Synopsis: He was my childhood friend. My first friend, actually. We played together, grew up together, shared everything. But there was something wrong with him. Something dark. He'd talk about gory things, what he wanted to do to my pets, my friends, even my parents. I tried to tell everyone. My parents, my teachers, my friends. No one believed me. They said he was perfect. Sweet. Innocent. They said I was imagining things.
Now I'm twenty-three. Married to him. Arranged by my parents because he's rich and we're "so close." They thought they were giving me a happy ending.
They don't know what he's really like.
They don't know that he still talks about those things. That he laughs while describing them. That he holds me at night and whispers exactly what he'd do to anyone who tries to take me away.
And now we have a son.
A beautiful little boy who looks just like his father.
And my husband is teaching him. Everything. The same things he used to say as a kid.
I have to stop him.
But how do you stop a monster when no one believes he exists?
•••
His name was Junho, and he was my first friend.
I met him when I was five years old. His family moved into the house next door, and there he was.. this cute little boy with big dark eyes and a shy smile, peeking over the fence at me.
"Hi," he said. "I'm Junho. Do you want to play?"
I said yes.
For the first few months, he was normal. We played tag, shared snacks, built forts in my backyard. He laughed easily and held my hand when we crossed the street. He was sweet. Kind. Perfect.
Then things started to change.
It was small at first. A comment about a dead bird we found in the park.
"It's so still," he said, poking it with a stick. "I wonder what it feels like to be dead."
I was six. I didn't think much of it.
Then my cat, Mochi, went missing.
I was devastated. Cried for days. Junho held my hand through it all, comforting me.
"She probably ran away," he said softly. "Cats do that."
I believed him.
A week later, I found Mochi's collar in his room.
Tucked behind his bookshelf, hidden but not hidden enough. I recognized it immediately.. the little bell, the pink embroidery.
"Junho? Why do you have Mochi's collar?"
He looked at me. Smiled that sweet smile.
"I found it in the park. I was going to give it to you, but I forgot."
I wanted to believe him. I did.
But something in his eyes made my stomach hurt.
•••
As we grew older, the comments got worse.
"You know that kid in our class? The one who's always mean to you?" He'd be playing with a toy, not looking at me. "I think about him sometimes. At night. I think about what I'd do if he ever touched you again."
"Junho, that's weird."
"Is it?" He'd look up, eyes wide and innocent. "I just want to protect you. That's all."
Then..
"Your mom is really pretty. Her hair is so long. I wonder what it would look like spread out on the floor."
"Your dad laughs a lot. I wonder if he'd still laugh if he couldn't breathe?"
"Your friend Soojin hugs you too much. I don't like it. I think about making her stop."
I'd tell him to stop. Tell him he was scaring me. Tell him those thoughts weren't normal.
He'd just smile. That sweet, perfect smile.
"I'm just playing, Y/N. Don't you know how to play anymore?"
•••
I started telling people when I was ten.
First, my mom.
"Mom, Junho says scary things sometimes. About hurting people."
She laughed. "Junho? That sweet boy? Honey, you have an active imagination."
"No, really, he-"
"He's always so polite when he comes over. Helps with dishes. Calls me auntie. You're lucky to have a friend like him."
I tried my dad next.
"Dad, Junho talks about killing people. I think something's wrong with him."
My dad frowned. "Y/N, that's a serious accusation. Junho's a good kid from a good family. Maybe you're misunderstanding him?"
"I'm not misunderstanding!"
"He probably just watches too many scary movies. Boys his age are like that. Don't worry about it."
I tried my teacher.
"Junho said he wants to know what it feels like to hurt someone."
My teacher looked concerned, but not at Junho. At me.
"Y/N, is everything okay at home? Sometimes when kids are stressed, they imagine things..."
I gave up after that.
No one believed me. No one would ever believe me.
Because Junho was perfect. Sweet. Polite. Helpful. The kind of boy parents wished their kids would be friends with.
And I was just the girl with the "overactive imagination."
•••
Years passed.
Junho and I stayed "friends." I tried to pull away, but our families were close. We were always together. Birthdays, holidays, vacations. He was always there.
And he never stopped. The comments, the looks, the way he'd touch me just a little too long. Always pushing. Always watching.
When I was seventeen, his family got rich. Like, really rich. His father's business exploded, and suddenly they were in a different world. Private schools. Luxury cars. A house so big it looked like a hotel.
My parents were impressed.
"Such a wonderful family," my mom would say. "And Junho is such a catch. Handsome, polite, rich. Any girl would be lucky."
I said nothing.
When I was twenty, they approached my parents with an offer.
An arranged marriage.
"Our families have been close for so long," his mother said. "And Junho has always adored Y/N. It would be perfect."
My parents agreed immediately.
I tried to refuse. Tried to explain. Tried to make them understand.
"Mom, please. I don't want to marry him. There's something wrong with him-"
"There's nothing wrong with him. He's perfect. You're just nervous. Every bride is nervous."
"Dad, listen to me-"
"Y/N, this is a great opportunity. His family is wealthy, he's a good boy, you've known him your whole life. What more could you want?"
I had no answer.
Because what could I say? That the perfect boy everyone loved had been whispering about killing people since we were kids? That I'd found my cat's collar in his room and never gotten proof? That no one had ever believed me, and they weren't about to start now?
So I said nothing.
And I married him.
•••
The wedding was beautiful.
White dress, flowers everywhere, hundreds of guests. Everyone cried at how perfect we looked together. The childhood friends finally getting married. A fairy tale come true.
Junho held my hand through the whole ceremony. Smiled that perfect smile. Said his vows in a voice that made the guests swoon.
"I promise to love you, protect you, keep you forever."
His eyes met mine.
Forever.
That night, in our hotel room, he held me close.
"Finally," he whispered. "Finally you're mine. No one can take you away now. Not your parents, not your friends, not anyone."
"Junho..."
"Shh." He kissed my forehead. "Don't be scared. I'll never hurt you. You're the only one I'd never hurt. Everyone else?" He laughed softly. "They're just obstacles."
I lay there in his arms, staring at the ceiling, wondering what I'd done.
•••
The first year was... manageable.
He was obsessed, yes. Possessive, definitely. But he didn't hurt me. He took care of me. He cooked my meals, bought me gifts, held me every night. In public, he was the perfect husband. Charming, attentive, loving.
In private, he talked.
About his coworkers. About the barista who smiled at me too long. About the neighbor who waved when I walked the dog.
"I think about them," he'd say, playing with my hair. "At night. When you're asleep. I think about what I'd do if they ever tried to take you away."
"Junho, no one's trying to take me away."
"Not yet." He'd smile. "But they might. And I need to be ready."
I learned not to argue. Not to react. Not to show fear.
Because fear made him worse. Fear made him talk more. Describe more.
So I stayed calm. Nodded along. Pretended everything was normal.
It worked.
For a while.
•••
When I got pregnant, I was terrified.
Not of pregnancy.. but of what it meant. A baby. His baby. A child that would be half him.
Would it be normal? Would it be like him? Would I spend my life raising another monster?
Junho was overjoyed.
"A baby," he breathed, holding me. "Our baby. A little one to love. To teach. To protect."
He was so gentle during my pregnancy. So attentive. He read books about babies, prepared the nursery, talked to my belly every night.
"You're going to be perfect," he'd whisper. "Just like your mother. Just like me."
I told myself it would be fine. That fatherhood would change him. That having a child would make him normal.
I was wrong.
•••
Our son was born on a rainy Tuesday.
Beautiful. Perfect. Ten fingers, ten toes, a full head of dark hair just like his father.
We named him Minjun.
Junho cried when he held him. Real tears, real emotion. For a moment, I saw hope.
"Look at him," Junho whispered. "So perfect. So pure. We're going to raise him right, Y/N. Better than anyone."
I nodded, crying too.
Maybe it would be okay. Maybe-
"He's going to understand things," Junho continued softly, looking at our son. "Important things. About love. About protection. About what happens to people who threaten what's ours."
My blood ran cold.
"What do you mean?"
He looked at me. Smiled that familiar, chilling smile.
"You'll see."
••
It started when Minjun was three.
We were at the park, watching him play. A dog ran by, and Minjun laughed, reaching for it.
"Look, Papa! Doggy!"
Junho smiled. "Pretty doggy, isn't it? I wonder what it would look like if it stopped moving."
I froze.
Minjun tilted his head. "Stopped moving?"
"Like sleeping. But forever. Some things stop moving forever. It's interesting to think about, isn't it?"
"Junho." My voice was sharp. "He's three."
"He's curious. It's natural."
"That's not natural. That's-"
"That's education." He looked at me, eyes hard. "He should know the truth about the world. About what's out there. About what I'd do to anyone who tried to hurt you."
I wanted to scream. To grab Minjun and run.
But where? Who would believe me?
So I stayed. Watched. Waited.
The lessons continued.
When Minjun was four, Junho showed him how to trap insects in jars. Watched them die. Explained it.
"When something's trapped, it can't escape. That's good. That means it's safe. You always want what you love to be safe, right?"
Minjun nodded, fascinated.
I felt sick.
When Minjun was five, Junho started talking about people.
"See that man? The one who looked at Mommy too long? I think about him sometimes. About what I'd do if he tried to take her away."
"What would you do, Papa?"
"Lots of things. Interesting things. Maybe someday I'll show you."
Minjun's eyes were wide. Not scared.. curious.
Just like his father.
•••
The breaking point came when Minjun was six.
I was making dinner. Junho was in the living room with Minjun, supposedly watching TV. But when I passed by, I heard voices.
"-and if someone tries to hurt Mommy, what do you do?"
"Protect her," Minjun said.
"Good. And how do you protect her?"
"By making them stop. Forever."
My heart stopped.
I stepped into the room.
Junho was sitting on the couch, Minjun on his lap. They were looking at a picture book. Something innocent, colorful. But the conversation...
"Minjun," I said carefully. "What are you talking about with Papa?"
Minjun looked at me with those dark eyes.. his father's eyes.
"Protecting you, Mommy. Papa says I have to protect you always. From everyone."
"That's sweet, baby, but-"
"And Papa says if someone tries to take you away, I have to make them stop forever. Like the bugs in the jar."
I looked at Junho. He was smiling.
"Just teaching him the important things," he said softly.
I grabbed Minjun's hand. Pulled him off the couch.
"We need to talk. Now."
I took him to his room. Sat him on his bed. Knelt in front of him.
"Minjun, listen to me. What Papa is teaching you.. it's not normal. It's not okay. You don't have to think about those things."
"But Papa says-"
"I know what Papa says. But Papa is..." I struggled for words. "Papa has a different way of thinking. A wrong way. You don't have to be like that."
Minjun looked confused. "But I want to be like Papa. Papa's smart. Papa's strong."
"He is. But he's also-" I stopped. How do you explain to a six-year-old that his father is a monster?
"Mommy?" Minjun's lower lip trembled. "Are you mad at me?"
"No, baby. No." I pulled him into a hug. "I'm not mad at you. I'm just scared."
"Scared of what?"
Scared of you turning into him. Scared of losing you. Scared of spending my whole life trapped with two monsters instead of one.
"Nothing," I whispered. "Nothing. Mommy's just tired."
I held him. Rocked him. Pretended everything was normal.
But I knew.
I knew I had to do something.
•••
I started planning that night.
Not escape, that was impossible. Junho watched me too closely. Minjun was too attached to his father. Even if I ran, they'd find me.
No, I needed something else. Proof. Evidence. Something that would make people believe me.
I started documenting everything.
Junho's comments. His lessons with Minjun. The way he talked about people. The strange items I found in his office.. keepsakes from people who'd "moved away."
I hid it all. A journal, carefully written, hidden in a place he'd never look.
If I couldn't escape, I could at least leave a record. Something for Minjun to find someday. Something to explain why his father was the way he was.
But as the months passed, something changed.
Minjun started talking like Junho more and more.
"If Teacher Kim is mean to you, I could make her stop coming to school."
"The delivery man looked at you too long. Papa says that's bad."
"I like watching the ants die in the jar. They make funny movements."
I'd correct him. Gently. Firmly. But he'd just look at me with those dark eyes. So innocent, so curious.. and I'd see his father staring back.
He was becoming Junho.
And I didn't know how to stop it.
•••
One night, I confronted Junho.
"You have to stop." I was shaking. "The things you're teaching Minjun, they're wrong. He's a child. He doesn't need to know about.. about any of that."
Junho looked at me calmly. "He needs to know the truth."
"The truth? What truth? That his father is a-" I stopped.
"A what?" His eyes sharpened. "Go on. Say it."
"A monster." The words came out in a whisper. "You're a monster, Junho. And you're making him into one too."
He was quiet for a long moment.
Then he smiled. That familiar, chilling smile.
"Maybe I am," he said softly. "But I'm your monster. And Minjun's monster. And we love you more than anything in this world. Isn't that enough?"
"No."
"It has to be." He stepped closer. Cupped my face in his hands. "Because there's no escape, Y/N. There never was. We're a family. Forever. And Minjun is going to be just like me. Because that's how it has to be."
I wanted to fight. To scream. To run.
But his hands were gentle. His eyes were loving. And somewhere, deep down, I still loved him too.
That was the worst part.
I loved the monster.
•••
Minjun is seven now.
He's beautiful. Perfect. Everyone says he looks just like his father.
He talks like him too.
"Mommy, do you know what happens when people can't breathe?"
"Mommy, I like watching the fish in the pond. They float when they stop moving."
"Mommy, if anyone tries to hurt you, I'll make them go away forever. Like Papa showed me."
I correct him. Every time. But he just looks at me with those dark eyes, confused, and I know he doesn't understand.
Maybe he never will.
Junho watches us both. Smiles. Approves.
We're his. Both of us.
And sometimes, late at night, I wonder if that's so bad.
They love me. Completely. Obsessively. Forever.
Is that so terrible?
Minjun crawls into bed with us sometimes, curling up between us. Junho's arm reaches across to hold us both.
"My family," he whispers. "My perfect family."
I close my eyes.
And I don't run.
I can't.
Because somewhere along the way, I stopped wanting to.
THE END