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From the Author

I started A SOUL A DAY twelve years ago. I was living on Jeju Island in South Korea, and I wanted to write a vampire series with a twist. Unlike modern-day vampire narratives, I wanted my vampires to be truly damned, and what’s more hellish than being hired to work in a terrible job for the rest of eternity?

My vampires are referred to as employees, and they work for an organization called the Gwanlyo. Twelve years ago, the novel I wrote was titled NATURAL POLICE. This book was picked up by an indie publisher, and languished for a year and a half in development hell. The rights were eventually returned back to me when the publisher suddenly went bankrupt. 

So I revised. I took out subplots of NATURAL POLICE and fashioned several short stories that were published by various magazines, journals, and anthologies. The first was “Transubstantiation,” then “Gwishin,” then “Chingu,” then “Wheels & Deals,” then “The Ascent Made Him Plunge.” After this, the horror publisher, Nightmare Press, picked up my vampire novella BUTCHERS, then its follow-up, THE GRAY MAN OF SMOKE AND SHADOWS. Finally, twelve years later, A SOUL A DAY was released to the reading public. A complete rework of NATURAL POLICE, but essentially the same plot: saving souls and kicking ass.

A SOUL A DAY is the tale of a vampire employed by the Gwanlyo who wants to stop anyone else from being damned into vampirism. For if you worked the worst job imaginable for all of eternity, wouldn’t you want to spare anyone else from joining the ranks of your organization?

A SOUL A DAY Excerpt

Ga-In had the address of the poetry reading, and pasting it into Naver Maps, they walked down back streets, avoiding cars that squeezed by on the narrow lanes beside them, until they saw a sign reading Café Lore. Bright light spilled from the café through the windows to illuminate the dark street. A lanky foreigner with steel gray hair and glasses stood outside. He smiled and winked at them as they approached the door.

“An-nyeong-ha-sey-yo,” he greeted them in Korean, before switching to English. “Are you here for the reading?”

Ga-In stood behind her two friends, so Da-Young stepped forward and answered. “Yes. Is it okay if we enter?”

“Sure thing,” the foreigner said. “You’re a little early, but grab a seat. The band is setting up, so they’ll be playing a few tunes while you wait.” He pointed behind him at the bakery counter. “Make sure to grab some treats. The cakes are divine.”

Aye-Won understood English well, as she spoke with her partner, Valentino, often. Even though the foreigner spoke fast, she managed to catch everything he said. The girls nodded, entered the café, and found seats against the wall. The foreigner poked his head back in and announced to the smattering of people sitting, “There’s still two more spots on the signup sheet.” He winked at the girls. “If you’re interested, you better put your name down quick before they’re taken.”

Da-Young nudged Ga-In, who gave her an exaggerated look of terror.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

“I think I would faint if I went up there,” Ga-In said. Snatching up her friend’s hand, she placed it against her chest. “See, can’t you feel my heart?”

“She does look like she’s going to be sick,” Aye-Won said. “It’s probably best if she’s not pushed.”

Da-Young glared at Aye-Won, who felt her composure slip yet again. It wasn’t often that contacts had to deal with so many humans continuously. Usually, they directly engaged with the prospect, and often only a couple of times a week. Because of the current unusual circumstances, however, Aye-Won found herself interacting with not just Ga-In, but also her collection of friends. Most of them were forgettable, but not Da-Young, who had a fierce, independent streak that grated on Aye-Won’s nerves. To make it worse, Da-Young constantly tried to bring out a similar confidence in Ga-In. Why couldn’t she just let the girl remain weak and timid?

A woman walked in, and Ga-In let out a sharp squeak. “It’s her,” she breathed out. “Kang Su-Bin.”

Aye-Won followed Ga-In’s gaze to the poet. The first thing she noted was that Su-Bin wasn’t very pretty. She was quite plain, honestly, with short black hair, baggy green pants, heavy black boots, a white shirt, and a handbag slung over her shoulder. She dressed like a guy, and an unfashionable one at that.

The tall foreigner went to Su-Bin’s side and spoke to her with excited reverence. She seemed to have the same effect on the collection of people in the room, who stared wide-eyed at her. Even the band, which had been warming up, stopped playing now that the poet had arrived.

“We’re going to set up a nice display for you to sign your books,” the foreigner told Su-Bin. “People will be able to buy them at the counter, but we’re going to wait until after the reading to do the signings. Is that okay with you?”

“It’s all lovely,” Su-Bin said in a gentle voice, touching the foreigner’s arm. “I’m so happy to have been invited by Sogang to read from my book. It’s so kind of the English Department.”

“You do us the honor,” the foreigner replied. “Some of my students are already here, and more will be arriving. We just finished studying your book, Still Waters, and they’re all very excited to have an opportunity to hear you read from the collection.”

The foreigner indicated a chair. “Please, sit down here. I have to man the door, but we should be starting soon.”

“Thank you.” Su-Bin bowed to him and took a seat. From her handbag, she retrieved a notebook and pencil and began jotting something down as the band continued tuning their instruments.

“So you’re going to go talk to her?” Da-Young nudged Ga-In.

“She looks busy,” Ga-In replied, shrinking into her seat.

“Um, she’s just sitting there. Maybe you can show her one of your poems.”

The look of horror that flitted across Ga-In’s face should have made Aye-Won cheer, but Da-Young suddenly stood and retrieved a blue book from her jacket pocket. Aye-Won curled her fingers into a tight fist. Obstinate girl, she thought, smothering the fury that surged into her dead body. Da-Young’s interference narrowed Aye-Won’s range of choices, and she knew that eventually, she would have to take care of her. How, though, could she get rid of the meddling girl who could have such a positive influence on Ga-In?

Da-Young walked over to Su-Bin, who glanced up at her approach and smiled. Da-Young bowed and politely said, “Forgive me if I am bothering you.”

“It’s fine.” Su-Bin placed the pencil in the notebook and closed it. “Did you have a question?”

“I did,” Da-Young said, and paused. “Well, it’s really for my friend.” She indicated Ga-In behind her, who waved weakly. “She loves your poetry and has been wanting to meet you. But she’s being shy today.”

“Is she? Well, we can’t have that.” Su-Bin leaned forward and waved Ga-In over. “Come join us. Please, I welcome your company.”

The smile that split Ga-In’s face made Aye-Won fume. She pushed down the tides of darkness roiling up inside of her. She could rip humans apart like paper, yet here she sat, impotent, at the bright glow lighting Ga-In’s eyes. The prospect rose from her seat, and though Aye-Won hadn’t been invited, she got up and followed Ga-In over to the poet.

“Her name is…” Da-Young began, but Su-Bin cut her off.

“Let her speak for herself,” she said, gently yet firmly. Da-Young nodded and stepped aside. Aye-Won stood next to Ga-In, a carefully constructed mask of awe and respect on her face.

“My n-name is Ga-In,” she said, bowing low to the poet. “I really loved your book, Still Waters. I r-recited the poems over and over again.”

“I can attest to that,” Da-Young said. “We’re roommates, and she sleeps right above me.”

Su-Bin laughed. “I’m sorry if my poetry kept you up at night.” She directed her attention back to Ga-In. “Do you write?”

Ga-In shook her head, but Da-Young held up the blue book. “This is some of her writing here,” she said. “She writes in it all the time.”

Su-Bin regarded the blue book with a wry smile. “And why are you carrying it?”

“Oh.” Da-Young glanced away, then looked back. “Well, I want her to read tonight, and she was determined not to. So I,” she paused, “put it in my pocket for safekeeping.”

“Did you?” There was mild disapproval in Su-Bin’s voice, though laughter touched her eyes. To Ga-In, she asked, “Your friend pushes you often, does she?”

“She’s just trying to be helpful,” Ga-In replied. “She thinks I should be more confident with my writing.”

“Well, I can’t fault her too much for that. It’s hard being a writer,” she said, “and it’s the most difficult thing in the world to have other people read your work. Your words are so precious to you that you can be protective of them as if they’re your children.”

Su-Bin opened her book. “I’ve been writing something new, which fits this occasion perfectly. You may enjoy it.”

Ga-In bent over Su-Bin’s book, her eyes wide as she stared at the poems taking shape on the page. Aye-Won noted the exultation on her face at being able to read these unreleased verses, and her mood soured further. She would be damned if she allowed poetry to defeat her.

“In the morning,” Su-Bin said, “I bike along Tancheon Stream on my way to church. There’s been so much construction there lately, and her banks have been pushed in to make room for biking and walking trails. I know why they’re doing it, but sometimes, it makes me sad. The stream is so beautiful, but being constrained by the hands of men for the amusement of the neighborhood has lowered her flow of water. In the fall, winter and spring, she’s so anemic, almost running dry. If you first meet her during those seasons, you would think her a rather poor trickle of water on her last dash through the land.

“But then, when the weather becomes hot during the summer rainy season, her strength grows and overflows the artificial banks. You hear the echoes of her voice in swiftly flowing rapids as she rises and sweeps away man’s attempt to keep her in her place. Last summer there were the greatest floods Seoul has seen in a generation. Cars were washed away, basements flooded, and even a few bridges collapsed. Where once there was a weak girl, now we witnessed the power of Tancheon as a vibrant woman ripping away her binds. I decided to write some poetry in the traditional form of the Korean sijo to honor her. This is one of the better ones, I think.

“I bike trails that have been made to keep you sedated in bed / Your banks pressed by bulls dozing, trucks twist your form to lull you to sleep / Clouds above drink humidity, rain storms wake you from your slumber.”

Su-Bin turned to the next page. “When we first met I thought you the silent type as you bubbled by / But then summer rains that thundered down, revealed your true voice, your roar / Ferocious clarion call echoing in Jeongja.”

Su-Bin looked back up at Ga-In. “Don’t let your fears and anxieties keep you locked up inside yourself. Let your love of life and love of words rise up and set you free so that the world may hear the power of your poetic soul.”

Aye-Won, digesting the exchange and observing the glow in Ga-In’s face, realized she would have to report this to the Gwanlyo and request that Ga-In’s offer to join the company be moved up even sooner than scheduled. Otherwise, the girl may discover a new strength and confidence that could help her reject the offer of employment with the organization.

That would be no good for anyone.

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