Ah, this one… I don't know if I should say it. But I heard it straight from someone I actually know.
In Toeye-dong, Chuncheon, there's this place called Two-Top City — people who know the area know it. An old abandoned building. Apparently it was supposed to be some big landmark over a decade ago, then the developer went bankrupt and they just… left it standing. Construction frozen mid-frame, nothing but the skeleton. Some floors with no windows at all, the outer walls stripped and crumbling in patches. They say you can still see it from a distance if you go anywhere near Toeye-dong — this massive thing just looming there.
Anyway, my friend had some guys in her high school class. The type who liked to prove how fearless they were. Last summer, I think it was — three of them went in at night through the underground parking level. Apparently there was a section of chain-link fence that had been bent back, just enough to squeeze through. She wasn't sure exactly which floor it was. Basement two, maybe basement three.
The smell hit them the moment they got inside. Not blood, not rot, but… something like old concrete mixed with standing water. And underneath that — something sweet. That was the part that bothered them most. What business does a derelict building have smelling sweet?
Still, they went in laughing, phone flashlights on. Then one of them said he needed to piss and wandered off into a corner. The other two waited near the entrance.
And then he just went quiet.
Hey, what are you doing, come on — they called out, but nothing. When they shone their lights over, they could see him standing there facing the wall. Completely still.
They went over and grabbed his shoulder. He turned around then, and his face was white. Drained completely white. They asked what he'd seen, and at first he couldn't speak. Then, after a long moment, he told them.
There were handprints on the wall.
So what, they said — of course there are handprints in an abandoned building. But that wasn't it. These weren't ordinary handprints. The concrete was bulging outward, as if something had pushed from the other side. Five fingers, each one clearly defined. And not just one — several of them, running in a line.
He'd been standing there with his flashlight, staring at them.
And one of the bulges was warm.
He had touched it. With his hand.
Underground, in the middle of summer, the air down there was cold throughout — and yet that one patch of concrete, shaped like a hand, was warm. Like skin.
All three of them ran.
There's also something about how that friend couldn't use his hand properly for a while afterward. I never confirmed it.
But here's the thing — that wasn't even what made my skin crawl. Because later I heard something else. Apparently when the Two-Top City construction was halted, there had been an accident. Something about one of the workers, and a formwork mold. The story's vague. But you know what formwork is. It's the frame they set up before they pour the concrete.
If something had been sealed inside one of those molds when they poured.
That wall is still there.
