In Korean folklore, few figures inspire as much fear and fascination as the gumiho (구미호) — the legendary nine-tailed fox. Unlike its Japanese cousin, the kitsune, or the Chinese huli jing, the Korean gumiho has long been portrayed as a dangerous, flesh-eating creature. With the ability to transform into a stunningly beautiful woman, the gumiho uses seduction and trickery to prey upon unsuspecting humans. Many folktales feature her disguises being exposed — often by a small slip, such as her tail peeking out under the moonlight.

One of the eeriest stories passed down through generations is known as “The Tale of the Fox Tail in the Moonlight.”

The Tale of the Fox Tail in the Moonlight

Long ago, in a quiet village, a lonely man lived in a small hanok house. One evening, on his way home from the fields, he encountered a beautiful woman standing by the roadside. She smiled with a warmth that melted his solitude, and he welcomed her into his home.

Day after day, she tended to his house, cooked meals, and spoke gently with him. His once-empty life blossomed with her presence. She seemed flawless in every way — almost too flawless.

One night, as the moon hung full and bright, the man awoke to a faint rustling sound. He glanced at the paper door beside his bed. A small tear in the hanji revealed the courtyard beyond, glowing silver in the moonlight.

Curiosity pulled him closer. At first, he saw the graceful silhouette of the woman moving slowly under the moon. But then his eyes widened in horror.

Behind her swayed something long and thin — a tail. A fox’s tail.

It flicked and curled, brushing against the ground with a sinister rhythm. The man’s heart pounded. His beautiful guest was no woman at all. She was a gumiho.

Just then, the woman froze, her head turning ever so slightly toward the paper door. The thin sheet of hanji seemed to vanish under her gaze, as if she could see right through it. The man stumbled backward, holding his breath.

The tail twitched again. And then, in a whisper-soft voice, she spoke.

“You saw, didn’t you?”

The door slid open.

The man tried to scream, but his voice caught in his throat. The woman’s lips pulled back into a smile — her teeth glinting like blades. With terrifying speed, she lunged.

That night, under the cold glow of the moon, the villagers heard a single cry. By dawn, the man’s house stood silent. Inside, there was no trace of him — only scraps of torn paper and the lingering scent of iron.

The gumiho was gone.

Closing Thoughts

This darker version of the tale leaves no comfort, no triumph of the villagers — only the chilling reminder that some secrets, once uncovered, cannot be survived. The gumiho remains one of Korea’s most haunting folktale figures, her fox tail a symbol of hidden danger revealed too late.