The Cursed Saehanmulsso

The concrete entrance was half-covered by dense weeds. It took 30 minutes to find this place. Few people referred to it as 'Saehanmulsso'. The rusty metal door of the time capsule monument in Gyeongju screamed under Ji-ho's strained hand. The flashlight's beam slid over the inscriptions on the forgotten wall—too ancient to decipher at a glance.

The air inside was stifling, heavy as if trapped. The smell of earth and metal mixed, as if past and future collided and were conjured here.

The deeper Ji-ho went, the more he couldn't shake off the uneasy feeling. Sounds seemed to drag on unnecessarily. Like a malfunctioning echo, the resonance lingered oddly. It wasn't just the excessive dripping; a low hum intermittently buzzed in his ears, like a warning of some distant machinery coming to life. The source of the sound was felt in all directions, yet it didn't reveal itself under the flashlight's glow. Occasionally, patterns appeared in the peripheral vision, resembling the ancient inscriptions found above.

As Ji-ho stepped forward, shadows elongated and separated from his own. It seemed to approach him with some purpose. Defying the normal operation of light, dread filled him. There was physical contact—a cold yet powerful touch, a force that was both present and nonexistent. He tried to pull away, but the pressing weight oddly persisted. The terrifying part was that the old items began to defy gravity. It was as if they were being controlled by an invisible marionette, forming bizarre, mathematical, systematic patterns. Ji-ho felt they resembled some precise formula from the future, yet couldn’t comprehend it. However, its threatening nature was undeniable.

Breathless, Ji-ho instinctively resisted. The flashlight's beam flickered as it became erratic. The previously silent hum morphed into a chaotic feedback noise. Finally regaining his limbs, he tried to dash out. Just as he was about to cross the threshold, he stumbled. The thick evening air, dense with foliage, seemed to suffocate him. In that moment, all sounds abruptly ceased. It was as heavy a silence as the previously riotous noise.

Pulsing with adrenaline, Ji-ho shakily pulled his phone from his jacket pocket. Although he hadn't activated the voice recording app, it had turned on by itself. Amidst the distorted echoes and silence, something peculiar emerged—an isolated whisper, his voice, yet faint and murky. It was a blend of a foreign tongue and disturbingly familiar tone. A phrase read from a place outside of time and space echoed: "You have already been here."