Haejin Kim never believed in ghosts.
A thirty-two-year-old high school history teacher from Busan, she prided herself on her rational mind. So when her aunt passed and left her a modest hanok-style guesthouse in the remote town of Jirye, she saw it as a chance to escape city noise and write the novel she'd always dreamed of.
Her only rule: don't rent out Room 3.
Auntie had circled it on the floorplan with red ink. Below it, she'd scrawled one word:
"빈방" – The Empty Room.
---
The guesthouse was quiet, humble, tucked between forests and rice fields. Her first few nights were peaceful. The neighbors were kind. The air smelled like pine.
But by the fifth night, she began hearing weeping.
From Room 3.
She stood outside the door, listening. It sounded like a woman crying softly, as if muffled by thick walls.
She opened it.
The room was empty.
But colder than the rest of the house.
---
By the seventh day, guests stopped arriving. Locals offered vague excuses. One delivery man left a box on the step and sprinted away.
She called her cousin Jihoon in Seoul.
"Did your mom ever talk about Room 3?"
Jihoon hesitated. "She always said someone checked in... and never checked out."
---
That night, Haejin dreamed of drowning in black hair. A woman whispered in her ear:
"This was my home. Now it's yours."
She woke up in Room 3.
Naked.
Wet.
Hair in her mouth.
---
Haejin began to change. She spoke in tones that weren't hers. She hummed lullabies she didn't know. Guests who stayed more than one night became pale and listless.
A man checked in on a Thursday and never left his room. The police found him curled in a corner, muttering, "She watches from the walls."
CCTV showed nothing entering Room 3.
But the footage glitched at exactly 3:03 a.m. every night.
---
Jihoon arrived with a shaman. The old woman refused to step past the threshold.
"She's claimed it," she said. "There is no exorcising her."
"Who?" Haejin asked.
"Your aunt didn't tell you?"
"No."
"She once rented that room to a girl. She hung herself on the fan. But she didn't leave. She never left."
---
The next night, Haejin found herself standing before the mirror in Room 3, cutting her hair.
Smiling.
The camera in the hallway caught her whispering:
"Welcome to the guest room."
She never left.
Today, the guesthouse is still listed online.
Room 3 is never shown in the photos.
But sometimes, guests say they hear someone knocking… from the inside.