jihoon

In the village where I live, there's an unwritten rule that everyone follows:
"Never mention that name. Especially when the sun sets."
As a city kid who had just moved here with my parents, I initially thought it was just a village myth. Until I dared to break it.
We were sitting on the porch at dusk, the four of us. One of us—Jinyoung—challenged. "If you're brave enough, just say the name. Why are you only mentioning it and not saying it out loud?"
I, who was indeed stubborn, laughed and uttered that name. The forbidden name.
A name that supposedly belongs to a young man who died by hanging because of a forced marriage—and since then, his spirit haunts anyone who calls his name.
At first, nothing happened.
But that night, all the doors and windows of the house suddenly opened by themselves. Mother cried. Father read prayers aloud. In the corner of the room, I saw the shadow of a man with his head tilted, standing silently.
The next day, Jinyoung disappeared. Only long claw marks were found on the walls of his room, as if someone had scratched furiously.
Since then, I know...a name is just a string of letters.
But if that name is tied to revenge—just one mention, and it will come to collect.