“And that’s a wrap! Great work, everyone!” The program’s producer, Mr. Nozaki, came over to us.
“Thanks for coming, Dr. Hashigami.”
“Thank you for inviting me. But is Miss Utsumi all right?”
“Huh? Oh, Utsumi, yeah. Look over there.” Mr. Nozaki nodded in the direction of the studio’s entrance.
I looked over and saw that Utsumi standing there like nothing had happened. She was smiling at the staff.
“Oh, Nozaki!” She waved and came over.
“Utsumi, that was great back there. I bet you could make it as an actress.”
“Aw, Nozaki. You’re so silly.” It was a strange conversation.
It was like the pain she’d been suffering was just an act.
Then Mr. Nozaki smiled and shouted across the room to Mrs. Motomura.
“You did great too, Motomura! We’re going to put on another special in summer! Can you give us something even more flashy?”
“You’re what keeps us in business, Nozaki. Of course, we’ll be glad to help. Come on, you guys. Say thank you.”
Mrs. Motomura forced the students around her to turn towards Mr. Nozaki and bow.
Just a moment ago, she’d been glaring daggers at Mr. Sawazaki, but the minute the program finished she transformed into a kindly old woman. The expression on her face had relaxed as well.
“We don’t have the ratings yet, but the response on the internet looks really positive. My years of intuition tell me that we’re likely to break 20%. You don’t see these sorts of incidents or really heated debates on TV these days. I think viewers will find it a nice change of pace, you know?” Mr. Nozaki was in a great mood.
Finally, he smiled and exchanged a firm handshake with Mr. Sawazaki as well.
“Mr. Nozaki, I’ll be heading out.”
“Thank you, Sawazaki. You should relax a little and come back and see us more often! You’re the only one who can do what you do, and lately you’re really starting to develop your own unique character. You were amazing today! If you keep it up, I promise I’ll make you a regular.”
“I’ll do my best,” he laughed. Mr. Sawazaki had become a different person the second the program ended as well.
“Man, that was really harsh at the end, though. What was it? A fake spiritualist who wants to make a business out of the occult? The way you yelled was perfect! Though I have to admit, when I heard it I said to myself, ‘That goes for you, too!’”
“It was a good script. Thank the person who wrote it. I’m actually a real gentleman, you see. Fwahaha!”
I sighed a little as I listened to them. The whole thing was a farce, from start to finish. Not a single person in this studio except me was serious about the spirit world. That’s why no one had tried to stop the argument when it had gone off the rails.
Was this just what television was like? I was starting to make a bit of a name for myself in this business, but maybe it was time to say goodbye.
I went back to my dressing room to get my things together, then left the TV station.
It was about a minute’s walk from the recording studio to the private parking lot. It was already pretty late, and the narrow corridor to the parking lot was dark and gloomy. There was no one else here. The LED lighting buried into the ground lit up the sides of the path.
A dark silhouette suddenly rose up in front of me in the center of the lit path.
I looked closer, thinking it might be a ghost. But it wasn’t. The silhouette became clearer as it began to approach me.
It wasn’t a ghost. It was a living human being.
They were wearing a white cape. It was one of the people I’d been on the program with just a moment ago.
Mrs. Motomura was standing in front of me, blocking the path.
I knew she could hear my footsteps, but she didn’t say anything.
“Good work today, Mrs. Motomura.” I tried to be as casual as possible as I spoke to her.
Then suddenly, she opened her eyes wide and looked at me.
Her face twisted into something terrible, like a scream of terror. I froze.
“...” She said nothing.
She glared at me, eyes wide, saying nothing at all.
It was a far more imposing sight than when she’d been screaming at the studio earlier. The aura surrounding her was totally different.
I wasn’t sure what to do.
What was she doing there? Why was she blocking me?
Had she been waiting for me here? Was she here to complain about something I’d said on the program?
If she was, she’d probably do better to complain to Mr. Sawazaki instead of me. He was the one who’d been shouting at her.
If I wanted to get to the parking lot, I had to go past her. It would be rude to just turn around and leave.
Seeing no other option, I started to walk forward, trying my best to act casual. She kept looking at me with that mad expression. She was definitely following me with her eyes. But she still wasn’t saying a word.
I bowed a little and tried to pass her.
And then I thought to myself,
—Is Mrs. Motomura going to try and kill me?
“That’s right.” The whisper in my ear wasn’t the high-pitched voice I’d heard in the studio. It was a low growl, like a man’s.
site 03: Aria Kurenaino
Thursday, February 11th
In the quiet room, each time I moved my hands, I heard the sound of rustling silk.
Whenever I was waiting for a customer, I always spent my time sewing dolls. They were actually stuffed animals, but that’s what I called them.
I cut out the fabric according to the pattern, and sewed it together. There were already almost a hundred of these homemade dolls scattered around my house. It was possible I spent more time sewing here in the shop than doing anything else. I was lucky, after all, if I got a single customer in a day.
This was my shop.
It was tiny, less than three meters on a side, and the shelves and table took up most of the space. It could fit three adults at the absolute maximum.
The ceiling was low, too. I wasn’t a tall person myself, but I felt cramped when I stood up.
The windows were sealed shut and covered with black cloth.
The only light in the room was a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. Even though the sun was high in the sky, it was still dark and gloomy.
I poured myself a cup of herbal tea from my teapot, and took a sip. The warmth from the tea soaked into my chest. I sighed a little as I wrapped my freezing hands around the cup to warm them.
The building wasn’t particularly well built, so of course, it was drafty. This room didn’t have any kind of heater, so this time of year hot tea was all that kept me warm.
I could faintly hear the hustle and bustle outside. I liked to listen quietly to the sounds.
It was a shopping area in front of Kichijoji Station called Harmonica Alley, narrow little streets packed tight with shops. There was only barely enough room for a person to fit between the stores in the alleyways.
It had gotten its start as a black market after World War II, and there were still traces of that today. There were bars, cafés, fishmongers, general stores, florists... a random hodgepodge of anything you could imagine.
Over the past few years, people had even built some bright, inviting, and fashionable stores, too. During the day, there were a lot of girls here.
At night, the shutters went up on the places that served alcohol, and men stopped by on their way home from work. Of course, that was true of bars in any town.
But most people passed by my store, whether it was day or night. Even with all the different shops in Harmonica Alley, mine was clearly unique.
The sign out front— it was closer in size to a plaque— read, “Black Magic Agency — The House of Crimson.” If anyone saw that plaque and came inside, they were clearly a little unique themselves.
Suddenly I heard faint footsteps on the stairs belo
w.
That was enough for me to realize that tonight, my strange little shop would actually have a customer. And it was a woman, too. Just by listening, I could hear the sound of high heels. She was cautious as she walked, but that was true of everyone who came here.
The shop was on the second floor of the building. Anyone who came would have to go up a cramped, steep staircase.
I could sense someone outside the door.
Slowly, it opened. One of the hinges had almost fallen off, so it made a high-pitched creaking noise, like the cry of a bat.
A woman in her thirties peeked in. Her face looked pale.
“Um... This is the black magic agency, yes?”
“Welcome to the House of Crimson. Please be seated.”
The woman bowed to me and came inside.
She didn’t seem to be feeling well, and she was covering her mouth with a handkerchief. And she was shaking, whether it was from the cold or for some other reason.
She swayed a little as she sat down in the rococo-style chair across from me.
She didn’t even try to hide the way she was staring at me.
“So you’re... Aria Kurenaino? You’re quite young.”
“...” I put away the doll I was sewing and returned her bow.
I heard that a lot.
My age, my appearance... This shop had nothing to do with worldly things like that. That’s why I had no intention of talking about them myself.
“I didn’t know where this place was, so I wandered around Harmonica Alley a long time. I’d say about twenty minutes.” She tried to force herself to smile. But it didn’t work, and she ended up with a strange, twisted expression.
“The entrance to this place smells so bad though, doesn’t it? Is there a garbage pickup spot nearby? I think there’s a lot of bars and eateries around here.”
I ignored her comments and poured her a new cup of tea.
I didn’t talk about things that didn’t matter. I didn’t feel the need. They didn’t want me to, either. Especially the sort of person who would come to this shop.
“It’s your first time here, correct?”
I offered her the cup of tea to warm her up, but she didn’t take a sip. Instead, she looked at me, searchingly.
“Yes, that’s right. It’s... in rather bad taste, isn’t it?”
Some people seemed to think that, yes. Her eyes were terribly cloudy as she spoke.
No, it wasn’t just her eyes.
I hadn’t noticed at first because of the dim light from the exposed bulb, but now that I saw her in front of me, I could tell.
Her skin was a mess, and her hair was unkempt, too. Her coat was battered and in poor condition.
She seemed to be brooding over something, hard.
“I was told that you can place curses on other people here at this store.” That’s right. I was a professional black magic agent.
Any time two human beings interacted, one person was sure to hate the other. Those negative emotions would never disappear, not even decades or centuries from now.
But the risk of carrying out black magic was too great, and it took knowledge and skill as well. So I would practice black magic on other people’s behalf.
That was my job as a black magic executor.
“Tell me your story.” I took a candelabra from the shelf next to me and put it on the table. It had two black candles in it. I struck a match and lit them. Then I turned off the light.
The room grew darker.
Our shadows flickered against the wall in the candlelight.
It was easier for people to talk in the darkness. Especially if they were saying something that made them feel guilty. Creating such a space made communications with the client go smoother.
The curtain had already risen on the stage. I was what my customer sought, the jester known as a “black magician”.
And now, I will dance for you...
So show me your darkness.
I smiled to relax her, and the woman leaned forward.
“I want you to kill a certain man.” Her tone, naturally, dropped.
That was a very common request. I’d taken many such jobs in the past, so I didn’t find it surprising at all.
“Black magic requires the use of a catalyst. Have you brought such an object with you today?”
The woman nodded slowly, and then took an envelope out of her bag.
There was no name on the envelope, but inside was a carefully folded piece of paper.
She put it on the table and spread it out.
“I see.” Inside was a lock of hair. It was about five centimeters long. There were ten or so strands.
Without the hair of the person I was cursing, I refused to accept a job. But if they brought the hair, I never turned them down, no matter who they were or who they wanted to curse.
I handed the woman a blank, white sheet of paper. Then I dipped a black feather pen into ink mixed with bat’s blood, and put it in her hand.
“Would you please give me more information about the person you wish to curse? Name, height, weight, birthday, blood type, address, family members’ names, school name, company name... The more information, the more likely it will succeed.”
The customer nodded and began to fill out the page, her eyes bloodshot.
She was writing a lot of detail, enough that she had to dip her pen in the inkwell many times.
I prepared the censer as she wrote. I heated a piece of charcoal in the candle’s flame, then placed it on top of the censer’s grating. Then I slowly shook a black powder incense made from citronella grass and wisteria on top of it.
The shop was filled with its unique scent.
“Will this be... enough?”
“Yes. That’s plenty.” By the time she was done, she’d filled the whole piece of paper. From the amount of information she put down, the man she was cursing was either an ex-husband or a former lover.
But I had no interest in asking for more details.
In my role as an agent, the relationship between the client and the target was not a matter of particular importance.
I folded up the paper and put it into a small, clear bottle. A cloth had already been spread out on the table. I put the bottle at the center of the triquetra pattern on the cloth.
“I’ll explain the packages we offer, then.”
“P-Packages?”
“The House of Crimson offers three packages for you to choose from. The number of dolls used in the incantation changes depending on the package you pick.”
“Dolls?”
“Think of them as servant familiars, if you like.”
The client seemed confused.
I pointed to the dolls on the shelves behind me. They were my familiars, which I had made myself.
“The most affordable curse is the Tomorrow of Despair package, priced at 9,999 yen. With this package, I will use one doll.”
I took a doll from the shelf and put it on the edge of the triquetra.
It was Ahriman, a doll with a green, striped body and bug eyes.
“The mid-range option is the Dying Screams package. It goes for 42,420 yen.” I took two more dolls off the shelf and put them on the table.
Gorgon had a honeybee-striped body and the face of a dog.
Coven had five eyes and a body patterned with stars.
“The first-class package is the Devil’s Ritual. This package goes for 66,600 yen.” I took one of the last two dolls, Peter, a mouse with a bright purple body and multicolored fabric teeth, and put him to the side of the bottle.
Then I took Lilith XII, a black cat prince who’d lost his tail, and whose head was covered in a burlap sack to hide his face, and put him at the top of the pentagram.
“Which would you like today?”
The woman hesitated before she spoke.
“I’ll take the cheapest one...” She seemed reluctant as she whispered.
It seemed like she didn’t have the money for the others.
Her
hatred for her enemy wasn’t enough to overcome her financial difficulties. It was sad, but that was the way of the world.
“The Tomorrow of Despair package, yes?”
I returned the other four dolls to the shelf, and left Ahriman on the table.
“I will now begin the ritual.”
“The ritual...”
“It’s part of the process in performing black magic. It’s possible, strictly speaking, for the spell to succeed without a ritual, however. What’s most important is the strength of your will. But you want to really feel like you’ve put a curse on him, don’t you?”
“Y-You’re right.”
“And this is a step in that process.”
This ritual was old, but I’d added my own touches to it.
Black magic amplifies a person’s negative emotions, so skipping steps in the ritual could cause the curse to affect those around you.
So by adding my own modifications to the ritual, I had lessened the amount of negative power in play. I reverently lifted up a dagger in both hands and offered it to the client.
“I’ll take a few drops of your blood. Will you prick your finger for me? Either hand is fine.”
The client did as she was told and pricked her left index finger with the dagger. A tiny bit of blood came out from the small wound.
I gently took her finger and led it to the bottle on the table.
The blood dripped down into the bottle, and made a red stain on the paper.
“Yes, that will do.” I gently wiped her finger with a tissue.
I put the cork in the bottle to seal it.
Then I put Ahriman right next to it.
I picked up the hair the client had brought with a pair of tweezers.
“I will now burn the catalyst. As I do so, chant the most awful curses you can imagine in your heart.” The client nodded.
I brought the hair close to the black candles.
There was a stench and a crackle as the hair began to burn.
The client stared at it, unblinking, as if she was possessed by something.
When all the hair was burnt, I blew out the black candles.
The shop became totally black.
“The ritual is complete. Thank you. If your will is strong enough, the curse will succeed.”
Occultic;Nine: Volume 1 Page 5