Chapter 1: Yi-moon (1)

"There’s a problem. I performed the cleansing ritual, but I think something unclean has latched on."

"What? Shaman[1]-nim, what are you talking about all of a sudden?"

The commotion had started early in the morning. Yi-moon[2] paused his sweeping and glanced toward the shrine. The visitor who had stormed in at daybreak was fuming, insisting that even after receiving the prescribed ritual, her daughter had spent the night teetering on the edge of death. Shaman Myeongju calmly tried to soothe her. 

"Go back. Your daughter is keeping something from you. If she doesn’t confess it, there’s nothing more I can do." 

"Good heavens, shaman-nim! My daughter can’t even open her eyes right now! How can you expect her to speak? Just how many days has it been?"

"Enough. Go home. When you return, she’ll have opened her eyes—and she’ll speak."

"But, shaman-nim—"

"I said go. The unclean presence has been purged, so her strength should return soon. If she still can’t speak when you get back, come see me again. Not that you’ll need to."

A brief silence followed. Then the door slid open, and the middle-aged woman trudged out, shoulders slumped. She bowed stiffly toward the shrine before passing Yi-moon and exiting through the gate. The sight of a schoolboy sweeping the shrine grounds must have puzzled her, but though she glanced back a few times, she didn’t speak to him. 

"Yi-moon."

It was Shaman Myeongju’s voice. Yi-moon set the broom aside and peered into the shrine. She was lying down. 

"Did you clear away the chickens?”

"Yes."

"The stench of blood was so foul I couldn’t sleep a wink." 

"......" 

"Bar the door today. I need to rest."

With that, she turned over. Without a word, Yi-moon carefully shut the door and stepped back into the yard. His fingers, gripping the broom again, had stiffened from the cold. It was going to be another freezing day. 

She shouldn’t lie sideways in the shrine. 

He paused, then flinched as a sharp gust of wind bit into his neck. His dry skin had turned pale from the aggressive chill. Winter is approaching.

***

The classroom was empty, bathed in the dim light of dawn. Yi-moon took his seat and set down his bag. As he reached into his desk to pull out the book he’d been reading, a sharp pain shot through his finger. Startled, he jerked back—blood welled beneath his nail. 

"......"

He pushed his chair back and bent down to look inside. It was too dark to see clearly. Carefully, he tugged at the corner of the book and slid it out. Wedged between the thick pages was a box cutter, its blade fully extended. 

A sigh escaped him. After removing the knife, he flipped through the book, inspecting the pages. There were crude scribbles here and there, but no major damage—at least they hadn’t used a pen. He pulled an art eraser from his pencil case and meticulously scrubbed away phrases like "Fucking unlucky bastard," "Yo momma fuckin’ the mountain spirit,” and "Homo bitch like Homer.[3]"

Boys his age, driven by hormones rather than brains, often fixated on such things. Hey, they say shamans fuck ghosts—that true? You’re a shaman’s kid, so you help virgin ghosts move on or somethin’? The taunts, meant solely to assert dominance, only grew harsher when Yi-moon refused to react. 

He knew how easily humans created hierarchies. Those in power didn’t maintain their status by bettering themselves—they spat venom at others, making sure everyone saw their targets swallow the insults without protest. I’m so high up I can afford to be this shameless. This guy? He’s beneath me—so far down he won’t even fight back. 

The pencil marks were pressed so deeply that eraser dust clung stubbornly to the pages. Yi-moon didn’t so much as blink as he brushed it away. 

It was a small town. The neighbors knew how many spoons each household owned. Ever since Shaman Myeongju had established her shrine on the mountainside after receiving divine possession, Yi-moon had never had anything resembling a friend. His only wish was to live as quietly and invisibly as possible—but his past made that impossible. Without lifting a finger, he’d been labeled a faggot, a disgrace, and sometimes, a ghost himself. 

"Since ancient times, shamans and butchers were considered lowly." 

That was something his middle school history teacher—newly transferred—had once said during class. 

"But we must consider a society’s characteristics within its historical context. Just as the slave class existed because the wealthy needed exploitable labor, there must have been a reason why shamans and butchers were looked down upon."

After the clueless teacher left, the kids swarmed Yi-moon’s desk. 

"There’s a special reason shamans are low-class."

Yi-moon thought: We don’t say ‘butcher’ anymore, but we still say ‘shaman.’

"So the shaman’s kid is low-class too. There’s a reason for it." 

What was that reason, exactly? 

"Low-class people are supposed to obey commoners, right?"

Yi-moon knew they didn’t harbor any real malice. But violence was always most brutal when it served no purpose. 

Clatter.

Lost in thought, Yi-moon jerked his head up. A tall, broad-shouldered boy had entered through the front door. Their eyes met by accident, and Yi-moon reflexively tried to recall his name—but nothing came to mind. It was still too early for most students. The boy glanced at Yi-moon before silently taking his seat. Yi-moon soon lowered his gaze back to his book. 

Outside, the sky brightened rapidly. The classroom was so quiet even the ticking of the clock was inaudible. Only the occasional rustle of Yi-moon’s pages broke the peaceful silence. By the time students began trickling in through the school gates, he was still reading. 

"Hey.” 

Yi-moon, accustomed to silence, suddenly remembered that only he and the tall boy were in the classroom. He looked up—the boy was now perched on the teacher’s desk, staring straight at him. 

"You see what they wrote in there?"

His gaze flicked to Yi-moon’s open book. His sharp eyes, with their high-set pupils and prominent whites, looked even more piercing under his raised brows. Without thinking, Yi-moon nodded. 

"Is it true?"

"......"

"You a homo?" 

His tone was eerily casual for the question. Yi-moon glanced down at the book, then shook his head. 

"No."

He actually answered. The boy on the desk raised an eyebrow. 

"You can talk." 

"......" 

"Thought you were mute." 

He hopped down and strode over in one fluid motion. Yi-moon instinctively tensed but didn’t retreat. Up close, the boy’s nametag read Oh Jeongwoo.

"You know who I am?" 

Thud. His hand, resting on the book, looked twice the size of Yi-moon’s. 

"No."

Jeongwoo smirked at the honesty. 

"I’m Jeongwoo. Oh Jeongwoo."

"...Yeah."

"Can’t you say more than ‘yeah’ or ‘no’?"

"......"

"That all you got?"

Maybe it was the long silence, or maybe it was Jeongwoo’s unnervingly calm voice, but despite facing a classmate, Yi-moon felt strangely at ease. Hesitating, he lowered his head, fingers tracing the book as he spoke. 

"...The Danaans marched ceaselessly to the battlefield. Only the commanders gave orders—the rest were silent.[4]"

His quiet voice filled the empty classroom. Jeongwoo’s eyes widened. 

"You might have thought them all mute."

"......" 

"But they were silent only out of fear of their leaders."

Yi-moon looked up. His childlike eyes, framed by faint double lids, met Jeongwoo’s squarely. 

"I can." 

"......" 

"Talk long." 

After a beat, Jeongwoo burst out laughing. 

"What the hell." 

Then he plopped a hand on Yi-moon’s head, ruffling his hair wildly. 

"Kid’s perfectly fine." 

"......"

Tap, tap. Jeongwoo lightly patted Yi-moon’s cheek with the back of his hand, then narrowed his eyes. 

"If you can talk, do it more."

"......"

"Stay quiet too long, you’ll forget how."

Thud. He gave Yi-moon’s temple a firmer poke just as the classroom doors opened. Jeongwoo returned to his seat and started chatting with the others. Yi-moon slowly lowered his head and picked up his book. The spot Jeongwoo had touched felt strangely warm. 

[1] 보살 Bosal. Shaman, Spirit Medium, Bodhisattva. I opted for Shaman. But since the title is The Exorcism, it is more appropriate to say Exorcist here. Lets see.

[2] 이 In Korean names, this is most likely translated as Lee but Lee Moon will be his first name. His full name will be Yoon Lee Moon and I cannot read it without cringing since I always associate Lee as a surname. So I will be using Yi. If you find it disagreeable, you can read it as Lee Moon.

[3] 호모 새끼라 호메로스 Im not sure about homeros but I think it’s a play about Homer, an ancient Greek poet since there is a reference from his book Illiad that appears here. Its more of an ignorant part of the bullies to connect homo to Homer since there’s no evidence that Homer is gay and maybe by using his name, they get to appear as clever? Does that make sense when I explain?

[4] Quote from the book The Illiad. Here’s a line taken from the book translated by Samuel Butler, “… the Danaans march steadfastly to battle. The chiefs gave orders each to his own people, but the men said never a word …” https://uh.edu/~cldue/texts/iliad.html

>