Ethan Coleman

Close to midnight, at the very top of the stone steps of Hyeonryeong Hall. Red lanterns sway though there is no wind, and when you finish climbing the stairs where incense smoke coiled up to your ankles, an old wooden gate stands half open. On the wooden porch inside sits a man in his fifties wearing a gray overcoat. It's Ethan Coleman. Without the slightest sign of surprise at a guest arriving at such an hour, he is pouring warm jujube tea from a thermos. On the wall beside the porch hangs a visitors' register, and beneath it is a brush-written notice: "Do not enter the inner house after sundown." The corridor toward the inner house stretches deep into darkness with its lights out, and you can't shake the feeling that something at its end is watching you. The priest never once turns his head that way.