Chapter Two, in which I Question the Validity of the Average Depictions of Ghosts

* * * *

The ghost said—or rather, wrote—that she knew how to play go, but was not very good at it. Once I brought in the mansion owner’s finely-carved go board and the wooden frame that held it up, I placed nine black stones across the board to provide a handicap for the spirit to work with.

I set a floor cushion and small basket of go pieces on either side of the board, then sat down to make my first move.

“Your turn, Spirit-san.”

A black stone rose from the ghost’s basket and floated to one of the board’s intersecting points. Given the number of games I had played over the years, I didn’t need to think long about where to place any of my white pieces. But going through the motions of the game helped me organize my thoughts regarding the current situation.

And more importantly, it gave me something to do while the ghost wrote out her responses to my questions. People can’t write as fast as they speak, after all. Since it seemed likely this conversation would last a while, I figured a game could help pass the time.

Things proceeded about as straightforward as could be expected of a match with a beginner. I didn’t really need to concern myself with the game itself, so I found myself staring through my invisible opponent whenever it was her turn.

The very idea of playing go with a spirit… It was about the most ridiculous situation I could ever imagine. So much so, I couldn’t help but smile something between a grin and a cringe. It was apparently an amusing expression to witness, because the black go piece hovering above the board started to silently bob up and down, ever so slightly. The ghost was laughing!

I had to laugh a bit too. “You don’t seem so bad, Spirit-san. But since I can’t see you, could you describe yourself a bit? How old you are, where you’re from—things like that?”

I brought in a couple pieces of half-used paper over to where the spirit was presumably sitting. I flipped the sheets over and set them down on a piece of cloth on the floor, then placed an inkstick, inkstone, and calligraphy brush next to it. If the ghost could use proper writing utensils, there would be less blood on the walls to clean up afterward. Then again, since the old man’s messages in blood had disappeared, perhaps any new ones would too? Regardless, I felt the conversation would be less unsettling this way.

I knelt beside the paper and poured a little water into the inkstone. “You can write with this, Spirit-san.” I ground some of the inkstone to form an ink of the right consistency, then returned to my spot on the other side of the go board.

Once the phantom settled on a less-than-apt spot for her game piece, I decided to take it slowly with my own turn in order to give her enough time to write a couple sentences.

The game continued for a few turns before the first paper floated off the ground, wiggling about the air like a confused butterfly. I took the paper and looked over its contents.

I am 23 years old. Well, I died a year ago, so maybe I’m just 22 still.

She was three years younger than me, if going by her age when she passed away. Once I established communication with the spirit I had guessed I was dealing with a younger ghost than this—or more specifically, a mischievous zashiki-warashi—considering how juvenile the whole bloody-message-on-the-wall efforts seemed to be. But then again, if I had been dead for a whole year and had nothing to do, perhaps I too would resort to this sort of thing.

I had a lot of questions to ask, but I still wasn’t sure how to picture this unusual company. My books on dealing with spirits included all sorts of unseemly depictions of ghosts, but I didn’t want to assume an image that was inaccurate. Did she wear a white burial kimono and triangle headband, and have long, unkempt hair draped over a ghastly, deformed face?

An idea sprang to mind. “Can you stand against that wall right over there, Spirit-san? I’ll be right back.” I ran to the kitchen and obtained a small sack of rice flour.

As soon as I returned, I opened the bag and swung its contents forward, dumping the flour against the spot I instructed the ghost to stand in front of. As the ensuing cloud of powder spread about the room, I stepped back into the hallway to wait for the flour dust to settle.

Unfortunately, there was nothing to see.

My hope was that the flour would render the ghost visible, but in hindsight my idea didn’t make much sense after all.

“Well, looks like it just goes through you.” I sat back down and motioned toward the go board. “Never mind, go ahead and make your next move. I can clean that all up later.”

Once the game continued, I peered over toward the pile of flour spread across the floor and noted how there weren’t any footprints. Did that mean the ghost could float around? Or did she just not leave any trace of herself since she’s immaterial?

“Sorry if I surprised you there,” I said, realizing it must have been odd to have a bunch of rice flour thrown at you without warning. “Could you perhaps write a description of yourself? Or draw a picture?” I just wanted a basic idea of who it was sitting right in front of me.

Once the spirit placed a stone down she proceeded to ink the calligraphy brush and ready a second sheet of paper. A few strokes of the brush revealed she was going to draw a picture—and a good one, too. Perhaps good penmanship and artistic ability went hand in hand.

Somewhat amusingly, every now and then the brush would fall from the spirit’s grasp. It seemed to confirm my suspicion she could only hold an object for a brief period of time. About ten seconds, it looked like. To confirm one more point, I leaned forward and tried reaching over to where Spirit-san was sitting, but my hand only passed through empty air. While holding her brush, the ghost in turn tried to reach out to me—the brush would pass above my arm without her invisible arm making any sort of contact with me, however.

I resumed contemplating matters once the ghost returned to writing. As I stared blankly at the go board, a piece of paper pushed its way in front of my face. I accepted it and found an ink drawing much more detailed and realistic than I expected. The self-portrait of the ghost—Kijimuta Michiko, I recalled—depicted a young woman with an innocent smile on her face. She had straight bangs and a short hairstyle, the frame of which rounded her face in general. And though the picture was only a limited number of black ink strokes, it still gave the impression that her kimono was a rather cheerful outfit. Instead of a more typical flower design, it looked like this kimono had snowflakes of various shapes and sizes dyed into it. The image here was quite different from what I presumed was typical of a ghost.

Was it possible the spirit had made this image up? I didn’t see much reason for the ghost to lie about who she was. But maybe she simply perceived herself as a normal-looking human being, when in reality she was a terrifying monster? At this point it probably didn’t really matter, but I felt better believing I was dealing with a regular person. A dead person, granted, but still an everyday one.

The paper flew out of my hand while I was still looking it over. Seeing the ink brush rise again, I took it the ghost wanted to add some more details to the sketch. Could they be some horrifying final touches that would mark her as a phantom? My thoughts shuffled through a variety of alarming possibilities. What if the ghost was just cooperating with me in order to put me at ease? Perhaps she was indeed planning to have her way with me, just as soon as my guard was down.

The paper jostled in front of me once more. Careful to not show my trepidation, I accepted the paper and braced myself for the worst.

There were no changes made to Spirit-san’s appearance. Instead, a second figure had been added to the picture. A man holding the ghost’s hand, and apparently quite happy to be doing so. He had short hair with long and wispy bangs, wore a black kimono with gray designs reminiscent of incense smoke trails, and his eyes gave off a sort of casual yet piercing stare. It was hard to tell if he was gazing off toward something in the distance, or if he was just tired.

In other words, it was a picture of me.

As I pieced together the implications of my holding hands with this ghost, the first bloody message I saw at this mansion returned to my memory.

I love you, Naoki-kun.

I set the paper down and forced myself to stifle my exasperation. “Spirit-san, why do you… feel this way, exactly? Have we met before, back when you were still alive? I guess that would explain how you know my name.” After a pause I added, “Oh, but finish your turn first.”

Priorities, right?

Once she placed a stone down I shifted my thoughts from the game to the likelihood that the ghost was truthful in her writing.

One of my texts on ghost hunting, a book titled Nets Won’t Work, listed many types of yurei—spirits that tended to haunt people. The most common were yurei which sought revenge for some misdeed inflicted upon them in life (typically the misdeed that got them killed). These were known as onryou, but there were many other kinds of ghosts that supposedly existed and caused problems for select individuals. Accounts of supernatural dealings included no small number of ghost stories involving female spirits who sought some form of deep and passionate affection.

The stories I recalled off the top of my head all played out in different ways, but the end result was generally quite unfortunate for the fellows these ghosts managed to seduce.

The spirit’s motive was given to me from the very beginning. She needed someone to love and destroy. Maybe.

The spirit handed me a response to my questions. I just really like you, Naoki-kun. These feelings are hard to explain… And as for your name, I found it on your ghost hunting certification in your pack.

“I… see.” I placed a white stone down and captured eight spaces of the ghost’s territory. I considered asking for details for why she liked me, but decided to ask instead, “Why are you haunting this mansion?”

Once she took her turn in the game she wrote up a response.

It’s a nice place.

Well, that was true, but I was hoping for something more to work with.

After gaining another section of territory I posed another question. “If it’s okay to ask, how did you die, Spirit-san?”

Her response came a few turns later—a bit longer than I expected, given the answer’s length.

I tripped down the stairs.

Really? Could her death have been any more banal? Was I seriously dealing with a clumsy ghost? With all this in mind perhaps it made sense she was desperate for love.

Just as there are all types of people, perhaps there are all types of ghosts as well. This made sense, I supposed. Ghosts were just people who had died, after all.

I moved on to the next question. “Where are you from? The village south of here?”

The spirit placed a stone near a couple separate sets of black pieces on the board, surely in hopes of quickly connecting the two segments together. It was rarely that simple of a matter though—not when there was someone else to watch your every move and break apart each of your attempts to form such nice straight lines.

Spirit-san handed me her paper. Yes, I lived in the village with my father and mother.

Which made sense if she hadn’t gotten married yet. I wondered if her parents were still at the village. Would they approve of their daughter becoming a ghost like this? I smirked at the thought.

I captured some more territory and took several of the ghost’s pieces in the process. There weren’t too many areas left to fill on the board. I decided to ask another question.

“What is it you don’t like about the old man who lives here? It seems you wrote him some threatening messages.”

The spirit and I took a few more turns before she put brush to paper again. Since she continued playing for a while, I wondered if she had heard my question. But perhaps she just didn’t want to answer it?

She handed me her response. It was just a joke. There’s not much to do when you’re a ghost.

I wasn’t sure what to make of this. Did this make matters simpler? It was starting to baffle my mind, just how straightforward the whole situation was turning out to be.

There was a deeper answer in all this. What was the connection between the spirit’s messages to the old man and her messages to me?

The first messages accomplished two things. Spirit-san got rid of the old man. And in his place, I arrived. She wanted to meet me. Or at least, she wanted to meet an onmyoji. But why would she want an onmyoji to come? One whose livelihood entailed exorcising ghosts? Did she have a death wish? Or rather, a post-death death wish?

No, that wasn’t it. I thought over each of the things the spirit had told me.

I love you, Naoki-kun.

You can’t see me, can you?

There’s not much to do when you’re a ghost.

She was lonely. She died, and hadn’t had human contact for a whole year now. She came to this mansion to haunt the old man in order to get an onmyoji to show up. To get someone who could see her to show up.

Just her luck to have someone like me appear then.

But in a way, this actually was lucky for her. She took a huge gamble in luring an onmyoji here. Had it been anyone else, she could have already been exorcised by now. What was her plan to keep that from happening, exactly? Would the average onmyoji be hesitant to do away with a ghost that claimed to love him?

While I thought this over, the ghost took the paper back and wrote something more.

Since I’ve answered your questions, can you do me a favor now?

I didn’t like the idea of agreeing to anything before I knew what I was getting into, but I did say I would do what I could to help her out. For now I needed to at least look like I intended to work things out with her. If the spirit were to realize I wasn’t a true onmyoji at all she could turn hostile.

“What do you have in mind, Spirit-san?”

The second I asked this, the paper flew from my hand and onto the floor. The ink brush in turn did a frantic job of scribbling a new line of dialogue on the page, the atmosphere turning urgent.

The paper flew in front of my face as soon as the spirit finished writing.

Naoki-kun, please take me on a date!

I wasn’t able to respond right away. I had to let this sink in for a bit.

This spirit… She wasn’t joking, was she?

“Why?” I had to ask.

The ghost wrote a quick response: You already forgot? I love you.

“Right, but…” What was I supposed to say here? “What would we do?”

Another scuffling of paper and ink brush. We can go to the village. I can show you around. There are lots of squirrels. It will be fun.

This was a bit much to readily accept as reality, even after playing a board game with an invisible opponent. What was it she was really hoping to do? Was there something she was after in the village? Or did she need me to do something for her there?

I resumed playing the game, but my thoughts focused on the spirit, and whether or not she was orchestrating some kind of terrible plan.

Maybe she did need to be avenged somehow. That was the most common reason for ghosts to linger on, wasn’t it? When people are so unforgivably wronged, they can’t help but seek some kind of recompense. Was there any emotion that was stronger than the desire—no, the need—for revenge? Perhaps there was someone who required a little of Spirit-san’s malice in order for her to finally depart from this world.

Whether or not that was the case, getting her out of this mansion was my original goal. With that in mind, it made sense to go along with the ghost’s wishes for now, and perhaps along the way I could figure out what she was really after. It had to be a pretty big deal, considering she was risking her ghost life bringing in an onmyoji as part of her plan. But was there any hope her plan would work, considering I had no actual experience as an onmyoji? She would likely kill me with some kind of ghastly power if she were to find out the truth.

I had to respond to her request. “I don’t know you at all, so I’m not sure how to take all this, to be perfectly honest.”

The ghost replied with a new message. You can get to know me on the date.

The prospect of learning too much about this ghost woman seized me with a sense of discomfort. I was treading dangerous ground as the object of her desire, at the very least. Could her infatuation possibly be the sort of love at first sight that some people experience in life? Or did the ghost simply intend to… have her way with me?

I waited for Spirit-san to take her turn before I gave an answer. “Okay, I’ll go with you to the village. But tomorrow, okay? It’s too late for traveling tonight.”

In the corner of the paper the ghost drew a small and simple picture of her smiling face.

I wasn’t sure if I should smile or grimace. I was in way over my head here, not that there was much choice in the matter. I was going to have to help fulfill her wish, whatever that really was, so that she’d be on her way to some new life.

There wasn’t another alternative, was there?

I thought my question over as the game drew to a close. There was an obvious answer to it, of course. It was to do the very thing I was supposed to do.

I placed my last stone on the board. I had conquered the vast majority of the territory and won by a landslide. It was an easy game.

Perhaps I likewise needed to approach my current circumstances with an easy solution. Who was in this room? A ghost and a ghost hunter.

I didn’t have the experience, but I at least had the know-how. I could figure out a way to exorcise this ghost. Wouldn’t that be the simplest and safest solution to this whole situation?

* * * *

It was time to go to bed, but I wondered if I should really go to sleep. It didn’t seem wise to leave myself utterly defenseless while a ghost lurked about. After all, it was quite possible Spirit-san wasn’t as naïve and pure as she let on. I wasn’t sure how it would work since we couldn’t touch each other, but… Well, those seductress ghosts always seemed to find a way regardless, at least in the accounts I had read.

Once our game of go ended I made it clear that I would retaliate if Spirit-san tried to do anything unseemly while I slept. I then placed a number of paper talismans in my room and explained that an invisible barrier would protect me from any of her advances, and that she’d be instantly obliterated if she tried to attack me in any way. Her written response confirmed her understanding, but in the end it was impossible to know if she truly believed in my threats.

Similarly, she had agreed to stay out of my room, but there was no way to know if she would keep her word. There was no reason a ghost couldn’t lie, and indeed I had already suspected there were at least a few truths she had kept hidden from me.

I lay in my futon with a book in hand, somehow thinking I could cram for this final exam. I had read through all my ghost hunting books several times over the years for the sake of putting on a good show for everyone, but now I suddenly had to hope there were tactics that were legitimately effective.

Was I capable of pulling any of them off? I knew plenty of chants I could recite, had plenty of talismans I could use, and could reenact all sorts of rituals. But would any of that make a difference? If you could get rid of a ghost just by reciting a few lines from an old scroll, then there wouldn’t be much need for ghost experts.

One book of mine had some special paper talismans I could tear out in the back, but I decided to make one of my own. There was a particular deity worshiped in the local village, a boy who apparently embodied youth and vigor. Each depiction I saw of him included a large firefly of sorts perched on each of his hands, his arms outstretched in religiously significant poses. Perhaps the lights on his hands could drive away ghosts? I didn’t know anything about him, but I had a good feeling this kami was a reliable little god. In the event that I needed to get rid of Spirit-san right away, I assumed I’d need something special to ward her off.

I took my ink brush and wrote the deity’s name on a small sheet of paper, then placed it aside. Once the ink dried, I decided I could put it beneath my pillow.

The way the light of the room’s floor lamp flickered off the red writing on the wall left an ominous feeling in my heart. Wasn’t it possible—perhaps even likely—that the ghost was watching me this very moment?

There was no reason to try calling out to the ghost. She would just respond with more bloody messages on the wall, and I didn’t want any more of that.

* * * *

I had a terrible dream. In the dream, it was revealed Spirit-san possessed inhuman supernatural strength. The invisible phantom grabbed me by the shoulders and flung me off my futon, then proceeded to grab me by the foot and swing me about the room. I was bashed back and forth against the tatami floor, then thrown straight through the shoji paper door and onto the wooden floor of the hallway. Before I could even get up, the ghost grabbed me again and threw me straight into the ceiling. As I fell back down, I was bashed in the face and sent tumbling down the hall. This process of continually grabbing me and swinging me into walls went on for what felt like hours. It didn’t seem like I was getting any injuries throughout this torment, but the pain felt all too real. And for some reason, all throughout this I couldn’t say anything—I couldn’t even scream. I just had to take the beating.

The dream ended with the ghost jumping on my stomach.

I awoke with a pounding headache, but as far as I could tell nothing else had actually happened to me while I slept. Considering what could have transpired, a simple nightmare wasn’t so bad. I couldn’t help but think of it as an ill omen, though.

The sooner I dealt with this ghost then, the better. But as I strained to sit up and tackle the day, I had to wonder if that dream had actually happened to some degree. Perhaps the ghost actually was hurting me in some mental capacity, for example…

I looked to see the sliding door was still fully intact, at least. Not all was as it should have been, however: a new bloody message was delicately strewn down the length of the door. Each kanji was in its own little box within the framework of the door’s wood lattice.

What would you like for breakfast?

In all honesty I didn’t feel like having breakfast, but I especially didn’t like the idea of eating something a ghost cooked.

More disconcerting, this meant the ghost indeed had been in my room at some point. Maybe the entire night. In other words, Spirit-san wasn’t dissuaded by the paper talismans I placed about the room…

I walked to the kitchen to see if she was already cooking something, but there was no sign of food being prepared. At the sound of a fluttering paper I turned around to find a new message hovering before me.

I can cook anything you’d like, as thanks for your help today.

“I haven’t done anything yet,” I said. “You don’t need to—”

The paper flew off before I could finish my sentence. It drifted to the floor near the cooking hearths, where an invisible force began to get a fire going underneath.

It was happening. The ghost was going to cook breakfast.

Perhaps this was my perfect opportunity to act, I realized. She was busy cooking rice, boiling some soup, and grilling fish. Would she notice if I were to start reciting a mantra or setting up a gobosei pentagram? It felt rather cruel to try dispelling the ghost as she prepared breakfast for me—in fact, just thinking this made me want to reconsider—but regardless, this was the most logical course of action.

It was my job, first of all. But more importantly, my life was at stake. And really, the spirit needed to move on anyways. Exorcising her would be for her own good.

I went back to my room to grab the paper talisman I made the night before. I had placed the ofuda under my pillow, and to my relief I found it still there undisturbed. Perhaps it had kept me safe last night? If so, there was a chance it could dispel the ghost if I placed it on her forehead. Powerful onmyoji supposedly could send ofuda like this flying straight toward the malign spirits they were called upon to exorcise. I held the paper up, struck a pose… and frowned.

How do you throw a small rectangular strip of paper, anyways?

Perhaps there was a lot of mental will-power involved in the act, and the talisman could just be thrown like a ball. It was probably worth practicing a few times before I made the attempt on the ghost. I would only get one shot before she realized what I was doing, after all.

I chose a bloody kanji to throw the paper at and gave it my best effort. The paper fluttered straight to the floor, landing just beside my feet.

Maybe it was all in the wrist. I gave it another try, this time taking note of how I flicked my wrist as I let go of the paper. Unfortunately, this didn’t make any difference at all.

I threw the paper again and again, but each time it simply twirled within a meter of where I stood. There was no way I was going to actually throw this at a ghost I couldn’t even see. Was the best course of action then to just walk up to Spirit-san and try to place the ofuda on her?

As I walked back to the kitchen, I suddenly came up with a better idea. I folded the talisman into a paper glider and tossed it toward where it looked like the spirit was busy cooking. The folded glider arced through the air… and straight through where I had guessed her head was.

Did I just miss? Or did this confirm that there was nothing I could make that could actually connect with her?

Perhaps there was no way I would ever know. But the glider lifted off the ground and arced back to me a few moments later. Apparently the ghost just thought I was playing around, since we ended up throwing the glider back and forth to each other for the next several minutes. Perhaps I should have been thankful she didn’t unfold the paper and discover it was an ofuda meant to exorcise her. But wouldn’t it have been nice if she magically vanished upon picking it up?

Seeing Spirit-san capable of handling the talisman and inanimate objects in general without any issue made it feel strange that she couldn’t make contact with me, so to double-check I placed a hand where I assumed Spirit-san was. She had to be in front of the stove grilling the fish since a floating pair of chopsticks was right there poking at it. But I felt nothing, and my hand never felt any sort of resistance.

“Are you really there, Spirit-san?”

The chopsticks floated down to a nearby table, allowing the ghost to write up a response. I’m here, but I just can’t connect with people. To make sure, I tried pinching your nose this morning to wake you up—but it didn’t work.

A mildly annoying piece of information, but it eased my fears a bit. It also explained her leaving a message on the door, since she couldn’t force me awake.

“While I’m thinking about it, where are you getting all this blood to write on the walls with? I’m assuming it’s blood.”

Spirit-san wrote, It just flows out of my fingertips. I’m not sure if it’s real blood though. I never seem to run out of it!

And on that note, I decided it was too soon for me to give up on exorcising this ghost. I covered my mouth with one hand and whispered the mantra of kuji-in.

“Rin pyo to sha kai jin retsu zai zen.”

I watched patiently for five seconds. Ten seconds. Was anything going to happen? A flash of light or a burst of smoke as the ghost bewails her untimely demise?

No. Nothing.

A piece of paper rattled in front of my face. I lowered my hand and read the spirit’s message.

No need to mutter impatiently. Breakfast will be ready in a minute.

Was this ghost truly misinterpreting everything I did? If so, I could just keep trying something new…

In every book I had ever read on ghost hunting, one of the most basic methods employed by onmyoji was the use of purifying salt to drive away haunting spirits. Luckily I knew precisely where this kitchen’s stash of salt was located.

Once I acquired a small handful of some kind of fancy salt, I made my way behind where I believed the ghost stood. I tossed the salt in that general direction, most of it landing in the soup pot and fish griddle. I took a few steps back, not quite sure what to look for but simply hoping for something to happen.

It didn’t take long for Spirit-san’s ink brush to scribble another message for me.

What are you trying to do?

I took another step back and held my breath. Was this it then? Had the phantom finally realized what I was trying to do, and was ready to curse me in every way she could manage?

Another row of kanji appeared to the left of the previous one.

That’s way too much salt! Don’t blame me if your meal is too salty!

* * * *

Before I knew it, I found myself sitting at a personal dining table, wondering what the rest of the day would entail. If I did lead Spirit-san out of the mansion, could I simply persuade her to never return? Perhaps that was my most likely route to success, but I knew better than to count on one single plan. I couldn’t afford to take chances with a ghost.

I tried to dish out the food myself, but Spirit-san insisted via paper message that I sit down and wait patiently. From the next room over, I watched as the ghost brought over a bowl of rice. She had to set it down before losing her grip on it, but over the course of two trips she managed to bring it to my little floor table. She repeated the process for the soup and the fish.

Was it a good idea to eat any of this? I wasn’t sure if it was discussed in any of my books, but I had a good hunch the average onmyoji would call it a bad idea to eat food prepared by a ghost.

It smelled good though, so I ate every last bit of it. Since it was such a delicately-prepared meal, I couldn’t help but take my time with each satisfying bite. It was admittedly a bit salty, but that was my own fault. Regardless, it was undoubtedly the tastiest breakfast I had enjoyed in years. If it was going to kill me, so be it.

By the time I set my chopsticks down and thanked Spirit-san for the meal, I couldn’t really imagine there being some kind of otherworldly poison in the soup. It was enough to make me wonder if the ghost truly was genuine in all this. Could a ghost really fall in love with someone? And not inflict a curse on him in the process? Either way, I couldn’t find a believable motive. You don’t fall in love with a random person you’ve never met before for no reason—especially when that person makes his livelihood trying to destroy you!

Perhaps it was best to not sweat the details and just focus on doing my job. There were still a number of tactics I could employ to deal with this phantom—I simply needed to make sure I didn’t raise Spirit-san’s suspicions as I did so.

I just needed to make it look like… a date.

* * * *