The Suffering

by Rin Chupeco

  Will everyone remember me when my turn comes?

  Taishō 8th year, February

  I took something from Father’s desk today and gave it to Tomeo. I have heard Father say it is a charm that wards off demons, and with the ceremony drawing closer, I am worried. I cannot shake the fear that something bad is going to happen, that Tomeo might be harmed. I hope the charm will keep him safe.

  I am not proud of what I have done, but I would do it again.

  Taishō 8th year, March

  The ritual is tomorrow, and tonight I must purify my mind and body to purge all the evils inside me. But I am uneasy.

  Father was irritated when he visited me this morning. Yukiko’s father had come to him and wanted to search for his daughter outside the village. It seems he has been having dreams about her and is convinced that is an omen that something terrible has happened to Yukiko. He would not stop until Father showed him the path she took out of the village. And now there will be a slight delay in my ceremony because of that.

  Tomeo came to visit again this afternoon, and he was angry too. He said Father lied about the ritual but that he wants to find proof before confronting him.

  I told him Father has been performing the ritual for many years, and each one has been successful, but now I am anxious. Tomeo promised to return, but night has come, and he isn’t here. The tea Father gave me is getting cold, so I have set it aside. I will wait for Tomeo. I hope nothing has happened.

  The entries all appear to contradict Kazuhiko Kino’s assertions that sacrifices were being made as part of some pagan ritual. If this girl was one of the chosen maidens, nothing in the diary indicates anything out of the ordinary. If you consider ritualized marriages “ordinary” anyway.

  Just to make sure I’ve read everything of importance, I steal out of my room and head back to Kagura’s. I rummage through her trunk again and am rewarded when I spot a small, rolled-up parchment that is a strange reddish color. The edges look like it was once rescued from a fire. I bring the scroll back to my room, and Okiku sits beside me, peering over my shoulder. I’d been hoping for a drawing or at least something that would transcend my basic understanding of Japanese, but all I see is six lines of undecipherable text.

  Kagura was right. This does not resemble Kazuhiko Kino’s writing at all. From the faded ink, it doesn’t even look like it was written during this century.

  “This is pointless,” I mutter.

  “The maiden and the boy must be willing.”

  I turn to look at Okiku. Her eyes are trained on the parchment.

  “All girls eight through twelve shall bring their hanayome ningyō, each in their likeness. When the door closes, the sun shall die. When it is reborn anew, she whose doll is honored shall be chosen, and she must be willing.

  “For three years, she must keep with no one but the boy for company. And then she shall be clothed and bound and honored, and she shall become unto fireflies.”

  The quiet stretches on as we both stare at the text, trying to come to grips with what Okiku has just read. This could easily be the incoherent ramblings of a madman who’d imbibed one too many cups of sake. But I have seen many, many girls turn into fireflies, and there’s only one unfortunate requirement for them to make that transformation.

  “Okiku, what’s a hanayome ningyō?”

  “A bridal doll.”

  I reach for Kagura’s notes and quickly find the passage I’m looking for.

  Bridal dolls were used to represent young girls during special wedding ceremonies.

  “Okiku, this refers to a sacrifice, doesn’t it?” I continue reading from Kagura’s notes:

  “To live forever, one must rule the Gate. To rule the Gate, one must be sacrificed. To be sacrificed, one must be willing.”

  I pause. “None of the girls must have known what was about to happen to them. Did these people seriously kill girls in some obscure ritual, expecting to reveal a hell’s gate?” I feel awful for the girl who’d written that diary with such high hopes for her future. What had happened to her?

  Okiku says nothing, but I know her answer. There’s a strange light in her eyes. This ritual is sounding more and more like the World Cup for serial killers, and she’s just itching to intervene. I’m not as enthusiastic about it.

  “Tark? You still awake?” Callie peeks in from outside and frowns when she sees the books strewn about. “Tark, you need some rest, remember? Tomorrow’s gonna be hectic enough as it is without the jet lag.”

  “I was just looking through a few things.” I can’t tell Callie what I’ve found. She’s already worried, and anything more would freak her out. “Doesn’t that also apply to you? What are you doing up this late, Callie?”

  “I can’t sleep,” she admits. “My mind’s going a mile a minute. I’m concerned about Kagura, and I’m concerned about all this…research. It sounds pretty fantastic to me.”

  “You would have said the same thing two years ago.”

  “Ugh. Don’t remind me.” Callie spots Okiku and gives her a small smile. “I was talking with Auntie after you left. Do you really think Kagura’s father could have found a village inside Aokigahara like he claimed?”

  “It’s hard to believe that no one’s seen it before.”

  “According to Auntie, he claimed to have proof, but it could never be substantiated by another independent source. Apparently, he said he was going to find more evidence—to find someone—but he never returned. That was ten years ago.”

  “Why didn’t Kagura tell us about any of this?”

  “Auntie said she never really talked about it, though Kagura had been to Aokigahara several times looking for him.”

  Callie sighs. “And now she’s missing too. Personally, I don’t know what to make of it. It’s not like anything weird happened before she’d left, right? Auntie says lots of people have lost their way inside Aokigahara. Something about GPS devices and cell phones not working when you’re inside. And from what I can tell, it’s a pretty big forest. Tark, are you listening?”

  Callie’s words jog something inside my head. “Sorry, you were saying?”

  “Honestly, Tark! I’ve been prattling on and on, and you haven’t listened to anything I’ve said—hey!”

  She scowls at me as I take a picture of her with my phone. The flash makes Callie look pasty white, though it does nothing to hide her full-on glare. I show it to her, chuckling.

  “I’m kidding,” I say. “I heard every word. And now it’s my turn to tell you not to worry. Go and take a dip in the hot spring or something.”

  She smiles at me. “Yeah. Maybe I will. I need a soak. As long as you promise to stop looking through those old books and get some sleep.”

  “Cross my heart. Can I ask a favor?”

  “What is it?”

  “In the event, you know, something happens to me—and I mean that in the most hypothetical sense—you’ll do everything in your power to fi—”

  Before I can finish, Callie bounds to my side and claps a hand over my mouth. “Absolutely not,” she says severely. “I absolutely refuse to do anything on your behalf, Tarquin Halloway. The last time you said something as half-assed as this, you tried to stab yourself and I spent a week in a hospital. So you’d better take care of yourself and not do anything stupid. Because I’m not gonna bail you out again. You hear me?”

  I mumble a “yes” through her fingers and hold up my hands in surrender.

  “Good. Now I feel like I need a drink.”

  “Me too?” I ask hopefully.

  “Nope.”

  “Meanie.”

  “Not my fault you’re underage.”

  “You were too until a couple of months ago.”

  “I know. Ain’t that great?”

  “You’re getting to be a real alcoholic these days, Callie.”

  “Shut up.”

  I keep grinning until she leaves. Then I stare down at the phone in my hand before taking a picture of myself. Okiku watches me as if she already kno
ws the outcome.

  The picture flashes on the screen. Maybe I already know the outcome too, because I’m not surprised by what I see.

  “Figures.”

  Taking my own advice, I shed my clothes and step out into the hot spring, the heat of the water and the biting cold of the night warring against my skin.

  I find a comfortable spot and sink in to my neck, closing my eyes and breathing deeply because I’m not sure when I’ll be back here—if ever. When I open them again, Okiku is lurking by the spring’s edge. She turned away when I began shedding clothes, but now she is looking down at the water, and her longing pulls at me.

  “Ki, you can come in with me if you want.”

  “It is not proper.”

  “If it wasn’t proper, it wouldn’t be communal. Come on.”

  For all my bravado, it’s my turn to face away and wait, listening for the splash that never comes. By the time I realize ghosts don’t make ripples, Okiku is already in the water, still fully clothed. The rising steam fogs my vision, so all I can make out is her mass of hair near the farthest edge of the spring.

  “I’m sorry, Ki.” I say.

  “Why?”

  “You saw the photo I took of myself. You know what that means.”

  “It is never too late for anything.”

  Another minute passes before I speak again. “You sure you’re not mad at me anymore?”

  “It is of no consequence.”

  “You know, that’s girl code for you’re still mad at me.”

  She says nothing.

  “Okiku, can you do something for me? Can you promise not to kill anyone without at least talking to me first? When you start feeling these urges, I would rather you give me a heads-up so I can look for alternatives. Like, you know, maybe keeping out of the guy’s way and not publicly antagonizing him in the first place.”

  “Do you not trust me?”

  It’s hard to pick up emotion from her dry monotone, but I can tell she’s hurt by my suggestion.

  “Okiku, don’t be ridiculous. I trust you with my life, and that’s kind of the problem. What we did nearly put us in the spotlight, and that’s the last thing we want if we don’t want to get caught. Well, if we don’t want me to get caught anyway. You’re beyond the scope of legal jurisdiction. Do you understand?”

  “Why do you do this?”

  “Well, killing someone under the assumption that he might hurt someone in the future…”

  “No. Why do you fight for him when you feel nothing for his death?”

  Okiku always knows how to get to the heart of the matter.

  I dip below the water, blowing bubbles out of my mouth before I resurface. “You’re right. I don’t feel bad at all, and I feel bad about not feeling bad. But we can’t allow our personal feelings to get in the way. We break the law every time we kill one of these murderers. Let’s not add killing future murderers to the list, because that category doesn’t leave a lot of people outside it. It…it keeps us from being them, you know?”

  “It prevents other innocents’ deaths.”

  I close my eyes. “Even so. I’m sorry, Ki.”

  This time, she takes a little longer to respond. “I understand.”

  “Good. Now come here, and let’s hug it out.”

  “No.”

  “Don’t be shy. I can barely see you in all this steam. Oh hey, maybe I’ll be the one to go there.”

  I splash noisily toward her, but by the time I make my way there, she is already out of the spring, shaking her head at me and my peculiar enthusiasm.

  “Come on,” I cajole, laughing, but she ignores me and drifts back into the room.

  Without Okiku around to tease, there isn’t much else to do, so after a few minutes, I emerge from the spring, slip into a fresh yukata, and crawl onto the futon.

  I pick up my phone and stare hard at the photo I took of myself. Okiku curls up on the floor beside me, watching me watching. Nothing crawls out of the picture. Nothing curls around my features like it did in Kagura’s photograph. Nothing moves.

  Chapter Nine

  The Village

  I don’t realize the extent of the search party until we arrive at the base of Mount Fuji, near the entrance to Aokigahara. The area is teeming with people, mostly police officers and volunteers. There are also reporters with cameras—many of them foreigners—harassing a few of the cops. I assume the media’s on standby in case there are any developments.

  A few of them zone in on us, though the animation in their faces dies as we make our way to where a crowd of volunteers waits for instructions.

  I shift my feet, unable to hide my unease. I don’t like reporters, though I admit past experiences may have colored my judgment. Okiku is less biased than I am. She drifts between a reporter’s summation of events and his cameraman, peering inside the lens while the former prattles on. I’m sure anyone in the audience with an inclination toward mediumship is going to get a kick out of that broadcast.

  I haven’t slept much. I woke up in the early hours of the morning and reread the diary and the notes on The Book of Unnatural Changes so many times that I’m sure I could quote the book verbatim by now. But I don’t feel tired. If anything, something in those pages gnaws at me, but I don’t know what exactly or why I feel on edge.

  Auntie dropped us off after extracting promises that we keep her informed as soon as we learn anything. Saya, who shouldn’t be traipsing about forests at her age anyway, decided to stay behind with Auntie to keep her company.

  “I didn’t think there would be this many people,” Callie admits, looking around.

  “Yeah, well, nothing says ‘Pull out all the stops and leave no stone unturned’ like a cable network breathing down your neck because you’ve lost their reality TV stars slash meal tickets.”

  “But that’s a good thing, right? I don’t think they would have been this proactive if only Kagura was missing.”

  I remind her that the ghost hunters are the sole reason Kagura is missing, making Callie’s case for them null and void.

  One of the volunteers in charge signals for attention, silencing Callie’s attempt at a comeback. It’s probably better that she doesn’t know about my distorted photo. I’m not sure what it means myself. I remember the photo Kagura sent, with her face as disfigured as mine and most of her companions missing their heads.

  I don’t know what the disfigurement means, but I’m almost certain that the lack of heads means that they’re dead.

  I tug at the backpack I’m wearing. Earlier this morning, I stole into Kagura’s room and pilfered supplies. I plan to apologize to Kagura if—when—I find her, but I still feel guilty. I half expected Callie to be suspicious, because she always seems to have a nose for knowing when I’m up to no good. But other people in the group are carrying knapsacks, and so far, she’s oblivious.

  The volunteers are divided into small groups, each led by at least one person familiar with Aokigahara. Callie doesn’t understand as much Japanese as I do, so I relay the instructions to her as our leader drones on.

  “Stay on the marked paths. There aren’t a lot of them, so always remember to keep to the buddy system and know where your partner is at all times. Don’t stray from where you can see your group. If you see anything unusual, call out to others before investigating.”

  Most of the local residents, we discover, call Aokigahara “Jukai”—literally, the Sea of Trees. Despite the number of tourists that visit each year, most refuse to even set foot inside the forest, believing that spirits and demons lurk in it.

  Our leader also warns us about other possible dangers, and we’re each handed whistles to wear around our necks in case we need to call for assistance. There’s a chance we could get lost, that we could trip and injure ourselves, and—this is what chills me—that we might find dead bodies as we search. Aokigahara isn’t called the “suicide forest” for nothing, I suppose.

  It’s still early morning when our group is given clearance to enter. Aokigahara
is a deceptive forest. It has all the hallmarks of a popular tourist destination: narrow but well-maintained hiking trails with a surprising amount of litter, not to mention strips of tape and ribbon wrapped around tree trunks. The leader explains that hikers use them as markers to maintain their bearings. Later on, one of the other volunteers whispers to us that some of the tapes were left by those who came here to kill themselves, in case they decided to change their minds. The revelation horrifies Callie.

  A few miles into our hike, anything resembling civilization disappears. Roots crawl across the hard forest floor, and it’s easy to trip if you’re not constantly looking down. We’re outside, but the trees make it feel claustrophobic. They reach hungrily toward the sun, fighting each other for drops of light, and this selfishness grows with the darkness as we move deeper into the woods.

  It’s quiet. The silence is broken by the scuffling of feet or snapping of dry twigs as we walk. Every so often, volunteers call back and forth to each other, and rescue dogs exploring the same vicinity that we are will bark. But there are no bird calls, no sounds of scampering squirrels. We’re told that there is very little wildlife in Jukai. Nothing seems to flourish here but trees.

  This deep into the woods, any roads and cleared paths are gone. At times, we’re forced to climb to a higher ledge or slide down steep slopes to proceed, and there’s always some root or rock hiding to twist an ankle.

  And yet—the forest is beautiful. I like myself too much to seriously think about suicide, even during my old bouts of depression, but I can understand why people would choose to die here. There is something noble and enduring and magnificent about the forest.

  That sense of wonder disappears though, the instant I see them. There are spirits here. And the ghosts mar the peacefulness for me. They hang from branches and loiter at the base of tree trunks. Their eyes are open and their skin is gray, and they watch me as I pass. I don’t know what kind of people they were in life, but they seem faded and insignificant in death.

  Okiku watches them but takes no action. These are not the people she hunts. They don’t attack us because they’re not that kind of ghosts. Most of them, I intuit, aren’t violent. The only lives they had ever been capable of taking were their own.