dates going back to the time of her birth. It was a journal of sorts, filled with ramblings, the pages stained with water. She skimmed the first few pages, finding little of interest. A quarter of the way through, she lit upon a word. Gozu. The word occupied one sheet of paper and on the next page, her father's writing continued.
This is the culmination of my life's work...a search that has consumed the greater part of my youth and taken the best years of life with my wife and child. Forgive me, Satoko, Naomi.
I've discovered the secret behind the story.
It is never the same for each person who reads it. Every word changes to fit their true definition of fear.
I've decided to test my theory on Satoko. She is always eager for any small attention I bestow on her. She'll be pleased that she's helping me in my work.
May the Kami forgive me if I'm wrong.
The death certificate stared Naomi in the face.
Suicide in bold.
She never told me the words she read. I should destroy it. No copies of it must ever be made. The story exercises a possessive hold over me. I should destroy it.
I must.
A student from Tokyo University has contacted me. It's true that I know a little bit about the poem he references. Like myself, he seems to have developed a sick fascination with the macabre. He dares test its limits. I've told him repeatedly not to read it aloud.
He's sent me a copy.
He's frightened.
He thinks I know something, that I can hold back the curse. But, I know I cannot. It will consume him. The last part was inked heavily. Naomi reread the sentence, chills broke out on her skin. The day was hot. She shivered in the heat, fumbling with her cell phone.
Fukuda Yoko answered on the second ring.
"Hello? Hello!"
Naomi swallowed hesitantly, "I think I've found the connection between your brother and my father." She read the little bits interspersed through her father's exercise book. Finding as time progressed that her father repeatedly referenced something unseen although undeniably present. Naomi bent over the book, her shoulders hunched, cradling the phone against her ear one-handed. She liked the sound of Fukuda's voice. Steady, certain. It had a calming effect on her nerves, one that she wished lasted.
"Among my brother's things, he mentions something...a letter or some sort. He says he sent it to the house in Naha." The other house...,
"My father," Naomi began hesitantly. "He used to live with me and my daughter in the city. When he moved back to my childhood home, he left behind a number of boxes filled with his notes from when he used to travel. Maybe it's in there." Her brow furrowed as she turned the page. It was close to the last entry written only days before his body washed up on the beach.
I've put it off for far too long. Once I was too frightened to continue reading, allowing my superstitions to get a hold of me. I read only one sheet of the four that encompass the story. The circumstances in which it was written are not so dissimilar to cases of reported demonic possession. It is said that under the influence many strange texts have been produced by those influenced by something otherworldly.
I had taken ill one stormy night, seeking refuge in the remnants of an old village that now no longer exists. I was feverish in the night, feeling sorry for myself and the pitiful way I'd led my life as a wanderer. I fell into a fitful sleep, wishing – ah! Perhaps foolishly that I could find something worthy of telling. A story for the ages...but it was a ridiculous hope.
I slept seemingly in a dream that I was in a small cramped two tatami mat sized room with sheets of paper and a writing utensil. Something had come from the darkness, a creature made of fear and loathing summoned by my inveterate greed to have my name known.
I wrote as though this creature spoke though its lips moved none.
I wrote and when I awoke shivering in the damp wetness of a spent monsoon, I found the four sheets that encompass my final work lying beside me neatly tied with hemp.
"I have the address," Fukuda-san said suddenly, "I'm flying over –," the line disconnected with a click. Dumbfounded, Naomi lowered the cell phone from her ear, staring at the low battery alert flashing on screen. She hadn't been able to tell Fukuda-san that she had traveled to the house on the coast or that for what she was searching for, she wasn't certain she believed in.
Naomi replaced the exercise book, her gaze inevitably drawn to the first sheet of paper.
This was it.
This was the story which had driven her mother to suicide.
The painfulness of the moment elicited a small sob from her throat. It was the sound a child might make, the sound she made as a child in bed, whimpering herself to sleep.
The first page was blank.
And the second one after that.
She had the insane urge to laugh.
They were all blank.
"My father," she said aloud, "ever the storyteller." But there was no malice in her voice. Not anymore. Anything she might've blamed him for had disappeared leaving only the slightest trace of a bad memory. The only thing that was left in the house were memories.
Naomi shook her head, rising from the floor.
If there had been a story, maybe he had destroyed long ago.
She found a plug in the bedroom, plugging the phone into its charger. Although she preferred to let it charge, she redialed Fukuda-san's number. The woman didn't answer. Naomi left her a message apologizing for their conversation being cut short. Then, she dialed her home phone, listening to the rings collecting. A small tinny voice picked up on the fifth ring.
“Hi, sweetie! How was your day today?” She injected cheerfulness into her voice.
"I was afraid, mommy."
"Why were you scared, sweetie?"
"I thought KuneKune was going to get you."
She could say nothing at first. KuneKune...a white stick-like figure seen by children at a distance. Looking at it, one was said to lose their mind. But it was a just an urban legend told by young children to frighten each other. Naomi made the effort to soothe her daughter's worry. "KuneKune's not real, Rin-chan. Now, where's Rika-san?" She'd begun to think her friend had been remiss and was letting the little girl watch scary shows on TV.
A pause and then the precious little voice went on quieter. "I don't know. She went to answer the door and...,"
For a moment, she thought she heard something in the background. The sound of a door closing. Footsteps. Heavy footsteps. "Rin- chan, who's there with you?"
"He said he was going to see you."
"Who, honey?" Who? She thought of her daughter's father. Their split had been less than amicable, but for her sake, they'd maintained a cool distance. But, he had told her he was going to be away on business. He couldn't watch her...
Naomi began to feel the first real stab of fear. "Who's there, Rin?" Her voice was sharper than meant. Another pause as though the little girl was listening to someone. Naomi could hear her breathing, soft and reassuring.
"Grandpa."
Grandpa...grandpa cremated on Sunday, risen on Wednesday. Naomi trembled violently, seemingly losing the ability to speak. "R-Rin—" she stammered.
The lights flickered once and went out.
The line went dead.
Naomi cursed the sometimes patchy power lines. In the darkness, she stumbled up to her feet, remembering the old generator in the shed out back. Past the darkened maze of the house, she made it through the hallway into the kitchen. Moonlight illuminated the small room with near daylight brilliance. Kids'll say anything, she told herself grasping the handle to the backdoor. Yes, that was right. They'd say anything. Rin-chan didn’t know what she was saying.
Naomi opened the door, stepping out into the cool night air. A sm
all path slightly overgrown from neglect led to the door of a ramshackle shed and beyond the sea cliff ended. The sea reflected a surface of glass and the pregnant moon had risen high in the sky.
She glanced around, her senses more aware than before.
I'm on edge because of what she said...
The bolt on the shed was rusted shut. Naomi found a heavy wrench back at the house and a flashlight she felt stupid for forgetting to grab the first time. Armed, she returned to the path. Naomi swung the wrench hard, flinching at the loud metallic sound made from metal striking metal. Then, she finished kicking in the door once the hasp fell apart. Switching arms, she shone the light across the narrow threshold, catching the motes of dust reflecting as tiny orbs. Once she thought she saw something. Legs, bluish black. Thin with a ropey scar from a childhood burn. They were slick with scum from tidal pools, barnacles clung to the slender ankles -- she stumbled away, her scream yet unfinished. But there was nothing when she shone the light again. Naomi shook her head to clear it.
It was only a bad memory.
Finding her mother like that...face down in a tidal pool on the beach below.
She hadn't wished to bring her daughter into her past which was why she'd left her behind. Now it was time to banish those bad memories.
Naomi squared her shoulders and went in, ducking beneath the loose overhead frame. The generator sat in the corner, dusty, disused. She began to worry the tank was empty or that it wouldn't work.
"Only one way to find out." She muttered grimly to herself. Pulling on the lever, she yanked hard twice rewarded with a faint sputtering sound within the old
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