Exploring the complexities of family dynamics through Jiyoo’s eyes in a tense narrative.
Jiyoo approached the living room door just as her mother picked up a hair dryer that had fallen to the floor. The device whirred back to life, filling the air with its sound. However, as Jiyoo reached the threshold, her toe bumped into something—the nozzle of the hair dryer. Turning her chin slightly, she glanced back, observing her mother on her knees, seemingly searching for something beneath the sofa. Instead of returning the nozzle to her, Jiyoo slid it across the floor towards the kitchen table, where it skidded under with a scratching noise. Her mother, however, appeared not to notice, engrossed in her task. Jiyoo took this as an opportunity to slip away, tiptoeing upstairs like a ballerina and disappearing into her room.
Even in the darkness of her room, Jiyoo was aware of the time; she knew it had just turned ten by the sound of the tiny train of dwarves inside the clock. Sitting up against the headboard of her bed, she listened to the sounds of the night filtering through her window. The branches of the maple tree in the courtyard rustled gently, a light breeze brushed against the reeds, and a dog barked from a distance. The night felt both serene and mundane, illuminated by the moonlight streaming through her window.
On her windowsill rested a tray containing a bowl of goulash over rice, silverware, and a cup of water. Her mother had brought it up an hour ago, and it seemed as if she had scarcely remembered Jiyoo’s dinner. When her mother entered, Jiyoo had pretended to be asleep. Without turning on the lights, her mother had placed the tray down and left. Jiyoo, however, had no intention of eating the goulash. It was not that it was poorly made; her mother was skilled in cooking, just as she was in preparing duck feed. Jiyoo knew the recipe well. Her mother would stir-fry chunks of beef with onions, add water, and bring it to a boil before seasoning it with goulash spices and potatoes, simmering until the meat was tender. This single pot of goulash could last for days, and while it would typically become richer over time, Jiyoo found herself disinterested in having it for every meal.
Silence enveloped the downstairs area. The sounds of the vacuum cleaner and grinder had faded away. Jiyoo hadn’t heard her mother since she had delivered dinner, suggesting that she had likely gone to sleep. Glancing towards the bedroom door, Jiyoo felt a familiar urge to visit the attic, a voice in her head dubbed the ‘Mischievous Mouse’ encouraging her. The thought of exploring the attic excited her, especially since she remembered the box of puppets she had discovered there. The second floor of their cabin had three doors, including one that was locked, which piqued Jiyoo’s curiosity whenever they stayed there.
When she had found the keys hidden in the hallway dresser, it felt like unearthing treasure. One of the keys fit the lock perfectly, and without hesitation, she had opened the attic door. The room was shrouded in darkness, lacking windows, and even with the light on, it remained dimly lit by a single bulb. Stepping into the musty room, she was greeted by a disarray of various items—old comic books, a rolled-up carpet, and a box full of hand puppets, which thrilled her. She rushed downstairs to ask her mother if she could play with the puppets, her excitement barely contained. When she approached her mother, who was busy chopping meat, her smile filled Jiyoo with warmth and anticipation. Jiyoo asked if she could play in the attic, her heart racing with eagerness to explore the treasures hidden within.
