13 Mink Street

Chapter 4: Identity Crisis

“What are you thinking about, Big Brother?”

Mina had just finished tending to Karon’s nose when she noticed he was gazing blankly out the window. Curiosity flickered in her voice.

In years past, perhaps numbed by losing his parents, her cousin had stayed withdrawn from the world. After middle school, he had refused to continue on to high school; instead, he’d shut himself away at home and rarely spoke to anyone. Since his recent illness, he would still drift off absent-mindedly, but he seemed more open now. She found it easier to talk to him—not just as family, but as someone returned from a distance.

“I was wondering if I should go back to school,” Karon said.

He rubbed the tip of his nose. The pain had faded, and the cotton packed in his nostrils would soon be unnecessary.

Only moments before, his thoughts had still lingered on the events in the basement, and that dream... wondering whether it had been a freak effect of body and mind, or if he had truly crossed paths with something from the other side. The basement held every condition for that darker possibility, and yet a dream was still only a dream. However frightening, panic had dissolved quickly after waking.

Most of his thoughts drifted back to the question of his future.

He didn't believe that simply being a transmigrant guaranteed him an easy road to wealth or success. He preferred to trust his own abilities and character and try building a life here on his own terms. Whatever advantages Karon's identity might grant, one thing was certain: it carried no real weight or burden for him. That was enough.

“You always hated school most of all,” Mina said, smiling gently.

The old Karon had seemed almost lost in himself, recoiling from crowded places like school.

“School is important, especially when you're young,” Karon said quietly. “Most people grow up and regret not studying harder, not enduring a little more hardship when they had the chance.”

“You sound just like my mom,” commented Mina, faintly amused.

Karon shrugged, and a faint smile passed his lips. “Mina, could you bring me a glass of water?”

“Sure.”

Mina obediently went to fetch it.

Karon opened the window. Cold, fresh air swept in. He inhaled deeply, then closed the window again; the chilly wind outside cut to the bone. When he turned back around, the black cat, Poelle, had settled at the head of his bed and was watching him. Its gaze was fixed, and its head tilted occasionally as though it was measuring him.

“Poelle, pss pss pss pss...”

Wherever you are in the universe, there’s only one way to talk to a cat..

Poelle cocked its head, unmoved.

Karon approached; the cat didn’t flinch. He reached out and stroked its head.

“Meow...”

Poelle turned its head away, unenthusiastic about the affection.

“Why did Grandpa give you such a tongue-twister of a name?” Karon mused. “Poelle... Poelle. You’d be better off as Pu’er. It just sounds fresher.”

The black cat shifted, unimpressed with the suggestion.

Mina returned with a glass of water. She said, “Mom’s calling around, trying to find Dad.”

“Hm?”

There were no mobile phones in this era. Tracking someone down by landline was a slow affair. Most likely, Uncle Mason was out somewhere, and that hearse of his was drifting along some lonely street.

After handing Karon the water, Mina naturally took up a rag and started cleaning the windowsill. Once, the Immers household had employed two maids: one for cleaning and other chores, one for cooking. When both Uncle Mason’s family and Aunt Winnie and her daughter moved back, Tiz dismissed the maids. Now, the chores fell to Mina, her younger brother Lent, and their cousin Clarice. The cooking of meals alternated between Aunt Mary and Aunt Winnie.

It was a quiet testament to Tiz’s stern favoritism—he set his eldest grandson apart from the rest.

Just then, Tiz came upstairs.

Mina straightened at once. Karon did the same, still holding his water. What gave a family its “rules” was not custom or tradition, but whether there was someone who inspired both fear and respect.

Tiz’s gaze swept over his grandchildren, lingering on Karon before moving on. He said nothing, opened his door, and stepped inside.

“Grandpa seems busy every day,” Karon said.

“He is,” Mina replied. “There’s always something at the church, and he travels a lot.”

Tiz’s door opened again. This time, he wore his priest’s clothes and held a black case.

“I won’t be back for lunch,” Tiz said.

“Oh, alright, Grandfather,” Mina replied quickly.

Tiz went downstairs.

Soon Karon spotted the old man in the yard below, framed by the window. The clothes he wore marked him as a priest, yet in their cut and symbols lingered a sense of something more precise—something pointed, reaching beyond mere faith.

To outsiders, Tiz’s role as a clergyman probably seemed good for business. His office inspired trust among believers, and trust drew work to the family firm. But Karon doubted it was ever that straightforward. Only when Tiz opened the gate and stepped out did Karon finally recognize that elusive undercurrent he had sensed.

“Our grandpa is a bit like Ninth Uncle,” he said.[1]

“Who’s Ninth Uncle, Big Brother?” Mina asked.

“A priest who hunts vampires.”

“Oh, like those from those plays and shows?”

“Yeah.” His eyes fell to the floor. “Mina, are you mopping all of this?”

“Yes, and the stairs too.”

“I’ll help.”

“But what about your health, Big Brother?”

“I’m fine.”

He joined her, mop in hand. When the floors were done, he moved to the stairs. When it came time to change the water, he carried the bucket out to the yard. The outdoor tap filled it quickly.

Just then, Uncle Mason pulled up in his modified “fruit-shell” car. Ron and Paul rolled down a stretcher bearing an old man. Karon could see white hair beneath the sheet.[2]

Mason crossed the yard, not seeing Karon by the tap. He headed straight for Aunt Mary.

“Your father is looking for you,” Mary said.

“Where is he?” Mason’s voice quavered, his eyes wandering with the shiftiness of someone uncertain of his standing. Out of old habit, Karon registered such things.

“He just went out.”

“I see.” Mason let out a slow breath. “No problem. I’ll go look for him. Maybe he’s at the church.”

“Alright, go on then.”

Mason hurried off, leaving the car where it was. Mary did not notice anything out of place; her focus had already moved to the old man on the stretcher.

Her scream cut through the air, “My God, how does he still have filth all over him!”

Ron and Paul, having ignored her earlier instructions, drew up short under the weight of her anger. She ordered them to clean the body, and neither dared protest. Paul wheeled the stretcher toward the basement, while Ron came over to Karon.

“Young Master Karon, I need to borrow the bucket and mop.”

“I’ll carry them down for you.”

“No, no need.” Ron rolled his neck. He was big and broad-shouldered; young, but already sporting a beer belly. “We can handle it.”

Karon gave him a sidelong smile. “So why didn’t you have the caregivers clean him first?”

It was supposed to be the nursing home's responsibility. There was little dignity in letting a family see their own laid out, still dirty.

Ron scratched his head, sheepish. “Forgive me, Young Master... I asked the nurse in charge of Mr. Mossan if she’d see a movie with me in a couple of days.”

So that was it.

Ron flushed, then admitted, “She said she likes movies and popcorn. She said she’d feed me popcorn herself during the film. So... I didn’t want the hand that’d be feeding me just after wiping down a corpse. You know, couples feeding each other popcorn in a dark theater... It’s pretty sweet. When she gives you the popcorn in the glow from the screen, you can even lick her fingers if you want. That’s... that’s really something.”

“Keep dreaming,” Paul called, his voice echoing from the basement stairs as he returned for gloves and laundry powder.

“You’re just jealous!” Ron retorted.

“Jealous? Please, Ron. Other than Mrs. Hughes at the crematorium, I doubt any woman on this earth would fancy you.”

“You’re talking nonsense,” Ron shot back, jabbing a finger at him.

From the sound of it, Mrs. Hughes was a prosperous widow. Ron’s fierce reaction lingered in the air.

Paul only laughed and explained, “Young Master Karon, you might not know this, but when you cremate a body, you have to spray it with gasoline so it burns clean. Thin ones need more fuel or the bones won’t burn through. Fat ones, though? Their own fat helps. So Mrs. Hughes loves people built like Ron. They save on fuel.”

“I see.”

“To hell with you, Paul! How can you talk like that in front of Young Master Karon?”

“Come on, let’s get back to work, or Ms. Mary’s going to lose it again.”

Still bickering, they gathered up their things and disappeared down the basement stairs.

In the hallway, Aunt Mary lit a cigarette, her mood already softening. Paul had brought news: The old man, Mossan, had children, and they would be arriving soon. In other words, it was not a charity case. Even with the cheapest package, there would be profit.

Aunt Mary’s “salary” rose and fell with the fortunes of the family business. After expenses and savings had been set aside, whatever profit remained was parceled out among the household as their monthly stipends. Aunt Winnie kept the books herself.

This was the root of the quiet, careful respect they showed Grandfather. He was strict, and his presence weighed upon everyone, but no one dared call him a miser.

Karon returned upstairs to help Mina dust the furniture. They were almost finished when he heard Ron and Paul coming up from the basement. They had finished washing the body. Now, it was Aunt Mary’s turn.

That afternoon, the family would gather to plan the mourning service. The old man had to be made presentable before then.

Karon caught a sharp call from below—Aunt Mary’s voice cutting through the quiet of the house.

"Karon, come down and entertain Mr. Hoffen."

He set the rag aside and tried to recall “Mr. Hoffen.” An elderly man, retired from the university’s philosophy department. A decent pension, a comfortable life. He had been Grandfather’s friend for years, often coming by for tea and conversation. He also had a fascination with divination; he’d once gifted Karon a set of elegant playing cards. Not tarot, just ordinary cards for common games.

Karon moved to the kitchen on the second floor, brewed some tea, arranged a few simple snacks, and carried the tray down to the sitting room.

Mr. Hoffen waited, tall but almost spectral with his thin frame. Every line and hollow of his features caught the light, each anxiety and curiosity written plainly on his face. When Karon entered, Hoffen’s gaze fixed on him, cold and searching. Even the golden retriever at his feet felt the tension and slowly rose, clumsy in its confusion, trying to sense what troubled its master.

Only when the dog spotted Pu’er, crouched quiet at the base of the stairs, did its nerves resolve. It inched toward the cat, but Pu’er merely glanced back. At once, the golden retriever deflated and laid down again.

Karon placed the tea on the table and spoke the routine line, “I’m sorry, Mr. Hoffen. My grandpa has stepped out, but I expect him soon. My uncle has gone to look for him.”

He barely finished before Hoffen lurched forward and clamped a hand around his wrist, drawing him close. The man’s breathing grew sharp, ragged. With a trembling, feverish urgency, he whispered, “You’re not Karon. Who are you, really?”

A chill pushed through Karon’s thoughts. The mask he had so carefully worn these many days was stripped away in a glance. He reeled, disoriented. He tried to step back, twice, but Hoffen’s grip did not let go. The sudden motion threw the old man off balance; he staggered, grasped for the table, and missed. His forehead struck the edge with a blunt, heavy sound. Then, he toppled backward, and the back of his skull hit the tiles hard, with a sharp crack that seemed to split the air.

Karon could only stand and stare. The old man who only seconds earlier had spoken his private dread out loud now drew in less breath with every passing second. A dark pool of blood crept out from beneath his head.

Upstairs, Mina seemed to have heard the commotion. She called down from the stairwell, “Karon, what happened down there?”

Karon ran his tongue across dry lips, forcing himself to stand upright.

“Mr. Hoffen had a stroke and fell,” he replied.

1. “Ninth Uncle” is a common shorthand in Chinese pop culture for a ritual priest or exorcist, popularized through classic Hong Kong films, known for combating supernatural creatures such as vampires. ☜

2. “Fruit-shell car” is a Chinese colloquial term for a small, lightly built vehicle. It refers to a flimsy or poorly protected car in general rather than a specific model. ☜