The Suffering

by Rin Chupeco

  The doors burst open, and things crawl into the room.

  She recognizes some of them in their tangle of limbs, and her grip on the doll tightens, her mouth whispering prayers. One of the corpses inches closer, ever closer. She has been dead many years, but the woman knows who she is despite her face.

  “Kaaaasaaan,” it says in a singsong voice, “Mother, mother, mother”—

  I’m not used to two exorcisms in succession, so it’s at least ten minutes before I catch my breath, trying to understand what I have just seen.

  “The visions of that ritual, that was the last in this village,” I say with sudden clarity. “Something happened, and it freed the ghosts of all those sacrificed girls. We need to find out what went wrong.”

  “The old woman was strong,” Okiku observes quietly, “to maintain her sense of self.”

  “I could tell. She didn’t once try to eat my spleen,” I say. “What does she mean by silkworms? And that Ran girl’s vision—was that how they chose which girl to sacrifice? That’s—this is insane. What did she call her—an aragami?”

  “One who had been sacrificed in vain and returns for malice.”

  “In vain? But I thought the previous rituals were completed.”

  “No. The rituals make up a larger, more powerful one. It is not yet finished. He intended this all along.” There’s newfound steel in Okiku’s voice. This is the angry, vengeful, justice-seeking Okiku I know and love. “The kannushi founded the village for this purpose alone. He intended to sacrifice all for the hell’s gate. He cared nothing but for the power he could receive from it. The last ritual trapped the people in this village. But it is still incomplete.”

  “This was all the kannushi’s doing? The master of ceremonies? But why?” Then it hits me. “Do you think the kannushi is this Hiroshi Mikage person? The guy who was exiled from the emperor’s court for dabbling in forbidden magic?”

  “The woman does not know. She only knows that the kannushi’s magic took her daughter’s corpse and breathed malice into it, as it did the other brides. Until the ritual is complete, they are bound here. What protection the woman had given preserved some of the girl’s memories, and she stayed until her child could be vanquished.”

  “Some of the other ghosts might not be hostile, right?”

  “She is likely the exception.”

  “I hate that the nice ones always have to be the exception.” Very carefully, I remove the stake and place the doll inside my backpack. “So one down, at least six more to go. Where’s the nearest one you can sense?”

  “To the east.”

  “Alrighty then. But before that—”

  Okiku does not move when I approach her. She looks puzzled. “I’m going to hug you,” I say and then do just that, enfolding her in my arms.

  “Why?” The rattle of her voice is muffled against my shoulder.

  I risk all for him.

  “Because I want to.” My voice still sounds scratchy. “You change your mind about hugs now?”

  “No.”

  “Party pooper.” I let go. “I guess there’s nothing else for us here. Let’s aim for that next house.”

  The Kunai residence is next on the map. As with the Hiranos’, the house has suffered through the years, with gaping holes in the floorboards and caved-in walls, which makes putting up ofudas a useless endeavor. I keep my eyes on the ground, fearful the whole floor might give way with each step. I tiptoe along the walls, where the wood looks firmer and the foundation appears unscathed. Okiku, who likes being unfair, simply sails across the gaps.

  The Kunai altar is located inside the inner room. The doll sits atop it, surrounded by discarded bits of incense and broken pottery that may have once contained food offerings to whatever deities the people honored. There is only one problem—the floor has collapsed into a gaping hole that splits the room in two, separating us from the doll by about eight feet of air—at least four feet more than I’m willing to risk jumping across. I try to peer into the dark chasm below, but all I can see is darkness. I play my flashlight back and forth over a stone path about twenty feet down. An underground cave? A collapsed tunnel?

  “What the hell kind of architecture is this? Why would people build their houses over yawning pits like this?”

  Of course, I get no good answer to that. Okiku—who I’m pretty sure hates holes in the ground more than I do, given that she died in one—just stares at it.

  “Is there any way you can get it just this once for me?” I wheedle.

  She reluctantly moves across the room and attempts to do just that. Her hands pass through the doll like it’s not even there. It’s the same reason she couldn’t touch the doll back at Sondheim’s apartment—spirits of water can’t touch vessels belonging to creatures of wood. Ghosts can’t touch vessels made to entrap them either, which is the reason the ghosts haven’t been able to hide their dolls. Most of the time, it’s the only advantage humans have over ghosts.

  Should the gate fall, only one hope remains: use the vessels to trap the sacrifices and perform a final ritual in their presence.

  I can’t help but give the kannushi some credit, albeit grudgingly. He’d read The Book of Unnatural Changes too. He must have told the girls’ families to honor their daughters through these bridal dolls, knowing he would use these vessels to perform the eighth ritual—the one that would give him power to rule the gate.

  “Guess not.” I glance around, trying to see if there is any way to overcome the obstacle. There are a few long, wooden planks that don’t look too badly decomposed—sturdy enough to walk across.

  “I definitely did not sign up to be a trapeze artist,” I complain, lugging one into place. I drag a few other planks beside the first, until half the hole has been covered. I figure if I don’t put my full weight on just one, then there will be less chance of the planks giving way.

  I take off my backpack and make a tentative step, balancing my arms out on either side of me as I begin to make my way across.

  “If Callie were here,” I continue to grumble, “she’d say this would be by far the worst idea I’d ever come up with, and she’d be right. I’m glad Callie isn’t here.”

  Why would a village build their houses above what look to be deep tunnels? How was it even possible for them to build something like this?

  And then another question: what’s at the bottom of these holes?

  I make it to the other side, retrieving the doll without incident, and start my return.

  “There is something here,” Okiku says.

  I nearly lose my balance from that alone. “Goddamn it, Okiku, don’t tell me that when I’m crossing a—”

  And then something grabs on to my foot, and I really do lose my balance. The doll slips out of my grasp and drops into the darkness below. I lash out and succeed in latching on to the edge of the floor. I glance down and nearly faint at what I see.

  A girl, clearly dead, has her hands wrapped around my ankle. She is covered from head to toe in dirt and slick, green slime, and her clothing is ragged beyond recognition. Her hair slicks down her face, and her wide, staring eyes are framed with the customary teardrop-shaped brows. The sudden smell of death and decay is overpowering. I gag and try to kick my way free, but she hisses and clings.

  Okiku flies past me, catching the other ghost unaware and sending both of them tumbling into the black pit.

  “Ki!” I scramble for safety, then turn and shine my light down, frantically searching for a glimpse of her. “Okiku!”

  Fear seizes my heart. Weakened as she was by the miasma surrounding us, I know neither of us will have much of a chance if we are separated. But I don’t see her anywhere.

  I grab my backpack and steel myself.

  “This is a stupid idea,” I murmur to myself—and I jump.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Caves

  Don’t let those action heroes in movies fool you—falling twenty feet onto a stone floor is a bitch.

  I have enough sense t
o tuck and roll when I make impact, but it forces the air from my lungs all the same, and I don’t stop rolling until I plant my face into the opposite wall. I lie there for a few more moments, wheezing like an old man and regretting the day I thumbed my nose at my local gym’s annual membership.

  There aren’t any creatures lying in wait for me, but the downside is that neither is Okiku. I do see the doll lying a few feet away, dirty but intact.

  “Ki?” I call, coughing but finding the strength to pick myself up off the cave floor. My right foot sends twinges of pain up the length of my leg, and I wince. “Ki?” I call out again. My voice echoes faintly down the passageway, but nobody answers.

  I clamp the flashlight in my mouth and splay the light into the tunnel ahead of me, the spike raised in one hand and the doll in the other. If there are passages hidden underneath this house, then the same must hold true for many of the others. I’m no expert, but while I assume the caves are natural, some of these connecting passages look like they were dug by hand. How many people must have labored to do this? And for what purpose?

  “Okiku?” It’s not going to do much good to panic, but without her, I don’t stand much of a chance at getting out of this village alive, much less spearheading a rescue. I close my eyes and try to sense where she went, ignoring the mild nausea of my fright. I can walk despite the pain, though I know I can’t put too much pressure on my right foot.

  “Better than breaking my ankle,” I console myself.

  Okiku has been weak, and I start to worry that the reason she hasn’t returned is because she’s in trouble herself. I start off down the passage, walking as quickly as I can.

  Something scratches at the rock behind me.

  It’s probably nothing.

  Just to be sure, I speed up, forcing down the increased discomfort in my leg.

  Scuffling noises pick up behind me.

  Don’t look. Don’t look. It’s the mantra in my head as I quicken my pace even more. It’s nothing. It’s probably the sound water makes when it’s trickling through rock. Or some small insects buzzing. It’s definitely not something following you. Fingernails are too brittle to make that clawing sound.

  Aren’t they?

  Crap. Now I can’t get that image out of my head.

  Don’t look behind you. Don’t look behind you. That’s how people die in movies. Don’t look behind you.

  I look behind me.

  The long-haired girl slithering toward me makes me forget about my foot. I run, eyes focused on the path ahead because falling now would be very bad. I can feel Okiku’s presence growing stronger, as if she’s sensed me too and is heading my way.

  I run faster. The scratching behind me has increased in volume, but I can’t tell whether it’s gaining on me or whether it’s just getting angrier.

  There’s a strange hissing next to me.

  The glow of my flashlight catches Okiku bearing down on me, hollow eyes all afire and mouth stretched wider than possible for a normal human. I’m accustomed to how Okiku looks but not to encountering her in an abandoned tunnel with another ghost at my heels.

  I throw myself to the ground as Okiku launches herself at the spirit dogging at my tail, the force of the crash sending them both tumbling into the wall.

  The flashlight rolls away, but I spring to my feet, fumbling for the tape recorder. Shrieks ring out around me, but I can’t place where the sounds are coming from. “Hey!” I yell, lifting the recorder, and soon, the sounds of chants intertwine with the horrific cries.

  It doesn’t always work like this. If a spirit’s too strong, it won’t take to the chants immediately, and then a fair amount of wrestling is needed to get it down and docile.

  Both girls sail by me, inches from my head, and hit the ground. The other ghost has Okiku pinned, nails raking into her face.

  I don’t even think. I swing the spike and impale the spirit squarely in the chest, pinning her against the rock and keeping her immobile.

  “Ki!” I drop to my knees and drag her away from the squirming, shrieking ghost. Okiku’s eyes are closed, and she isn’t moving. Her face is drawn, far more desiccated than she should be.

  On the wall, the dead girl hisses out her triumph and tries to lunge forward, the stake sliding a bit when she does. I slam a second stake through her midsection, right in the center of a pink flower woven into her white kimono, and she screams. A third and a fourth keep her shoulders restrained. I stumble back. The ghost scratches at the air, clawing in my direction, but I hold up the doll and let the recorded incantations do their work.

  She screeches more unintelligible sounds at me, but I keep the doll leveled in her direction until she feels the inevitable tug. Before my eyes, she melts like vapor, seeping into the doll I’m holding until all that remains of our encounter are the four spikes still embedded in the wall—

  “I’m scared” is what she finally manages to say. “I want to see Akeno.”

  They’re walking down a dank, dark tunnel. Her hands are bound, and there are guards to prevent her from escaping. It doesn’t matter, because she feels too faint to break away. Her movements are sluggish, and she reels from side to side, unable to walk straight.

  No one listens to her. The silent procession continues, and she does her best to keep in step. She feels lethargic, as if her mind is slipping away from her despite all her intentions.

  Up ahead, she can see the back of the kannushi’s head, the rattle of beads as he walks. She does not recognize the other priests because they are all dressed in white robes, faces hidden beneath masks. She and the head priest are the only ones dressed differently—he in his ceremonial garb and she in her favorite kimono of coral peonies.

  “I’m scared,” she says, but it’s a ghost of a cry, and no one listens.

  The passageway leads to an underground cave. As they approach, she sees snatches of light streaming in from above, and her eyes widen when she sees the magnificent tree before them. It reaches up to the rock ceiling. The tree is clearly dead, its branches black and leafless. And yet, it seems very much alive. The withered gnarls of its branches curl and uncurl like spindly fingers beckoning at them. Shadowy shapes hang from its branches, some wriggling, but her vision has become blurry, and she cannot focus to see what they are.

  The priests file into the cave, but the kannushi does not move and neither do the two priests at the girl’s side.

  “We must do something first,” the kannushi tells her, and she can only nod dumbly before she is ushered into another tunnel.

  She must have dozed off while walking, for she recalls little until she finds herself standing before a yawning pit. Her mind shrinks at its size.

  “Would you like to see Akeno before we begin?” The kannushi asks. She nods and does not know why she grows more afraid when he asks this.

  “Then come here, Mineko. Here. Look.”

  He leads her to the edge of the pit. Shaking, she looks down and sees—

  —and I come back to myself. I’m still corkscrewing the spike into the doll’s chest, though this is no longer necessary. For a moment, I can see the spirit juxtaposed onto its face, gnashing sharp teeth in the hopes she can score one last blow. But her image fades, and she recedes into the doll, which watches me with burning midnight eyes.

  The kannushi didn’t need the boys for his rituals. Nothing in The Book of Unnatural Changes or Kagura’s notes ever mentioned their importance beyond their marriage providing another layer of protection for the girls. But Kazuhiko’s research did mention one other thing:

  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.

  Was that the kannushi’s intention all along—that the boys’ fates increase the girls’ suffering?

  Danger averted, I crawl back to where Okiku is still prone on the ground. “Ki,” I plead, lifting her in my arms. I need her to be all right.

  I’ve seen Okiku wound
ed in action before. There was a particularly nasty earth spirit lurking near a small shrine in Kyoto that surprised us both. It took weeks for her to recuperate, despite my fussing over her and her wounds that didn’t heal. They only went away after she spent two weeks hibernating inside my body, curled up beside my heart. I’m reminded once more that being immortal doesn’t mean Okiku can’t be dealt a mortal blow from a power stronger than she is.

  She opens her eyes and looks at me. Her face is impassive, but her eyes are painful to see. “I am tired,” she whispers.

  “I’ll handle this,” I promise. “You need to hide here for a while,” I say, tapping my chest. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  She shakes her head. “Not yet.”

  “Not yet? What do you…” I trail off because she shifts, death draining from her features to reveal human Okiku with several small wounds dotting the side of her kimono, which is ripped and shredded from the fight, exposing a part of her abdomen. “Pull them out.”

  I look closer and see several bits of wood and—I blanch—fingernails piercing the skin. I nearly throw up a little in my mouth, then get to work.

  Okiku doesn’t flinch at every splinter and nail I pull out, though I do most of the flinching for her. Her injuries would have been severe had she been human, but when I pull out each offending piece, her wounds seem to close up a little, and the blood ceases.

  Once I’m sure I’ve gotten everything out, I pull her closer to me. “Are you okay?”

  “No. I am angry.”

  “Not a surprise. You were angry at me long before we got here.” My grin fades when I see her brows draw together. “Okiku, you’re not still angry at me, right?”

  “I am not.”

  “We never really got around to talking the other night, did we?” I’m deliberately changing the subject—anything to get her mind off the pain I know she’s feeling. “I knew you were angry at me even before McNeil. We were going to talk and then I opened my big mouth and you…” I try to decide a nicer way to say “stormed off in a huff.”