Wish For It

A young boy around the age of twelve sits atop a tree. He held a book in his hands. The leaves rustled and fell around him, the birds chirped like normal. Everything was normal, perhaps, too normal. Atop a tree, he could see far out, seeing the small town he lived in. Monotonous buildings, farmland all around, it was a plain city. He read the book, only able to imagine what kind of places the world in the book looked like. A place of joy and laughter, dragons and magic, beautiful architecture and endless delicacies. A world like that appealed to a child of his age. He glanced down momentarily, his attention caught by a movement below him. His mother was there, and she was fuming. She pointed up at him, shouting, "Pak! Get down from there this instant!" The boy had a nickname. His friends and family called him Pak. Pak shut the book and started climbing down the tree. His mother had her hands on her hips, glaring at him. She pointed at him, scolding, "You know how dangerous that is? What if you fall? What will you do if you get hurt?" "Sorry," He muttered. "You better be," She smacked the back of his head. Pak rubbed his head, following his mother inside. She started going off again, "Your brothers have already grown up and started tending the fields. When you reach sixteen, you'll have to join us too, understand? So stop reading those useless fantasies and start learning how to take over the family business." "You gave me this for my birthday," Pak said softly. "What?" She asked loudly, and rather exasperatedly. Pak shrank back, shaking his head. "Nothing." "Now go to your afternoon classes," She told him, snatching the book away from Pak. "I better not see you reading this in front of me again." Pak hung his head and did as his mother instructed him to do. As the youngest child, there was not much he could do to go against his mother. He could only agree or get beaten. It was normal, all his friends experienced something similar. In school, the environment was slightly better. There, children could talk all about their dreams as much as they wanted without fear of being laughed at by adults. Instead, they get laughed at by other children. Pak was, by most accounts, an average student. He had friends, some. He had people he liked; their art teacher and the girl beside him. At least in school, he could dream and imagine a world outside the one he lived in. That day, he heard something outrageous. There was a Myth that had spread throughout the town. All the kids knew about it, and they absolutely loved the story. No one knew who spread it, no one really cared. Pak sat at his desk, resting his head on his desk while hearing the people nearby talk about the Myth that had been passed around. "Yeah, knock on your door from the inside three times and say a name, right?" One of them said excitedly. "I've heard that one! My bro told it to me!" "Yeah, my dad told me too!" Another added. "But what's the name?" The third one asked. There was a moment of silence as the three boys tried to recall anything that could have hinted at the name they were supposed to call out. After a minute or so, the first one simply said, "I go ask my bro later." "Yeah, I think my dad will know." Knock on the door from the inside three times and say a name. That very same day, at home, he timidly approached one of his older brothers. The third brother, the one closest to him in terms of age, is Ken. Ken was a chill dude, constantly making jokes and playing around. Pak knew that, but he had seen Ken get angry before, so he was slightly worried. "Uh..." Pak started a conversation awkwardly. "What's popping?" Ken asked, sipping water. Ken was sweaty, having just returned from the field. He smiled widely, making eye contact with Pak. Pak hesitantly asked him, "You know the story about knocking three times...?" Ken laughed out loud, patting Pak's head, telling him, "What's going on? Are you interested in that childish story?" Pak clenched his fist, looking down. Ken shrugged, lifting Pak's head up. Ken told him, "I don't really know much about it, but it's really popular around town lately. If I'm right, if you knock on a door three times and say something, you'll summon a ghost." "A ghost?" Ken reached out and poked Pak's sides, making him jerk backwards. Ken laughed again, telling Pak while pointing at him, "Yeah, the ghost will eat you if you're not careful!" Pak stepped away. Ken made a face before standing up, chuckling to himself. "Well, whatever, just don't do anything stupid, okay? Your big bro's gonna get mad if you do something stupid, okay? Oh, and Raph will get really really angry, okay?" "Okay..." Pak nodded. Ken picked up his hoe and propped it upon his shoulder. He stepped away, saying to Pak, "I gotta go back to the field, okay? Just don't ask Mom or Dad, they hate this story." "Okay." Ken walked away, Pak just staring as Ken joined his other two brothers. The age gap between them was nothing significant, only five years, but it sometimes gave Pak the impression that he was being left out. Pak turned around and came face to face with his father, a tall, strong man. His father looked down at him, asking, "What? Thinking of hitting the field early?" Pak shook his head and walked away. "Stop," His father ordered. Pak stopped in his tracks, turning around. "We've gone through this before, chap," His father told him, closing the gap. His father was speaking calmly and nicely, but somehow still sent shivers down Pak's spine. His father continued, "When someone talks to you, what do you do?" "Listen, Pay attention, reply," Pak said. "So next time talk to me, okay?" His father insisted. "I won't eat you or anything. Don't worry if you're uncomfortable, you'll learn to cope. When I was your age, I didn't have any friends, and I ran away from everyone. But guess what? Now, people are running away from me." He chuckled, even slapping Pak's back. Pak forced a smile until his father stopped laughing. He patted Pak's back, telling him, "Don't worry, you'll grow up to be a fine man." Pak looked up at his father before looking back down. His father let go of him and headed towards the field, shouting, "Alright you punks, let's get the routine done with, eh?" Pak walked away, not wanting to see all the men in his family except him on the field. His mother, on the other hand, was busy preparing dinner, so Pak avoided her too. He laid on his bed, wondering just what this Myth was, and what it could do. If it was true, maybe the world could be just like the one he read in the storybook. Maybe. The next day, Pak went to school again. This time, he overheard the same three boys who had been talking about the Myth the day prior. The first boy started talking, "My bro told me he don't know the name." "My Dad told me it was a secret!" "My Uncle told me he didn't know." Then what was the name? Pak glanced left to spy on the girl that sat to his left. She was busy chatting with a couple of friends. When she noticed him, she smiled momentarily before facing her friends again. Pak felt his face get hot, so he buried his head beneath his hands. Pak wondered, what exactly does this ghost do? On the way home, Pak was walking alongside his friend. When they split, he stopped in his tracks, feeling a strangely cold breeze sweep through him. It was cold, cold enough to make his legs shiver and almost give out. He exhaled through his mouth, seeing mist gather in front of him. It was not yet time for Winter, but it felt as if he was freezing on the spot. Pak looked around to see if anyone else was being affected, but when he looked at the sky, the birds had stopped flapping their wings. The birds were suspended in the air, unmoving. People walking or working stopped mid-motion, frozen in place. Pak, his teeth clattering, turned his body to the right. He fell backwards, landing hard on the ground. In front of him was an old man. The old man had a long white beard and no hair. He wore several clothes that barely covered his wrinkled body. He held a walking stick taller than himself, lifting his other hand to point a bony finger at Pak. The hand shivered in the air as another creature landed, perching atop the walking stick of the old man. A snowy owl, a white bird that stared at Pak with round eyes. The owl's claws were sharp enough to dig through the wood of the walking stick. Out of the old man's clothes, came a hissing sound. A green snake protruded its head from beneath the clothes. Pak tried to crawl back but found that he could not move. "Fifty years ago," The old man spoke, his voice strained but somehow controlled. "There was a girl." "She yearned for freedom," The owl said almost after the old man stopped. "Sssssshe yearned for ssssssanity," The snake carried on, the three of them speaking in turn. "As such an accident befell her." "Influenced by divinity." "Influenced by Inssssssanity." "She made a wish from the deepest part of her soul." "And gave up her soul." "To achieve ssssssanity." "Became divine." "Became unheard." "Became inssssane." "There you will find what you seek." "From a tragedy too tragic to speak." "Of a girl whossssse life had peaked." The old man took a single step forward, his eyes bore into Pak's skull. He slammed his walking stick, sending a shake through the ground. Pak felt his pants get wet as he cowered before the old man. The old man pointed at him once again, screaming, "You! It has to be you!" "Find her," The owl added, perching on the old man's shoulder. "And sssshe ssssshall grant your deepest dessssiressss," The snake hissed. Pak stared, his eyes wide and unblinking. The old man swept his walking stick forward, and Pak's vision went blank. In his unconsciousness, he simply hoped everything that happened to him was just a bad dream. Tick tick. Pak jumped out of bed in a cold sweat. He was breathing hard, his heartbeat unusually fast. He checked his surroundings, fidgeting on his bed. His pants felt wet. He was still in his school uniform, his bag thrown to the side. Pak got out of bed, pressing his back against the wall. He stared at the opposite wall and started sending a prayer to the sky. "Pak?" He heard his mother call. "Are you in the room?" "Yes," Pak replied. His mother opened the door. She walked in and faced Pak, who was still pressing his back against the wall. She asked him, "Is everything alright? You came home today and went straight to your room." "Oh... I'm okay..." Pak told her, trying to calm himself down. But he was not calming down. His mother approached him, and he shifted his body away. She told him, "I heard from Ken that you're interested in some story. As your mother, I need to warn you not to do anything foolish, okay? Don't do it even if your friends pressure you to." "Do what?" Pak asked. "Summon some ghost," She rolled her eyes. "Only immature children would believe such a lie." "I saw-" Pak started saying, but stopped himself. His mother raised an eyebrow, asking, "Saw what?" "I saw my friend try it," Pak lied, looking at the ground. "It didn't work." She patted his head, looking away. She told him, "Get ready, it's almost time for dinner." Pak waited until his mother had left the room before collapsing onto the ground, hugging his knees. Whatever he had just seen, it might have been a dream, none of it could have even happened. If he told his mother about it, would she start scolding her again? But who could he even tell to confirm? Besides that, even if it was a dream, it felt way too real, and way too scary. Yet, despite how afraid he was, he could remember what he was told. A girl from fifty years ago who did something for some reason. Pak didn't understand most of it, but the words stuck in his head. Pak continued to ball up for a bit before remembering he needed to have dinner with his family. He got up and got changed before going downstairs. Upon leaving the room, he felt shivers up his spine. He clutched the handrail of the stairway as he walked down, not daring to let go. Pak could see his father at the foot of the stairs. "Pak, what are you doing?" His father asked. "Leg pain," Pak replied. His father nodded, waiting for him to make his way downstairs. When Pak reached him, he was accompanied to the dining table where his family was waiting. The oldest son, Raph. The second son, Gil. The third son, Ken. The youngest son, Pak. Of course, all these were just nicknames and not their actual names. Pak resisted the urge to say what had happened. Instead, he just sat down and ate his food quietly. After dinner, he was approached by Gil, the second son of the family. The rest of the family had gone somewhere else, but Gil cornered Pak. Pak did not really like Gil. He found Gil arrogant and proud, but overall not a fun guy to hang out with. Pak much preferred being with Ken. Gil asked Pak. "You alright? I see you're not feeling well. C'mon, you can tell your older brother anything, right?" Pak shook his head. "Are you sure?" Gil asked, cornering Pak more. Pak felt backed up against a wall. Gil closed in, towering over Pak. Pak trembled before finally giving in, spilling the beans on what had happened. After listening to Pak, Gil chuckled, smacking Pak's head and telling him, "It was a bad dream, man. No way something like that could happen to you!" Gil stepped away, saying loudly, "Yo, Raph, you won't believe what Pak just told me!" Pak made his way back to his room, throwing a blanket over himself. It was obviously better if he could forget all about what had happened with that old man. Whatever that was, it never happened. He must have been imagining too much. Maybe his mother was right, maybe it was time for him to snap back to reality.