The Scrubbing of Jeongdong Bathhouse

Jeongdong Bathhouse, nestled in a quiet provincial town, has been abandoned and firmly closed for over two decades. When it abruptly ceased operations in the late 1990s, the official reason for closure was 'declining customers.' However, this was merely a trite explanation often used by local authorities to cover up an uncomfortable truth. A local newspaper article from 1997 reported that a Ms. Choi, bathing in the main hot tub, died of 'heart attack.' Yet, two short, almost whispered paragraphs added that when rescuers tried to retrieve her, there was 'unexplained resistance,' and her skin bore 'abnormal friction marks.' In 2005, an anonymous local resident posted something even more chilling on an online bulletin board: a 'faint, wet scrubbing sound' could be heard late at night from the building, where all utilities were cut off and even the windows boarded up. The post concluded with an eerie observation: "Sometimes, the steam rising from inside seems to breathe." The intertwining of such vague official reports and persistent local rumors cemented Jeongdong Bathhouse as a hub of mysterious activity. What was once a warm, communal space now seemed to conceal a cold, personal terror.

Drawn by a quiet obsession with these unrecorded truths, I entered Jeongdong Bathhouse through a rusty iron gate at the back. Inside, I was immediately enveloped by the heavy, damp smell of concrete and mold, and an unknown sweet scent beneath it. My headlamp beam cut through the absolute darkness, revealing a massive tiled bathroom. Once vibrant green and white tiles were now cracked and stained with grime. The hot and cold tubs lay empty like the eye sockets of a skull carved into the floor, yet murky, unidentified water pooled in the deepest parts of their bases. Ceiling steam vents were clogged with dust, but a strangely cold, unpleasant humidity hung in the air. Each step I took echoed off the hard surfaces, disorienting me. The deep silence, devoid of any sound save my own movements, felt less like an absence of noise and more like a suppressed anticipation.

It was as I passed through the changing rooms toward the shower stalls and communal scrubbing area that a faint, rhythmic 'shhh-shhh, shhh-shhh' sound began to emerge. It was too soft to pinpoint its source. It sounded like rough towels scrubbing wet skin. My directional microphone, adjusted for precise sound detection, only recorded ambient noise, yet the sound persisted, stubbornly, with an intensely private rhythm.

As I neared the hot tub where Ms. Choi was said to have died, my thermal camera picked up a strange cold spot, 7°C lower than the surrounding air. The air there felt denser and heavier, almost viscous. I witnessed an unforgettable sight: a single, perfectly formed water droplet on the tiles slowly, deliberately rolled upwards, defying gravity, before vanishing into the heavy air. The murky water, only a few centimeters deep, pooled at the bottom of the hot tub, began to ripple. Not uniformly spreading ripples, but precise, small concentric circles emanating from the turbid center. It was as if something beneath the surface had gently ' tapped' it. The ripples vanished as quickly as they appeared. A blurry, distorted figure momentarily flickered in a dirty, broken mirror near the sauna entrance, but disappeared the moment I turned my head. The 'shhh-shhh' sound now seemed to whisper directly behind my ear.

Drawn by the intensifying chill and the persistent 'shhh-shhh' sound, I turned back toward the hot tub. The puddle on the floor had noticeably deepened, its surface dark and ominously still. As I approached the edge, the temperature plummeted instantly, causing my breath to visibly condense. The 'shhh-shhh' sound was now reverberating from within the murky pool. The heavy, rusted entry door to the entire bathroom, which I had propped open with an iron bar, suddenly slammed shut with a deafening crash, plunging the space into absolute darkness.

Disoriented and trapped, I fumbled for my headlamp, but before I could switch it on, the water in the hot tub began to churn violently. Slowly at first, then suddenly, the water started rising as if surging from an invisible source. The dark, murky water rose to my ankles, knees, and then my waist. The air became incredibly dense with steam, obscuring my vision, some areas scorching hot, others bone-chillingly cold. A sudden, overwhelming force pushed me from behind, sending me stumbling into the rapidly rising water. The water was now chest-deep and unbelievably cold. A burning, numbing chill enveloped my limbs, paralyzing me. A powerful, desperate grip seized my ankle, dragging me down with shocking force. I thrashed and struggled in the icy water, gasping as my head went under. Something rough and firm began to ceaselessly scrape against my exposed forearms. It was a stinging, raw friction, like skin being abraded by a coarse cloth. I forced my frozen body to move, kicking wildly, and finally broke free of the grip on my ankle. I scrambled up the slippery, icy tiles, desperately pulling myself out in the suffocating darkness. Behind me, the water churned furiously, and the 'shhh-shhh' sound echoed maniacally. Blindly, I fumbled for the exit, shouldered the door open, and collapsed onto the pavement outside, gasping for breath and shivering violently.

Lying on the damp concrete outside Jeongdong Bathhouse, I shivered uncontrollably. It was a cold that seeped into my bones, unrelated to the chilly night air. My forearms throbbed. I rolled up my sleeves. Three distinct, parallel red marks were clearly visible on my pale skin. They looked like deep, deliberate abrasions, as if scrubbed by a rough, wet scrubbing towel, and were slightly moist. An intense, persistent pain radiated, a searing ache. The smell of old soap, metallic notes, and a faint brininess clung to me, feeling like an invasive presence.

I looked back at the dark, silent building. The service door I had barely managed to push open was now subtly ajar, revealing a sliver of darkness. From within, I thought I heard the faint sound of dripping water, 'drip... drip... drip...', followed by an almost imperceptible 'shhh-shhh... shhh-shhh...' I didn't go back inside. The marks on my arm were physical proof, undeniable. But the true horror wasn't just the memory of the cold grip or the stinging wounds. It was the deep, chilling realization that the legend was terrifyingly real, and that the entity within Jeongdong Bathhouse had not merely 'reacted' to my presence, but had actively approached to 'cleanse' me. I tried to rub the smell of old soap from my skin, but it seemed to have permeated every pore. A strange, unnatural chill had settled deep within me, a cold that perhaps would never leave. I wondered if the scrubbing would continue.