The first door opened slowly.
Not in a hurry.
Not dramatically.
If anything, it was too slow.
As if whoever was behind it knew they were all waiting.
Do-yoon stood on the bottom step, staring at the dark gap between the door and its frame.
Jae-hyun was still gripping his arm.
“Don’t go up,” Jung-woo said from below.
Do-yoon looked back.
“You said there were three doors.”
“Yes.”
“And Mom said not to open the third door.”
“Yes.”
“So the first door is safe.”
“No.”
“The second?”
“No.”
“The third?”
Jung-woo stared at him.
“Especially not.”
Do-yoon sighed.
“So none of the doors are safe.”
“Now you get it.”
“Very helpful information.”
Jae-hyun whispered, “I love how you two are talking right now.”
Do-yoon didn’t answer.
His eyes stayed fixed on the door.
The woman’s voice came again.
“Sweetheart?”
His mother’s voice.
Warm.
Gentle.
Almost exactly as he remembered it.
Almost.
That was the problem.
Do-yoon knew voices better than most people realized. As a shaman, he’d learned that a voice wasn’t just a sound. It carried breath, pauses, emphasis, emotion—even intent.
And the voice behind the door was too perfect.
There was no hesitation.
No weariness.
None of the little changes that usually surfaced when someone called the name of a person they missed terribly.
Like a recording.
Someone was imitating his mother.
Do-yoon stepped down from the stairs.
“I’m not going in.”
Jae-hyun immediately let out a breath of relief.
“Thank God.”
Do-yoon looked at him.
“But I want to see.”
“What’s the difference?”
“I’m not going in.”
“That’s going in emotionally.”
Do-yoon ignored him.
He stood on the lower floor and watched the open door from a distance.
“If you really are my mother,” he said, “come out.”
There was no answer.
Jung-woo shot him a sharp look.
“I told you not to call her Mom.”
“I said if.”
“Don’t.”
Do-yoon shrugged.
“If she isn’t, she should be offended.”
Jae-hyun stared at him.
“You realize you’re picking a fight with something that might not even be human?”
“She started it.”
The door upstairs moved.
It opened a little farther.
Through the gap, Do-yoon could see a room.
Dark.
Empty.
Then a hand appeared behind the door.
White.
Its fingers were long.
It didn’t move.
It just hung there beside the door.
Jae-hyun backed away.
“Do-yoon.”
“I see it.”
The hand slowly gripped the doorframe.
Then someone stepped out.
A woman.
Long hair.
White clothes.
Her head was bowed.
She stopped in front of the door.
Do-yoon stared at her face.
His mother’s face.
This time, not through a television.
Not through a mirror.
Right in front of him.
For a few seconds, Do-yoon forgot to breathe.
The woman raised her head.
Their eyes met.
“Do-yoon.”
The voice was the same.
But now Do-yoon knew.
It wasn’t his mother.
Because his mother always said his name with a certain lilt.
It rose a little at the end.
As if she were making sure her son was still listening.
This woman didn’t.
She just said his name.
Like someone reading it off a list.
Do-yoon stared at her.
“Who are you?”
The woman smiled.
“Mom.”
Jung-woo spoke at once.
“No.”
The woman’s smile vanished.
For the first time, her expression changed.
Not sad.
Not angry.
Annoyed.
Do-yoon narrowed his eyes.
“Interesting.”
Jae-hyun looked at him.
“What?”
“She can change.”
“So?”
“Means she’s not just an apparition.”
The woman descended one step.
Jung-woo immediately pulled something from his pocket.
A small bell-shaped object.
Do-yoon saw it.
“You still have that?”
“Don’t move.”
“Why?”
“Because if I ring it, she’ll know you’re not nine years old anymore.”
Do-yoon frowned.
“She doesn’t know?”
The woman smiled again.
This time, wider.
“I do.”
Then the house lights went out.
Everything was dark.
Jae-hyun swore.
Running footsteps sounded from the second floor.
Fast.
Getting closer.
Do-yoon instinctively moved forward.
“Do-yoon, don’t!”
He stopped.
The footsteps abruptly vanished.
Darkness.
Silence.
Then—
Ding.
A small sound.
Like a phone notification.
Do-yoon looked at his pants pocket.
His phone was off.
The sound had come from the second floor.
Jae-hyun whispered,
“Don’t tell me that was TikTok.”
“If it was, I’m changing religions.”
“Don’t joke.”
“I’m serious.”
A phone screen lit up upstairs.
Its glow was enough to illuminate part of the stairs.
Do-yoon saw the device.
An old smartphone.
A model that hadn’t been sold in years.
The screen showed a single photo.
A woman.
His mother.
Beneath the photo was a date.
March 14, 2011.
Do-yoon froze.
The date his mother died.
Then the screen changed.
A video started playing automatically.
Little Do-yoon appeared on the screen.
Nine years old.
Sitting on the floor of this same house.
His mother sat in front of him.
The footage seemed to be filmed from an impossible angle.
As if someone were standing in the corner of the room.
His mother held both of Do-yoon’s hands.
“If you ever see me again one day…”
The video crackled.
His mother’s voice came through again.
“…don’t trust my face.”
Do-yoon’s heart seemed to stop for a moment.
The video ended.
The screen went black.
Then a sentence appeared.
BECAUSE I’M NOT THE ONE WHO DIED.
Jae-hyun read the words.
“What does that mean?”
Do-yoon didn’t answer.
He looked at his father.
Jung-woo stood frozen.
“You knew about this video.”
It wasn’t a question.
Jung-woo nodded.
“Yes.”
“Since when?”
“Since the night your mother died.”
Do-yoon stared at him for a long time.
Then he let out a short laugh.
Not because it was funny.
More like his body had no idea what to do with all that information.
“So for fifteen years…”
His voice trembled.
“…you knew there was a recording of Mom warning me?”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“By lying?”
“By making you forget.”
Do-yoon came down one step.
“No.”
Jung-woo looked at him.
“I didn’t forget.”
He pointed at his head.
“I just didn’t understand.”
Then another voice came from the second floor.
Not the woman’s voice.
Not his mother’s.
A man’s voice.
Quiet.
Hoarse.
And completely unfamiliar.
“Good.”
Jung-woo immediately looked up.
Do-yoon stared at the second floor.
The voice spoke again.
“Now he remembers.”
A shadow appeared behind the first door.
Not a woman.
A man.
Tall.
His face was hidden.
He stood motionless in the hallway.
Then he said,
“Open the second door.”
Jung-woo shouted at once,
“Don’t!”
But Do-yoon had already noticed something beside the shadow.
The second door.
And beneath the gap at its base—
a thin red light began to seep out.
Jae-hyun looked at him.
“Do-yoon…”
Do-yoon didn’t blink.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling.”
Do-yoon nodded slowly.
“Me too.”
From behind the second door came the sound of a woman crying.
Then the sound turned into laughter.
Then—
“Do-yoon.”
Silence.
“If you want to know why your mother died…”
The second door shuddered.
“…open the door.”
Do-yoon looked at Jung-woo.
For the first time, his father didn’t tell him to back away.
He only said quietly,
“Don’t listen.”
Do-yoon looked at the second door.
Then he gave a faint smile.
“The problem is, Dad…”
His hand slowly rose.
“…I’ve gone too long without listening to anyone.”
And from behind the door—
something began knocking from the inside.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.