossed up a vinegar-salt-olive-oil salad. Each time he saw them, Patrick was surprised how mature these island kids were—though, he reminded himself, in Joseon times, children married in their early teens, so maybe they weren’t that precocious after all.
(Of course, in the Empire, you’re only considered an adult at eighteen. Still, a ten-year-old country kid can pull their weight—so on Dunbrook Island, Patrick was probably the only one not pulling his own.)
“By the way, Teacher, Uncle Luca told us you got a mana crystal?”
“That’s right.”
“Can we see it? We’re curious what it looks like.”
They didn’t demand it—they just wanted a peek. Patrick nodded. Viewing doesn’t wear it out, and they’d earned it by setting the table. Besides, he’d intended the crystal as a teaching aid anyway.
‘Especially for Ben, who still can’t really feel mana in nature.’
I’d planned to use it to help him sense mana—today, I’ll show them my greatness.
“Just wait.”
He shoved the last bite of omelet into his mouth and rifled through a drawer for the crystal.
“Huh? Where’d it go?”
No matter how he searched, the bag with the crystal was nowhere to be found.
“Look properly.”
“It’s here somewhere, right?”
“No, I definitely put it here.”
The room was so spartan that the only place it could have been was that storage chest.
“This is weird. It’s not even valuable—who’d steal it?”
A lowest-grade crystal smaller than a fingernail was worth less than an equal weight of silver. No one wanted to trade for it, so there was no incentive to steal.
[Can we have this? Can we?]
Then the echo of that voice struck Patrick’s mind.
‘…Was that real?’
“A dream?”
At the teacher’s serious look, Ben’s eyes lit up with interest.
“What happened, Teacher?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Tell us. You never know—we might help.”
“What could you possibly know?”
“Come on, we know this island way better than you.”
“…Do you know that legend, then? The woman who froze to death lost in the bamboo grove?”
“Oh, that? Why? Are you scared because of it? Do you think the crystal was taken by the ghost from that legend?”
“No, it’s not that. It didn’t sound like a woman’s voice. It sounded like children…”
“Children?”
“Tch, nonsense. What am I even saying?”
Waving his hand, Patrick was interrupted by Tommy, who gaped and blurted out—
“Aren’t you talking about the stone-ghost?”
“What?”
“There’s a stone-ghost in the bamboo grove! We’ve seen it, but the adults didn’t believe us!”
“Yeah! The stones roll by themselves—we saw it for sure!”
The kids nodded.
“When the adults heard, bamboo shoots grew and bumped the stones.”
Ben elaborated.
“And Ben says he heard the stones talking to each other!”
“…You’re lying, right?”
Squinting suspiciously, Patrick prompted Ben, who puffed out his cheeks and scowled.
“I really heard it!”
“Okay, what did they say?”
“…I don’t know…”
Ben hung his head when pressed again.
“He definitely said something, but I couldn’t understand the words.”
“You must have misheard the wind.”
“Even the adults say that. They say the wind in the bamboo grove has highs and lows, so it sounds like voices sometimes.”
“Right, right. That’s just grown-up wisdom.”
“Is it…?”
Though he accepted it, Ben wasn’t fully convinced.
“But Teacher, do bamboo shoots grow in winter too?”
“Why ask me that? How would I know?”
“See? I knew it.”
Clicking his tongue, Patrick settled himself again.
“So? Stones rolled in winter too?”
“Yes.”
“And you heard them?”
“Yes!”
“Well, in winter the wind’s stronger, so stones can roll easily. It doesn’t have to be bamboo shoots pushing them.”
“But, Teacher, even strong wind can’t make stones roll that easily.”
“That’s right! And when the stones rolled, we didn’t hear any rustling leaves!”
“Yeah.”
Though somewhat exasperated, Patrick listened as the children recounted that day’s events.
‘…Weird, but…’
Putting it all together, Patrick reached a conclusion.
“Something’s definitely there.”
“Really? You think so too, Teacher?”
“Have you been playing in the bamboo grove because of it?”
“Yes!”
“You’re fearless. What if it’s a ghost?”
“Ghosts aren’t scary. People are.”
“…Don’t spout things like that, you brats.”
“Who taught you that stuff?” grumbled Patrick, rising with determination.
“Let’s go see. We’ll know once we do.”
“Wow! An expedition!”
“It’s called an investigation, you dummy!”
“Let’s go!”
Chattering excitedly, the children led the way.
‘I have to figure this out while they’re with me. I can’t lose any more sleep tonight!’
Patrick vowed that if he didn’t uncover the secret of the bamboo grove and the voices from last night, he’d be doing parent-teacher conferences before dinner.
‘There’s no way they’d turn me away, right?’
Tears threatened his eyes at the thought of his expensive bed, but there was no way he could sleep alone again.
The bamboo grove gleamed green as ever.
“Well, we’re here.”
The kids had already scattered: pulling shoots, carving bamboo knives, chasing squirrels. Patrick sat alone, deep in thought.
“If this were a cliché, a spirit would appear now.”
Actually, listening to their experiences had given him a clue.
A spirit!
Near his house, magic felt stronger. The legend of the frozen woman spoke of twisted natural power felt even by ordinary people.
“And above all, Ben heard voices.”
When they’d faced human traffickers, Ben had summoned lightning in extreme fear—a sign of significant talent. If he could do that, he could have sensed a spirit’s presence.
“The missing crystal too.”
Little is known about spirits, but everyone interested knows this:
—Spirits are drawn to places, objects, and people with strong mana.
So even a lowest-grade crystal would be a tasty snack for them.
“Once I meet it, I’ll get back the crystal’s value with interest.”
At that moment—
[What’s interest? How do you add it?]
“Arrgh!”
“Teacher!”
Startled by sudden shouts, the children abandoned their toys and rushed back. This time, Patrick avoided fainting.
“Uh… ugh… ah…”
He’d lost his ability to speak…