by Phil Gabriel
The Ghost In Roppongi Station
A Tokyo Supernatural Short Story
Phil Gabriel
New Meridian International, Inc.
Introduction
THE GHOST IN ROPPONGI STATION
Phil Gabriel
To those who walk the streets of Tokyo, this most modern of cities, but still hear the whisper of spirits and feel the touch of magic
Text copyright © 2017 New Meridian International, Inc.
All Rights Reserved
Created with Vellum
Acknowledgments
Fantastic Cover Design by:
Cover Crafters
Art by - Runno
Introduction
Dear Reader,
This short story is the introduction to the Tokyo Supernatural world. Other stories in the series are also available on Amazon:
A Kitsune ’Tale’ - A Roppongi Enchanters Short Story
The first novel in the series has recently been released. You can find it here:
Mages in Manhattan - A Tokyo Supernatural Novel
Another novel is in the works and will soon be published.
You can keep up with new releases in this series on the Tokyo Supernatural website.
Enjoy!
Phil Gabriel
1
It was a chill March day in Tokyo when I first saw the ghost in the Roppongi subway station.
I got off the Metro at Roppongi station and wended my way through the midday crowds, heading for exit 1B. After I waved my Pasmo card above the sensor, the turnstile beeped at me and opened the tiny gates. The readout on the turnstile showed my remaining balance.
I’ll have to reload soon, my balance is getting low, only five hundred and sixty yen left, I thought as my steps led automatically to the tunnel that led to Mori Tower. As an American, and a tall one at that, I could easily see over the crowd.
A gaggle of schoolgirls passed by, resplendent in their “Sailor Moon” school outfits, each sporting an identical backpack. I used to wonder what the little charms and toys that festooned their backpacks were used for. Then I realized that with identical backpacks, they needed some way to tell them apart. In Japanese schools, uniform means uniform, even down to accessories like backpacks.
Another group of schoolgirls passed, this one older, sporting the blazer/skirt combo that denoted senior high school students. One of the students looked different, then I caught it: her steps didn’t echo like the others, none of the group looked at her directly, and the other girls talked over her. A quick glance over the top of my glasses showed a muted aura. She was a ghost, an echo of the person she used to be, stuck on Earth and unable to move on. So she stayed with what she knew—the school and the clique of popular girls.
After all these years, it still surprises me when the other world peeks out at me.
She perceived my gaze and took that quick look around people give when they are noticed and can’t believe it. It was obvious I saw her, so I smiled and gave a small wave. Interaction would be bad. At best, I would look like I was flirting with the teenage girls, at worst like a maniac. I learned long ago not to be too apparent when dealing with the hidden world. A large fraction of my cohort is in mental institutions, bound by cold iron and stupefying drugs.
Her group moved on down the tunnel, and she was drawn away. Instead of being tied to a location or object, like the Kami Temple Spirits, she was tied to a group. One regretful look back and she was gone.
Continuing down the tunnel, avoiding the line of ridged yellow tiles (the blind use them to navigate the subway system), I arrived at the Mori Tower complex. The underground corridor opens into a large hall, which circles around a two-story-tall trio of escalators. The hall was ringed by coffee shops and restaurants. A Starbucks to my right beckoned. Free Wi-Fi and caffeine, just what I needed. Contrary to my expectations, coffee shops outnumber tea shops in Tokyo.
After waiting in line and getting my coffee, a fragrant Arabica blend brewed to perfection, and a pastry, I staked out my favorite table outside the store. Surrounded by other customers, each engrossed in their snacks and electronic devices, I breathed deeply, inhaling my coffee’s aroma. The slightest tang of ozone gave me a moment’s warning of a supernatural presence.
“The coffee smells good,” she said.
Glancing up, I was surprised to see my supernatural intruder was the ghost girl. It takes a lot of willpower for a ghost to break away from the location or object they are tied to, even for a short time.
Before responding, I extracted my iPad from my satchel and brought up the Skype app and inserted a Bluetooth device in my ear. Now I could talk to the invisible girl without looking too insane.
“Would you like some?” I offered.
She made a disappointed face as she ran her hand through the coffee cup in front of me. She was only partly in this world. To her, it was an empty hologram, although a fragrant one. It’s strange that aromas and scents carry over, but not much else.
I motioned for her to sit across from me. She made a small bow before sitting, and then carefully placed her backpack beside the chair. She sat primly, knees together, feet flat on the floor, with her hands clasped on her lap. Only a slow up-and-down motion indicated she was not really “on” the chair.
I joined my hands around the cup, fingertips to fingertips, and slowly pulled them apart, concentrating on Schrödinger’s spell and adding energy. At least my version of the spell didn’t require sacrificing a cat. There were now two cups, one in each hand. The cup in my right hand was faintly translucent. I pushed the spirit cup to her. She poked at it gingerly with her forefinger, a surprised look on her face as her finger hit the cup and stopped.
Taking the cup in her hands, she eagerly sipped. A beatific expression crossed her face. The same expression any caffeine fiend gets when drinking a fresh coffee after a long time without.
“Arigato gozaimashita,” she said.
I wondered how long it had been since she had eaten or drunk anything. Even the quantum echo of coffee must taste great after enough time.
After completing the one-week fast during training, I certainly wasn’t able to take just a small sip and sit back. Judging by the model of her cell phone, she had passed over at least five years ago. Five years without coffee would have driven me insane.
“Sorry,” I said, “I don’t speak much Japanese. You’re very welcome.”
“I speak English, little. Many years in English class.”
“My name is Scott. Pleased to meet you.”
“I am Akiko. Hajemamashita.”
She seemed more solid after drinking the coffee, imbued with the essence of caffeine. I reached for my pastry, hesitated for a second, and came to a decision.
“Would you like to learn to do that? Make coffee, or food?” I asked. “The spell is simple, but requires a lot of concentration.”
Her eyes grew large as she stared at the pastry in front of me and then nodded slightly. I was still getting used to Japanese composure, but she seemed eager.
I pushed the pastry to the center of the table, then showed her the gestures by drawing them on the screen of my iPad. (To the rest of the world, it looked like I was talking on a cell phone and scrolling news sites. God, I love electronics.) The words were simple, and she quickly learned them.
The hardest part, drawing energy for the spell from local sources, took her longer to master. She had trouble seeing the tendrils of energy that needed to be manipulated to power the spell. As a spirit, she was no longer bound by the limitations of ordinary human vision. However, the habit of vision was restricting her to the normal human range. She needed something to break her out of the cycle.
I had rea
d once about an experiment performed on a gaggle of geese. The goslings had been hatched and raised in a clear box. After their first few attempts at flight resulted in no success, due to hitting the top of the box, they continued growth to adulthood. Afterward, even though they had been released, they never tried to fly again. Their beliefs kept them chained to the ground. One of the fundamental steps in magic is breaking these chains.
My teacher was of the mind to take the geese up in an airplane and push them out the hatch. He was the “fly or die” type. That’s pretty much how my training went. I was determined to find a better way for Akiko.
“Can I see your glasses?” I asked. The glasses were ectoplasmic, as were her clothes and other accessories, and equally unnecessary.
She took them off, revealing deep brown eyes, and handed them to me, showing a puzzled expression. The glasses were lighter than a thought, and I held them carefully.
“I’m going to put a spell on your glasses that will enable you to see the magic all around you.” I projected the most confidence I could into my explanation. This wouldn’t work unless she believed it would work.
I spent the next several minutes making pseudo arcane gestures above her glasses, muttering verses from “Jabberwocky” in my most confident tone. I finished with a flourish, presenting the glasses to her on the palm of my hand as if handing a priceless diamond to a lover.
“Once you put them on, you will be able to see the magic. It will look like streams of smoke in the air. You will be able to touch them and use them to power your spells.”
She accepted the glasses, put them on slowly, and blinked a few times. I could tell from the slowly dawning expression of amazement on her face that she was seeing the ambient magic for the first time.
“What is that written on your shirt?” she asked.
I glanced down at the slogan, invisible to any but Pentachromats.
“Just a saying from my teacher: ‘Reality is a Crutch for Those Who Can’t Handle Magic.’”
A few minutes trying to explain the pun demonstrated the gulf in our respective languages.
Time to teach her a spell or two. I showed her the movements again, emphasizing the gestures that directed the forces of magic to their destination.
Once she had all the basics down, she was ready to perform. We walked to the counter so she could point out the confection she wanted. If she was going to do this, the least she deserved was a fresh treat of her choosing. She picked a sinfully rich white chocolate confection, which I happily paid for.
Once the treat was on the table, I pulled the iPad out again. Novices tend to broadcast too much energy, so a protective circle was needed. Fortunately, the old-style salt circle has been superseded by more modern methods.
Motioning her to wait, I brought up Google Maps, expanding the area that contained our locale. I whispered a scrying spell that allowed me to see an enhanced version of our location. The screen showed our table in an overhead view. Zooming in, I made out a table next to the guardrail overlooking the atrium that contained the escalator, with two tiny figures seated in chairs angled to face the atrium. The tiny male figure was holding an iPad, in which I could see an image of another figure holding an iPad, etc.
As if sensing my presence, the figure that looked a lot like me glanced up and smiled. His table companion followed his glance, a puzzled expression on her face. I resisted the urge to look up at my unseen spectator. I’m on top and plan to stay that way.
A close observer would have seen my fingertip actually go through the screen of the iPad as I drew a circle around the tiny figures representing us on the map. Finishing the circle, I felt the snap of a completed spell. A globe of quiet encircled our table. Then I added my own touch, the extra symbols that allowed energy to enter, but not exit.
The circle muted the noise, both physical and psychic, that a city creates.
Akiko looked around, tilting her head as if listening to a faraway sound. As long as we were in the circle, she wouldn’t feel the constant tugging toward her anchor. Her features relaxed.
“Ready to make your own food?” I asked.
“Hai!” she said. She performed the spell flawlessly, every gesture perfect. At the end, she had ghostly duplicates of our fresh coffee and treats in front of her.
“Now let’s enjoy our treats,” I said.
It was a pleasure to watch her eat. Each bite savored slowly, followed by a minuscule sip of coffee.
She was so good at spell crafting that a protective circle really wasn’t necessary. From now on, she could do this herself.
About halfway through my coffee, I noticed her appearance changing. Her features lost that teenage softness and matured into the face of a twenty-year-old woman. Her body also changed; she sat taller in the chair, and her blouse was now much tighter. I could taste her scent in the air, a combination of perfume and the almost-ozone of magic.
“You look different. Is the spell affecting you?”
She glanced down at her newfound buxomness and seemed pleasantly surprised.
“I feel my real age, not teenager anymore.”
Although I approved of the change, especially as she was still wearing the tartan miniskirt, it was a surprise. In magic, you never want to be surprised.
“How did you do that?” I asked.
“Energy from eat, drink, use to make big fast,” she said.
Actually, that made a lot more sense than my teacher’s first explanation of magic.
I took another sip of coffee and a bite of pastry, enjoying the bitter followed by the sweet. I had to make a decision and needed a few minutes. She had talent, could both absorb and imbue energy, and had a natural flair for magic. That would make her an immediate target for someone like me. If I set her loose as she was, she would soon become an ectoplasmic battery for another magician. Either that, or cause trouble as a poltergeist.
I didn’t want the responsibility, but you can’t teach one trick and stop there. Or teach an evil spirit how to affect the world and set them free. She was much more powerful and talented than I expected. I left the circle up; I needed to know her better before dropping it.
“With the energy you have now, you can affect the physical world. Try to pick up my cup.”
She took another sip of her ghostly coffee and set her cup down. She frowned in concentration and then reached slowly for my cup. She couldn’t move it with one hand, but by cupping both hands around the cup, finally succeeded in lifting it slightly.
“That’s great! Now you can get even with the other girls.”
“Scott-Sensei, what means ‘get even’?” she asked.
“Revenge, vengeance, a…” Looking it up on my iPad, I found the Japanese word. “Onryo, or perhaps goryo.”
“Oh no, I not onryo. Not angry. I stay help otouto, little brother.”
“So, where is your little brother now?” I asked.
“Finish school, now university. I not able leave old school. I…I…Stuck!”
That was good news. She could be telling a lie, but it was unlikely. Vengeance ghosts just can’t stop talking about how they were wronged and how they plan on getting even. Helping her out wouldn’t involve hurting someone else.
A chill ran down my spine. I suddenly remembered that my teacher had asked me a similar set of questions once I had learned enough magic to be dangerous. He had been judging me, just as I was judging Akiko. Time to discuss the next option.
“I could help you move on,” I said.
“Move where?”
“To the next world. I don’t really know what happens to ghosts that move on. I can only open the door, I can’t see through it,” I said.
“No, I want stay. Help brother, enjoy coffee, chocolate, and learn magic. But I stuck at old school,” she said.
“You’re stuck because you are bound to that place, those groups. If you want to move, you need a home, a new shintai,” I said, using the Japanese word for spirit home.
“Then I stuck in new place. H
ow I move to help brother?”
“A shintai can also be a small object. One that you can move on your own, just like you moved my coffee cup.”
“I need a new home for spirit?”
“Yes, a portable home.”
“You help? Like you help with coffee, food?” The hopeful look on her face brightened her demeanor.
I had several objects about my person that could fill the role of a shintai, the problem being that I had invested considerable time and energy in their creation. Giving one to her would leave me weakened. Was it worth it to help a ghost I had just met?
“I might have something…”
“Scott-Sensei, I will have big giri to you if you help, no?”
“Yes, you would owe me a big favor,” I said, hoping she would reject the obligation.
“Hai, I will do this to help little brother. I will owe you big, big favor.”
So, lose some power now for the promise of help later. I’m a sucker for a pretty face, as long as it isn’t attached to a witch.
What should I use as her shintai? The bottle that once contained a djinn? No, too hard to repurpose. My dragon-hide satchel? No, that’s much too powerful. My ring? I had spent months preparing it, but it was the best choice.
After deciding on using the ring, I removed it from my finger and placed it on the table.
“This is a black star sapphire set in a gold band. I purchased it in Thailand many years ago. It has several inscriptions I carved on the inside of the band.” I removed the muting spell that camouflaged the ring.
“Can you see the energy in it?”
“Very shiny, Scott-Sensei.” She squinted her eyes against the glow of magic.
“Akiko, the transfer spell to link you to the ring will include some restrictions. Once you link, you will have to follow these exactly. You might end up following orders you don’t like. Will you agree?”