by Rin Chupeco
“That’s odd. If Aitou village was his pet project and everyone knew it was, why wouldn’t he want to talk about the specifics?” I lift the lid of the trunk. It is filled with several old notebooks and smaller, intricately designed wooden boxes.
“Kazu had always been an odd man,” Auntie says. “He placed great importance on his work. In the months leading to his disappearance, he had uncovered something he said was vital to his studies and swore he finally understood the village’s curse. He pursued this research without thought to anything else, ignoring even my sister and Kagura.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Did you just say he disappeared?”
“Ten years ago in Aokigahara. I always thought one of the reasons Kagura decided to come with me here was to be closer to the place her father had devoted his life to researching.”
“Kagura never told us about this,” Callie remarks.
But Saya nods. “It is not something Kagura liked to talk about. She attempted to find her father shortly after we arrived by using the research he left behind, but she was never successful. She had come to terms with her father’s death—until this film crew came.”
“Oh,” Callie says, her voice softening. She’s uncovered a small bundle of photos, taken in the style of twenty or so years ago. She holds one up. It’s a picture of a girl grinning at us with her hair done up in pigtails. A solemn-looking man carries her on his shoulders. It’s obvious they’re related. They both have the same high cheekbones, the same upturned nose.
Upon closer examination, I notice the man is wearing something around his neck: an odd-shaped stone tied by a thin cord.
“Kagura with her father,” Auntie murmurs.
This is the only photo in the pile of Kagura taken at that age. The rest focus on the man. Kazuhiko Kino never seems to smile. In most of the photographs, he’s older. He stoops and has traded in the dark of his hair for gray-white. Lines and crow’s-feet are more evident on his face. Only one photo shows him as a young boy, clad in an uncomfortable-looking yukata, and he’s still just as somber. Even here, he’s wearing the strange necklace.
“He wears a magatama,” Saya tells us, following our gaze. “He seems to have worn it all his life. But what does he need protection from, I wonder?”
Magatama were jewels made from precious stones, each shaped like a comma or half of a yin-yang symbol. They were especially important in Japan, honored as sacred. Many shrines had their own versions that were considered religious objects.
“I think you should keep these,” Callie tells Auntie, depositing the photographs gently into her hands after we’ve looked through them. The latter nods, her eyes misting over. To dispel some of the awkwardness, I draw out the first of the notebooks and open it, trying to be as gentle as I can. “They’re in Japanese,” I report, disappointed.
“Kagura translated several of those she considered important for the Americans’ benefit. I believe she left most of them behind.”
It takes a few more minutes to find the notes in question, scribbled in the miko’s neat, even handwriting.
Aitou was said to have been built in the early 1900s, sometime after the rise of the Meiji government. Accounts regarding this village were sparse, for Aitou was considered a mysterious and troubling place even then. What is known is that the leader of Aitou was one Hiroshi Mikage, once a noted onmyōji in the court of Emperor Taishō before he fell out of favor for some unknown transgression. It has been speculated that the sorcerer was caught dabbling in forbidden magic.
Mikage fled with a handful of followers and was said to have changed his identity to avoid the notoriety, as the name “Mikage” had become associated with evil and dishonor. No one knew where he went after that, and most believed he had succumbed to his own vices or that the demons he summoned had claimed his soul at last. But his contemporaries at court suspected he was harder to kill than that.
Only a few years later, there was talk of a mysterious village within the forests of Aokigahara. The village leader was said to have discovered a gateway to hell and tamed it with a complex ritual. A few exorcists from court tried to investigate these rumors, suspecting it was Mikage’s doing—it were not more than five years since his exile—but none of them were seen after entering Aokigahara, which only added more fuel to the fires.
The woods of Aokigahara bolster this mystery. No map has ever been made of the winding forests, and even those armed with the best compasses and equipment have lost their way.
Over the years, Aokigahara has become infamous as a place for suicides, and I believe that somewhere within that thick expanse, the Aitou village and its leader somehow encourage these dark deaths.
“I believe Kagura-chan lent another book to one of the Americans,” Auntie says. “A diary, I recall. It might still be in his room.”
“This is weird.” Callie, who was also rummaging through the trunk, holds up another notebook. “This one doesn’t seem to have anything written in it.”
She is right. It looks just as old and faded as the rest, but its yellowed pages are unadorned, while the others had been filled with spidery Japanese writing.
“Well,” I grunt, struggling to lift a heavy tome from the bottom of the trunk, “this one looks like it’s got too much stuff written in it. Let’s trade.”
“Nuh-uh.” Callie flips through several pages of the smaller book and then blinks. “Wait. There’s something here.” She turns the page toward us, showing us a few lines of text.
Her voice shaking, Saya translates:
To live forever, one must use the gate.
To live forever, eight must be sacrificed.
To close the gate, seven must suffer.
To rule the gate, the eighth must be willing.
The miko is trembling as she lays the book down and points at a drawing on one page.
“This symbol is that of a torii—a traditional Japanese gate that marks the entrance to sacred places. But it is different.”
Callie and I stare at each other.
“What do you mean by ‘different’?” my cousin asks.
Saya’s lips tremble. “Here, it is drawn upside down. It is a hell’s gate.”
Chapter Eight
The Diary
I take most of Kagura’s handwritten notes back to the room with me. Auntie protested, fearing that I would not be able to get a good night’s sleep if I dwelt too much on them, but I insisted. There must be some kind of clue in these pages, something to help me find Kagura or at least know what to expect when we head out to Aokigahara tomorrow.
Curiosity may have killed the cat, but the proclivity for it continues long after one becomes a ghost. I can sense Okiku’s interest as I stumble back into the room with an armload of reading and some tea Auntie prepared for me.
Okiku thumbs through the books while I settle in. There doesn’t seem to be much chronology or organization to the research. One moment, Kagura could be writing about traditional paper dolls and their relevance to the local culture, and in the next, she would start on arranged marriages with little segue. If this was the research her father left behind, I wonder just how sound Kazuhiko’s mind was to begin with.
Still, though no common themes string these notes together, there is a lot of information on every subject he tackled. I learn that traditional paper dolls were more common in rural villages than in the bustling metropolis because they were cheaper to produce.
Bridal dolls were used to represent young girls during special wedding ceremonies, Kagura wrote, though the practice was rare. They are, however, always used for ritual weddings in the village of Aitou. None of the villagers, not even the parents of the bride and groom, are present to witness these ceremonies, except for the kannushi and his assistant priests.
I lean forward, fascinated to learn more about Aitou, but I get my hopes up too soon. I turn page after page without any other mention of the village and instead come across a large section devoted to the preparation and herbal use of belladonna.
&n
bsp; I skim through most of it, losing interest after reading long passages of medical terminology and obscure scientific terms. Immediately following that is a treatise on raising silkworms, which is even more tedious.
I’m about to give up when I find a note from Kagura addressed to one of the American ghost hunters.
I apologize for the lack of cohesion in these pages, but my father seemed to believe these details were important to his research. I have all his notes, but I can find no trace of the sources he used for his descriptions of Aitou. There is no corroboration from other records, which I also find odd.
There are other documents that have been passed on to me, such as the red parchment, which ought to have information more to your liking. I do not know where my father found this parchment, but it is not in his handwriting, and it is much older than the others appear to be.
Two other books should be of some use. The Book of Unnatural Changes is a daunting read, so I have translated the passages that my father singled out. I remember him being quite excited when he first brought this book home. He found it in an old temple that was about to be torn down. He said the book helped him solve the supposed “curse of Aitou,” though he never elaborated. I wish I had asked him for more information then.
I have translated those passages to the best of my ability, but a few words are lost in the translation.
The second book is a girl’s diary. It was his most prized possession.
I am still quite adamant that you and your crew carry a few of the wooden spikes I have given you. The stakes were carved from the fallen branches of a tree at the Chinsei shrine that we consider sacred. Should we encounter anything untoward in our search for Aitou, they should offer some protection, as should the ofudas.
Kagura had schooled me in the ways of the ofuda. It’s a long strip of cloth made of dry hemp that’s covered in writing, usually an invocation to a deity or a shrine’s protection—in our case, the Chinsei shrine, the most powerful one I know. Ofudas are often used to keep ghosts away, which is why I’ve never had much reason to use them. For one thing, Okiku would complain.
But a red parchment? I check the rest of the pages, but none of these transcriptions seem to come from that document.
Okiku floats in the air above me, content to browse rather than single out any document in particular. I halfheartedly poke my way through The Book of Unnatural Changes, but it gives me a headache, so I turn back to Kagura’s notes instead. I’m relieved that she has been very succinct in her summaries. Most of the transcribed passages stem from a chapter called “On the Methods of Conducting Obscure Ceremonies” and make up no more than a couple of pages.
Eight is a number of infinite potential; therefore, it follows that the use of eight rituals in succession both invokes the highest chance of success and wields the greatest power. Eight rituals are needed for a hell’s gate. Eight rituals necessitate eight sacrifices. Only seven are required to close the gate, but eight are needed to rule.
Each ritual pacifies the hell’s gate and prevents its power from being unleashed until the seventh ritual can be performed, closing the gate. But to rule the gate, an eighth and final ritual must be performed while the gate remains potent. This can be minutes or up to three years after the seventh ritual.
All must perform the rituals according to the balance of elements available. If the fire element is strong within the area, you must strengthen the ritual with water. If wood is dominant, then one must temper the ritual with metal.
Okiku is of water. I remember her battling the masked woman in black and shudder. The demon had been a creature of fire, and what I saw of that fight had not been pretty. Water trumped fire, but the demon was strong, and killing it took a lot out of Okiku.
To rule the gate, it is important that the last sacrifice must be willing.
But to close the gate, all seven sacrifices must suffer to slake hell’s hunger.
The one to succeed shall know power. He shall rule demons and win victories; his enemies on the battlefield shall lie in the millions. He can challenge even the might of Enma Daiō, the King of Hell. All of Japan shall fall at his feet if he wishes it.
How seriously did Kagura treat all this, I wonder. Did she believe in her father’s research? Did the Ghost Haunts crew? All I’ve seen them do on their show is huddle inside dark rooms, flail their arms, and scream at nothing, so it’s hard to believe how serious they are.
He can also exchange the powers of a hell’s gate to resurrect a soul. Within the Hundred Days of Mourning ritual, he can restore that soul to its previous form.
Only the most powerful of onmyōji should perform these rituals. A lesser priest will not survive the gate’s fury.
Should any of these rituals fail, then the sacrifices shall be released back into the world of men. Those who face their wrath are doomed.
Should the gate fall, only one hope remains: use the vessels to trap the sacrifices and perform a final ritual in their presence.
There is little else to do then but to accept fate as the gods have decreed.
“Silly of me to think this would make sense,” I grumble, glaring at the large book like this is all its fault.
Auntie found the girl’s diary that Kagura referred to in Stephen Riley’s room, laid on top of his futon. I tackle that next. The diary’s been well cared for, despite its age. The pages turn easily, as if it’s been read often.
Whoever wrote this was no Anne Frank, but there’s something compelling about the way the girl chronicles her life. There’s a sadness to the entries that lingers, though the girl is gone.
And fear, I realize, as I read on with Okiku looking over my shoulder. The girl was very much afraid.
Taishō 7th year, August
Father insisted that I wear my karaginu mo today and criticized me for the color combinations I had chosen for my sleeves. His obsession with court functions has grown worse over the years, and I do not understand this idiosyncrasy. Few people visit this village, and it is unlikely the emperor would pay his respects so far from court, as Father seems to expect. He and the others who oversee the ceremonies think the same way.
I pause to google the date on my phone. The Japanese created era names for their calendar when inauspicious events happen or when a new emperor ascends the throne. I learn that the Taishō era covered the years 1912 to 1926, to mark the rise of the liberal movement and the beginnings of democracy in Japan. The seventh year of Taishō meant this was written in 1918.
Taishō 7th year, September
The fireflies have arrived early this year. I can see a few of them in the gardens by my window, flying over the grass and winking at me while the night slowly falls. I cannot help but feel jealous of them. I wish I too could set foot into the gardens and dance among the flowers. But I cannot. I am like a bird in a cage, waiting for a spring that may never come.
Taishō 7th year, October
I dreamed that Yukiko-chan was buried underneath the shrine, that she was alive and dying all at once. Father laughed at me and said that my friend was traveling the world with Makoto-kun and that I will do the same with Tomeo when my turn comes and we are wed.
Taishō 7th year, November
Some of the assistant priests told Tomeo that it is possible to return from the dead. If you are in possession of immense spiritual energy, they say you can bring a soul back from the underworld. Tomeo says the kannushi has been talking a lot about this lately. Father laughed when I asked him, but there was a strange look on his face.
Tomeo asked the priests about my ritual, wanting to be sure everything will turn out well. I told him the kannushi has performed this ritual many times. Everyone in the village knows why it is done.
Father says I have strong ki, like all the chosen—that I attract demons and bad luck into the village. That is why I am to be sent away, so these evil spirits will follow. The ritual will protect me from the worst of these spirits, and my marriage to Tomeo is part of that protection.
Our village
has never experienced drought or pestilence or plague, and Father says it is because the ritual is always successful.
I am not afraid. Not if I am with Tomeo.
Still, Father says my presence in the village makes everyone nervous, and I cannot help but feel guilty. Did Yukiko-chan feel the same way before her ritual?
Taishō 7th year, December
Tomeo and I talked about what we would like to do when we leave Aitou. He wants to work as a carpenter. I asked him what he thinks I would be good at, and he said all he wants is for me to be his wife.
I cannot be happier.
Taishō 8th year, January
Do the others in the village still remember me? I have been locked inside this room for nearly three years now. I know that many look down on me because of my eyes, but Father believes I am doubly blessed because of them. He says it was because Mother was a beauty from Akita, of the Ainu tribe. Tomeo tells me I am beautiful. His approval and Father’s approval are all that matter to me.
Did Yukiko-chan also worry about being forgotten while she waited for her ritual here? I still remember Yukiko-chan. I remember her kindness. Father says that Yukiko had great spiritual power—she could have been trained as a priestess and would have been quite strong. It was a shame, he says, that the gods chose another purpose for her.
On the day of her ritual I remember Yukiko’s parents presenting a kimono before the whole village. It was the most beautiful green kimono with cranes looking out through the bamboo and plums. They gave it to the assistant priests to give to Yukiko-chan. When I think of Yukiko, I like to imagine her wearing it. Father gave me my own kimono to wear for my ritual—white with wisteria blossoms wrapped around cherry trees.