by Ashley Capes
He nodded. “Something more traditional, perhaps.” He rummaged around and brought over a small cloth bag of purple with hand-stitched kanji. She had to squint to read it. Sengen Shrine. On the other side, a ward against evil.
“Keep it with you. Don’t open it and after a year, bring it back for cleansing. You must never throw it away, it will anger the deity.”
“Thank you.” She paid him and put the amulet in her jeans pocket, wandering back down the corridor of cedars whose green needles were beaded with water. She breathed deep; the air was so clean.
Yet one of the hikers had already begun to sneeze, probably hay fever from lingering pollen. After the war, the government had planted too many cedar trees, hoping to benefit from cheap, local timber. Apparently it caused near epidemic allergies. Riko hadn’t believed it when she first arrived in Japan, but Kiyomi had shown her a newspaper report and the money spent on trying to control the allergies was serious.
She slowed, adjusting her backpack. Going back to Aokigahara was probably a mistake. A life-scarring kind of mistake. But what was the alternative? Stick around, looking for work while moths, smoke and ghosts overtook her life? Or ran her off the road?
The Toyota was covered in dew, rivulets ran down the driver’s window when she swung the door open and hopped in. She hit the wipers and pulled out of the car park then back onto the highway. Riko put her foot down. “Come on.”
By the time she reached the entrance to the forest, the rain was gone. Only a cold sky of rumpled steel watched over her as she started up the damp trail. Aokigahara loomed, the dark green of the trees and the mutated land rising and falling around the trail. Her breathing grew loud in the hush. Kiyomi’s warning echoed. If she left the trail, what would she find? Skeletons, sinking into the moss? Her foot caught on a fallen branch. Concentrate, idiot.
She trudged on, slipping on wet leaves often enough that her hands were slick with mud by the time she reached the lake’s quiet edge. She bent by the water and washed the dirt and leaves away, Fuji’s reflection rippling beyond.
As was becoming tradition, she ate on a bench – plain biscuits only – as the light faded before heading back into the forest, and again, followed Kiyomi’s markings on trees until she reached the spot where she’d left the journal – before it followed her home anyway. She nudged the loose dirt, just to be sure. No journal. Where to wait?
The forest was poised.
A single leaf fluttered to the ground, soundless.
Somewhere open – the oak. If the spirits could find her in Fuji-Yoshida, they could manage to find her by the oak too. She hurried on, reaching the clearing and removing her pack.
“Here I am, then,” she muttered. Only silence from the forest, and she shivered as she rested against the trunk. Next she pulled out her torch and water then patted the omamori in her pocket. Time passed and darkness crept. The trunks around her grew pale in the failing light, but the spaces between them were voids. Something wet hit her head; a drop of water from the leaves. She raised her plastic raincoat hood.
The night wore on with the occasional drop of water hitting her coat.
She shivered. She shifted her legs, sipped from her water, snacked on dry biscuits. “Where are you then?”
Dusk had passed. The spirit world, if it even existed, if she wasn’t insane, was supposed to be closest at dusk. And she’d sat beneath a tree in the middle of a haunted forest in the dark and nothing.
“Come on. I don’t want to go home and find more crazy shit, please. Tell me what you want?”
Only the dark. She stood. How much rubbish was she supposed to put up with then? How long until the ghosts or spirits gave her peace?
“Hey!” she snapped. “Show up or piss off.”
More silence.
Riko burst into laughter. When had she become such an idiot? Staying in a forest at night waiting for ghosts to appear? Worse, endangering her own life – what if she got lost heading back? Eventually starved to death?
A chill ran across her body. Her fingertips were like buttons of ice.
She jammed her supplies into the backpack, checked the extra batteries and flicked the torch on. The beam tore through the shadows. The raked grass and patches of ash were bright and the tree trunks pale. She squinted at each one, running the torch up and down. Kiyomi’s marks were thin in the light.
Her skin prickled, as if eyes followed her. She clenched her teeth. There was nothing there, she was being stupid.
Still, Riko spun, light flashing. She checked between every tree but the limit of the light revealed only shadows. How vast the forest. If she was turned around, if there was something out there with dark intent, man or spirit, she could be lost and never found.
She fought a tremble as she moved on, checking the ground every few steps, avoiding snags as she followed scuff marks from her arrival. Twice it took her a full examination of a tree to find the mark. And then no tree anywhere nearby had a mark – and there was no clearing or main path. She backtracked, moving to some fresh trees. Her breath steamed, disappearing when it passed out of the beam of light.
Something rustled in the distance and she froze.
Don’t panic. Riko sucked in a deep breath through her nose. Just find the last mark and go from there. Her foot falls squelched in the night as she approached another tree. The bark was cold beneath her palm. No markings. Riko bit into her lip. “Shit.”
A clicking echoed in the wood. She spun again, whirling the torch. Trees flashed. The clicking returned, still in the dark, echoing. As if two stones were being knocked together in an off-rhythm.
“Who’s there?” She slung the pack around and rummaged for the pocket-knife. The blade seemed pitifully small. The clicking stopped. Riko put her back to a tree, chest heaving. “Well? Where are you?”
The clicking resumed. She raised the blade, arm shaking. Closer still came the odd clicking and then a shape formed out of darkness. It hulked between the trunks, massive shoulders hunched over a white face. Black hair fell to the ground, pooling at its feet. Closed eyes regarded her, the mouth painted in a black frown. It stepped over a log, the white linen of its kimono rustling. The clicking became apparent – a string of skulls hung from its neck. Human, bird, fox, rabbit, even mice, all clicked as it moved. A faint glow swam beneath the dark eye-lids.
Shinigami - death-spirit.
She lifted her chin, trembling as its face angled down. Still the eyes were closed. A hand lifted, dirt trailing between the fingers. It paused before her, open, entreating. Dirt continued to flow, tiny clouds stirring on the ground. Her knife faltered. The closed eyes followed her hand, a great sadness pouring forth. The head titled, as if a question. Was it asking her...the spirit wanted to know, did she wish for death? Had she come to Aokigahara to die?
Riko shook her head.
The spirit turned away, skulls clinking as a lock of its hair brushed her hand. She gasped as the forest dimmed and the ground rose with a slowness unnatural. She hit, and the leaves swallowed her, warm and forgiving.
*
“Hey, wake up.” A hand shook her shoulder.
Riko groaned.
“This one’s alive.” The first voice.
“Good.” A second voice.
Someone patted her cheek. “Come on, young lady. Come on.”
Were her eyes glued together? She stretched her leg, folded beneath her. Leaves crunched. The death-spirit! She flinched, raising her hands. Someone caught them.
“It’s all right, you’re safe.”
Light burst through cracks in her eyelids. Green came into focus, then a worried face. A middle aged man knelt over her. The characters: ‘Fuji-Hakone-Izu National Park’ were clear on his jacket, his beanie embroidered with the same kanji. His first name was printed too. ‘Akio’.
“Are you all right, are you hurt?” He helped her sit. The other ranger,
an older man, scrutinised her from a short distance away. “Glad you didn’t do it, girl. Hate finding the young women like you.”
Akio merely looked at her.
“I didn’t come here for that,” she said. “I was hiking to Saiko and I got lost.”
“And you slept here?” The second man’s tone suggested that he didn’t find her all that credible.
Riko frowned at him. “Yes. I didn’t want to get any more lost, it was too dark. I thought I had a better chance of finding my way back in daylight.”
He glared. “So why did you leave the path in the first place?”
Akio held up a hand. “That’s enough, Tetsu.” He turned back to her. “Now young lady, don’t worry. You’re not far from Saiko, you were quite close. You did the right thing by camping out, though my grumpy friend is right. You shouldn’t leave the trail. You’re lucky we found you.”
“I thought I smelt smoke,” Riko said. Explaining herself to Akio was easier than Tetsu. Even with a lie.
Akio exchanged a look with his companion.
“What?”
Tetsu shrugged. “That’d be Hiroshi. Burning his dead wife’s clothes. Crazy old fool.”
“He has a tree nearby,” Akio said. “And he’s been burning his wife’s possessions under it for decades. No-one knows why. Most people avoid him.”
Tetsu crossed his arms. “So they should. The crazy fool has attacked hikers with that bloody rake of his.”
“He hasn’t attacked them. He threatened a couple once.”
“It’s happened more than once.”
Akio threw up his hands. “Well it doesn’t matter does it?” He shook his head but smiled at Riko, his eyes crinkling. “We’ll take you back to the Lake now.”
“Thank you.” Riko collected her pack and followed the two rangers to the trail. Warm light filtered through the trees. “Did his wife die here? Hiroshi?”
“Yes. Long ago I’d guess.”
Riko hesitated. If she seemed too interested, they’d go back to thinking she was crazy. But what if? It had to be Makiko – to hell with coincidence. “What was her name?”
“No idea,” Akio said, eyes busy with the trail ahead. Tetsu gave her a look but said nothing.
The sun was high in the sky when they exited the forest, its rays banishing the chill. Across the clearing were two small groups cooking with a portable hotplate. She lifted her face a moment. The smell of fried fish drifted over. Her stomach rumbled. “It’s always beautiful,” she said, turning to Fuji.
Akio smiled. “Are you confident from here?”
“Yes. Thank you both.”
Tetsu grunted, but gave her a nod. “Just be safe, all right?”
“I will.” She looked to Akio. “About Hiroshi, does he live nearby?”
Even Akio frowned this time. “Near enough. Why would you ask?”
“Well, back home I’m a counsellor, I thought maybe –”
“No.” Tetsu shook his head. “He won’t go for that. Just have something to eat and head home, young lady.”
“All right, thank you again.” She waved them off then sat on ‘her’ bench and unpacked ham sandwiches and obento – rice balls. She chewed. Each bite was a slow avalanche – the food tasted stale and she didn’t finish the ham. Her hand tingled where the death-spirit’s hair brushed it. If even that much contact put her to sleep, then taking its hand...Riko shuddered.
Instead of finding Makiko, she’d found the woman’s husband after all. That had to be who Hiroshi was. Why else all the smoke – a signal, leading her back there? How old must Hiroshi be by now? And would he believe her claims of haunting? More. Could he even do anything to help her? Maybe he’d lost the journal? No matter what, she had to speak with him. Riko took another bite then stopped – the obento halfway to her mouth.
Her stomach flipped and she jumped up, managing only two steps before heaving her lunch onto the grass. She spat bile and went for her second water bottle, rinsing her mouth and searching the bag for a tissue. Finding none, she tried her pockets and stopped when her fingers met the omamori.
She drew it out. The wooden prayer within the woven bag was broken.
10.
Riko threw up again before she reached her car. This time the dry heaves sent her to her knees and her throat tore on each hack. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She drank the rest of her water, the cool soothing her throat. Before she could stand she’d coughed it up again.
What was happening? Did she get sick overnight? There was no reason, aside from stress, for it to happen now. Unless the rice was bad. Or it was some sort of bug. If so, any time she ate she was in for more of the same.
She could hold out for a doctor then. All she had to do was drive home. Her nose wrinkled; and shower. Riko fumbled with the keys. She spat more bile before changing her hiking shoes for runners and getting into the car to pull out of the park. The highway was busy but she was home before Kiyomi left for her shift at the library.
“Riko!” Kiyomi, dressed in her smart blue University Library uniform, rushed down the drive as Riko got out of the car. “Are you all right? Where have you been?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Was the hiking pack in the back seat or the boot? If Kiyomi saw it...“What’s wrong?” Riko tried to position herself in front of the window.
“You’ve been gone for days.”
Riko gave her friend a look. “Days?”
“Your phone’s been out of service and Eiko had no idea where you were.” Her relief faded and her voice hardened. “Damn it, Riko. We were afraid. I even rang your mother.”
“Kiyomi, I’ve only been away overnight.”
“No, you haven’t. It’s Monday.”
“It’s Friday afternoon.”
She held up her iPhone. Monday the Eleventh of April. Riko snatched the phone. “This has to be wrong.”
Kiyomi took it back. “It’s not. So where were you? Your aunt says you never visited.” Her lips were compressed into a line.
Riko opened her mouth but gave up. Kiyomi wouldn’t believe the truth, wouldn’t want to listen. It would only upset her. And her friend deserved something better than a lie that would only unravel later. Keep it simple. “I don’t know.”
Kiyomi said nothing.
Riko leaned against the Toyota. “I thought I went to Aunt Eiko’s.”
“You didn’t.”
Riko looked away, near to choking. Bile rose up her throat and she retched. No vomit splashed onto her shoes, but she grasped for the car.
Kiyomi reached out. “What have you done to yourself?”
“It’s been happening for days,” Riko gasped between retches and coughing. “Water.”
Kiyomi led her inside, taking her straight to the kitchen.
“My shoes.”
“Don’t worry about it now.”
Riko gripped the bench as her stomach twisted. The pain leapt beyond ‘useful distraction’ to trembling agony.
“You’re all white.” Kiyomi handed a cup over.
Riko drank and the water charged back up her throat, splashing into the sink. She slid down against the bench. “I think –” Riko groaned, rolling onto her side and pulling her knees up to her chest.
“I’m calling an ambulance,” Kiyomi shouted.
Riko clenched her teeth, the scrambling form of Kiyomi a distant blue blur. Tears built. Something was wrong – what a stupid thought! Writhing on the floor didn’t mean peaches.
The pain passed.
“...yes, yes, I need an ambulance,” Kiyomi was saying from above.
“Wait, it’s stopped.”
“Sorry.” Kiyomi loomed over her, phone in hand. “Are you sure?”
Riko nodded, the air cool on her cheeks. Kiyomi made her apologies to the emergency services.
It wasn’t the death-spirit. She’
d been vomiting before. And she hadn’t eaten again since waking in the forest. No. It was what the ghost wanted, whoever was trying to stop her. They wanted her sick and unstable. And it wasn’t Makiko. If anything, Makiko was sending the smoke – someone else was sending moths and stomach cramps.
Kiyomi knelt to stroke her hair. Riko smiled up at her, a bead of sweat trickling down her temple and neck. “I’ll see someone about this. I must have a bug.”
“You better.”
Riko closed her eyes. Another lie. Keep it going, while Kiyomi was vulnerable. “I must be crazy if I can’t remember where I’ve been for days.”
“We’ll help you, me and Daisuke, your aunt. Even your parents.”
“How was Mum?”
“About twenty seconds away from a plane ride.”
“Yeah?” Nice to know – but Dad? Bet he’d barely stirred from the couch. Or hospital bed. No, that was too much. Being a bitch seemed to go hand in hand with lying.
“Of course. I told her that the police had everything under control, and that I’d call her every hour with updates.”
God, the police. That’d be trouble. “I guess I should call her now.”
“Rest a bit first,” Kiyomi said as she rose. “I’ll call the police. Can you stand?”
“I think so.”
Kiyomi dealt with Riko’s shoes and then helped her up and over to the couch. Riko lay back, counting between breaths and resting the cool glass against her forehead. The dark television screen was featureless – perfect.
Kiyomi eventually returned, a steaming bowl of miso soup in her hand. “Here.”
Riko accepted it. “Thank you.” She sniffed, tears stinging her eyes. God, Kiyomi would be so hurt if she knew how much Riko was lying. But it was madness. She wouldn’t believe a word. Keep lying, Riko – it’s the only way. Tomorrow, she could figure out how to sort the mess she’d made and find Hiroshi.
“Sorry, Riko. I didn’t think. Will you be able to keep it down?”
“I have no idea.” She inhaled. Onion and shrimp. Delicious. And yet...“Maybe you should eat it. I’m sorry Kiyomi. It’s better in the bowl than all over my shirt and your couch.” Riko put the bowl aside and leant her head back.