Kara felt relief washing over her. Mr. Yamato believed her. He would help! But this was all taking too long. Where was Miss Aritomo now? With her father still? And where was Miho?
“Anchin is the name of the monk in Dojoji,” Sakura said. “Yasu was supposed to play that part.”
“But who was Kiyohime?” Hachiro asked, glancing at Kara. “Is that from the play, too?”
Mr. Yamato leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and Kara could not help but lean in a bit herself. She saw the others doing the same. It had the feeling of a secret about to be shared, or a story told around the fireplace.
“The story has been told in many ways. The Noh play, Dojoji, is only one of them. It has been performed in Kabuki theater, written as folklore, and told in songs. But my grandmother told the story of Kiyohime as something true and real, as a warning to the young boy I was that I must never mislead a girl or take advantage of affection I did not feel in return.”
Hachiro and Ren shifted uncomfortably, while Mai looked confused. Sakura glanced at Kara, seeming to share her impatience, but Kara wanted to hear the rest.
“Please go on, sensei,” Kara said. “Anything you can tell us about the story might help.”
“Anchin lived in a temple on the banks of the Hidaka river. Once a year he visited a small village far away—I don’t remember the names now—and always stayed at the same inn during his travels. The innkeeper’s young daughter, Kiyohime, fussed over Anchin and during each visit he would bring her small gifts. He thought of her as a child, and never imagined that her fondness for him would turn to love. When, after several years, she confessed her passion to him, Anchin was shocked. He explained that he had taken vows of chastity and could never love her, and he returned to the temple.”
Kara thought back on the play she’d read and some of the reading she’d done. “That isn’t how the play goes.”
Mr. Yamato shook his head. “No. It’s not. Some versions of the tale claim that Anchin took advantage of the girl and then spurned her. But my grandmother’s story was always that Anchin was simply blind to her growing obsession, or enjoyed it but thought it innocent enough. Kiyohime pursued the monk, and her desire for him led her to make obscene propositions. Finally, resentment turned her love to hate. By then she had begun to seek to summon spirits to help force Anchin to be her lover. Demons. She became a Hannya—a blood-drinking, flesh-eating serpent woman—and snuck into the temple.”
The principal waved a hand. “The rest is much like what you’ve no doubt read.”
Hachiro, Ren, Mai, and Sakura all looked to Kara. She nodded.
“The monks hid Anchin inside a huge bronze bell in the temple. When she discovered him, the bell came loose and fell, trapping Anchin inside. The Hannya couldn’t move the bell to get to him, but it breathed fire, like a dragon, and wrapped itself around the bell, burning it with such heat that it melted the bell and Anchin inside, and incinerating itself in the process.”
“No,” Mr. Yamato said.
Kara looked up at him. “What?”
They were all staring at him now. The principal sat up again in his chair, fidgeting, his back obviously paining him.
“I was mistaken. If that is how the play ends, it isn’t the way my grandmother told the story. In her version, there was no fire from the Hannya. It wasn’t a dragon, after all. Fire makes no sense. Kiyohime tried to get to Anchin, who had hidden inside the bell. He began to beat on the iron—iron, not bronze—from within and the other monks brought out small bells hidden in their robes and began to ring them. Japanese legends are full of tales of evil being warded off by bells. The sound paralyzed Kiyohime long enough for them to burn her.”
“Do you think this Hannya is actually Kiyohime?” Mai asked. “Or a different one?”
Ren glanced at her. “Does it matter?”
Sakura rose up on her knees, staring at Kara. “Aritomo-sensei’s version of Dojoji has no bells. The monks chant …”
Kara’s mind raced. “That can’t be coincidence. The Hannya’s hiding inside her, we know that, but it’s obviously controlling her actions, too. At least some of the time.”
“Yes, but is it just influencing her,” Ren asked, “or does it take over in there? When we’re talking to Aritomo-sensei, is she answering, or is the Hannya?”
“That’s crazy,” Mai said.
“Also the creepiest thing I’ve ever heard,” Hachiro said. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”
“But how did it possess her in the first place, and why her?” Sakura asked.
“The story is about jealousy,” Mai said. “Who is Aritomo-sensei jealous of?”
Hachiro and Sakura looked at Kara, who immediately understood their suspicion. It made sense, in a bizarre sort of way. Miss Aritomo had taken an interest in her father, maybe wanted to get closer to him, but his first love and loyalty belonged to his daughter. It would be natural for the woman to be a little jealous of their closeness. Envious.
Would it have been enough to give the Hannya a way in? An invitation? Maybe. And they would probably never know.
Kara threw up her hands. “Look, there’s no point in debating this. How it got inside her isn’t nearly as important as finding a way to get it out.”
“Agreed,” Ren said.
Hachiro reached out and touched Kara’s shoulder. She turned to see a gleam of epiphany in his eyes.
“Bells,” he said.
Kara got it instantly. There were bells everywhere in the school and the dorm. Japanese culture was full of them. Students hung them on backpacks and key chains and doorknobs, though most were tiny, what they called pocket bells.
“I don’t know if little ones would be enough,” Sakura said.
But Kara had begun to nod. She felt the smile before it touched her lips. “Kaneda-sensei looks after the old Shinto shrine beside the school. In June she did that re-creation of an old prayer ritual, remember?”
“She does it every year,” Ren said.
“And the bells she uses … they’re on a shelf in her classroom,” Kara went on. “Aren’t they, Hachiro?”
Hachiro clapped his hands together. “Yes. I’ve dusted them a dozen times in o-soji.”
“Wait!” Mai said. “If you’re right about the bells … and maybe you are, since she didn’t include them in the play … We can’t just burn our art teacher!”
They’d almost forgotten Mr. Yamato was there. Now he slapped a hand on the arm of his chair, the sound snapping them all to attention.
“You will do nothing,” he said, frowning deeply.
Kara stared at him. “But you said—”
“Yes, I believe you,” he interrupted. “But if all you surmise is correct, Kara, your father is in no danger. He is not one of the cursed, nor is he a part of the play Aritomo-sensei wanted to stage. No, you will all stay here with me. I will phone the police. When they arrive, you will relate everything to them, just as you have to me, and I will support you.”
“What?” Hachiro said, standing. “Sensei, they won’t believe a word of it.”
“Perhaps,” Mr. Yamato said. “But the men I have dealt with know that they have not been able to unravel the mysteries that have plagued us this year. This explanation is only slightly less plausible than the wild bear story they told the newspapers in the spring. If they don’t want me to make my own calls to the newspapers, they will listen to you, and then they will go to Aritomo-sensei and question her, and search her home. It may be that the missing students are there, if they are still alive—”
“Miho,” Sakura said softly.
“But the police must be the ones to deal with this. I cannot allow any of you to put yourselves in further danger.”
For several seconds, no one spoke. Hachiro shifted awkwardly on his feet. Sakura whispered Kara’s name, a question, and then all of them were looking at her.
Kara stood, shaking her head. “No. I’m sorry, Yamato-sensei. That will take too long. We’ll go to her house ourse
lves. If the others are there, we’ll rescue them. And if Aritomo-sensei is there … we’ll have the answers we’re looking for. I only hope you’re right about my father.”
She and Hachiro turned to leave and the others started to rise to follow them. Kara’s thoughts were already running ahead, wondering how quickly they could gather the bells they would need, and thinking also about the story of Dojoji, about the monks, and the role that masks played in Noh theater.
“Stop!” Mr. Yamato barked. “I forbid you to leave. You will wait for the police.”
Kara held the door open for the others. As they filed out, she turned to the principal. “I’m sorry, sensei. This is ancient evil. We don’t have time to wait for the modern world to believe in it.”
Miss Aritomo lived a mile or so from the Harpers, in a house that had been built long before World War II. Once upon a time it had been one of a handful of larger homes beyond the outskirts of the city, but Miyazu had grown over the years and sprawled outward around it. There were offices nearby, as well as a handful of shops, a sushi bar, and a laundry, but the neighborhood had gone downhill of late. The doctor’s office next door had been abandoned, a realtor’s sign in the window.
“It must have been beautiful once,” Mai said, studying the front of the house.
Sakura frowned. As far as she was concerned, the art teacher’s house had not lost any of its beauty. If anything, the ugliness of its surroundings only enhanced its elegance, though she understood why some people wouldn’t see it that way.
She and Mai stood in a small alley beside the laundry. Its windows were dark and the building silent, but the streetlights were bright and they did not want to be seen if anyone should look out the window of Miss Aritomo’s house.
Kara, Ren, and Hachiro had gone to the school. It would be locked up, but they had passed the point where locks would stop them. The police would be on their way to Mr. Yamato’s house by now, but by the time the principal explained to them what he thought was going on—or some version of the truth, at least—it might be hours before they did anything about it. Sakura thought Hachiro and Ren might balk at breaking a window to get into the school, but she knew Kara wouldn’t hesitate. Not now. But she knew that if they did that, alarms would go off, summoning the police, and those explanations would also take too long.
Fortunately, they wouldn’t have to break any windows. Sakura spent some time every day in the shadowy recessed doorway on the east side of the school. It was her quiet spot—her smoking spot. She contemplated life during those cigarette breaks, thought about the past and about the future, about her sister and their hollow, loveless parents, and the hopes and dreams she never dared discuss in detail, even with her closest friends.
She also worked to pry the lock open on the door.
It had been forgotten, that door. Locked for years, it had been painted over and ignored, an emergency exit from a time before the renovations to the school created new ones at the rear of the school and out through the gym. In fiddling with it one day, Sakura had found out that the school’s present alarm system was not wired to that door, that any wires were antiquated, and connected to nothing. All they’d need to get in was a fork or knife, anything to pry the lock.
That was the easy part.
“How long do you think it will take them?” Mai asked.
Sakura glanced at her, biting back a snippy retort. “I don’t know. If they get lucky, they’ll find enough bells right away. If not …”
She didn’t have to finish the sentence. Mai sighed and nodded, shifting her weight from one leg to the other.
“I can’t stand just waiting here,” Mai said.
“Patience has never been one of my virtues,” Sakura replied. “But what other choice do we have? If we have any hope of stopping the Hannya—or even just getting our friends back—we need some kind of advantage.”
Mai scowled. “And you think bells will give us that advantage?”
Sakura shrugged. “I don’t know what to think. But so far, the old stories have proven to have truth in them. We can only hope that this is one of the true parts. And besides, you said yourself it didn’t seem like coincidence that Aritomo-sensei left the bells out of the play.”
They fell grimly silent after that, no trace of friendship or even camaraderie between them. Sakura had given her the benefit of the doubt a few times, but despite Mai’s denials, she would never be able to shake the feeling that the girl knew more about Akane’s murder than she admitted—that she might actually have been there that night. At the very least, she had known more than she told the police. If she had told the truth, Ume might be in prison now.
Sakura frowned and glanced sidelong at her, there in the dark alley beyond the golden glow thrown by the streetlights. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Could she make Mai talk to the police now, after all these months? Given what the girl had said in front of Mr. Yamato, she probably could.
The thought made her happy, and for several minutes she stood and stared at the dark facade of Miss Aritomo’s house, fantasizing about what would happen if the police arrested Ume. Sakura had been forced to let go of much of her grief and anger in order to defeat the ketsuki in April, but that did not mean that her heart had healed. She still wanted justice.
They waited on. Cars and scooters flew by, and people on bicycles, but there were not very many, and no one seemed to notice the two girls in the alley. The house remained dark and silent. Sakura tapped her front left pocket, where she kept her cell phone, and then her right pocket, where her cigarettes were nestled away.
“I would love a cigarette right now,” she whispered, becoming jittery. “I need a smoke.”
Mai shot her a dubious look. “Why don’t you have one, then?”
Sakura sniffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re not very sneaky, are you? If there’s anyone in the house, they might see the match, never mind the cigarette burning.”
Affronted, Mai raised her chin, half-turned away. “You say I’m not sneaky as though it’s an accusation. Is being sneaky an admirable trait?”
“That was me being polite,” Sakura replied. “By ‘sneaky,’ I mean clever. Which you’re not.”
That ended any further discussion, and Sakura was glad. She fidgeted, both with impatience and with a craving for nicotine. Thirty or forty minutes went by without her exchanging another word with Mai. Fewer cars passed. After a while, all Sakura could think about was how idiotic she had been to take up smoking, and how she really needed to quit the habit.
In a way, that was good. The less she thought about the house across the street, the better. Whenever she let herself focus too much on Miss Aritomo’s lovely old place, she wondered if Miho might be inside, and if she would still be alive when they went in after her. Those thoughts made her want to scream.
Craving a cigarette helped keep the fear bottled up.
Mai stiffened beside her. “Did you hear that?”
Sakura frowned, edgier than ever. “What? I didn’t hear anything.”
They both stood frozen in the alley, necks craned, concentrating on the sounds of the night around them. There were no cars driving by now, and no distant roar of motorcycle engines or rumble of a passing train. In that moment, the neighborhood was probably as quiet as it ever got.
Sakura cocked her head. Had she heard a muffled cry in the distance?
“There it is again,” Mai said, turning to stare at her, eyes wide with hope and terror. “You heard that.”
Sakura bit her lower lip, thinking for a moment before replying. “I heard something.”
Anger flickered in Mai’s eyes. “That was a voice. Someone’s screaming for help inside that house.”
Sakura stared at the house, listening intently. Mai fumed, but when she seemed about to speak, Sakura hushed her. Nearly a full minute passed before Sakura heard the sound again, and this time she could not deny that it sounded like a person calling out, though she could decipher no words and the voice seemed so distant.
Still, it might have been coming from the house.
“I don’t know. It could be some woman three streets away yelling at her kids.”
Mai threw up her hands. “You know that’s not what it is!” she snapped, taking a few steps out of the alley, into the pool of illumination thrown by the streetlight.
“What are you doing?” Sakura demanded.
Mai turned to stare at her with a how-stupid-are-you? look on her face. “I’m not just going to wait here. If our friends are still alive, that could be them calling for help. I’m not waiting another second.”
Sakura grabbed her wrist. “Don’t be stupid. Kara and the boys will be here soon—”
“And what if it’s not soon enough? It was one thing when we weren’t sure, but someone’s in there. In the dark.” She yanked her arm away. “I’m going in. Are you coming with me?”
“Not a chance,” Sakura replied. “Someone has to be here to explain why you’re either dead or a prisoner in that house. You don’t have a weapon, or anything else to distract the Hannya aside from your incredible stupidity.”
Mai shot her a furious, withering glance, spun on one heel, and raced across the road. Sakura receded once more into the shadows of the alley and watched Mai run up alongside Miss Aritomo’s house and then disappear around the back.
Guilt filled Sakura as she worried what might happen to Mai, or what the Hannya might do to Miho and the others when Mai broke in, if they really were imprisoned within those walls. But she stayed put. Without the bells, on her own, she’d be no help to anyone.
Only after the heavy potted plant left her hands did Mai fully consider the danger she might be in, but by then it was too late. The pot shattered the window with a terrible crash, followed by an almost musical noise as broken shards hit the floor inside. She backed up, glanced around, and hid behind a tree that grew in the stone and flower garden that Miss Aritomo must have spent all of her free time grooming.
Mai held her breath and waited, but no lights went on inside the house. Faintly, she thought she heard that voice from inside, but somehow it seemed even more muffled back there.
Spirits of the Noh Page 17