by Rin Chupeco
I’m not afraid, despite their bloated faces, contorted from the ropes they use to hang themselves or the overdose of sleeping pills they’ve taken. If anything, I feel lingering sadness. I can sympathize with their helpless anguish. These people took their own lives, hoping to find some meaning in death when they couldn’t find it in life. But there’s nothing here but regret and longing.
And there’s that tickle again, so light it is nearly imperceptible. Something in this forest attracts these deaths. It lures its unhappy victims with its strange siren’s call and then, having taken what it needs, leaves their spirits to rot. A Venus flytrap for human souls.
Something is wrong here, and suddenly, the forest no longer looks as enticing or majestic as when we arrived.
The faded ghosts bow low to Okiku as she drifts past, and she nods in turn. Many bow their heads to me too. I gulp.
“What’s wrong?” Callie whispers, tugging at my hand.
Telling her about the ghosts would be counterproductive. The last thing I want is for Callie to hyperventilate in this middle of nowhere. So I say, “Nothing. This place just gives me the creeps.”
“I don’t know.” Callie looks around. “If there weren’t all those stories about the suicides, I’d think it was a lovely place to visit.”
“That’s how it pulls you in.”
My cousin shoots me an odd look but doesn’t push it.
Shouts ring out from the other side of the woods, and the volunteers break into hushed murmurings. “I think one of the dogs found a body,” I translate for Callie, fear rising in my chest.
We wait tersely for several more minutes before the word reaches us. It’s the body of an unknown hiker, most likely a suicide.
The search resumes, pausing only for a brief lunch break. I estimate we’re about three kilometers or so past the nearest hiking trail, and there are still no signs of Kagura or any of the film crew. We’re only allowed to search until the five-kilometer mark, with the more experienced professionals exploring the rest of the 3,500-hectare-wide forest. It will take weeks, possibly even months, to cover the whole area—if that is even possible. I doubt Aokigahara will ever be fully explored. As the day wears on, hope that Kagura is still unhurt in these woods sinks like the sun.
A halt to volunteer rescue efforts is called at four in the afternoon. Parts of Jukai are already too dark to search, and some other groups have reported stands of trees where darkness was nearly absolute.
Callie and I are bone-tired, our clothes dirty and our hands scraped and bruised from climbing and sliding. I’m sweaty, and my muscles ache from the exertion and the weight of my bag. Bringing my backpack turned out to be a bad idea after all.
“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Callie says, ever the optimist. “And the police and rescue teams are going to keep searching, so they might find something too.” The others in our group are already starting their retreat, heads bent and eyes downcast.
“Sure,” I say, but my heart’s not in it.
As Callie turns away, my eyes catch sight of something on the ground, almost hidden among the leaves. It’s only several feet from where we stand.
“Hey, Callie. Look at this.” I walk over and crouch to get a better look. Then I let out a whoop of excitement. Staring back at me is a handheld video camcorder. It’s a little the worse for wear but still intact. For all I know, some careless tourist with a hankering for expensive gadgetry dropped it, but most tourists don’t head this far out. It could belong to one of the Ghost Haunts crew.
“Callie, I found something!” I call out again, but Callie is nowhere to be found. She’s gone. For that matter, so is everyone else. I’m all alone. Even the ghosts have disappeared.
Crap.
“Hello?” My voice bounces off the trees, loud but futile against the growing darkness. I shout again, aware of the panic in my cry, but the trees are silent. No one is there. I grab my whistle, but the shrill sound yields no response.
Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap.
“Okiku?”
When she appears, relief cartwheels through me. She doesn’t react when I close the distance between us and throw my arms around her, though her hollow eyes look startled. “Ki, where is everyone?”
She shakes her head.
“Callie was standing literally three feet away from me. There is no way she could have vanished—”
“There is something here.”
“A good something or a bad something?” I ask her.
Okiku shoots me a look.
“Of course. Why did I even bother asking?” I wheel around. The light is fading fast, and I’m going to have to act quickly before it gets too dark to see, much less find Callie and the others.
All my misgivings about lugging my heavy backpack are forgotten. I drop to the ground and rummage through it for a flashlight. I flick it on and splay it nervously across the trees, trying to find any other signs of life. But other than me and Okiku, who technically isn’t really any kind of life at all, there’s nothing.
The darkness in this place no longer creeps on me; it rushes at me with a well-placed headbutt. But what chills me to the bone is the sudden hushed stillness, which is different from the silence. It’s the feeling that no one else is meant to be here—but something is. I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice from squeaking. “Okiku, any idea where to go next?”
Okiku hesitates. “Something is here,” she says, her voice very soft. “It limits what I can sense. We can travel the woods forever with no end in sight. But I can sense something else. There.”
“Doesn’t sound like we have a choice then.”
I reach out and take her hand. It’s not something I usually do with her—Okiku tends to shy away from physical contact—but after a moment of hesitation she squeezes my fingers.
The flashlight keeps me from tripping over most of the foliage, but without an actual path to follow, progress is painstakingly slow. I try checking my phone, but the lack of signal makes it an expensive paperweight until we get out of Jukai. Even the clock isn’t working. The numbers skew wildly. It tells me it’s 7:00 p.m., and then 8:31 a.m., and then 76:92 p.m., before settling into what I can only presume is a default error code.
My anxiety has been growing ever since Callie and I got separated. Now, after this voodoo trick with my phone, it’s peaking into the higher registers of panic.
Okiku is my sole compass, leading the way. Her steps never waver, the direction she chooses unerring, and I find solace in her confidence. My hand grips hers tighter. It feels like we’ve been walking for hours, but she never lets go.
Finally, we burst into a clearing, and what we see makes me stumble.
It’s a village.
A village that looks to have been abandoned for some time. The wooden gate entrance has splintered in several places, as if something large and fearsome crashed through. We’ve left the tight choke hold of trees, but a thick fog rises, settling protectively around the little village like an evening cape.
“Okiku, is this Aitou?” I whisper.
Okiku frowns. She doesn’t know what it is, only that we’re not alone here.
I’m scared, but I don’t see what choice I have. I step past the broken barrier onto a rough path, a better alternative than the jungle we’d been wandering through. If Kagura’s in here, if any of the ghost-hunter crew is here, then I will find them.
I’m tempted to call out, hoping someone can hear me, but caution stills my tongue. I know better. This is not the kind of place where you want to attract attention.
The houses are lined up on either side of the path, and none show signs of recent habitation. Everything looks truly abandoned, and the only color I can see is the glint of gold up ahead. There’s some kind of temple in the distance, with a curved roof and pillars. It looks strangely familiar, though at the moment, I don’t know why.
But the best place to start looking for answers is the camcorder I’m dragging around. Now that we’ve broken through the woods, it
’s a good time to check it out. I hunker down beside a stone bench next to the nearest house. In the meantime, Okiku slowly spins around as she takes in our new surroundings.
I find the button and the camera flickers to life. I scroll through the menu to access the data. There are only four recorded videos, and I start with the first. I push Play. Kagura shows up on screen, sitting on a chair and looking remarkably self-conscious. Garrick Adams is sitting across from her.
“Don’t be nervous,” he says.
Kagura tries to smile. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to being filmed.”
It’s comforting to hear my friend’s voice, rich and warm, even if it is on a video recorder.
“That’s okay. Ignore the camera. Pretend it’s just me asking questions.”
“Interview commencing,” another voice off screen says, “in three…two…one…go!”
“Miss Kino, would you mind telling us more about this village?”
“There isn’t much known about Aitou. Or the rituals villagers have been said to practice.” Kagura clears her throat. “According to my father’s research, a ritual took place in Aitou every three years. Certain girls in the village were chosen to take part in purifying the supposed hell’s gate and to appease the spirits therein. What roles the girls played aren’t very clear, but my father believed that the girls might have been sacrificed.”
“How does he know this? I haven’t found any corroborating evidence from any other historian. You admit as much.”
Kagura’s voice takes on a slightly defensive edge. “My father was very thorough. He extensively researched the onmyōji practices of the time and found the memoirs of many contemporaries of Hiroshi Mikage, the exorcist believed to have founded Aitou. Their writings prove that it was a ritual commonly believed to close all hell’s gates. Mikage himself wrote about it, and I believe my father read what little of his works were available.”
“Had your father kept any of this Mikage’s writings?”
“If he did, I could not find them among his belongings.”
Adams questions, “Is there any way your father might have mistaken the ritual for the many suicides in Aokigahara?”
Kagura shakes her head, still huffy that her father’s research is being questioned. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not? It seems plausible.”
“Don’t badger her, Garrick.” Stephen Riley’s voice comes from somewhere off screen, sounding annoyed as well. “Why do you think that, Miss Kino?”
“The spirits in Jukai are a consequence of the gate ceremonies, not its cause. The village predates most of the suicides. Something in the forest…seeks pleasure in death, and it affects many of those who venture in. Though the general ritual was known among the onmyōji of that time, the specifics have never been written about, as far as I know, so it would appear that this was a closely guarded secret, meant to prevent others from making such attempts at the gate.”
“Tell me more about the marriages in Aitou. Is there any evidence that the girls might have been sacrificed?”
“A marriage between a village boy and the chosen girl was said to be part of the gate ritual. It was a means to protect the couple from the evil spirits they’d encounter when they left the village.
“Each girl was kept in seclusion for years before the ritual, and her intended was the girl’s sole companion during her isolation. My father believes it was an attempt to forge a bond between them, so that their spirits would not return to the village to seek vengeance.
“It’s a carefully guarded secret that the girls were being sacrificed. None of the chosen girls were ever seen after the rituals. My father doubted that the villagers were even aware of the truth. They believed that the couple was sent away from the village after their marriage and the ritual. Aitou would then be safe from bad luck for another three years, after which they’d have to perform the ritual all over again.”
“Where did he learn these specifics?”
“Again, I do not know.”
“Did your father ever find out the purpose for these rituals?”
“It could have been as simple as ensuring a good harvest. There was the great Tenpō famine during the eighteen thirties in Japan, and many families starved.”
“That sounds terrible.”
“People have been sacrificed for less.”
“Was there proof that any of the villagers protested this?”
“Only hints written in the diary my father found. The harvests were always bountiful in Aitou, and villagers probably believed the ceremonies were a cause of this.”
“Did your father learn anything else?”
“He possessed a rough map, supposedly of the village itself. I can’t vouch for its accuracy, but certain houses were marked with names—seven in all. These were believed to be the family residences of the seven girls who had been sacrificed, and—wait.” Kagura pauses, stealing a flustered glance at the camera. “Do I show you a copy of the map at this point? Or will your people add it in later?”
“We can add it in later,” Garrick says, smiling. “I’d like copies for all of us before we set out, if you don’t mind. It might not be accurate, but it’s the best lead we’ve got.” Garrick looks into the camera as well. “That enough, Jerry?”
“Yeah, I think so,” someone else responds, and the video ends.
The fog is thicker now, and I shiver at the encroaching chill. Before I can select the next video file, a hissing noise from Okiku makes me look up. She is staring off into the distance, and her fingers curl. Okiku is about to go on the warpath.
The creature is crawling on the ground toward us. It’s a horrible, horrible sight. Long black hair covers her face, and her fingers end in bone rather than with nails. The remains of a kimono trail behind her, the robe slipping loose from one shoulder, which is completely devoid of flesh.
I don’t sit around waiting for her to approach and strike up a conversation. I snatch up my backpack and the camcorder and race toward the nearest house.
“Ki!”
Okiku is with me as I enter the house and whip out one of the ofudas I had taken from Kagura’s room. The last thing I hear outside before I slide the door shut behind me is the crawling lady’s moan, a desperate cry that rings through the silent village, begging for blood.
Chapter Ten
The Eye
At first, I’m worried that the ofuda won’t stick between the two shoji screens that separate the rooms, but it stays up with little difficulty. It’s more like a barricade than a weapon, but at least it will prevent any creatures from following me in. It occurs to me on hindsight that the ofuda could also prevent me from leaving with Okiku—and I definitely do not want that.
The room I stumble into is a safe haven, mostly ghost-free as far as I can tell. It smells of dry hay and is mostly bare, with a few rotting mats, a broken table, and faded wall scrolls. A small, dusty doll in a kimono, still remarkably intact, sits atop what must have been a family altar used for worship.
There’s nothing here for me to hide behind or underneath in case another spirit shows up. I huddle in the farthest corner to wait things out, just in case the crawling creature is still wandering around. I fish out my tape recorder and an empty doll; I’d rather not take any chances.
Something scratches at the door. I can see a shadow moving across the screen, and then a hand presses against its surface, forming claws where it pushes against the thin wall. There’s a definite maliciousness in the deliberate scrape of the bone.
I know you’re here, it tells me. I know you’re here, and the ofuda is a temporary inconvenience that can be overcome soon enough.
The scraping tapers off. For several seconds, the shadow doesn’t move.
I can feel it studying me through the semitransparent divider.
Then it crawls away, its silhouette slowly disappearing from view.
I still aim the doll at the screen, ready to switch on the recorder should the crawling creature decide to change its mind.
All the while, Okiku is quiet, but I can see from the corner of my eye the way the muscles in her shoulders bunch, her hands knuckled against the floor, poised to strike. When more minutes pass and nothing happens, she relaxes, sitting and tucking her legs underneath her. When she does this, I relax in turn, dropping the doll in my relieved exhaustion.
“Ki, what the hell was that?”
“A wandering spirit.” Unlike when she’s mentioned the ghosts we’ve hunted, Okiku doesn’t sound eager or vicious or bloodthirsty. She frowns, lost in thought.
“How many?”
“Many. But there are—others. Other things. Vessels. Dolls.”
“Dolls?”
“I… It is hard to know for certain. But I sense them all the same.”
I dig into my backpack once more and bring out all the items I took from Kagura’s room: a dozen ofudas and a dozen wooden spikes, each about three inches long. Then I take stock of my other supplies: my tape recorder, two dolls stuffed with rice, the sewing kit, a pocketknife, two bottles (one drinking water and one salt water), a flashlight, extra batteries, and the emergency medical pack they handed out to volunteers that morning, which had another sewing kit, bandages, some ointment, and a small pen. It’s easy to see why I’ve been huffing and puffing for most of the day. Right now, I’m grateful for the self-imposed burden.
I slip the ofuda into the front pocket of my knapsack to make sure I can grab it quickly if I have to, which, given my luck, I probably will. I shove my tape recorder into my right pocket. I take a quick gulp of water, then return the bottle and the rest of the items to my pack, except for a flashlight and one of the spikes. Kagura never actually shared what I was supposed to do with the latter, but I’ve seen enough vampire series on TV to make a good guess.
The doll on the altar is still looking at me. It’s creepy, and I turn it around so it faces the wall instead.
That done, I sit and check the camcorder. I’m not moving until I’m at least eighty percent sure that whatever was outside has moved on to prey on something that isn’t me. Okiku hasn’t budged either, still deep in thought.