It was late autumn in South Korea, when the days were growing shorter and darkness began settling in before six in the evening.

One afternoon, I decided to hike up the mountain behind our university—a place I playfully call Tony’s Peak.

I had climbed that mountain many times before. But on that particular afternoon, I became so absorbed in the beautiful view and the refreshing autumn breeze that I barely noticed the daylight fading. Darkness was slowly creeping in, devouring what remained of the light around me.

When I finally realised how dark it was becoming, I hurriedly stood up and began my descent.

Part of the trail passed through a thickly wooded area, where the trees made the surroundings considerably darker. I was familiar with the path and had walked down the mountain at dusk many times before.

But that evening felt different.

I was walking leisurely when I thought I heard something behind me.

“Psst!”

I stopped momentarily.

Then I heard it again.

“Psst!”

I resumed walking, this time a little faster.

My leisurely walk became a brisk walk. My brisk walk soon turned into a jog.

And then, another sound.

“Psst!”

That was enough.

I began running.

Unfortunately, running down that mountain was easier said than done. The trail was rough, with stones and fallen branches scattered along the path. I could not run as fast as I wanted without risking a nasty fall.

Still, I kept going.

Before I knew it, I was standing at the doorstep of my apartment.

That evening, while having dinner, I found myself thinking about what had happened.

There was probably a perfectly reasonable explanation. Perhaps it was merely the wind brushing against the leaves and branches, producing sounds that resembled someone trying to catch my attention.

Nothing supernatural. Nothing mysterious.

Or so I told myself.

But then a thought crossed my mind.

What if I had looked back?

What—or who—might I have seen?

That single question lingered in my imagination.

And from that question, a story began to take shape.

A story about something unseen. Something that might be following you. Something that perhaps should never be acknowledged.

A story about the terrifying possibility that curiosity itself could become a fatal mistake.

And that, dear readers, is how the idea for my supernatural horror story, Those Who Look Back, was born.

Sometimes, the most frightening stories do not begin with something we see.

They begin with something we hear—and the things we imagine might be waiting behind us.