Chapter 9 : A Visitor D
1428 Words
The soft hum of a birthday song filled the living room, slightly off-key but full of love.
A small cake sat on the table, topped with candles that flickered like tiny stars.
The sweet scent of frosting and vanilla drifted into the air as Rheon sat at the table, cheeks flushed with quiet embarrassment.
He was now fourteen.
Still the same quiet, book-loving boy. Still the one who read comics under his blanket with a flashlight. But tonight, he smiled.
His mother clapped gently, proud and joyful, her face glowing in the candlelight.
His father stepped forward with something in his hands …a small, rectangular box wrapped neatly in dark blue paper, tied with twine and a copper tag.
“I didn’t prepare anything fancy,” his father said with a soft chuckle. “But… here.”
Rheon took the box carefully.
The paper crinkled as he unwrapped it, layer by layer, until the item inside revealed itself.
It was a leather-bound notebook. Old-fashioned. The cover was dark brown, worn slightly at the edges like it had lived a hundred stories already. A brass button clasp held it shut.
And embossed on the bottom corner in faint gold letters was his name:
Rheon. He blinked.
“It’s for your thoughts,” his father said, sitting beside him. “Or your stories. Or whatever that brilliant little head of yours keeps locked up in there.”
His mother leaned over, brushing crumbs off the table. “You always read other people’s stories. Maybe it’s time you start writing your own.”
Rheon stared at the notebook for a moment longer, running his fingers over the warm leather. He didn’t know it yet, but this notebook would one day be the only thing that reminded him who he was. A record of memories before the forgetting.
Rheon smiled softly, cradling the notebook against his chest like it was the rarest gift in the world.
“I love it,” he said, his voice low but full of sincerity.
His father exhaled with a grin of relief. “Thank God you like it. I didn’t know if it’d be too old-fashioned for you.”
Rheon shook his head. “It’s perfect.”
“Then come eat before it gets cold,” his father said, motioning toward the kitchen with a thumb.
Golden light spilled in through the windows, casting warm shadows across the kitchen as the sun began its slow descent.
On the table, steam rose gently from a bowl of warm bibim guksu, the noodles tangled with julienned vegetables, a swirl of red pepper paste shining at the center. His mother had already prepared his chopsticks, setting them neatly on the side with a folded napkin.
She smiled from the stove, “Birthday or not, you’ll always be our little noodle monster.”
And just like that, for a while, the world felt safe again. Outside, cicadas hummed and the soft wind tickled the curtains.
The world was quiet. The evening was kind. And for a brief, precious moment. Everything felt normal.
The evening passed gently, like a memory already slipping into dream. Plates were cleared, laughter softened into yawns, and the sky outside melted into indigo.
Night had arrived.
The stars blinked faintly above the Seo household, but no one noticed the ashes. They circled high in the air, silent and unseen like ghostly threads weaving around something forgotten. Not visible to any ordinary human. Not meant to be.
Inside the house, Rheon stood up from the floor, stretching lightly. “I’ll throw this out,” he said, taking the small bag of kitchen scraps in his hand.
His mother waved him off from the sink. “Leave it there, I’ll do it later.”
But he had already opened the door. “It’s just a second.”
He stepped into the quiet. The breeze was cool against his cheeks. As he stepped toward the bin near the back fence, Rheon’s pace began to slow.
He stopped, fingers tightening around the plastic. His gaze lifted upward. The moon hung quietly in the sky. Full. Pale. Almost glowing with a strange tint …too silver, too still.
“The moon is…” he whispered. Then stopped. He didn’t even know what he was going to say. His chest tightened for a second maybe from wonder. Maybe from something else. “…It’s beautiful.”
He finished the thought softly, like a child trying to convince himself everything was fine. Just a boy, admiring the sky. He stood there for a second longer, eyes lingering. Then he turned back to the bin. The plastic bag in his hand crinkled as he lifted the lid, tossed the trash inside, and closed it with a dull thud.
He turned around to head back in. But just as he stepped toward the door…
A sudden wind sliced past his ear. It wasn’t gentle. It was fast. Like something sprinting right by his head.
He froze. Then spun around. Nothing. The trees didn’t sway. The yard didn’t shift. Only the ashes… above, unseen. Began to spiral faster.
Rheon’s breath caught. He looked again at the empty space behind him, a chill threading down his spine.
“…What was that?” he whispered, his voice barely heard over the sudden hush of wind.
Just as he stepped inside and pulled the gate shut behind him. A sound. A soft thud. Like a footstep on gravel. Behind him. Rheon froze. His fingers still rested on the latch. Slowly, carefully, he turned his head.
“…Who’s there?” he called out, his voice barely steady.
He didn’t move closer. He didn’t dare. The last thing he wanted was to bump into a thief… or worse, something that wasn’t entirely human.
The yard was dim now. The sensor light hadn’t turned on. Only the moonlight bathed the garden. He scanned the shadows near the fence. Nothing.
But that strange chill was back, curling along his neck, tickling just beneath his ear. He swallowed hard. Silence. He waited a beat longer, his feet rooted to the concrete. No answer. No movement. Still, he didn’t approach. He turned back toward the house, his steps cautious but quicker now. Then…
BUMP!
A sudden blur dropped from the tree above with a thud, landing right in front of him. Rheon stumbled back with a gasp, nearly slipping on the gravel.
His heart pounded—
But then he saw it.
A cat.
Sleek, small, not entirely black, a tuxedo cat, with white markings across its chest and paws.
Its greenish-yellow eyes stared straight into his. Unblinking. Almost… aware.
It didn’t hiss. It didn’t run. Instead, it sat calmly at the center of the yard, tail curled neatly to the side like it belonged there all along.
Rheon exhaled, the breath he’d been holding coming out in one long sigh.
“Seriously… a cat?” he muttered. He stepped closer, squatting just slightly.
That’s when he noticed the collar — worn leather, dark and aged. Attached to it was a small round tag, etched with a single striking monogram-style symbol:
The letter D, coiled with a crescent moon design behind it. He tilted his head, whispering, “You have a name, huh?”
The cat tilted its head in return ,eerily in sync. A breeze stirred again, soft this time.
Rheon glanced around. The yard was still quiet. Empty. He looked back down. The cat hadn’t moved.
“…Weird,” he murmured. “But cute.”
Rheon stayed crouched, watching the cat.
“You scared the crap out of me,” he muttered, brushing his fingers through his hair.
The cat blinked slowly, then let out a soft, rumbling purr…low, like distant thunder.
He gave a half-laugh. “Do you live around here?” His gaze drifted to the collar again. “Your owner must be nearby… right?”
The cat only stared.
“No offense, but maybe don’t wander around like that at night,” Rheon added, softly wagging a finger at it.
“People scare easy. Especially me.”
The tuxedo cat lifted its head higher, as if mildly offended. Then, with an almost lazy grace, it turned and walked away toward the back fence. Its tail swayed like a slow pendulum, moonlight glinting off the collar as it vanished behind the shrubs.
Rheon stood there for a moment longer, the quiet wrapping around him once again.
“…D,” he whispered to himself, eyes still on where the cat had disappeared. “What kind of name is that for a cat?”
- Writer
