This Back Is a Familiar Back
Illustration by Gustave Doré via Old Book Illustrations Ye-suh lay awash in the lime glow of her cat-shaped night-light, waiting. “Mom, story,” she ordered me. “Story, please.”
“Normal story?”
“Scary story.”
Ye-suh had inherited my penchant for horror. We supped on grim tales, spun golden fear out of straw.
“The lady walks the night,” I began. “Dressed in a fashionable coat and a blood-red mask, she stalks children who walk alone. This is why you shouldn’t walk alone, especially when it’s late.”
“I never walk alone,” Ye-suh countered.
“From darkness, the lady approaches the child. Peeling back her mask to reveal a mouth ripped all the way to the ears, she asks the question.”
“What question?” A tremor. Choppy bangs hid her eyes. Freckles smattered a nose that twitched with anticipation.
“Do I look pretty to you?” This, delivered in a horror voice, full of gravel and guts. My daughter squealed and dove under the sheets, emerging with a smile.
“More!”
Sometime in the early ’90s, the Korean government waged war against crime in an effort to eradicate human trafficking, kidnappings, and gang-related violence. Into these tumultuous times the Lady was born. The lore originated from Japan and was parental propaganda to push early curfews. Terrified but intrigued, we children had run with it. And now my daughter was doing the same.
“That’s creepy as hell,” said Ben, my husband, as he gathered the dishes. His large frame
