Yagwanggwi (夜光鬼) — the Night-Light Wraith

There was a name that spread quietly among children in the Hanseong district toward the end of the lunar year, in the final days of the old Korean empire. Yagwanggwi (夜光鬼) — or Yagwang Gwisin, or by its native word, Anggyaengi. That name lingers still, somewhere in the cold air of the night before the New Year.

Its form is said to resemble a person scorched black from head to foot. The shape of something burned, yet not dead. Atop its crown sits a small lantern or brazier, and as it walks the darkened alleys, a faint light sways ahead of it. If you have seen that light, it means the thing has already reached your door.

What the Yagwanggwi desires is one thing only: shoes. The Seasonal Customs Record (『歲時記俗』) names it the Night-Demon King (夜鬼王) and sets down the following — that it tries on each shoe one by one, and takes only those that fit its feet perfectly. Whoever loses a shoe will be dogged by misfortune for the rest of that year. What goes wrong is never specified. It simply goes wrong.

Fortunately, the Yagwanggwi has a peculiar weakness. It is consumed by holes. Hang a sieve before the door, and the creature will begin to count every last one of its fine perforations, one by one. It counts through the whole of the night. Then, when the first cock crows at dawn, it flees — its counting still unfinished. The custom of Yagwanggwi Chasing, in which a sieve is hung before the door of the room where children sleep on the last night of the lunar year, was born from this.

The Gyeongdo Miscellany (『京都雜志』) dismissed the custom as an absurd ghost story laced with adult invention — a tale deliberately spread to put children to bed early. But a custom cannot take root without fear to seed it first. Even now, there are those who will tell you: if you do not hang the sieve, the shoes truly disappear.