The Girl from the Well

by Rin Chupeco

  “What do you mean by ‘possessed’?”

  “The Japanese believe that everything has a spirit.” Kagura takes up the tale. “Mountains, trees, even the smallest of stones. When funeral rites are performed poorly, the spirits are unable to move on into the afterlife. They return to the family and loved ones they left behind, often to haunt them. Sometimes the deceased takes possession of a favorite item of theirs during their lifetime, and sometimes they can even possess a family member or a close friend. Sometimes they can physically harm a person or, in rare instances, kill. All onryuu are capable of this, though their methods may vary. When this happens, their victims come to us. We expel the spirits and transfer these demons into our dolls as a substitute.”

  Callie stares at her. “Do you mean to say,” she asks slowly, “that the dolls in the shrine all possess spirits?”

  Kagura is reassuring. “Not all spirits we exorcise are necessarily evil. Many are simply lost souls, confused by their deaths and unable to move on, and we help guide them on their way. The Obon is a festival celebrated every October to honor our ancestors, and at this time every year, we cleanse the possessed dolls by burning them through another special rite. By doing so, we release their spirits back into the underworld. Until then, we serve as their caretakers.”

  “But…but the spirit haunting Tarquin…”

  “Yes,” Kagura says sadly. “Her name was Chiyo Takeda. Among us miko, she was the most powerful. Her specialty lay in exorcising the most vindictive of ghosts—the evil spirits who have come specifically to do harm to the living. But sometimes dolls cannot contain the fury of the worst of these demons. So she began using her own body as a sacrifice.

  “For years she was successful. Her own spirit was strong enough that she was able to house these ghosts within her without suffering the consequences until Obon, where she would then successfully purify herself of them. But she grew too proud, Chiyo-sama did. She boasted that she could trap even the King of the Underworld himself. Obaasan tried to talk her out of saying such foolishness, but she was unrepentant. She thought herself capable of handling anything.”

  Kagura closes her eyes. “And then the nightmares began. She had them almost every night, and she became prone to sleepwalking. She nearly walked into the Ohata rapids once and would have died, had Yoko not followed her out and saved her. Her personality began to change, too. Chiyo-sama had always been very gentle and compassionate. Now an uglier side of her surfaced. She would abuse many of the younger mikos and physically hurt them.

  “When Obaasan found her cutting the heads off some of the small squirrels and birds around for sport—the Chiyo we knew loved all living things and would have died before she allowed them to come to harm—she knew that they could not wait for the Obon festival for Chiyo to be purified. I was only nine years old when it happened, and still I remember it clearly. I remember her madness.” Kagura shudders.

  “There was Chiyo, squatting in the dirt over some poor eviscerated pigeon. She cared very little for her appearance by then, and her hair hung in tangles around her face, her eyes starting out from her head. She was like a demon herself.”

  The mikos fall silent, remembering. Callie shifts uneasily.

  “The older sisters staged an exorcism to force the spirits out of Chiyo and into a doll especially reinforced to contain them,” Kagura finally says. “It was a disaster. Not even the strongest, holiest doll we had could bear her taint. I was too young and was therefore forbidden to attend the ritual. But from my room I could hear her, and I could hear some of the mikos who had been driven mad by her. That terrible, terrible laughter…” She, too, shivers.

  “After some time had passed, Obaasan entered my room, quite pale and drawn. All she could tell me was that Chiyo was dead, and that the demons plaguing her had finally been subdued, but at great cost. They had been naive, she said, to believe even the strongest of dolls could substitute for Chiyo. When demons have experienced a taste of a powerful human vessel like Chiyo was, dolls are nothing to them.

  “Poor Yoko was married by that time but aware of Chiyo’s growing decline. She insisted on coming to the shrine that day, and Tarquin came with her. When the ritual went wrong, she had to act quickly. None of us were pure enough or strong enough to become the next sacrifice—no one but her own son, Tarquin-kun. The more innocent the vessel, the stronger its ability to contain. Yoko sacrificed him to prevent Yagen Valley from becoming a place haunted perpetually by the ghosts and demons Chiyo had unleashed. But to have brought Tarquin-kun along, knowing full well that the ritual could fail… Perhaps she herself knew it might come to that.”

  Again she falls silent. Only the soft bubbling of the hot springs mars the quiet.

  “That’s horrible,” Callie whispers, aghast.

  “So you can say that Tarquin saved us all, and that is why he is treated the way he is by the others,” Kagura says with a small smile. “Yoko tried cleansing him at the Obon festival, but Chiyo’s spirit did not leave. Perhaps it was the guilt she felt that drove her mad, that drove her to attempt to kill her own son. As a last resort, one can purge a malevolent spirit by killing the human vessel it possesses.”

  At the look on Callie’s face, Kagura quickly adds, “We do not intend to kill Tarquin. But innocence is lost as one grows older, and the spirit that was once Chiyo is now fighting to break free of him. Obaasan says that we must act quickly, sometime within the next few days, if we are to rid Tarquin of her malevolence forever.”

  Amaya says something in rapid-fire Japanese. Kagura responds in kind, and the two argue for a few minutes while Callie sits across from them, feeling uncomfortable.

  Finally, Kagura shakes her head and turns to her. “Amaya-chan also wants to know about the onryuu that has been following you around.”

  “I don’t know much about her, only that her name is Okiku. From the old Japanese legend?”

  Amaya is nodding, looking satisfied. She speaks again.

  “Amaya-chan can see her, too, as well as I can. She also does not feel any enmity coming from the onryuu, which we both find odd, but I suppose that is not uncommon with long-lived spirits. We believe that objects become personified after one hundred years of existence. They begin to have their own thoughts and feelings, and are venerated as kami. It is the same with ghosts—they become stronger, the longer they exist in the mortal plane. If this is truly the Okiku of the legends, then she has existed for more than three hundred years. It is fortunate she appears to be more benevolent than others that come to mind.”

  “On some other occasion we would try to appease her ghost, but Tarquin-kun’s ritual must take priority.” Kagura hesitates. “You are more than welcome to leave before it takes place, if you wish. Obaasan feels that you ought not to be involved in this for your own personal protection. She thinks it is unfair for you to be here and to put yourself in danger for something that does not truly concern you.”

  “Tarquin is my cousin,” Callie says. “And I’ve seen the woman in black myself. If my presence can help in any way, then I would much rather be there.”

  The two mikos watch her, this time with newfound respect. “You are a very brave woman,” Kagura says. “If I had a choice myself, I would choose to run.” She looks over Callie’s shoulder directly at where I am standing and nods to acknowledge my presence. I incline my head but do not move.

  “Kami willing, we might survive this yet.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Exorcism

  Pressing business summons Tarquin’s father back to Tokyo. The head miko, Machika-obaasan, is alarmed when she hears him making plans to leave to return to the city. “But we have not finished yet,” she protests. “Tarquin-kun has been doing very well since arriving here, and I do not think it will be in his interest to return to Tokyo, where his health may take another turn for the worst.”

  Tarquin’s father pauses. He does not want his son’s unusual
sickness to return, for doctors to worry and prod and run tests and find nothing wrong. Here in Yagen Valley, Tarquin has continued to steadily improve. Surrounded by the adoration of the other mikos, he seems happier here than he has ever been in Tokyo or in Applegate.

  In the end, Tarquin’s father appeals to Callie. “I know that this is an imposition on you, but would it be possible for you to stay with Tarquin for the next few days? There’s a business merger I need to oversee, and I’ll return as soon as that’s finished.”

  Much to his surprise, Callie is amendable to the idea, assuring him that he would not be forcing her to do something that she is already set on doing. “I like it here,” she says, a bright smile on her face even as her stomach churns over what the next few days might bring, “and it’s such a nice change from the city. I’d be glad to stay here with Tark.”

  “Thank you,” the man says with a faint smile. He looks around the shrine, perhaps realizing for the first time how little he knew of his wife and how little he knows his son. “Take good care of him,” he says unexpectedly, a strange note entering his voice. “I never seem quite able to, myself.”

  “That’s not true, Uncle Doug,” Callie says, startled.

  “Not in the way I should have, perhaps.” He takes another glance at the room. “I didn’t really know Yoko, did I? I wish she’d trusted me enough to tell me about this part of her life.”

  “Dad?” Tarquin has stepped into the room. “You’re going back to Tokyo?”

  His father nods. “Don’t get Callie in any trouble.”

  Tarquin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, ’cause that’s all I’m usually good for.”

  “No,” his father says quietly but with unusual firmness. “I don’t always say it, but I’ve always been proud of you.”

  The words throw Tarquin off guard. His face is a mosaic of expressions: surprise, gratification, embarrassment. “Sure, Dad,” he says awkwardly, though the grin on his face is genuine enough. He gives his father a quick hug. “Don’t be getting yourself conned by those Japanese businessmen in Tokyo,” he says, and both his father and Callie laugh.

  Finally the man leaves, if still a little disquieted by the uneasy feeling there is something here that he is missing.

  The obaasan is in good spirits. “This will give us all the time we need to finish the ritual,” she exhorts after Tarquin’s father has gone. She is optimistic for a reason, for she believes this ritual will succeed, unlike others that have gone wrong before.

  Kagura takes Callie aside some time later. “This is how the seals were made,” she explains, selecting one of the dolls—the same doll Callie had seen her use by the Jizo shrine in Mutsu. She pulls the kimono sleeve up, and Callie is stunned to discover that it bears the same inked tattoos as on Tarquin’s skin.

  “Every one of the dolls you see here has been hand inked by us.” Kagura turns the doll over and lifts the kimono over its back. Like Tarquin’s, more of the tattoos dot its sides and back. “To break this seal one must hate.” She touches the first of the seals on the doll’s back, then the other. “And to break this seal, one must respect. To break the seals on the left and right wrists, one must know fear and friendship. To break the seals across the chest, one must know love.

  “On the dolls these are merely symbolic; on humans, much less so. Every day we take the dolls out and inspect them. If we see any one of these seals growing faint, we know that they have been compromised, and we perform another ritual to reinforce them or transfer them to another.”

  “Can’t you do the same for Tarquin?” Callie asks, but the miko shakes her head.

  “Human sacrifices are different. Dolls have always been sterile and unchanging things, but humans are not made the same way. To perform a repurification on a human sacrifice might harm more than it can repair. I have seen the seals on Tarquin-kun. I know that four of the five seals have faded. When the last seal crumbles, the poison inside him will be freed. So much blood has already been spilled for this that we cannot wait to allow her to seek more.”

  “Blood?” Callie feels sick.

  “To break each of the seals, another kind of sacrifice is required. The blood of people slaughtered must be placed against the seals to weaken them, and with each break she becomes more powerful. Whenever Tarquin feels frightened or angry, the malevolence inside him is at her strongest and can even control his body to some extent. What is the matter, Callie-san?”

  “It’s nothing,” Callie says hurriedly, her heart pounding as her hand drifts once more to trace at the unseemly scar on her finger, a permanent mark of her very own seal.

  “What’s this?” Tarquin enters the room, curious. The miko shows him the doll, and he winces.

  “Would you like to hold it, Tarquin-kun?”

  “Wouldn’t that be dangerous for me?” He speaks in moderately broken Japanese, one of his many growing attempts to practice the language.

  “The seals are in place. It will cause no harm, that much I can promise.”

  Tarquin takes the doll, holding it by the hem of its kimono so it dangles in the air before him. “This is kinda creepy, Kagura-san. Why are its eyes so black? Most of the other dolls’ eyes don’t have any color in them.”

  “It is because this one is already possessed by a spirit. It is the spirit’s eyes that you see, looking out at the world.”

  Tarquin nearly drops the doll. Hastily, he shoves it back into the miko’s arms. He is trembling a little. “This is why boys don’t play with dolls. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go and freak out in the next room.”

  A day after Tarquin’s father leaves, there is an unexpected development. Voices call out from somewhere in the woods, and one of the mikos heads out to greet the new visitors. “It is a possession,” she reports once she returns, and her words set the other mikos off in a tizzy of activity. The obaasan becomes businesslike, barking out orders that the others scurry to perform. Unsure of how to assist, Callie and Tarquin sit and watch, fascinated.

  Kagura heads out into the garden and returns bearing fresh clumps of sweetgrass and sage. Amaya moves from room to room, setting candles around the shrine in large, concentric circles, lighting each in turn. Incense is added to the small altar, and soon the air is filled with its sweet, smoky scent. The other miko, Saya, sprinkles rock salt everywhere before setting up ofuda, strips of paper bearing sutras, against the walls and shoji screens.

  The obaasan takes one of the dolls from the glass display. With quick precision, she slits its body in half, emptying out the cotton balls stuffed inside it. She replaces these with grains of white rice, stuffing the doll before sewing it shut again with red thread. Next she brings out a large stone knife and begins cleaning it with hot, steaming water.

  “We are ready,” she says, and the mikos view this as the signal to bring the possessed in.

  It is a little boy, perhaps only seven years old. He is twitching uncontrollably as he is brought in by his worried parents and other concerned relatives. His eyes constantly roll into the back of his head, and his mouth spits horrible, snarling obscenities. Even Callie and Tarquin, who do not understand the words, shrink back at the venom bubbling from the froth of his lips.

  “Lay him down on the floor,” the obaasan commands, and this is promptly carried out, though the boy now screams in agony. Each miko holds a limb in place to prevent him from sitting up or crawling away, as the obaasan dangles the doll above the boy’s head and chants in a long, sonorous tone.

  Though the sun was shining only moments ago, a dark cloud quickly passes over the little shrine, over the whole of Yagen Valley. Something that sounds like thunder rumbles through the Chinsei shrine, and the boy’s howls grow louder. The boy’s parents, now looking very pale, clasp their hands together, mumbling prayers of their own.

  For nearly half an hour, the boy twists and writhes in pain, alternating between uttering long frightful shrieks and c
ursing the obaasan in a deep, guttural voice that a seven-year-old should not possess. A small earthquake besets the building, earthenware rattling, the ground shifting and settling. The old woman is unmoved by these threats and continues her long litany until finally the boy begins to weaken. His arms and legs begin to tremble less, and his head rolls against the floor. Finally, he takes a long, deep breath, exhales noisily, and falls silent.

  The obaasan keeps the doll hovering atop his face for several more minutes after the boy has fallen unconscious. She places it on the ground beside him and picks up the knife.

  And just as suddenly, the boy sits up, knocking the knife from the miko’s grip. The young child’s face is twisted, almost a poor imitation of a human’s, little slits of teeth showing through an abruptly wide mouth. His eyes bulge, a bulbous black pair starting out from his head. With one loud, inhuman shriek, he rips himself free of the other mikos’ hold and bolts directly for Tarquin. The tattooed boy has little time to react, gaping open-mouthed as the possessed youth closes the remaining distance between them and leaps—

  —only to hit an invisible barrier that sits between two of the dolls protecting the circle, knocking him backward. The mikos are on him immediately, still chanting, though the boy now seems to possess the strength of ten men. He manages to tear himself away from both Amaya and Saya, and is well on his way to pulling free from Kagura when his whole body suddenly jerks upward, stiffening before falling back lifelessly onto the floor. The obaasan has reclaimed the stone knife and, without hesitation, plunges it into the doll’s body. A sound much like a heavy slap reverberates around the room. From outside, Callie thinks she can hear a long wail of pain, louder than any the boy has made, before it stops abruptly in mid-scream.

  A queer calm descends on Chinsei shrine. Even the birds do not sing.

  “It is done,” the obaasan says wearily. Kagura gently mops at the now-sleeping boy’s face with the sage and sweetgrass leaves. “The spirit has left him. When he wakes, he will be just as he was before.”