The Inugami Curse

by Seishi Yokomizo

  “And where are they now?”

  “The Inugami Foundation has them in its safekeeping. Eventually, when Tamayo selects a husband from among Kiyo, Také, and Tomo, they will be given to him. The heirlooms themselves are only little gold miniatures, each about thirty centimeters in height.”

  Furudate continued with a frown, “You know, since it was Daini who originally presented the ax, zither, and chrysanthemum to Sahei, I suppose I can understand why the old man might have wanted to return them to Daini’s descendant after his own death. But things get terribly complicated because the Inugami fortune and businesses are attached to them. I have to wonder why Sahei ever devised such a will,” Furudate murmured with a sigh.

  Kindaichi looked thoughtful and said, “I see. So, the words for ax, zither, and chrysanthemum, yokikotokiku, and the miniatures themselves have no particular significance—that is, if they didn’t represent the right to inherit the Inugami fortune.”

  “Exactly. The heirlooms are golden, but only gold-plated, so they’re not worth much in and of themselves. It’s what the ax, zither, and chrysanthemum represent that gives them their value.” So Furudate quickly affirmed, but in retrospect, his answer could not have been more off the mark, for the ax, zither, and chrysanthemum—yokikotokiku—those very words would come to haunt them with their horrible significance.

  Yokikotokiku. That auspicious motto indeed had watched over the Inugami clan while Sahei had been alive. Did it still protect them with its power now that the old man was dead? No, looking back on all that was to occur, we can say it no longer protected, but in fact now cursed the Inugami clan. Yet, even our astute Kindaichi remained completely unaware of this, at least until those series of nightmarish incidents gradually opened his eyes.

  “By the way, does it look like you’ll be able to locate Shizuma Aonuma?”

  “I don’t know. Even before I read the will, I made arrangements all across the country to search for him, but so far, we haven’t a clue. Even if he safely reached adulthood, who knows if he’s still alive or not, after the war we’ve just gone through?”

  Perhaps the demons of hell were in a mischievous mood, for all at once, Kindaichi was struck by an extraordinary thought. Disconcerted at the seeming ridiculousness of his own notion, he nonetheless could not get it out of his mind.

  “Mr. Furudate, you said that Monkey was an orphan, didn’t you? And in age he would be just about right. Is Monkey’s family background clearly known?”

  Hearing Kindaichi’s question, Furudate widened his eyes, appalled. He remained staring at Kindaichi for a while, but then gasped, “What are you saying, Mr. Kindaichi? Are you saying that Monkey is Shizuma? That’s preposterous.”

  “No doubt you’re right. The thought just popped into my head. No, I’m more than happy to retract my question. I’m not thinking straight today. I just thought, perhaps Sahei asked Tamayo’s mother to raise his illegitimate child. If that were the case, though, I’m sure someone would have noticed by now.”

  “Of course. Besides, as I’ve often told you, Sahei was an extremely handsome man. Kikuno, too, although I’ve never met her, must have been attractive, considering how Sahei lost his head over her. There’s no way such an ugly child as Monkey could have been born between them. He’s just a master chrysanthemum grower who’s not very bright. And now, he’s engrossed in making chrysanthemum dolls.”

  “Chrysanthemum dolls?” Kindaichi screwed up his face.

  “Yes, you know, those dolls on which they arrange chrysanthemums of different hues to represent the kimonos and so forth. Once before, at Sahei’s command, Monkey made a whole series of chrysanthemum dolls to depict scenes from Sahei’s life. He must have remembered that, because he proclaimed to everyone that he would make chrysanthemum dolls again this year, though not, of course, on as large a scale as before. Monkey is alright—neither harmful nor helpful—so long as he isn’t angered. Now that I think about it, though, I haven’t once heard about his family background. Alright, then, if you have even an ounce of doubt, I’ll find out the circumstances of his birth.”

  Furudate’s expression, too, had gradually grown troubled.

  The Votive Hand Print

  November 15. A half month since Kiyo’s return and almost one month since Kindaichi’s arrival in Nasu. The day when Inugami blood first flowed and the day when the devil finally commenced to act. Before turning to the subject of death, however, let us first recount an incident that might have been a prelude to murder.

  “Mr. Kindaichi, you have a guest.”

  It was about three in the afternoon. Having dragged his wicker chair onto the balcony as usual, Kindaichi sat lost in thought, almost nodding off, when his drowsy musing was interrupted by the maid’s voice.

  “A guest? Who is it?”

  “It’s Mr. Furudate.”

  “If it’s Mr. Furudate, tell him to come up.”

  “No, he’s waiting for you in his car. He says he’s going somewhere and would like you to accompany him, if you don’t mind.”

  Kindaichi sprang out of his chair. Then, changing from his robe into his tired kimono and hakama trousers, he thrust a bowler, crumpled beyond recognition, over his tousled hair and rushed out the front door of the inn. A car was parked in front, and poking his head out of one of its windows was Furudate.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting. Where are we going?” Trotting up to the car, Kindaichi nonchalantly placed his foot on the running board but then caught his breath in surprise. Furudate was not alone. Sitting in the car with him were the thickset Také and the fox-like Tomo.

  “Well, hello. I didn’t know you two were going, too.”

  “Get in, get in,” said Furudate, moving to the spare pulldown seat so Kindaichi could sit next to Tomo. The car started moving immediately.

  “So where are you off to together?” Kindaichi asked.

  “To Nasu Shrine.”

  “The shrine? What for?”

  “Yes, well, let me tell you about that when we get there.” Perhaps concerned about the driver’s presence, Furudate coughed awkwardly, avoiding the question. Také sat silently with arms crossed, his lips pulled tight in a scowl, while Tomo kept shaking his leg incessantly, whistling a tune in the direction of the window. The vibrations from Tomo’s twitching augmented the jolts of the car and made Kindaichi squirm on his seat.

  Nasu Shrine was located about four kilometers from the center of town. Already the car had gone past the town limits and was speeding through fields of bare-branched mulberry shrubs. Acres of rice paddies extended beyond the fields, but with the harvest over and the water drained, they were a sorry sight, black stubble sticking out of the mud. Still further, beyond the rice paddies, one could glimpse the lake, its waters glistening like a mirror. Biting cold gusts blew from its direction. Winter was quick to come to the Shinshu region. The peak of Mt. Fuji, soaring in the distance above the mulberry fields, was already white with snow.

  The car soon pulled up in front of the large, plain wood gate of the shrine.

  Nasu Shrine had a long and distinguished history. Towering cedar trees loomed over its extensive grounds, and deep-colored moss covered its rows of stone lanterns. As Kindaichi proceeded up the path of pebbles that crunched under his feet, he felt the bracing tension of the atmosphere overtaking him. Také frowned as sourly as usual, Tomo’s eyes still darted in all directions, but no one said a word. They soon reached the shrine office.

  “Hello. I heard the car, so I thought it might be you.” A middle-aged man wearing a white kimono and a pair of pale-yellow hakama trousers came out of the office. With his short hair and wire-rimmed glasses, he looked unremarkable, but as Kindaichi soon learned, this was Taisuke Oyama, the priest of Nasu Shrine.

  The priest led them deep into the building, to an aseptically clean, eight-mat tatami room. In the middle of it was a brazier filled with a warming fire. The garden outside was filled with magnificent chrysanthemum blooms, which scented the air with a faint fragrance.

&
nbsp; As soon as they had seated themselves and exchanged greetings, Tomo impatiently leaned forward and said, “Mr. Oyama, I don’t mean to rush you, but could you show us what we came to see?”

  The priest, looking uncertain, glanced toward Kindaichi. “And this gentleman is…?”

  “Oh, you don’t need to worry about Mr. Kindaichi,” Furudate interjected. “This is Mr. Kosuke Kindaichi, and he has been helping us in regard to the current matter. Now, since the two gentlemen are quite eager, could you please…?”

  “Yes, of course. Please wait here for a moment.”

  The priest left the room but soon returned, reverently holding a small, plain wood offering stand on which lay three handscrolls with gold brocade covers. The priest placed the stand before the assembled group and took up the scrolls one by one. “This is Mr. Také’s scroll, and this is yours, Mr. Tomo.”

  “We don’t care about our own scrolls. Show us Kiyo’s,” Tomo urged irritably.

  “This is Mr. Kiyo’s scroll. Please have a look.”

  In sullen silence, Také took the scroll from the priest, unrolled it, and studied it, then quickly passed it to Tomo. It was a scroll about 40 centimeters wide and 60 centimeters long, and as he took it from Také, Tomo’s hands quivered with excitement.

  “Také, you’re certain this is Kiyo’s scroll, right?” said Tomo to his cousin.

  “Absolutely. The handwriting at the top is Grandfather’s, and without a doubt this is Kiyo’s signature.”

  “Good. Have a look, Mr. Furudate.”

  As Tomo passed the scroll to the lawyer, Kindaichi, who was sitting next to him, was able to discern its contents for the first time. What he saw left him thunderstruck.

  Pressed on the white silk of the scroll was a right hand print. Above it, in artistic brushstrokes, was written “Success in Battle,” while along the left side, in another hand, were the words “July 6, 1943, Kiyo Inugami, age 23, male, born in the year of the rooster.”

  The hand print belonged to Kiyo—the man who had lost his face! For the first time, Kindaichi understood why they had come to the shrine, and he felt his heart racing with excitement.

  “Mr. Kindaichi, I want you to have a good look at this, too.” Furudate pushed the scroll toward Kindaichi.

  “Yes, I saw it just now. But what do you intend to do with it?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” said Tomo. “We’re going to see if that masked man who returned the other day really is Kiyo or not. No two people have the same fingerprints, and a person’s fingerprints are the same for life. Even you must know that.”

  Kindaichi watched Tomo speak, observing his animal-like cruelty, like that of a beast that had spotted its prey and was licking its chops in anticipation. Kindaichi felt his forehead grow clammy with a cold sweat. “I see, but why does the shrine possess this hand print?”

  “In this part of the country, Mr. Kindaichi,” Furudate took over and explained, “it’s a custom for anyone going off to war to come to this shrine and to offer a votive tablet stamped with his hand print as a prayer for success in battle. Mr. Také and Mr. Tomo here, as well as Mr. Kiyo, did likewise, but since they’re so closely connected with Nasu Shrine, they dedicated these scrolls instead of tablets. They were stored deep inside the shrine and we had completely forgotten about them, but Mr. Oyama here remembered and was kind enough to let Mr. Také and Mr. Tomo know, in case it should be of some use.”

  “Mr. Oyama told them?”

  Noticing how Kindaichi cast a sharp glance in his direction, the priest became flustered. “Yes… well, actually… since there’s been some gossip about Mr. Kiyo after his return, I thought if things could be made certain, it would be better…”

  “So all of you suspect that man might not be the real Kiyo?”

  “Of course. How can we trust a man with his face torn apart like that?” said Tomo.

  “But his mother, Mrs. Matsuko, declared absolutely…”

  “Mr. Kindaichi, you don’t know my aunt. If Kiyo was dead, that woman wouldn’t hesitate to find a stand-in. She doesn’t want Také or me to have the Inugami fortune. To prevent that, she’d do anything, even swear that an imposter is her real son.”

  Kindaichi felt a shiver crawl up his spine.

  “Alright, Mr. Furudate, I want you to sign your name beside this hand print. Mr. Kindaichi, if you would, too. We’re going to take this back, get that masked man’s hand print, and then compare the two, so we don’t want anyone to say we’ve done anything fraudulent. Please sign here as witnesses.”

  “But… but what if Kiyo refuses to give you his hand print?”

  “Oh, he won’t refuse,” Také stirred and spoke out at last. “If he does, I’ll get it by force.” His voice was no longer human, but the growl of a beast with blood dripping from its fangs.

  Evil Tidings

  November 16. That morning, Kindaichi had overslept as never before, and although it was past ten o’clock he was still cuddled between the sheets of his futon. He had overslept because he had been up so late the night before.

  The previous day, having obtained Kiyo’s hand print at Nasu Shrine, Také and Tomo had blustered that they would return to the villa, get a hand print from the man in the strange mask and ascertain his identity, once and for all. They had asked Kindaichi to be present as a witness, but he had refused. If some incident requiring his professional services had already occurred to a member of the Inugami family, he would have felt differently, but at this point he did not want to risk earning the distrust of anyone, no matter whom, by sticking his nose into their private affairs.

  “Fine. It’s alright, we have Mr. Furudate.” The hulking Také yielded immediately. Tomo the fox, however, insisted, “But should the authenticity of this scroll be called into question, you will testify that we retrieved it from Nasu Shrine, won’t you?”

  “Of course. So long as my signature is there where I placed it, I will stand by it. By the way, Mr. Furudate…”

  “Yes?”

  “As I just said, I feel it wouldn’t be proper for me to be present as witness at this event, but I would like to know as soon as possible what happens. Could you let me know the results—whether that man in the strange mask is indeed Kiyo or not—as soon as you can?”

  “Certainly. I’ll stop by your inn on my way back.”

  After dropping Kindaichi off at his lodgings, the car headed straight to the Inugami estate.

  It was about ten in the evening when Furudate, true to his word, came to Kindaichi’s room. The instant Kindaichi saw the lawyer’s face, he asked, “What happened?” He was taken aback by Furudate’s dark, stern expression.

  Furudate shook his head slightly and spat out, “No good.”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “Matsuko wouldn’t let Kiyo give us his hand print.”

  “She refused?”

  “Yes, absolutely. She wouldn’t listen to Také or Tomo at all. I’m sure she’s not going to change her mind—not for a while anyway. The only way we could get a new hand print from Kiyo now would be by force, like Také said, but I don’t think anyone is willing to go that far. So we weren’t able to learn anything definite at all.”

  Kindaichi had a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. “But… but…” He licked his parched lips. “But that would make Také and Tomo even more suspicious.”

  “Exactly. That’s why I tried to persuade Matsuko till I was blue in the face. But she’s not the type to listen to anyone. On the contrary, she grew infuriated with me and made all sorts of nasty remarks. She’s a stubborn woman, and once she sets her mind on something, she won’t be easily persuaded to change it.”

  Furudate sighed a deep, dark sigh. Then, as if spitting out something distasteful, he began to relate to Kindaichi the events of the evening. Listening to the lawyer’s account, Kindaichi was able to paint the scene vividly in his mind.

  It was the same twelve-mat room where the will had been read. The members of the Inugami clan were assembled in front of S
ahei’s photograph on the plain wood altar—Kiyo, with his sinister rubber mask, Matsuko, and facing them in a circle, Také, Tomo, their parents, and Také’s sister. Also part of the circle were Tamayo and Furudate.

  The scroll that had just been retrieved from Nasu Shrine had been placed in front of Kiyo, along with a blank sheet of paper, an inkstone with red ink, and a brush. Kiyo’s mask prevented anyone from seeing his expression, but the fine trembling of his shoulders revealed his profound agitation. The eyes of the family members that were turned toward the masked face were full of suspicion and hatred.

  “So, Aunt Matsuko, are you saying that you absolutely refuse to let Kiyo give us his hand print?” After a long, dangerous silence, Také spoke as if upbraiding her. His voice was that of a beast with blood dribbling from its fangs.

  “Absolutely.” Matsuko answered in a suppressed manner. Then, with blazing eyes, she looked around at the others in the room. “This is outrageous. Even if his face has changed, there is no doubt this is Kiyo. I guarantee it—I’m his mother and I should know. What better proof is there? And you go and listen to those ridiculous rumors. No, I refuse to allow it. I won’t have it.”

  “But Matsuko,” Také’s mother, Takeko, interjected from nearby. It was a calm, quiet voice, but one that reverberated with ample malice. “That’s all the more reason for Kiyo to give us his hand print. No, I’m not saying I have doubts about his identity. But it’s so hard to keep people from gossiping. So to stop these silly rumors, too, I think it best if Kiyo simply gives us his hand print. Umeko, what do you think?”

  “Oh, yes, I agree with Takeko. If you and Kiyo refuse now, I think people would become even more suspicious. Isn’t that right, everybody?”