The Girl from the Well

by Rin Chupeco

  I trail off, unsure of how to explain other than this: I have no definite reasons, except that I do not want him or his cousin to die. Instead, I look down at my hands.

  Callie swallows. “But I don’t know what to do. All I know is that Tarquin was used in a ritual to bind some…some ghost, and the secrets to undoing that ritual lie in Osorezan. But I don’t know what to do. I never asked to be a part of this.”

  “Do you believe he deserves life?”

  The young woman is taken aback. “Of course!”

  “Then we are not so different, after all.”

  Another pause.

  “I am sorry if I frighten you,” I say, puzzled by the sudden hesitancy in my voice. “I am not used to…this. I do not often commune with the living.”

  Callie blinks at me, then unexpectedly starts to laugh. “I apologize,” she gasps. “It’s just…well, with us, it’s usually the other way around.”

  She giggles again. I do not quite understand but attempt to smile. Perhaps it is not a smile that she sees in my face, for she immediately sobers up.

  “There’s…there’s something else I want to know. Why couldn’t you protect Yoko from that other woman—the woman in black?”

  She shrinks from the sudden shift in my expression, the black stealing into my eyes, the way my skin now seems to sag and bloat, and the hair that begins to once more curl across my face, shrouding my cheeks. It is not a pleasant sight to watch a young girl turn into one of the dead. I do this not because of any mistake on her part, but because I remember that I have unfinished business with the creature in black, the spirit that seeks to hurt them. And when I speak again, it is nothing more than a hiss as my true self looks back out at her.

  “I am sorry. But Yoko is not my

  territory. She is not my

  hunt.”

  “Here you go, Callie! We found a nice old woman peddling snacks and we scared her into selling us some stuff. Here’s some Meiji chocolate and something called a noodle sandwich which is, apparently, literally a sandwich with noodles in it. Since you’re the noodle expert, you’re the one that gets to eat it.”

  Tarquin and his father are back. Callie does not need to look my way to know the seat before her is empty.

  Five hours after departing from Tokyo, changing trains twice along the way, they finally arrive at the Shimokita Station in Mutsu, but by then dusk is already settling in. At this time of day, the station holds fewer people, and so the woman stands out. She is dressed in a pleated, ankle-length red skirt and a white haori, a kimono jacket that is two sizes too big for her. Her hair is tied back in a loose ponytail. She is still very young, perhaps only a little older than Callie.

  “You are Mr. Halloway?” she asks in perfect English, smiling. She bows low. “And you must be Tarquin-kun. My name is Kagura. We have been expecting you.”

  Tarquin’s father is surprised. “We never told anyone we were coming.”

  “We were very good friends of Yoko. We heard of her death from your lawyer some weeks ago, and we have been expecting your arrival ever since.”

  That means she must have been waiting every day at the train station for nearly a month, Callie thinks, and feels intimidated by the strength of the woman’s patience. “My name is Callie. I’m Tarquin’s cousin,” she says, feeling how absurd the statement must sound, but the woman accepts this without further question, bowing low to her in acknowledgment. When she lifts her head again, however, her eyes travel over Callie’s form with a peculiar curiosity, a slight frown crossing her face before it disappears quickly.

  “I’m afraid that there are only four buses departing for Osorezan daily, and the last has already left. Fortunately, my sisters and I have a small house on the outskirts of town where we can spend the night. If you will follow me?”

  The town of Mutsu is even smaller than Hachinohe or Noheji. The woman leads them to a small house far from the central square, dipping into the edge of town. At her request, the group takes their shoes off before entering and follows her into several comfortable-looking rooms with several screens. She tells them that these are to be their rooms for the night.

  “While we do get substantial visitors to Yagen Valley, few of the locals, much less the tourists, are aware of the Chinsei shrine,” she says in an apologetic tone. “My sisters and I prefer to keep it that way.”

  “I’ve certainly never heard of it. Yoko never mentioned it to me before,” Tarquin’s father agrees.

  “Then I must apologize on Yoko’s behalf. She is merely following the old ways, the traditions built around the utmost secrecy. We have done so for many years.”

  “What about your sisters?” Callie asks with some hesitation. “Will they be joining us?”

  “My other sisters are currently tending to the shrine, and they are not comfortable leaving it for long periods of time. Dinner will be ready in an hour. In the meantime, you are more than welcome to explore. Mutsu is not a very big place.”

  “I’ve spent the last couple of weeks holed up in bed,” Tarquin says later, once they have finished unpacking. “I’m gonna go and have a look around.”

  “You aren’t strong enough yet, Tarquin,” his father warns.

  But the boy only grins. “You worry too much, Dad. Didn’t the docs themselves tell you that there’s nothing wrong with me? You’re right, Callie. All of this fresh air is making me feel like my old awesome self again.”

  His father finally relents, and Tarquin sets out. The man begins another series of phone calls, and Callie helps the woman prepare for dinner. She is now dressed in a kimono of somber blue and wards off all of Callie’s offers to help, laughing. “It is not customary for a host to allow her guests to assist in dinner preparations. But I would appreciate the company.” Her thin, slight fingers slice carrots and meat with the expertise of a chef’s.

  Every now and then, there is a knock at the door, a voice calling out for Kagura. Each time, the woman briefly abandons her task, taking a small parcel from the cupboard before greeting the caller. “Specially prepared medicine my sisters and I make,” she tells Callie, “a sovereign specific, a general cure-all for many forms of ailment.”

  Her patients are both numerous and varied: first an old man suffering from advanced rheumatism, next a young mother with a sleeping child, then a group of fishermen, followed by half a dozen fresh-faced students. “I suppose it works, which is why many ask for it,” Kagura says modestly after seeing the last of her customers off. “I am a miko—a shrine maiden. As are all my other sisters. In many small towns where people still believe in the old ways of living, mikos like us often serve as the resident medicine women.”

  “You speak English very well.”

  “I am the only one of my sisters who can speak it at all, another reason why I was chosen to wait for you. I may not look it, but I have also studied at university.” The miko lifts her head to look at her, and the same compelling curiosity is back in her gaze. “You are a very unusual girl, Callie-san.”

  Callie is taken aback by her frankness. “I am?”

  “It is not every day that I see anyone, much less an American, with an onryuu following her around.”

  “What is an onryuu?”

  “It is a kind of yuurei, a dead spirit stranded in this world and unable to leave. An onryuu is the most powerful kind of yuurei—one fueled by vengeance, able to harm the living.”

  Callie freezes. “You can see her, too?”

  “I am aware of her presence, have been since I first saw you at the train station,” the miko says. “I see her now on the ceiling, standing just over your right shoulder.” Callie turns but sees nothing. “I say it is an onryuu, yet I feel no hate from her. That is why I say you are an unusual girl. Or perhaps it is an unusual onryuu. The young boy, Tarquin-kun, is afflicted by another spirit, but one who is decidedly more dangerous.”

  “How
are you able to see her? Who are you?”

  The miko sets the knife down. “Shrine maidens nowadays are a far cry from what they were once known for throughout Japan. They still perform ceremonies and offer to tell people their fortunes, but no longer do they dabble in soothsaying or speak for the dead. My sisters and I are a dying breed. We are kuchiyose miko, among few still following the old ways. We serve as mediums for the deceased, and so our second sight is strong. Tarquin’s mother, Yoko, was one of us before she married his father.”

  “Yoko Halloway was a miko?”

  “I was only nine years old when I last saw her, but I believe Yoko Halloway was a devoted wife, a kind mother, and a beautiful woman both inside and out. But once upon a time, Yoko Taneda was a miko and an exorcist. She was the best of us all—a very strong one, capable of weathering the malice that most dead spirits bring. Her spiritual abilities were second only to…”

  And at this the miko’s voice trails off. She takes the knife again and resumes her slicing.

  “There was one other miko. One who surpassed even Yoko Taneda in terms of skill and ability. She could succeed in the most difficult of exorcisms, those that could kill weaker shrine maidens.” Her voice grows soft. “And then, unfortunately, she died.”

  She shakes her head, resumes smiling. “You must not let me ramble on so, Callie-san. I was only a child when it all happened, but my obaasan, the head of the Chinsei shrine, will be able to answer your questions more succinctly than I can.”

  “You’re not afraid? Of Okiku?”

  “So you even know the onryuu’s name.” Those soft brown eyes are on her again, but the miko somehow looks sad. “As I have said, Callie-san, you are an unusual girl, but I do not mean this in a bad way, and I apologize if I offend you by saying so. Sometimes it is better to be a little unusual every now and then than to be common all the time.” Then she sighs and will say nothing more of the matter.

  The guests find the boiled eel served at dinner delicious, and Tarquin’s father decides they should all turn in early for the night. “It’s not like we’ve got much choice, anyway,” says Tarquin, who is eager to rest but does not want to admit that his quick expedition into town has sapped his energy. “Practically everything here’s closed for the night.”

  But Callie cannot sleep. A few hours later, she rises from her futon and crosses the room, careful not to wake the others, and hopes that the crisp evening air will soothe her troubled mind.

  She is not the only one awake in the little house. Kagura the miko is out in the small garden, once more dressed in her traditional haori and hakama skirts, socks painted green by the grass and wet from the dew. She is kneeling over a small Jizo shrine, and in her hands she holds a doll not unlike those that Yoko Taneda once collected. She places this before the small shrine, murmuring under her breath. Callie stands half hidden behind the shoji and watches her, unsure of whether to interrupt.

  What she does not expect is the sudden rage of wind that hurtles through, as if threatening to blow down the house and everyone inside it.

  It comes like a screech of sound, an inhuman wail. To Callie, it feels like a sudden hurricane has set down on top of them. She shrinks back inside, clutching at the wooden frame of the doorway, trying to keep from being sucked outside into the howling winds. The miko is unaffected, weathering the gale without difficulty. Her long hair billows out behind her like a dark sail, as patches of stone and soil fly past. When a large rock rushes too close to her face, she calmly lifts a hand and plucks it from midair.

  “Begone,” she says, like an unnatural tempest is of little substance.

  Something forms within the violent gusts. Callie expects this to be the face of the masked woman, but instead it is an unfamiliar face—a beady-eyed man with a quivering chin and a long face, nearly skeletal in its shape and form. He opens his mouth and bays like an angry wolf, but the miko is unmoved. She raises the tiny doll.

  “Begone,” she says again.

  The face in the wind twists in anguish, as if struggling against another unseen force. Finally, it gives one last shriek of despair before it dissipates completely. The rest of the swirling winds sweep toward the doll, seem to settle on it, and disappear.

  The miko sits back and sighs.

  “It is a small imp, a demon of little consequence,” she says without turning around. “A malicious spirit, but more one who looks fearful than one who should be feared. Tarquin-kun attracts its attention, one of the reasons why he has been falling sick in Tokyo. The ghost living inside him has weakened his energy and makes him more susceptible to possession than others. And in Japan, there are far too many ghosts wishing for such an opportunity.

  “The onryuu, your Okiku, has a different kind of malice in her, more powerful, but one she modifies to a nobler purpose. And she is strong. Very strong. This strength enables her to leave her haunting grounds and move freely about. She has wandered around the human realm as a spirit for far too long, and it will take more than this simple exorcism to set her free, though I suspect she has become too accustomed to this existence to do so willingly.”

  “Exorcism?” Callie asks, shaken by the fact that the miko knows she is there, though the latter does not seem angry.

  “It is what we do at the Chinsei shrine. It is a very old technique passed down for generations since Emperor Temmu’s time. We exorcise wandering onryuu by trapping them inside the bodies of dolls such as these.”

  Callie gasps. “But…that was how Aunt Yoko…”

  “We are saddened but not surprised. Yoko herself sent us a letter telling us what she planned to do, of the ritual she performed on the night of her death. It was a rash decision and very dangerous. She had none of the usual precautions in place. But I suppose she felt she had little choice left.” Gently, the miko sets the doll back on top of the shrine. “But it is not your Okiku who was responsible for her death, though she is a terrible ghost in her own right. I do not know what binds her to this plane, but perhaps it would be impolite not to ask.”

  Then the miko addresses me directly. “Have you come here to harm us, onryuu?” She asks, her brown eyes intent on my face. Callie turns toward her in surprise but still does not see me.

  I watch the miko. There is great strength in her. Though she is still very young, in time she could be much more.

  “Have you?” she persists.

  I shake my head, amused by her boldness.

  “It is unusual for those like you to involve themselves in human affairs. So why do you come here? Is it because of the boy?”

  I lift my head then and meet her searching gaze with a determined stare. I do not respond, but she understands. A grudging smile appears on her lips.

  “I see. He is rather special, isn’t he?” She turns away. “An onryuu with a conscience, kami help us. I agree with your uncle, Callie-san. It shall be a long day tomorrow. You must rest.”

  She glides inside. After one last look behind her, Callie hesitantly follows suit, leaving the doll atop its little Jizo shrine, moonlight shining on its strange, porcelain skin.

  I wait until they are gone before picking it up and turning it over carefully in my hands. Its eyes stare back at me with a strange combination of hatred and helplessness.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Fear Mountain

  There are only fourteen tourists on the bus as it navigates the slopes leading up the mountain, though the view is one most consider breathtaking. Halfway through the trip, the bus stops by a nearby mountain spring, the driver encouraging the visitors to sample the fresh water. Tarquin has regained most of his health. His eyes are no longer bright from the feverishness that accompanies most sicknesses. He has resumed his habit of regaling his fellow travelers with outbursts of sarcasm. His father is pleased. “We should have done this sooner,” he admits to Callie. “Maybe all he really did need was some good, fresh air.”

  But th
e miko does not share the same opinion. “Osorezan is a holy place,” she tells Callie quietly once the man is out of earshot, aware of the father’s ignorance of the disease that truly plagues Tarquin. “It is one of the three most spiritual places of Japan. Osorezan serves as a shintai—a place where powerful spirits called kami are believed to reside. It is enough to suppress most spirits’ malice, if only temporarily.”

  But Osorezan itself does not look like a place associated with holiness. A landscape of black coal rocks and charred soil is what first meets their eyes. The air smells strongly of sulfur and pitch, and the mountain itself is not a mountain at all, but a series of strange peaks that jut out from the barren wasteland. Where other places may have piping hot onsen—hot springs—these only contain bubbling pits of more sulfur. The wind howls through much of the region, like spiteful demons calling out to one another, attracted by the fresh smells of humans that enter their lair.

  “It is not so bad!” the miko says, amused at seeing the looks on the others’ faces. “Osorezan literally means the ‘mountain of dread,’ for it is a place where ghosts are said to stop on their way to the underworld. The Japanese people have a very high regard for their ancestors and for kami—they believe that everything has a spirit, and that these must also be properly honored by the living. How we view hell is much different from how you Americans view it.”

  “Is there any way we can visit Japanese hell without a sense of smell?” Tarquin asks, holding his nose.

  Only one man-made building of note is found here—what humans call the Bodai Temple, surrounded by several sulfuric hot springs that smell even more strongly of rotten eggs. “The river beyond it is called the Sanzu”—the miko points—“our version of your Styx river. All visitors must cross the red bridge over it to gain access to the temple. It’s runoff from a lake called the Usoriyama. Do not bathe in it, though. The waters may look inviting but are actually quite poisonous, and no living thing thrives there.”