My dad told me a story.
About 30 years ago, my father was still burning charcoal by himself.
He would burn sawtooth oak and cedar charcoal in a charcoal kiln he had built in the mountains.
When he started to burn the charcoal, he would sleep in a hut by the kiln for about four days.
That day we started the fire in the evening.
It had not been long since the last time, but for some reason, the fire did not seem to be able to reach the inside of the kettle.
My father patiently put in the brush and firewood, and stepped on the firewood to keep the fire going.
The night was already dark and silence reigned in the area, and all I could hear was the sound of wood exploding.
I heard a noise in the bushes behind me.
Was it a beast? I turned around, but there was no sign of it.
The sound started moving through the bushes at great speed.
At this point, my father had a gut feeling that this was not of this world and did not turn around.
The sound began to circle around the charcoal oven. It was getting unusual.
My father held still and stared at the fire.
Hey… what are you doing?
When he thought the noise had stopped, someone spoke over his shoulder.
The tone was friendly, but I didn’t recognize the voice.
When he remained silent, the voice continued on its own.
Are you alone?” Why are you by the fire? You’re burning coals, aren’t you?”
The voice came from right behind me. The voice came from right behind me, so close that I could almost breathe on it.
Dad fought the urge to turn around in desperation.
The voice continued to ask.
‘Do you have a phone here?’
“What? A phone?”
My father was puzzled by this strange question.
There was no such thing as a cell phone in those days, and there was no way there could be a phone in the mountains.
The father relaxed a little at the remark.
“There’s no such thing, is there?”
“I see.”
Suddenly, a presence disappeared from behind him.
After a few moments, he turned around and saw that there was no one there.
The dense forest was still and silent.
My father looked back at what had just happened, and at the same time, he felt the fear come back again.
He was terrified, but he could not leave the fire.
As he continued to watch the fire, chanting the Buddhist prayer, the sky in the east finally began to lighten.
When it was light enough to see what was going on around us, my grandfather (my father’s father) came to the fire.
My grandfather (my father’s father) came up the mountain with a lunch box for two.
“How’s it going?”
“No, I’ve been burning them since last evening, but I can’t get the fire to go into the pot.”
He didn’t talk about last night’s strange happenings.
“I’ll take a look at it.”
My grandfather went behind the kettle, put his hand over the chimney smoke, and said, “It’s getting warmer.”
I put my hand on top of the pot to see what the temperature was.
“It’s still cold here…”
He then climbed up onto the ceiling of the charcoal cauldron…
With a dull thud, the ceiling of the cauldron collapsed, and my grandfather fell into the cauldron.
My father rushed to save my grandfather, but the poor foothold and the smoke and ashes were in the way.
Despite being burned, my father put his foot on top of the cauldron to save my grandfather.
The inside of the cauldron was as red as the fires of hell. The fire had already reached the inside of the pot.
By the time they finally dragged my grandfather’s body out of the cauldron, his face and chest were burned to a pulp, and he was dead.
My father was in a daze, unable to believe the tragedy that had occurred before his eyes.
But he quickly regained his composure and decided to go down the mountain.
However, it seemed impossible to descend the steep mountain path with his grandfather’s dead body on his back.
My father spent about an hour walking alone down the mountain to the side of the road where my grandfather’s light truck was parked.
When he returned to the charcoal hut with a friend from the village, he found that something had happened to his grandfather’s body.
Only the upper half of his body had turned white.
As if he had been sucked to death, only white bones remained.
In contrast, the lower half of the body was untouched, with the organs intact.
Normally, bears, wild dogs, and other beasts eat from the organs of their prey.
And there should have been no such large carnivores in the area.
Everyone present at the scene noticed that the corpse looked unusual.
Nevertheless, no one mentioned it. They silently began to carry my grandfather’s body away.
When my father tried to say something, everyone quietly shook their heads.
That’s when he realized. This is a taboo subject.
Who spoke to me last night from behind my back.
Who was the person who ransacked my grandfather’s corpse?
No one can answer those questions. No one can talk about it.
“That’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
An old man in the village told my father that.
Even today, the cause of my grandfather’s death is still ruled as an attack by wild dogs.
