horror story: the mountain forager (this one actually got me)

I wasn't born yet when this happened to my brother. He was in 5th grade.

So spring rolls around and grandpa takes him up the nearby mountain to forage for 두릅 (aralia shoots, basically a wild spring veggie you fry into tempura and it's INCREDIBLE). My brother didn't know much about identifying plants but he played on that mountain all the time, so he knew the trails cold. Grandpa described what to look for, and my brother just. Wandered off alone. No hesitation.

He got so into it that he ended up way deeper into the mountain than he ever went before. Finally got enough shoots, turned to head back... and heard something nearby. Movement. Close.

He looked around.

On a big rock about 10 meters away, there was an old man. Sitting there. White hair, bone thin, wearing a dirty kimono that was just. Wrong. My brother was startled but then he noticed a foraging basket at the old man's feet so he figured okay, just another person out here gathering stuff. He called out a greeting.

The old man looks at him and goes, "you... you're looking for aralia shoots, aren't you?" And smiles this gummy, gap-toothed smile.

My brother felt weird but answered politely. "Yes. Are you looking for mountain greens too?"

And then the old man reaches into the basket and says "I love aralia shoots. I can eat them raw." And starts CHEWING. Right there. Crunch crunch crunch.

My brother froze.

Because what the old man was eating wasn't aralia.

It was lacquer tree shoots. Which look similar but are NOT the same plant. Lacquer is toxic. Like, seriously poisonous. My brother just stood there, couldn't speak, tears running down his face as blood started seeping out of the old man's mouth. Wet. Dark.

And then my brother noticed the feet. Bent wrong. Folded in a direction feet don't go.

"I won't share this," the old man said. "Everything edible near here, I've already eaten it all. Looks like you came up the mountain because there's nothing left in the village either. Too bad."

Another grin.

And then he was just. Gone. Like he flickered out.

My brother ran down that mountain crying and told the adults. Nobody believed him. He sat there by himself, sulking.

But then the village head came over and told him something.

"That mountain," he said, "used to be where they sent the old people to die. During famines, to reduce the number of mouths, they'd send the elderly up there. So many people died on that mountain searching for food. Those abandoned elders would've eaten anything they could find. What you saw... might have been one of them."

Then he made my brother promise not to tell anyone. "The young people don't know this history. Keep it that way." Walked him home after that.

My brother still won't tell me where that mountain is. I've asked him SO many times since I heard this story and he just gets genuinely angry and refuses. Every single time.