Korean Werewoman

— Oh my God, Clara! How many times?! I’ve told you a hundred damn times — stay out of my rare insect collection! — Harold yelled, bursting into the living room and angrily kicking the dusty suitcase by the couch. His thick fingers clenched around a glass of whiskey like it was the source of all his problems. — Those bugs aren’t toys, they’re... they’re scientific value! I nearly broke my neck in Korea climbing those goddamn mountains!

— Maybe you didn’t break your neck, but you sure as hell left your brain there, — muttered Clara, his wife, without looking up from her tablet. — God, you can’t even talk to your grandkids without going, “Back in my day...” or “These damn smartphones are the devil.”

Harold snorted but didn’t answer. His irritation wasn’t really with Clara — it was that damn itch, gnawing at him all day. The damn bug that bit him in that Korean cave had left a weird mark on his ankle. He brushed it off back then, thought it was nothing. But now... under this cursed full moon, something was starting.

— Grandpa, are you okay? — Jack’s voice was careful, cautious. — You look kinda... weird.

Harold waved him off and walked to the window, staring at the full moon hanging ominously over the neighbors’ houses. Moonlight poured into the room in a cold glow — and that’s when it started.

— Oh... shit, — he muttered, clutching the armrest of the chair. His face twisted with pain and the most terrifying thought. — No, not now...

— Harold? — Clara sat up on the couch. — What’s happening to you?

— I... I don’t know! — he rasped, grabbing at his stomach. The pain spread, a burning wave washing over his whole body. His fingers went numb, the whiskey slipped from his hand and shattered, soaking the carpet in an amber puddle.

— Grandpa?! — Jack jumped up, phone already in hand. — I’m calling an ambulance!

But Harold didn’t hear. His body convulsed, joints cracking, and with every second his screams rose higher, sharper... girlish.

— Aissi... mwoya igeon?! (Oh fuck... what is this?!) — burst from his mouth unexpectedly — a strange, clear, melodic Korean voice.

— Wh-what?.. — Clara gasped, backing away. — Who... who the hell just screamed?!

She rose from the couch, staring at the body writhing on the floor — but it wasn’t Harold anymore. His rough, gray face was gone, replaced with something narrow, delicate, frightened. His hair had turned inky black, long, falling onto his shoulders in thin strands. And on his chest... breasts. Real ones, trembling with each panicked breath. Small, but unmistakably female.

— Aissi... wae ileohge apa...! (Ah, shit... why does it hurt so much...!) — she moaned sharply... or rather, he moaned — now already she — arching her back and clutching her stomach with thin little hands. The skin on her arms was smooth, like porcelain. Her fingers — no longer thick and manly — were now slender, well-groomed, with slightly pink nails.

— Harold?.. — Clara dropped to her knees beside her, staring into the eyes... of a girl. — Is that you? No, this is insane! This... This has to be some kind of joke! A hidden camera prank?

— Keullala... dowajuseyo... (Clara... please help me...) — the girl whispered, squeezing her eyes shut, as tears streamed down her smooth cheeks. Her clothes literally began to burn away, transforming: the shirt vanished, becoming a white blouse with a red bow, and the pants turned into a short pleated skirt, revealing her slender legs. Black stockings clung to her calves, and school loafers clacked on her feet.

Jack, the grandson, dropped his phone.

— Holy shit... Is this anime? Is that... Grandpa?! — He stepped back, staring in shock at the slim figure now clad in a Korean school uniform like something off a magazine cover. He looked over at Clara. — Is this some kind of... transformation? He was... like... huge! And bald!

— Ya… na wae ileohge dwaess-eo… (Hey... why did I turn into this...) — the girl now hugged her knees, hiding her face. She trembled, curled up completely. The fabric of the blouse stretched across her chest, outlining shapes Harold had definitely never had. Small, perky nipples pressed against the cloth.

— Oh my God... — Clara almost whispered. — I... I don’t understand. Is that you?.. Harold?

She touched the girl’s shoulder, and the girl flinched.

— Manjiji ma! Byeontaeya! Geuligo yeong-eolo malhaseyo! (Don’t touch me! You pervert! And speak in English!) — she screamed, then instantly clamped her hand over her mouth, staring in horror. — Yeong-eo... aniyo... Jeoneun hangug-eoleul hal jul al-ayo! (English... no... I’m speaking Korean!)

— Jack... get a blanket... Or a sweater! Or... fuck, I don’t know, — Clara jumped up, looking around in panic. — He... She... WHAT is happening?!

— It’s him, Grandma! It’s GRANDPA! But... why does he look like a K-pop idol from TikTok?! — Jack, still stunned, pulled out a blanket and handed it over.

The girl, still sobbing, threw it over her shoulders. The fabric nearly slipped off — her shoulders were so narrow, and in Harold’s old chair, she now sank like a tiny kitten. All those clothes... the skirt, the stockings, the bow under her neck... there wasn’t a single trace of Harold left.

— Museun il-iya… ige agmong-iya… (What is happening... this is a nightmare...) — she whispered, staring at her small palms. — Na… Na hal-abeojiyeossneunde… (I... I used to be Grandpa...)