Extract: Failed Summer Vacation by Heuijung Hur, trans. by Paige Aniyah Morris
Read an extract from Heuijung Hur's forthcoming short story collection Failed Summer Vacation, translated from Korean by Paige Aniyah Morris. 'Imperfect Pitch' centres an enigmatic mystery at the heart of a band's fan club.
Imperfect Pitch
His walks have become less and less frequent. He used to take them five times a week, which has shrunk to three, and now there are many days he doesn't leave the house at all. It is as if the walks require too much mental energy. Now, instead of going out, he sits at his computer, reading posts on an online message board. At work, his lunch break isn’t long enough for much else. With the smell of food lingering in the office, he clicks through several pages before ending up back at the first, where a few new posts have appeared. Which, of course, he reads too.
His phone buzzes. A message from one of his group chats. He’s going on a trip with some friends in a few weeks. He takes his eyes off the monitor for a brief second and scans the message. They’re asking him to choose where they should stay and have sent along a bunch of pictures of places with similar layouts and colour schemes, each with equally well-proportioned beds, desks, closets, etc. And pictures of the beach. All the hotels boast gorgeous views. Baek glances through the photos and says that he’ll go with whatever the rest of the group decides. And, with that, he returns to the monitor.
RIP. Lots of posts have similar titles.
Such a shock.
Just the other day, I saw her posting here. He reads and re-reads the same posts, closes the tab, opens another and searches the message board again. The first page is filled with more and more of the same sort of messages.
It is O’s sister who posts the news of her death.
Hello. This is O’s sister. Early this morning, my older sister passed away. While she was alive, she absolutely loved this band. I’m posting here because I thought she would have liked to receive the thoughts and prayers of members of this message board. Thank you.
It’s just a short post, and Baek reads it again and again. He thinks of O. But he doesn’t know enough to think about her for long. O was always the first to upload news to the fancafe, would coordinate group purchases of the band’s albums and merch now and then, and upload fan accounts from their concerts. She didn’t post or comment much aside from her info posts, so it was hard to guess what she’d been like. Even though she logged in every day to share news with other fans, she had been averse to meeting or contacting them directly. It was rare for anyone to comment on O’s posts, but everyone knew it was because of people like her that the fancafe for a foreign rock band – a long way past its prime, at that – had managed to stay so active.
*
Baek met O at the venue where Imperfect Pitch had played their last concert. The group had decided to disband in the wake of sexual assault allegations made against one of the members, accused of slipping a date rape drug to a girl in a club. The girl in question named the band’s guitarist in an interview six months after the incident, and the case was all over the news.
The fanclub members couldn’t understand why it had taken so long for the girl to come forward. As soon as the allegations went public, some people said they would leave the fancafe although it seemed there was no notable impact on the membership numbers. All that happened was the daily number of posts decreased sharply. While the fancafe members were careful not to rush to comment, the number of news and information posts remained steady. Which was all thanks to O.
O was the first to post the news of the group’s split. She also shared updates on the charges against the guitarist and, later, developments in his ongoing trial. She was the first to share the subsequent statement from the group.
We’re sorry to have caused you all concern recently with the unfortunate news regarding P. After consulting with our management and the other members, P has decided to leave the group of his own volition. Moreover, in accordance with the band’s reluctance to continue with fewer than four members, Imperfect Pitch will disband permanently in the spring of next year.
A moment later, a new post went up: an announcement of one final concert before the group’s disbandment. O kept it brief, adding: As soon as information on the specific date and time becomes available, I will upload it here.
Naturally, this prompted a huge spike in traffic on the open forum. Lots of threads appeared, opinions ranging from people who felt gratitude for the final concert to others who thought it better for the band to disappear quietly. Someone posted the question: Then who’ll play the guitar? O, who rarely appeared on the open forums, commented in a reply that another band’s guitarist would be filling in. In which case, can’t they just add that guitarist to the band’s permanent line-up? someone suggested, which provoked much agreement, although that was where the discussion ended. Without knowing any further details about the concert, all they could do was abstain from adding to the cacophony of hearsay and rumour around the band.
Until O came back several days later with information about the concert, no one else posted anything else. Baek still checked the site often, reading and re-reading posts and comments, though less out of a genuine interest than the weight of something like compulsion.
One single farewell concert was announced in the band’s hometown, a two-hour flight away.
The venue is pretty big. If you have a credit card that works overseas, I’d say it’s worth trying to go. I’m definitely planning to. Anyone else here going?
Underneath, a long string of comments: I want to go, but … Would I need the tickets to be forwarded to me there? Anyone know a ticket site that’s selling them? Can I get the tickets delivered to a hotel there? Baek read each one before scrolling back to the top, even though he had no interest in it all.
That evening, he looked for his Imperfect Pitch album, which naturally, he couldn’t find despite being certain it was in his house somewhere – probably lost in a move at some point – so he had no choice but to stream it. He turned on his Bluetooth speaker at his desk and listened to the album with the volume low. Then, before eleven o’clock, he switched it off and got into bed.
Baek could not say why he liked them so much. It wasn’t as if the lead singer had exceptional vocals, or their melodies were that original, or they were that technically gifted. He couldn’t even be sure what their genre was. Maybe he didn’t actually like them. Maybe it was simply that Imperfect Pitch had made the songs he listened to the most, and whenever someone asked about his music tastes, the first name that came to mind was theirs.
*
My friend ended up not being able to go to the concert — would anybody want to buy her ticket off me? A recent post from O. Please message if you’re interested.
There were already quite a few comments. Baek checked his phone calendar. The date fell right after the deadline for his current project — a good time for a short trip.
On impulse, he looked up plane tickets online. The flights were affordable, and after a few clicks, he got an email: his ticket had been booked. He re-opened O’s post. There were even more comments. Baek direct messaged O, then saw that his bus stop was coming up. He got off in front of the park and was walking home when he checked his phone again and saw a reply from O. Someone got in touch before you. Sorry.
He made a mental note to cancel the flight as soon as he got home.
He showered, had a beer and some nuts, and watched the news. He turned on the computer and browsed for clothes on a shopping site, then turned it off again. It was only as he was brushing his teeth that he remembered he’d meant to cancel the flight. He looked back at the black monitor screen. He would have to check how much the cancellation fee was. If it was too much, he thought, maybe he would go anyway.
Some days later, he saw another private message from O. The person she was going to transfer the ticket to hadn’t replied to her: Are you still interested? Baek hesitated. He thought of the flight he hadn’t cancelled.
Another message from O: If you are, please reply within 10 minutes.
It had been about four minutes since the first message.
With three minutes still to go, he replied to her.
She got back right away. You can just wire me the cost of the ticket.
Below was her real name, he imagined, and her bank account number. He’d come across at least one person in every year of school with the same name. He wired the money over right away and messaged her to confirm. Yes, I got it. I’ll get the ticket to you on the day of the show.
Nothing else from her after that although he waited for about an hour with his inbox open.
Only then did Baek think about the amount of money he had transferred, not to mention the cost of the plane ticket. Maybe O didn’t even have a ticket to sell. He wondered if there was a way to see reviews from people who’d done transactions with O in the past. He read through all the fancafe posts that mentioned her. Most were thanking her. For sharing new info, for some hard-to-find merch, for holding a giveaway, for the link to an overseas auction site — everyone thanking her, followed by her polite replies. There was very little that could be inferred from these posts. Baek closed the browser.
*
In the short time he’s been away at a meeting, his inbox has filled with new messages. He clicks it open — then closes it right away. He puts his phone down beside his keyboard. Everyone around him is busy, and Baek takes a moment to open the fancafe page. Most of the messages are still memorials for O. Baek has read all of them several times already, but he starts at the top and reads them over again.
For several days he’s like this, unable to focus, logging onto the fancafe all the time, even at work. He can’t use the office Wi-Fi so has no choice but to use his phone’s data. He tries to limit how long he spends on his phone but finds himself anxiously refreshing the screen. But there are hardly any new posts. He figures everyone is still thinking about O’s death.
He’s on the forums on his way home too. As there are rarely any new posts, he re-reads old ones again. He feels slightly motion sick, but it’s not too bad. With no new posts or even comments, Baek starts to feel slightly alone. And all things considered, he’s alright with that.
After days without any updates, he comes across a post that begins: I’m thinking of going to pay my respects to O … Its author asks if anyone on the forum had been in touch with O personally. Baek can’t help but think of the messages he and O exchanged a few months earlier. O’s real name. The details that she sent. Facts that reveal nothing. After the concert, Baek had messaged O. Thank you for the ticket. I had a great time at the show thanks to you. I’d like to treat you to a meal to show my appreciation, if that’s alright?
But O politely turned him down. Just your thanks is fine.
Baek imagines she’d have been as demure and distant with the post he’s just read. He scrolls down. Still no comments, just a rising number of people viewing it.
There are still no replies when its author adds: Is there really no one here who was close to O? I’d imagine there’d be at least one of us. If you don’t want to comment here, you can message instead.
The author updates the post again a couple hours later: Seriously, how come no one’s contacted me?
Then beneath that someone else comments: I’ve been around since back when O was the manager of this site. I don’t think she would have liked this.
Baek has never seen this username before. He looks it up. But he can’t find any trace of activity from the user in question.
The number of views on the post is soaring; there are more than a few people like Baek out there, refreshing the page, eyes glued to the screen, waiting expectantly for someone else to comment, hoping for some progress.
I read your posts, and I think this feels a bit much. And to be real with you, how do you know if that person really is O’s sister? Another comment. Yet another unfamiliar username. Baek clicks on it and a warning dialogue box pops up. This comment does not exist. The screen refreshes and takes him back to the first page. Baek finds the post he was just reading. The number of comments hasn’t changed though the number of views has soared. The comment he just saw is gone. Baek taps the refresh button again and again. But no one has anything more to say.
Failed Summer Vacation is published by Scratch Books on 3 June, 2025.
