The Suffering

by Rin Chupeco

  “The longer she can hibernate, the better. She cannot linger long in this village.”

  I know Kagura doesn’t mean to, but her words make me feel guilty all the same. Okiku made no complaint or protest when I decided to come here, though she must have known what kind of creatures lurk in Aitou—the ones she is weakest against.

  “Kagura, what visions did you see when you caught those other two ghosts?”

  The miko packs the rest of her first-aid kit back into her bag and hesitates at my question. When she replies, her tone is guarded.

  “I don’t think they’ll be very important.”

  “I told you mine,” I remind her. “Only seems fair that you tell my yours. We can compare notes better that way.”

  “I couldn’t discern much information from my vision of Kita Morimoto. She moved as if she had been drugged, and her memories were of being fitted into her ceremonial kimono and being told that her companion—Akihiko, I think—was also being prepared for their wedding. And as for Nariko Konno—”

  “Yes?” I prompt when she doesn’t say anything for several seconds.

  “Like Mineko Kunai, Nariko Konno was led to the edge of a very large pit, though I didn’t see the large silkworm tree in that vision. She looked in and saw—”

  The miko shivers. I can practically hear her debating whether or not to tell me before she gives in. In a perverse sort of way, I already know—or at least have made a very good guess—about what she is about to tell me. The fear and horror I felt from Mineko were enough to understand what she’d seen, even if the vision ended before I saw the complete picture.

  “She saw bodies, Tarquin. Bodies of villagers—villagers she recognized as being the most vocal against the ritual and bodies of corpses that looked as if they have been there for years. She saw Akihiko’s body, still in his wedding robes, among those of the dead. He had been killed before she arrived.”

  We’re both silent for a while after that, trying to wrap our minds around the evil we’re going up against. I think about the Oimikado girl’s diary, about Yukiko’s father, who demanded to know where his daughter and her fiancé had gone after their wedding ceremony. I suppose, in the end, he did.

  I have some misgivings when Kagura insists on returning to the small grotto I found. She wants to be sure that there is no other way to access the shrine through it.

  “Did you look for possible passageways, or were you focused on escaping?” she asks me. “The sooner we can find our way to the shrine, the better, and I’d like to know we have all our exits covered—literally.”

  She is, I reluctantly admit, being logical. I don’t relish the thought of returning underground, but I’m surprised when Kagura takes that decision away from me. “I’m going to explore this on my own,” she tells me, heading off any protests.

  A closer inspection of the little Jizo statue reveals a lever on its back that makes it easier to roll, revealing a hidden entrance to the path that leads underground.

  “You didn’t see any kind of lever that could be pulled from the inside, right?” she asks.

  “No, the old man was too far away for me to see what he was doing, and I wasn’t sure I was supposed to ask him.”

  “Since we can only open this from the outside, you should stay here until I get back. I’d rather not get trapped inside.”

  “By yourself? Kagura, that’s insane.”

  “I’ve been dealing with ghosts since long before you reached puberty, Tarquin-san. I’ve survived thus far, and I believe I’ll be able to take care of myself for a little longer.”

  Kagura Kino doesn’t actually have any balls, anatomically speaking, but I suspect hers are still bigger than mine.

  “Wish me luck.”

  The miko promptly disappears into the bowels of the earth. I’m tempted to go after her, despite all my previous complaints, but what she said made sense. Kagura usually does.

  “What are you laughing about?” I grumble at the stone figurine, then remember that Jizo statues served as guardians for children who died before their parents and also as a kind of patron saint for travelers. Fat lot of good that did for the girls in Aitou—or us, for that matter.

  I haven’t had much chance to explore this residence yet, but I don’t wander too far from the statue, in case Kagura returns earlier than I expect. I take stock of what the rest of the room has to offer. Like many of the houses, there isn’t a lot of furniture, but the books have survived a little better, which is an oddity in itself, given their fragile state. Some appear safe to touch, but others look in danger of crumbling to dust if they are so much as breathed upon.

  There aren’t any mirrors that I can see, which is a relief. Looking at mirrors always makes things creepier, and this place is already as horrifying as it gets. But there are more paintings here than in any of the other houses. Most are ink-wash landscapes. One attracts my eye, mostly because it is edged by what looks like a gold-leaf border. I’ve only seen that on expensive paintings in Japanese museums.

  The painting itself is minimal in design. Four or five small clusters of sparse Japanese pines against a background of white snow. A closer inspection shows a lot of loving attention to detail.

  There’s something in the background, a small speck of moving dust. My first impression is that a fly is crawling across the canvas. Except this is no fly. Like a picture coming into focus, I make out the shape of a head, the outline of a body against a blinding snow.

  This is the same shadow I saw in the photo Kagura emailed me of herself and the American crew. And just like before, it turns and opens its eyes.

  Find me.

  I take a sudden step back from the painting, and for a second, the background seems to move. Winds envelop the small black figure, reducing it to nothing more than a patch of white.

  Knowing that we’d already captured Kajiwara Fujiko’s spirit makes being alone in the Kajiwara house easier, but my skin prickles. That sixth-sense spider is scuttling underneath my skin in warning. I’m not alone. There’s a presence nearby, but it doesn’t feel malevolent. Not like with the ghost brides.

  I can feel it behind me.

  I turn.

  The old man—the same old man helping me, the one I think is Lord Oimikado—is thirty, thirty-five feet away and staring at me. As before, he doesn’t appear antagonistic. His hands are clasped as if in prayer, and he looks tired. He bows low to me. I’m at a loss for how to respond. Then he moves back toward a small bookcase, which houses the few volumes that have survived the village’s death. His arm lifts and he runs a hand along the thin spine of one and then, just as before, he winks out into nothing.

  I take an agonized glance back at the Jizo statue, note that Kagura has yet to surface—it’s only been fifteen minutes at the most, but I still can’t help but feel worried—and then retrace the old man’s steps, slowly taking out the book he brought to my attention.

  The bound leather, dry and crusty, is untitled. Its pages have definitely seen better days. There aren’t many, and careful investigation reveals that there is only one entry—two pages in small, prim writing, handwritten in Japanese. It’s a diary of sorts.

  I feel Okiku stir and slowly detach herself from me.

  “Okiku, you need to rest.”

  She shakes her head. She looks better than she did—at least as far as dead girls go. She’s frowning deeply and looks almost anxious. “There’s something wrong.”

  I ask her, not without some nervous trepidation, what she means by that, but she only shakes her head. She doesn’t act like there’s someone else in the vicinity though, so I show her the book.

  “Can you make something out of this, Ki?”

  She doesn’t hear me at first, staring off into the distance, lost in thought.

  “Ki? You okay?”

  She blinks and settles her black eyes on me. “Yes,” she says, though I’m not sure she believes it herself. She does little to explain. Instead, she settles herself on my right and slowly reads the words.


  “‘I am the last of the village.’”

  Slivers of dread run through me.

  “‘It has all been for nothing. The sacrifice of my daughter, the sacrifices of those who have had daughters—we have failed. The dead walk outside, wearing the faces of those who have succumbed to the madness, the faces of those who have gone before them. Even my fellow priests have not been impervious to the sickness, but that is not the worst of it.

  “‘I have seen the face of my poor Fujiko, gone all these years, and there is nothing of the beauty, the humanity in her now. She is among the damned, and her shrine sisters walk beside her.

  “‘Oimikado Hotoke was brave. A victim like all the chosen brides before her—but the bravest of them. Ironic that she would prove to be his undoing.

  “‘They will not rest. They will never rest until the final ritual is performed.

  “‘It is all Hiroshi’s doing. I understand that now. He did not perform the ceremony the way he should have. He did not seek to close the gate but to rule over it. He betrayed us, sacrificed everyone in his mad quest for power. When I think of what we did to those poor boys…

  “‘…the look my Fujiko gave me, dazed and drugged as she was, when she saw what awaited her in that pit…

  “‘But it is too late. It is too late. We knew not what we had done, though our hands are stained guilty with their blood. It will make no difference to the dead.

  “‘Kami willing, I will make my way back to the shrine. I hope to finish the ritual on my own and end things once and for all. I do not believe I will be successful—but I must try to atone for all my sins.’”

  A muffled thump comes from somewhere nearby. I look around, wondering if it was Kagura or something else, but Okiku pays it no heed and continues.

  “‘And you, oh poor traveler who has happened upon the writings of this unfortunate man! Let my words serve as a warning—leave the village immediately or be prepared to share in our fate. If the way out is barred, then find the Jizo statues and travel to the silkworm tree. Free those poor girls from its clutches and burn it with their fires. And if anything interrupts your quest—then may the gods have mercy on your soul.’”

  I groan when Okiku is finished. “I really, really hate it when they end letters like that.” But I understand now. The writings in those mysterious parchments, the lingering ghost brides and their hate—even Yukiko Uchiyama’s mad wall graffiti.

  There’s another muted thump and then a strangled noise that sounds like “shit” that comes from inside one of the closets. I rise to my feet, Okiku staring quizzically at me. I should probably exercise more caution, but I’m pretty sure Japanese ghosts don’t swear in English.

  My steps are confident as I cross the room and slide open the door where I heard the sound. The instant I do, I’m received with the most ungodly shriek, and I can’t resist responding with a surprised holler of my own.

  It’s Stephen Riley. The man gazing wild-eyed at me is a far cry from the well-groomed, self-assured cohost of Ghost Haunts. His beard’s scraggly, and his hair’s unkempt. Unless the camera really does put on ten pounds, he’s lost a considerable amount of weight, and the rags he’s wearing could barely be called a shirt and pants. He looks like he’s been picked up, kicked around, and then thrown down a flight of stairs, but at least he doesn’t look dead, a feature most of the village inhabitants share.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I hold up my hands as he scrambles away, arms raised in a futile attempt to ward off harm. “I’m Kagura’s friend, okay? Are you listening to me?” He freezes, staring at me like I’m a mirage. “We’re here to get you out, so don’t flip out or anything. We’re going to—”

  A hand taps me on the shoulder, and I swear if I had jumped any higher, my head would have put a hole through the roof.

  “What is going on in here?” Kagura sounds crabby, a clear indication that she hasn’t found any new passageways. She gives Okiku a respectful nod and peers past me. Her eyes widen when she takes in Riley. “Stephen-san?”

  “Kagura!” The man is nearly beside himself as he stumbles out of the small room, clinging to her hand like she is a flotation device. “I thought I was a goner!” he gasps out.

  “Stephen-san, I am glad you’re all right.” Have I mentioned that Kagura is the queen of understatements? “What happened? I came back to find most of you gone, and Garrick and Henry…” Her voice shakes slightly.

  “Garrick got impatient. He wanted to find out what was going on, so he removed the ofuda you placed on the door. I tried to talk him out of it, but by then that…that girl came inside, and we all started running. Garrick…Garrick didn’t make it?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know. I only found Henry’s body.”

  Stephen’s shoulders slump. Me, I’m just fervently glad I didn’t break into the Konno house where the ghost hunters first sought shelter. I don’t want to know what condition Henry’s body was left in.

  “Who are you?” Stephen asks, staring at me. “How the hell did you get here?”

  “The same way you did,” I say lightly, not wanting to frighten the poor man further. “Kagura, we need to go back to the Oimikado residence. We can bring Mr. Riley up to speed along the way.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I know how to get into the shrine.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Pit

  The Oimikado residence is the place where I found the list of brides’ names and first encountered the old man, though he’s nowhere to be seen. Kagura is a little skeptical about him, even when I show her the journal he kindly pointed out to me.

  “It could be a trap,” she says.

  “Trap or not, it’s not like we’ve got some other route out, right? He’s telling us how to get into the shrine, and that’s what we want to do anyway.” I think Kagura would feel a lot better if we’d tracked down Yukiko Uchiyama first, but we haven’t seen her lovely, grotesquely drawn face since she tried clawing my back off.

  Stephen Riley is understandably reluctant to be pulled from his dark, musty closet only to traipse through some dark, musty caves, so we decide to bring him to the Oimikado house, where his fellow crew member is waiting. He brightens when I tell him I found Alan George, glad that someone else has survived, though the latter’s not in the best shape.

  It takes some time for Stephen to get the circulation back into his legs after crouching and hiding for so long, but despite his weakened state, he can walk on his own after a few false starts. Much to my relief, he doesn’t seem to notice Okiku, even when she’s practically standing next to him. I didn’t expect him to. He’s not a ghost hunter; he just plays one on television. Surprisingly, he’s retained the holy stakes that Kagura gave him. If he doubted their value before, he seems ready to use them now, especially after what’s happened to his crew.

  I offer him some of my water, and Kagura has some dried beef on hand, both of which he finishes with relish. I don’t know how long I’ve been stuck in Aitou, much less how long Kagura and Riley have—time seems to have its own rules in this village—but the fear of running out of food and water lurks at the back of everyone’s minds.

  That fear remains with us until the Oimikado house looms into view. Until I knee the door aside and discover that the ofuda I placed across it for protection is no longer where I left it but is now torn in half on the floor.

  I raise my hand behind me to signal Kagura to stop and then pry the rest of the door open. The unmistakable metallic aroma of blood and earth and dirt clogs my nostrils. There was no pungent odor when I left. Alan George is not here, but there’s ample enough evidence that he used to be and may not have left on his own terms. The wall where I remember leaving Alan is caked in soot and something congealed is scattered in lumps on the floor. One whiff tells me that I am better off not knowing what it is.

  “Where’s George?” I’m not sure Stephen Riley can take too many more hits, and it’s apparent by the way he’s shaking that he knows something came for his fr
iend.

  “I’m sorry, Stephen,” I say, suddenly angry. “I told him! I told him not to take it off!”

  “He wouldn’t have if there wasn’t good reason to,” Riley insists, defending his crewmate. “We all saw what happened when Garrick removed the protection. He wouldn’t make that same mistake.”

  “Then what the hell happened here? I should never have left him alone.” My voice is hoarse with emotion.

  “You didn’t have much of a choice,” Kagura reminds me, though her own face is grim, her lips thinning. She’s quick to compartmentalize her emotions, stepping bravely into the room. I endeavor to follow, though with less calm. I bind the door with another strip of ofuda, though I’m not sure it will make much of a difference if the creature is already inside the house.

  “You’re not going to leave me here, are you?” Riley asks, panicked. I don’t blame him.

  Kagura takes a deep breath, and I suspect she is about to suggest it. “Alan-san took off the ofuda when he wasn’t supposed to. You should still be safest here.”

  “You’re going to leave me to become food for whatever creatures lurk around here? Hell no.” Fear is a great motivator, and as weak as he is, Riley isn’t backing down. “I’ll go with you guys. I won’t fall behind. Just don’t…don’t leave me here with the thing that got Alan.”

  Kagura glances at me, and I nod after a moment, still feeling guilty about leaving the man to fend for himself. May as well die together rather than alone.

  “I think we need to go over this place, just to be sure,” I say. Whatever tore the ofuda might still be lurking inside, and I want to make sure there are no more surprises. Kagura nods in agreement. Riley is less accommodating, but neither of us says anything as we begin the search. My back still aches, but adrenaline’s doing a good job of helping me ignore the pain.

  I find Alan George in the next room. His knees are drawn up despite his bad leg, his face buried between them, and his arms are wrapped around his calves. He is rocking back and forth, and he doesn’t seem to hear me when I call out gently to him.