How to Survive the Horror Novel I Wrote [Novel] Chapter 1 - Chapter 1 is available as a full text chapter. Published September 18, 2026 and updated September 18, 2026.
Translator: Nox
How to Survive the Horror Novel I Wrote - Chapter 1How to Survive the Horror Novel I WroteChapter 1
Part 1: How to Survive the Horror Novel I Wrote
Walking down the street alone at night is terrifying.
Sharing an elevator with a strange man is terrifying.
Having a stranger show up at a house where I live alone is terrifying.
There are simply too many terrifying things in this world.
I am a coward. My mind always jumps straight to the absolute worst-case scenario.
Whenever I take a walk at night and run into a man wearing a baseball cap or a mask over his face, ominous delusions grip me in an instant.
What if that man pulls out a knife and lunges at me…
In reality, nothing like that ever happens. Not even once.
Even so, until that man is far out of sight, I cannot stop these horrific delusions. It is almost pathological.
Once, I wanted to write a novel based on these delusions. A delusion about being murdered by an unknown man.
I suppose I wanted to turn it into fiction because thinking about it happening in real life was too frightening.
Yet even in fiction, I hated the thought of being killed by an ugly man. As the saying goes, if you’re going to wear a skirt, make it a crimson one—the idiom probably did not fit, but that was how I felt.
So, I made the killer a devilishly handsome man.
Then, a problem arose with the victim: me. Thinking it over, I didn’t want to die even inside a novel. It left an unpleasant aftertaste.
So, I decided to create a fictional woman to take my place.
Still, even if it was just fiction, I hated seeing an innocent woman get murdered. What had the victim ever done wrong?
Fine, let’s kill someone guilty. With that thought, I turned the victim into a villain.
And the first horror novel I wrote like that became a massive hit.
The title was ‘Endless Night’.
It was the story of a female serial killer who repeatedly remarried while murdering her husbands, only to be struck down and killed by a man named Ju Ugeum.
Ju Ugeum. The moment you see the name, you will probably notice. That’s right—it’s just the Korean word for death, jugeum, respelled as a name. I have zero naming sense.
Little did I know. Little did I know that this man with such a ridiculous name would become a marksman who struck dead center in the tastes of female readers in their twenties and thirties. If I had known, I would have at least gone to a naming clinic.
‘Endless Night’ went through reprint after reprint, selling over a million copies, and the publisher asked me to write a series starring Ju Ugeum as the lead.
Let me state this once more: the genre of ‘Endless Night’ is horror. That means Ju Ugeum’s role was equivalent to a ghost, a zombie, an alien, or a lunatic serial killer.
Because Ju Ugeum was the hunter, he could never be the protagonist.
Yet the readers went wild for the hunter Ju Ugeum, and the publisher knew it. So to interpret the publisher’s demand accurately, it meant this:
‘Please write a series where the protagonists get killed by Ju Ugeum.’
I had no reason to refuse. Who on earth would turn down a pile of cash?
I gleefully churned out sequel after sequel. ‘Captive Night’, ‘Red Night’, ‘Howling Night’, and so on… It was the birth of what was collectively known as the ‘Night Series’.
The narrators of the Night Series kept changing, but the killer never did. Ju Ugeum was the true protagonist of the Night Series.
Every single installment of the Night Series became a bestseller the moment it hit the shelves. As the author, I became an overnight superstar.
Interview requests flooded in, and lecture invitations poured like a tidal wave, but I rejected them all. On top of that, I never revealed my personal identity.
That’s right. I am a masked author.
As a horror writer, I use the pen name ‘Mun Seongwon’, which sounds undeniably male to anyone. If you remove the final consonants from my pen name, its true meaning emerges.
Museowo—I’m scared.
The only friend who knew I was Mun Seongwon, author of the Night Series, let out a dry laugh and said:
<The biggest coward in South Korea is the foremost authority on Korean horror. How ironic, truly ironic.>
Holding the dual titles of South Korea’s biggest coward and the foremost authority on Korean horror, my real name is Ha Jian. Twenty-nine years old. Female, unmarried.
I have a separate day job: high school teacher. Even though I made a fortune from the Night Series, I don’t have the slightest intention of quitting teaching. Safety first, after all.
Ding-dong.
I flinched, my shoulders jumping in fright. Let me add one more item to the terrifying list: a doorbell ringing in the middle of the night is terrifying.
Soon after, I heard the thud of a box being set down and receding footsteps. A package delivery. It was past eleven at night—thank you so much for working so hard this late.
Thanks to that, my heart fluttered with excitement as I headed to the front door. There was only one package addressed to me.
A keyboard.
A keyboard I desperately wanted, but couldn’t get due to it being discontinued and sold out everywhere, suddenly popped up on an overseas secondhand site, and I bought it immediately. Delivery took an entire week, but even the wait had been sweet.
Before opening the front door, I latched the safety chain. Just in case. A robber disguised as a courier might be waiting…
Cracking the door open just a peek, I saw no one outside. Only a long, flat box lay at my feet. I swiftly brought the box inside.
The unboxing ceremony shall now commence.
With a thumping heart, I tore open the box, and the keyboard of my dreams revealed itself in all its glory.
From its sleek black design to the satisfying, crisp clack of the keys.
There was not a single thing I disliked, but best of all was the keyboard’s condition.
It was so clean and flawless that it was hard to believe it was secondhand.
Great. I need to break it in right away.
I unplugged my old keyboard and connected the new(?) keyboard to my computer. Opening a blank document, I stared at the stark white screen and pondered.
What I intended to write was a new installment in the Night Series.
What scene should I start with?
The horror master(!) Mun Seongwon was famous for injecting horror into everyday life.
I should make something ordinary feel terrifying.
The moment I decided, a brilliant idea flashed in my mind. A smirk curled up the corners of my lips.
I tapped on the keyboard.
[Rattle, rattle, rattle. The doorknob shook wildly.]
The moment I typed the period.
From right behind me came the sound of violent rattling.
I startled violently. I whipped around, but the bedroom door was perfectly still, as if nothing had ever happened.
Did I mishear?
Yet the goosebumps erupting on my arms and the pulse racing through my entire body insisted that I hadn’t misheard.
I was torn. Do I check it, or do I not? All I had to do was open the door, but opening that very door was terrifying.
What if I didn’t mishear? What if someone is really out there?
The door wasn’t even locked. Living alone, why would I ever lock my bedroom door? It was fortunate that the door was stiff and didn’t open easily.
No, it’s just a stupid delusion. There’s no way someone is there. I’ve just grown overly sensitive from writing horror novels all the time. Still, it never hurts to be careful.
Holding my breath, I stood up and tiptoed toward the door. My heart felt like it would burst at the thought of the door suddenly swinging open.
Click. Locking the door eased my anxiety just a little.
Returning to my desk, the sentence floating on the screen caught my eye.
[The doorknob shook wildly.]
This writing didn’t actually come true… right? No way.
As a test, I tried writing the next sentence.
[Following that came the sound of knocking. Knock, knock.]
Knock, knock.
“!”
A scream almost tore from my throat. My heart leaped as if it were about to burst right through my chest.
No way.
It wasn’t a delusion. Someone was inside my house. In an instant, the blood in my entire body ran cold.
I immediately grabbed my phone. Police—I had to call the police, but the screen displayed a message saying Searching for service. Out of service area.
It said only emergency calls were allowed, but even those wouldn’t connect.
I couldn’t believe this situation. This had never happened before. For it to go out of service at a time like this, of all times—did this make any sense? It felt like a devil’s prank.
A devil’s prank…
Come to think of it, the timing was far too bizarre.
The sentences I wrote moments ago had become reality. Twice.
Was it a coincidence? Could a phenomenon that defied common sense even be called a coincidence?
Though my body shook uncontrollably with terror, I felt I had to confirm it. Whether it was a coincidence or not. I needed to know what was going on to deal with it.
With trembling hands, I pressed the keys.
[Ugeum spoke in a gentle voice.
“Open the door.”]
Then, from outside the door, a low, thick, masculine voice drifted in.
“Open the door.”
It was a voice I had never heard before. A chilling shiver ran down my spine.
It’s real. He’s really out there. Tears welled in my eyes.
What do I do? I’m scared. I’m scared to death. I’d rather faint, but if I pass out like this, I feel like I’ll be murdered on the spot, so I can’t even faint.
Right now in my home, a supernatural phenomenon was unfolding where the novel I wrote materialized into reality, and I was scheduled to be murdered by a serial killer any second.
I don’t want to die. I can’t die like this.
I rapidly clicked away at the keyboard.
[Ugeum simply turned around and left Jian’s house. And he never returned again.]
Yet what was this? The cursor moved backward on its own and erased both sentences.
Why on earth?
I tried writing it again, but the result was the same. It was completely wiped away.
What was the reason? I was typing on the exact same keyboard, so why did some sentences manifest into reality while others got deleted?
[In truth, Ugeum had a heart condition he himself was unaware of. He clutched his chest and collapsed.]
This time too, the cursor moved backward without fail.
What do you want me to do then!
Gnawing nervously at my thumb, I racked my brain.
What do I do? What should I do to survive? Should I just stop writing the manuscript?
It was then. Suddenly, the keys began to press down all by themselves.
Terrified out of my wits, I kicked off the floor. My wheeled chair wobbled violently and rolled backward.
Regardless, the keyboard moved of its own accord, writing the novel without me.
[Jian was terrified. Ugeum had arrived. The serial killer from the horror novel she had written.
The unbelievable reality choked her breath away. The sentences she wrote were happening in real life.
Yet certain sentences did not work. She could not make Ugeum leave her house, nor could she make him drop dead from a sudden heart condition.
At a total loss, Jian could only chew frantically on her thumb. She had completely overlooked one crucial fact: a novel is governed by narrative probability.]
An unexpected hint jolted my terror-paralyzed mind awake.
It was because of narrative probability. Because after rattling the doorknob and knocking on the door until a moment ago, having him suddenly leave or die lacked plausibility.
All at once, a horrific realization struck me over the head. That meant that door would eventually open. I couldn’t run away.
Hiding was useless too. Ugeum was a master of hide-and-seek. Why on earth did I give him that trait? I wanted to strangle myself. I didn’t actually do it, though. Ugeum would strangle me anyway.
The moment that thought crossed my mind, Ugeum spoke from outside the door as if handing down a verdict.
“If you won’t open it, I have no choice but to open it myself.”
Good grief. That man was just like this damn keyboard. Even if I didn’t type, he moved on his own.
I had to write something before that crazy killer broke in. Something that wouldn’t violate probability, nor harm me!
Think, Ha Jian. Rack your brain. At this rate, you’re dead. Figure something out!
While I bit hard on my lower lip, a description appeared on the monitor detailing how Ugeum was picking the keyhole with a lockpick pin.
Simultaneously, a metallic scraping sound came from behind me. In sheer panic, I pounded on the keyboard.
[However, the pin didn’t work.]
Tsk. A low click of the tongue sounded from beyond the door.
It worked!
My relief was short-lived; Ugeum kicked my heart straight off a cliff.
“Sorry, but I’ll have to break the door down.”
“Don’t break it!”
I screamed at the top of my lungs.
“Then open it.”
“Just wait a moment!”
It hit me. A way to survive that bastard. Whether it would actually work remained to be seen, but still.
Gritting my teeth, I dashed off a new sentence.
“I think I’ve waited long enough.”
“Wait just a little longer! I’m… I’m not dressed!”
I desperately stalled for time.
Typing on the keyboard with one hand, stripping off my pants with the other—my mind was in utter chaos.
“Even if you were stark naked, you’d be fully dressed by now.”
Ugeum scoffed sarcastically.
All done, you bastard. I struck the Enter key with a sharp tap and stood up.
Shaking loose the hair I had tied back, I shoved the pants I had just taken off under the bed. Now, all I wore was a single large, oversized T-shirt.
Please, this method has to work…!
My legs trembled violently as I walked toward the bedroom door. I needed to pee so badly. I felt like I might wet myself. With shaking hands, I unlocked and opened the door.
Standing outside was a man I had never seen before. Yet the instant I laid eyes on him, I knew who he was.
Because he was identical to the protagonist who had dominated my mind twenty-four hours a day for the past three years.
A tall height of 185 centimeters.
Bewitching, strikingly handsome features.
A serial killer who wore the mask of a gentleman, punishing evil with evil.
Ju Ugeum stood before my door clad in a black suit, exactly as I had imagined him.
An all-black outfit where bloodstains wouldn’t show. I swallowed hard.
Ugeum smiled crookedly.
“Ha Jian.”
I answered reflexively.
“Ju Ugeum.”
Stepping boldly into the room, Ugeum gripped my chin with one hand. My breath hitched. Is he trying to kill me?
“My dear Jian.”
Whispering softly, Ugeum devoured my lips.
A blinding shock crashed over my vision.
A kiss… He is kissing me. With a serial killer.
It felt as though my lips had been seized by a starving predator. It seemed as if he might tear them away at any second.
Ugeum’s other hand wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against him. My body was dragged helplessly into his embrace.
His tongue parted my locked lips and invaded inside me.
The tongue of a cold-blooded man who had murdered countless people in the novel was burning hot. While stunned by his heat, a profound relief washed over my chest.
It worked. The method I wrote worked.
Receiving Ugeum’s passionate kiss, I glanced sideways at the text glowing on the monitor.
[Though Jian’s refusal to open the door irritated him, he had no intention of harming her. Jian was Ugeum’s lover. Ugeum would never kill his own lover.]
And yet.
I saw the cursor move backward, erasing the final sentence.
