The Suffering

by Rin Chupeco

  I take a step back, turning my head toward where the others were. “Kagura, I found Alan. He’s—”

  The screen dividing the two rooms slides shut inches from my face, barely missing my nose and cutting off the rest of my words, as well as access to Kagura. Startled, I yank at the screen, but it refuses to give.

  “What the hell? Kagura!” I hear pounding on the other side and know it’s the miko, but she’s having just as much luck as I am at prying the door open, which is none at all.

  I rear back, raising my foot and slamming my heel into the wood. “Alan?” I say as I kick the door again. The man is barely fazed by the loud noise and the unexpected poltergeist activity. He’s too catatonic to notice. “Hey, Alan, are you all right? We found Stephen Riley. We’re gonna get you both out, just as soon as—” I kick hard; the wood wheezes again but doesn’t give.

  I stop in my tracks. Now that I’m not banging on the door, I can hear a strange hissing sound coming from behind me. It doesn’t sound normal. In fact, it doesn’t sound human at all.

  I swallow hard and force myself to speak. “You’re not Alan George, are you?”

  The spitting, croaking rattle that responds is answer enough. “No.”

  I can feel Okiku rising, ready to do battle, but I gently push her back down. This one’s on me.

  “Alan George is dead, isn’t he?” I grip the wooden stake, hard enough that I could have squeezed water from it.

  I hear the rustle of movement behind me, and I don’t wait for a reply this time. I drop to the floor, relying on my tried-and-tested habit of playing dead instead of mustering a defense, and the clawed hand flies uselessly over my head. I aim for the feet, figuring that a bum leg is a bum leg, whether its owner’s been possessed or otherwise. The trick works, and Alan George’s body hits the floor beside me, my stake through his ankle preventing him from doing more than flail around.

  One look at him tells me that we’re too late. His face looks like it no longer believes in adipose tissue and is decomposing rapidly. Cobweb-like threads gather at his neck and wrap around his head, and I can tell this was the initial metamorphosis the villagers went through before they were finally spun into cocoons.

  Kagura and Riley are still attempting to break down the door, but I can’t wait for them to finish. “I’m sorry,” I tell Alan’s body. It’s one thing to stake down ghosts, people you consider dead and gone. It’s another thing to confront someone you just talked to, who was alive and breathing when you left him.

  “I’m really, really sorry.” I’m sure the man’s past the point of feeling anything now, but I cringe as I hammer a stake through his hand. Alan rolls his eyes until only the whites show. His cheek sags. I steel myself, croak out another “sorry,” and shove the final sacred spike into his chest just as Kagura and Riley burst through the door, armed with what look like the remains of a chair.

  George’s body jerks and his muscles lock, as if rigor mortis has finally remembered to set in. I see a brief vision of him as I first remember him, minus the bone-mangling features. And then his whole being crumbles into dust.

  “Holy fuck,” Riley says, staring at the spot where his friend used to be.

  The look of horror on Kagura’s face makes me feel worse. “It’s my fault.” I tug at the stakes on the floor. “He was on my watch, and I didn’t take enough precautions. I didn’t think he’d take the ofuda off…”

  “No, the fault is mine. I should have never…” The miko’s voice catches, and Riley’s hand finds her shoulder.

  “I think Adams and I were the fools here,” he says thickly.

  We don’t say much. There’s little left of Alan to remember him by, so we stand in a semicircle for a moment of silence before Kagura tells us we have to go.

  Whatever trespassed on this property and possessed George appears to have left. I lead the way to where I found the Jizo statue. There’s a lever on this one too, in almost the exact same position, which saves us time. It pulls to the side in a similar manner, revealing another set of stairs leading down to a dark tunnel below.

  I can practically hear Riley reconsidering joining us, but to his credit, he doesn’t make a sound. Kagura insists on leading the way, shining her flashlight into the dank depths and being careful to keep her pace slow in case anything jumps out at us. Okiku and I take up the rear. There’s another lever artfully tucked to the side that will allow us to move the statue from inside, so we don’t need to leave anyone to guard the entrance, which also makes me breathe easier. We might be eaten and torn to bits by whatever creatures we find wandering these passageways, but at least we won’t be trapped.

  As before, the tunnels are devoid of light, so we have only our twin flashlights to guide us. I keep close to Okiku, not wanting to be overprotective but also not able to stop myself. She looks a lot better than she did, but I know she’s not up to her full strength yet. Her exhaustion pulls at me, mingling with my worry.

  “You could stay hidden within me, you know,” I murmur to her as we inch our way down the musty-smelling path, the cave glittering from the way the beams of light hit the mold and the uneven walls. I make a note to add a flu mask to the list of essentials to bring next time I find myself in a ghost-ridden town. “You don’t need to physically be here.”

  Okiku eyes me like I’ve just spoken in Klingon. “I am fine. I am—curious.”

  That’s an odd thing to say. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what else she is curious about, but Riley gives me a funny look, so I shut up. After all that time spent hunting ghosts on his show, you’d think he’d know if one was nearby.

  “There is something here,” Okiku whispers.

  “A fork in the path,” Kagura calls out in front of us.

  A small path branches out to the right, and another tunnels straight ahead. There’s nothing to distinguish one from the other, no way to determine which route will take us to the shrine.

  “I surmise one of them leads to the Kunai house, which has been blocked off, and the other should lead us to the shrine. The problem is figuring out which one is which.” Kagura bites her lip. “We were facing east when we entered the caves, and the shrine’s due north. If the ritual was being performed directly underneath it, then the path to the right should take us there.”

  The words are barely out of her mouth when a loud sonorous chanting booms out, echoing against the walls and hitting us from all directions, so we’re not quite sure where it’s coming from. All I know is that it’s not Kagura and it’s not from my recorder.

  “What’s going on?” Riley’s voice is rising.

  “Stay calm, man!” I bark at him, spinning and trying to figure out if the voices are coming from the path before us or to our right. “Kagura, what kind of chants are they?”

  “Nothing that I’ve ever heard before—I don’t even know what they’re saying. Let’s move out of their range if we can.” The miko strides down the forked path, and Riley and I follow. It isn’t until we’ve gone about a hundred yards that we finally find out what’s been making the racket.

  A spectral arm shoots out from one of the walls and attempts to paw at Riley. The ghost hunter leaps to the side and strikes at the glowing limb with his stake, impaling it at the wrist. There’s a faint rumble of outrage, and then the arm fades to nothing.

  I can’t help myself. “You still have some moves, old man.”

  Riley grins weakly at me. “I may not look it right now, but I do know how to fight.”

  I have no time for a comeback. More arms appear from the walls, some reaching so far into the corridor that they reveal their long robes and hats. I grunt when a hand snags my hair and drive my own sacred spike into the forehead of a phantom that’s lunging at me with bulging eyes and moaning piteously. Kagura uses her stake to cut through the forest of arms the way a woodcutter might use a hatchet to cut through a tangle of thorns, creating an opening. We rush through before any more arms can manifest.

  “Did you see that?” She pants, still r
unning.

  “I didn’t see anything,” I huff behind her, not tired enough not to be sarcastic.

  “I recognized some of their outfits. They’re ceremonial priests, Tark. In the emperor’s court, they were tasked with performing the most sacred of ceremonies. This must mean we’re getting close.”

  “Close to what?” I grunt, but Kagura’s running faster, and Riley and I work to keep up.

  Something lands a blow on my weak ankle, and I pitch forward, putting my hands up just in time to prevent my head from bouncing off the rocky ground. One of the damned old priest-ghosts has latched on to my foot, and it takes a couple more thrusts with the spike before he’s persuaded to let go. I hear the moans of his brethren not far behind, but Okiku is already there, claws ripping limbs from ghostly sockets and buying me enough time to scramble upright. When I’m back on my feet again, both Riley and Kagura have disappeared from view, and I redouble my efforts. I take another look behind me, and what I see nearly makes me trip again.

  Not content with reaching for us from the walls, the men in robes are scrambling to free themselves from the rock. The overall effect is that of a mass of flailing arms and heads moving through the rocks at growing speed as they come after us. I tear down the tunnel, calling out for Kagura, though I receive no answer.

  Then I come across another fork in the path. There’s no sign of Kagura or Riley on either path, and I swear loudly. Sounds of our pursuers draw closer. I have to make a decision—fast.

  “Forward,” Okiku whispers.

  Her instincts are better than mine, so I don’t question her and plunge on ahead. I keep hoping for a glimpse of my companions, but every time I swing my flashlight down the tunnel, all I can make out is more darkness. The narrow passage feels like it stretches for miles, though it can’t be more than a few hundred yards before the path widens without warning, and I stumble into a large cavern.

  The sounds behind me are silenced; the priests have abandoned their pursuit. This part of the cave leads to a dead end, but it only takes one look for me to understand why Okiku wanted me to take this route.

  The large silkworm tree I saw in the girls’ visions isn’t here, but this part of the caves has been witness to another kind of ritual altogether. A large stone statue, standing more than twenty feet high, has been carved into the wall. Looming over this stone edifice, also chiseled into its rocky surface, is the most horrifying face I’ve ever seen. It’s easily ten feet across and twice as tall.

  Its eyes are sunken so deep that they resemble nothing more than hollows, and two horns rise, one on either side of its head. Its cheeks are gaunt, twin skeletal protrusions only heightened by the shadows. A mouth is stretched in the same distended curl as the ghost brides’ lips. How they were able to carve this using only rudimentary village tools, I don’t know. But I wish they hadn’t been so artistically talented.

  I have seen Buddhist altars and offerings before but never one like this. It mocks the meaning of worship, twisting it until it is nothing short of a personal perversion.

  Surrounding us are human-sized cocoons. In the beam of my flashlight, they writhe in their silk prisons, pushing and prodding against the threads binding them. My encounters with them tell me that they’re not dangerous, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to bolt out of the cave all the same, even if it means running into the ghost priests again.

  Okiku stares intently at the massive demon effigy above us.

  “Okiku, do you know what this is?”

  She doesn’t answer. Instead, she continues toward the stone shrine, still entranced by the face looming above us. The altar is stained a rust color, and by the time Okiku speaks again, I realize why.

  “This place is a killing field. This place begs for blood.”

  Okiku stands to one side of the grotesque chantry, looking at something behind it. I move to follow her line of sight. There is a large pit behind the altar, and the smell of rot and decay grows as I approach.

  There are bones inside the pit—enough that I cannot see its bottom, only the pile of yellowed cartilages and skulls that serve as its bedding. I don’t doubt that I am looking at the villagers who defied their leader, Hiroshi Mikage. And then I shudder, knowing that among those bones are the remains of the unfortunate men who were betrothed to the ghost girls. This was the vision Kagura saw from the Konno girl and the vision I saw at Mineko Kunai’s.

  But there is something else in the pit; another corpse is sprawled atop the bones. Its head is tossed to one side so that it is looking straight at me, and what is left of its arm is raised parallel to its chin. Bits of flesh still cling to its bones. This man hasn’t been here as long as the others, and in this cool, damp cave, who knows how long it would take for him to putrefy.

  A long, jeweled dagger is thrust into the corpse’s body between its ribs. None of the other skeletons show any evidence of how they were killed, and none of the ghost girls I’ve encountered favor stabbing their victims with knives—though I can vouch that their fingernails are sharp enough to do the job.

  “He is not one of them.”

  “I think so too. His clothes look different from the other ghosts’.” As I shine my flashlight into the pit, a glint on the body catches my attention. A small jewel is tied to the corpse’s neck by a piece of string. I know what it is!

  “Ki, that’s a magatama.” I swallow, now knowing who the poor man is. I’ve seen the necklace in Kagura’s photo. “That’s Kagura’s dad. Kazuhiko Kino. It has to be.”

  Okiku’s silence is all the affirmation I need.

  I can almost hear Kazuhiko telling me what I need to do, and I know I can’t leave until I do it.

  “I don’t suppose you could retrieve the magatama for me, Ki?” The last time I tried to pillage from a skeleton, things didn’t go according to plan.

  Okiku shakes her head. Spirits can’t handle certain holy objects, and I suppose the magatama falls into that category.

  “Right. Help me find some rope.”

  I find a lengthy piece coiled up in a corner, making sure to avoid the squirming cocoons while I’m at it, telling myself I’ll deal with them later.

  The altar is the closest immovable object to the pit, so I tie one end hastily around its leg and then dump the rest of the rope into the hole, giving it a few tugs to ensure my knot won’t unravel. I relinquish my backpack, setting it near the edge of the pit, then use the rope to lower myself into the hole, trying not to focus on the death around me, the smell of the open grave, and the sickening noise my feet make when they came into contact with a hapless skull. I tread warily toward Kazuhiko’s remains, wincing whenever the cushion of bones can’t handle my weight and I sink in ankle-deep.

  I slip on a bleached head that’s smoother than I expect and land on my hands and knees, hovering above Kagura’s father. A tiny white maggot chooses that moment to crawl out of the corpse’s eye sockets, and I draw back with a shudder. Not wanting to linger, my fingers find the magatama, and I lift it from his neck. At the last minute, I snatch the jeweled dagger as well, because I figure any added protection would be welcomed.

  The invisible spiders crawling up my spine have multiplied and wriggle over every inch of my skin. I’m familiar enough with that feeling to know something’s about to happen, and I don’t want to be in the pit when it does.

  I am halfway up the rope when I hear the scuttle of bone, the angry slide of femur against rock. The clacking sound only makes me quicken my pace, and for once, I’m smart enough not to look back until I’ve hauled myself to the side of the pit, flailing a little with my arms so that my chin hits the ground. For a brief moment, I swear something brushes against my leg, but I grit my teeth and kick back, then crawl the rest of the way out.

  Okiku is perched on the edge, coolly assessing the situation. “Brat,” I growl at her but not with much grumpiness. If she’s not attacking, the ghosts are not hostile.

  My hand clenched around the tiny jewel, I make sure I’m completely intact before l
ooking at what I just got myself out of.

  It’s like a horror movie. The dead are rising from the graveyard’s trenches, clamoring toward the side of the pit and me and Okiku. The skeletons scratch futilely at the rock. At least none of them look capable of scaling the hole. Only Kazuhiko’s body remains inert. However he died, he’s not part of their curse.

  I look down at the magatama in my hand. The skeletons began to move almost as soon as I started my climb, and I wonder if something in the polished stone kept them immobile. There is a hole in the pendant where the necklace cord runs through, but it’s bigger than it ought to be—an inch across in diameter by my estimate.

  I peer through the hole in the magatama, straight into the pit, and nearly drop it at what I see.

  I no longer see skeletons. I see men and women—villagers, judging from their clothes—pale and frightened, their arms raised in supplication, begging wordlessly. I see a few robed priests, parts of their heads bashed in, pleading with at me with missing jaws. But the pit dwellers that hold my attention are the unhappy-looking boys who would be about my age, with their throats slit from side to side, blood still running freely down their chests.

  I pull away from the magatama, and the villagers are reduced to skeletons again.

  I understand now what the magatama does. At least that’s one mystery confirmed.

  Okiku lets out a quiet hiss. She is no longer watching the skeletal mosh pit, her gaze now focused on something behind us.

  Standing over the altar is Hotoke Oimikado, the last ghost bride.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Silkworm Tree

  She is clearly dead. She is made up like the others, white-faced and strange-browed, and her kimono is the same as she described in her diary—adorned with wisteria and cherry trees, if no longer a pristine white. But unlike her sister ghosts’, Hotoke’s eyes are the vivid blue that I saw when I peered into the boarded-up shrine. And unlike her sister ghosts’, her lips are not stretched across her face like a homicidal marionette’s. Instead, her mouth is pursed, thin and colorless.