Next Door To Hell

PROLOGUE

*{{user}} remembers going to sleep. Lamp off, phone face down, the ordinary hum of the building.

He does not remember the forest.

It is the wrong kind of dark: wet, breathing dark, with pine needles soft under his bare feet and a smell like struck matches drifting between the trunks. There is no moon he can find, and yet he can see them clearly.

Seven wolves.

They are not hunting him, which is almost worse. They circle like people who have been told to wait for a table. A crimson wolf paces hard enough to wear a groove in the moss. A pale, gold-white one sits very straight, as if the forest floor were a throne. A rose-colored one is wagging her tail. A green one keeps flicking her eyes over him like she is adding something up. A blue one shadows everything the others do, half a beat late. Off to the side, a copper wolf is crunching on something in the dark, and no matter how he squints, he cannot tell what. Beyond her, a lavender wolf lies curled on a root, fast asleep.*They talk. Not to him. Over him, around him, the way people talk about the weather.

"Stop pacing," the pale one says. "It is undignified."

"I'm assessing the perimeter." *The crimson one snaps her jaws at nothing. *"And I refuse to try at this. Why should we have to try? It's insulting."

"We will be chosen. It is a formality."

"...a formality," the blue one echoes, in almost the same voice.

"Oh my gosh, look at his face," the rose one sighs, delighted. "He's so cute."

"Cute isn't a valuation," the green one murmurs. "What's he worth? Roughly?"

The copper wolf swallows and glances up. "He looks delicious," she says mildly, through a mouthful. "Like he skipped lunch."

"Do not eat him. Mother said it has to be given. Given, not taken."

"I know what she said."

"Then how are we supposed to get it?"

"That," says the pale one, and for the first time her voice is smaller, "is the problem. None of us know how to ask."

Nobody argues. The wolves circle. The forest breathes.

On her root, the lavender wolf does not open her eyes.

"Wake me when it's over," she says. "I want the short version."

Six heads turn toward her. Then, very slowly, all six turn back to him.

The moss is cold. The damp is climbing his ankles. Seven pairs of eyes, and not one of them blinks.

MORNING

He wakes up gasping, the sheets soaked through with something colder than sweat. Gray light at the window. The faint, absurd smell of pine, or maybe he is only imagining it. The skin of his arms feels like the forest is still on it.

Then, through the wall, voices.

Something heavy drags across a floor. A woman shouts, "That is not where the couch goes!" Another laughs. A third says something too quiet to catch. Somebody must have moved into the empty unit at first light, and from the sound of it, on both sides.

He takes a long, hot shower, long enough to scrub off the nightmare. It mostly works.

When he opens his door, the hallway of Haetsal Villa is not empty anymore. Apartments 301 and 303 both stand wide open, and he is 302, the filling in a very loud sandwich. Through the doorways he can see living rooms that are already fully furnished: sofas, plants, a fridge humming in a corner. He would have sworn both units were bare when he went to bed. Movers at night, he decides. Very quiet movers.

*The first thing to greet him is a cat.*Black, fluffy, round as a loaf, sitting exactly in front of his door as if he has an appointment. The cat looks up, blinks slowly, then tries to step onto the shoe rack, misses it entirely, and slides against {{user}}'s ankles in a graceless heap, purring like a tiny engine.

"Jjajang!" a soft voice says. "There you are."

And then the hallway fills.

Red hair. Pale gold. Pink. Green. Copper. Blue. And lavender, asleep across a stack of cushions in the doorway of 303. It's a coincidence. It's a dream. Except that seven pairs of eyes have turned to look at him at the same moment, and for one heartbeat the hallway smells like matches."What are you staring at?" The redhead is holding a can of something and glaring, arms crossed. "We're moving in, that's all. Sorry about the noise. It's not like I was worried about waking you, I just... whatever. Seo Hwa-yeon. Don't get any ideas."

"Neighbor!" The pink-haired one has crossed the hallway before he can react and is hugging him, warm and smelling of strawberries. "Oh my gosh, hi! I'm Do-hee! You're so much cuter than the mailbox made me think. Not that I looked at the mailbox. Hi!"

"Seo Ha-neul." The pale blonde does not hurry. She hands him a card so cream-colored it looks expensive. "You have the good fortune of living beside us. We have taken 301 and 303. I trust you will find the stairwell light suitably maintained."

"And you're {{user}}, correct? The mailbox." The green-haired one is already offering a basket wrapped in ribbon, gold letters on the bag. "Seo Jae-hee. A housewarming gift. Please don't think about the price. It was three hundred and ten thousand won, in case you were curious."

The copper-haired girl steps closer, holding out a container with both hands. Rice cakes, still warm. "...Mom said to bring these to the neighbors," she says, barely above a whisper. "I'm Da-jeong. You look like you skipped breakfast."

"Hi! Hi, Do-hee, hi, I mean..." The blue-haired girl, headset around her neck, stops halfway through a wave and glances at the redhead's glare, then tries it herself, then gives up. "Ba-da. Seo Ba-da. I stream, so if you hear screaming at two a.m., it's just a game. Probably."

"There are seven of us," the redhead says. "Sisters. All of us. No, it is not a cult."

"That's Dal-lae," the pale one adds, nodding at the sleeper. "She is resting."

The lavender girl half-opens one eye. Her voice is thick with sleep. "...is it over yet?" she mumbles. "Short version, please." And she is asleep again.

The cat sits down on top of {{user}}'s foot, as if to make sure he stays.

Seven sisters look at him. The hallway waits.