How to Survive the Horror Novel I Wrote
Chapter 13
A chilling dread crept down my spine.
The underlying reason Ugeum asked where I got those books was all too obvious.
Because he was in them. Under his real name, no less.
On top of that, the people he had killed were the protagonists.
Because the process of his hunts was depicted in vivid detail from his prey’s point of view.
He would be dying to know who the author was, when he had been caught, where they had seen him, how they knew, what else they knew, and why they wrote such books—and he would surely think he had to put an end to both the writing and the publishing.
Then how would he try to stop it? Even I had no way of knowing.
Because Ugeum had never harmed anyone other than his prey.
However…… the words Ugeum had said to the hunting woman who insulted me flashed through my mind.
<I suppose your eyes are just for decoration. Are your ears decorative too? Wouldn’t it be better not to have body parts that don’t function?>
What if he had meant that?
A face with only dark red hollows where the eyes and ears should be kept flickering in my mind.
What would someone do to ensure a person could never write again?
Chop off all ten fingers? Gouge out both eyes? Carve out the brain?
While an icy blizzard raged down my back, my mouth felt as if it had been struck by a drought.
My lips were parched, and my throat burned dry.
I licked my dry lips and answered with feigned nonchalance.
“Where else would I get them? It’s not like anywhere besides bookstores sells books.”
This wasn’t a lie. I never said I bought them at a bookstore.
Unable to lie to Ugeum or confess that I wrote them and the publisher sent them to me, evading the question vaguely was the best I could do.
Picking up the bag I had dropped onto the floor as if nothing were wrong, I bitterly regretted showing my shock so visibly just moments ago.
“It looks like a series. Can I borrow the rest?”
Ugeum asked casually, holding up ‘Captive Night’.
Absolutely not.
Yet I had no excuse to refuse.
“Of course. Take them all.”
I beamed brightly, pretending to give my willing permission.
I could feel my left eyelid twitching from the stress.
Please stop before he notices.
Fortunately, Ugeum didn’t notice the tremor in my eye.
After Ugeum ate dinner and left, I immediately checked the Cursed Manuscript.
[After Ji-an left for work, Ugeum had intended to leave right away as well.
Then he noticed that Ji-an’s bedroom door was slightly ajar.
A sudden curiosity arose.
Ji-an was quite reluctant to let him into her room.
The way she diligently kept the door shut whenever Ugeum visited made it seem as though she had hidden a jar of honey inside.
There was even a time she refused to open the door on the pretext that she wasn’t properly dressed.
Recalling Ji-an’s legs when she wore an oversized boxy T-shirt like a mini dress, Ugeum chuckled softly.
Thanks to that, he had gotten quite a nice view.]
A nice view…… My face burned. To think he could actually think that after seeing my scrawny, unimpressive legs.
More importantly, this reads completely like a male lead’s POV in a romance novel.
The fact that the manuscript leaned closer to romance when Ugeum was alone came as a shock.
Not to mention when he was with me, or in my house—that the Ju Ugeum wasn’t plotting to murder someone.
[Shall I go look for that honey pot?
Ugeum sauntered into Ji-an’s room.
However, nothing particularly caught his eye.
It was a room he had already entered several times: when Ji-an collapsed from acute stomach cramps, when she had a fever and chills, and when he laid a thoroughly drunken Ji-an down in bed.
With an indifferent gaze, Ugeum looked around at the bed that was slightly cramped for two, the stark white wardrobe, the untidy vanity, and the computer desk.
Just then, the books arranged on the very top shelf of the bookcase caught Ugeum’s eye.
‘Endless Night’, ‘Captive Night’, ‘Red Night’, ‘Howling Night’, ‘Unescapable Night’, ‘Sinking Night’, and so on…….
Novels with titles ending in ‘Night’ were lined up in a row.
Seeing such a collection, he assumed Ji-an must be very fond of them and pulled out a volume of the Night Series to read.
However.
“……!”
The protagonist was his first prey. Name, age, appearance—everything was identical.
It couldn’t be dismissed as a coincidence. There wouldn’t be another woman in South Korea who had murdered three husbands in a row.
Ugeum’s hands flipped through the pages faster and faster. Then, he froze.
Because Ju Ugeum, he himself, had appeared.
And unfolded there, from the prey’s perspective, was the exact story he knew—no, the story he had lived.
Ugeum doubted his own eyes. What on earth was he looking at right now?
Every single action of his had been carried out under meticulous plans and ironclad alibis; the prey was dead, and there were no witnesses.
So what on earth was this book? A wave of immense confusion washed over him.
Could the other books be the same?
Ugeum’s hands urgently pulled out the remaining volumes.
Within the rustling, flipping pages, the entire history of the executions he had carried out unfolded without omission.
It was unbelievable. What was written in these books was a story that no one knew except for himself and his dead prey.
Yet that was no longer true. The readers who had read these books—all of them were witnesses.
And Ji-an was one of them.]
My breath caught. It felt as though my heart had stopped as well. The fact that a person could die of a heart attack from sheer terror struck me to my very bones.
The heart that had paused for an instant began pounding wildly, as if it would burst through my chest.
[Even though Ji-an was Ugeum’s lover, she always watched his reactions with a frightened expression.
Why? Was it because she knew his secret?
……No. That couldn’t be.
There was no one in the world who would mistake a fictional character for a real person.
Above all, Ji-an was not so unfeeling and audacious a woman that she could date someone knowing he was a serial killer.
Nevertheless, Ugeum could not shake the lingering doubt.
Was it truly a coincidence that Ji-an appeared at the hunting ground last Saturday night?
How had Ji-an managed to find her way there back then? The question he had tried so hard to bury reared its head.
What did she know?
How on earth did she view him?
A man who shared the exact same name, looks, style, speech, and demeanor as the serial killer in her favorite horror novel.
Ugeum wanted to pry open her small head and peer inside.]
My body trembled uncontrollably. Ugeum’s poker face gave me goosebumps all over again. To think he had treated me with such casual normalcy while harboring suspicions like that…….
With trembling hands, I scrolled down the rest of the page.
[Yet what intrigued him even more than what was inside her head was the identity of the author who wrote these books.
Ugeum closed the book and checked the author’s name printed on the spine.
Mun Seongwon.
Ugeum glared at the name with a razor-sharp gaze.
Whoever it was, he would find them without fail.
Tapping his index finger lightly against the characters of the author’s name, Ugeum murmured under his breath.
“You won’t be able to write things like this ever again.”]
It felt as though I were plummeting into an abyss. My entire mind spun with dizziness.
It was just as I had expected. Ugeum intended to track down the author of the Night Series by any means necessary.
Only Ugeum knew what would happen after that.
I quickly dialed my editor.
It was the first time I had ever contacted them after business hours.
How many people in the world would actually want to receive a work-related phone call after clocking out?
Yet I had no choice.
I was driven almost out of my mind with anxiety that Ugeum might figure out I was the author Mun Seongwon.
- Hello.
“Hello, Editor. It’s Mun Seongwon.”
- Oh! Hello. Did you change your phone? The number is…….
Come to think of it, this was the phone Ugeum had given me.
“Ah, yes. I should have let you know beforehand. I’m sorry.”
- Not at all. But what’s going on?
“Um, by any chance, has anyone been asking around about my identity?”
When I cut straight to the chase and asked bluntly, the editor casually asked in return:
- How did you know?
My heart sank. Ugeum, already?
However, the editor soon added in a joking tone:
- The entire nation is curious about your identity, after all. Magazines, newspapers, broadcast networks—plenty of them are curious too.
I was terrified for nothing.
As I patted my chest in relief, the editor asked in a pleased tone:
- Why? Are you going to reveal your identity?
The editor—or rather, the publishing company’s CEO using the editor as a mouthpiece—had been eagerly waiting for me to reveal my identity ever since the first installment of the Night Series became a massive hit.
They wanted me to transform from a masked author into a star author, appearing in various media outlets, doing interviews, giving lectures, and actively promoting my work.
However, I was an introverted and timid person for whom interpersonal relationships were the hardest thing in the world and being the center of attention was the most uncomfortable.
Teaching children who slept or goofed off during class was overwhelming enough, and they wanted me to give lectures before an expectant public?
“That will never happen.”
I replied with absolute seriousness.
After sounding briefly disappointed just as they always did, the editor reassured me in an amiable voice:
- No one in our publishing house knows your identity except for me and the CEO, so please don’t worry. We haven’t leaked it so far, and we certainly never will in the future.
“Thank you. Well then……”
Just as I was about to hang up, the editor suddenly asked:
- By the way, how is the progress coming along on your new work?
My mouth fell open dumbly. The new work.
As the manuscript that was no longer in my hands came to mind, my thoughts drifted to the Cursed Keyboard and the living, breathing Ju Ugeum.
What should I say?
That Ju Ugeum sprang into reality on the very first day I started writing the new work?
That the Cursed Keyboard is currently writing the new manuscript in my stead?
That because I ended up as the protagonist of that damned new work, I’m currently struggling desperately just to survive?
In any case, there was only one conclusion.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can write the Night Series anymore.”
- What? What do you mean by that?
The editor seemed thoroughly flustered.
They tried cajoling me by asking if there was any problem and offering whatever help they could, and then they even made threats, reminding me that I had already signed a contract and that the penalty for breach of contract was by no means small.
Yet I did not recant.
“Please terminate the contract.”
Throwing away a bottomless treasure trove left a bitter taste in my mouth, too. Even so, life was far more important than money.
Besides, with Ugeum out in reality, a new installment of the Night Series was completely out of the question anyway. If I wrote a story about Ugeum killing someone, he would kill them in reality. Even if they were evil people, I couldn’t earn money by having people murdered.
With a heavy, complicated voice, the editor said they would report it to the CEO. I concluded the call by thanking them for everything so far.
At any rate, making sure the editor kept quiet put my mind at ease.
Ugeum would never find out my true identity.
* * *
The next day, when I returned home after work, an unfamiliar man was sitting with his back leaned against my front door.
