Chapter Thirteen, in which I Understand People Just Can’t Help Being Dead Sometimes

* * * *

It didn’t take long to put my plan into motion. Everyone was where they needed to be. In just a few minutes, everything would be settled.

I was either going to die, or Mishima-san was going to find the peace he was a hundred years overdue. I hoped for the latter option, for both our sakes. If I understood the situation correctly, there was no actual hatred the man held toward me, or to anyone he had haunted over the years.

I stood in the center of the mansion owner’s bedroom, waiting for the end. In my hands rested the sword I found earlier that day: the wakizashi with the thousand leaves etched in its sheath. The blade itself looked ordinary, but it was the key I needed to learn the truth behind Mishima-san’s passing.

If all went well on Kijimuta-san’s end, I would be facing Mishima-san with this sword any second now. The instructions I gave Kijimuta-san were quite simple. She was capable of writing on the walls with her blood, not so differently from Mishima-san. By having her write a few key portents such as The relic of your past awaits you, I figured I could bring him to me, and more particularly in a state of mind where he was not prepared to kill me right on the spot.

Since Kijimuta-san had no power to banish Mishima-san there was little chance he would try to harm her should they happen to run into each other, but I told her to be quick about her task regardless. From what I understood about Mishima-san though, I felt certain he would come straight for me. It was me he was most after, and the sight of bloody writing on the walls that was not his own would surely catch his attention. The fact I had revealed my knowledge of what this sword meant to him would only bring him here faster. My biggest hope then was that forcing him to face me now meant he hadn’t had enough time to regain the power he needed to repeat the havoc he pulled off in the main room.

The door slid open. I braced myself for the worst, but the door politely shut back closed a moment later. I relaxed, knowing this was the more friendly ghost.

I heard Kijimuta-san’s voice in my head shortly thereafter.

I finished the messages you wanted me to write. Will he really know to come here though?

“Yes, it won’t be long now. Do you want to watch the grand finale then?”

Sounds exciting! But is there anything else I can do?

“I believe so.” I pulled from my sleeve a piece of paper cut in the shape of a human being. It was the shikigami I had procured from Akita-san’s goods earlier. “This ofuda is designed to hold spirits. I don’t know how to control these things, but I imagine if you possess this you can guide it to wherever you wish.”

Really? I’ve never been a piece of paper before.

“Well, now you can see what it’s like,” I said. “If Mishima-san isn’t visible, I’d appreciate it if you could guide this to him. It will allow us to see him once it connects to him, so as soon as the door opens just head straight forward. When you’ve finished you can return to me.”

All right, I’ll go ahead and possess it now then.

And with that, I was again waiting in silence.

I looked from one wall of the room to the other. The mansion in general was so large, so quiet. The rooms were generally dark, the walls mostly barren. A sad place out in the middle of nowhere. I could only imagine how it might have been for Mishima-san and Akita-san, existing in some hollow form year after year, with only the possibility of bloodshed to awaken them.

So long Mishima-san had waited for someone to reach past his impurities and bring an end to his suffering. What was it going to take to bring peace to such a tormented and restless soul?

The door slid open. There was nobody there.

I raised my arm and tossed the shikigami forward.

“Mishima-san,” I called out.

Kijimuta-san kept the paper talisman flying in one swift arc, as smoothly as a stroke of her ink brush.

“I have a present for you,” I continued.

The shikigami stopped in mid-air. Mishima-san turned visible, the majority of his ghostly body still composed of blood, no different from before. He did not look surprised to see me. His currently visible eye still maintained that deathly stare he had given from the very beginning.

“I imagine you are quite familiar with this blade.” I pulled the sword from its sheath and tossed the exquisite covering aside, letting it flop onto the soft tatami floor.

I’m back, Kijimuta-san whispered.

I smiled. It was thanks to her that I knew how to reach Mishima-san. It was thanks to her that I knew I could do any of this.

I raised my weapon with both hands and took a basic stance I had seen kendo fighters use all the time growing up.

“This sword of thousand leaves was passed down the Chiba family line, all the way down to the onmyoji who wielded it in this very mansion. About one hundred years ago, you used this weapon to kill yourself.”

Mishima-san didn’t move. His blood continued to shift and flow, but he did not take a step in any direction. He simply stared at me.

Waiting.

“I imagine this relic will bring up the strongest memory your ghostly countenance has preserved. May this blade shatter the chains that tie you to this haunted abode.”

Without wasting a moment’s breath, I sprinted forward, ready to swing my weapon.

At the same time, Mishima-san caused innumerable thin tendrils of blood to erupt from all parts of his frame. His body contorted violently, the blood flying in all directions. It felt more like a subconscious defense mechanism than an actual desire to drown me the way he had Akita-san. Regardless, I knew such a fate awaited me if I failed here.

Fighting through the blood, I kept my entire focus on each and every piece of ghostly flesh still visible at that final moment. A small bit of his white kimono appeared near his stomach. I swung my blade through the coursing streams of crimson and made contact with Mishima-san’s spirit.

And just as he and the memento connected, I found myself in a different place.

* * * *

It was not a faraway place. This was one of the mansion’s hallways. It was more well-lit than it was now, but I saw I was accompanied by two men.

And a ghost.

Both my arms were raised, and in each hand I held a long paper talisman covered in the smallest, most intricate of writing. To my left was a bearded man in his thirties wearing priestly attire… my older brother, I realized—who was also holding up a couple ofuda. To my right was a younger man with short, ragged hair and a gaunt face, wearing an entirely black kimono and jacket. This had to be the onmyoji Chiba-san, and he too was holding up two strips of paper.

The three of us had formed a circle of sorts, with my brother and I on one side of the ghost, while the onmyoji stood a ways behind the specter. Our positioning in the narrow corridor was making it harder to maintain the barrier, which was all that was keeping the ghost from possessing one of us. That was the ghost’s aim, I remembered. He wanted to escape this mansion. A murderous crime boss looking for a quiet village to wreak havoc upon in his afterlife.

It would take time for a phantom this powerful to succumb to the exorcism mantra my brother was quietly chanting in deliberate, steady breaths. The ritual had to be draining all his energy, but still he kept going—and I was certain my brother would be able to manage for the remaining few minutes it would take to cleanse this most twisted of impurities.

I maintained all my focus on the ghost. The man had only died a few years ago, but there was something about the manner in which he died at this mansion that made him the dangerous yurei he was now. He looked to have been in his thirties when he died, but his flesh and attire had become colorless—all save for his long, stringy hair, which had somehow turned into constantly streaming trails of blood.

More concerning was how the ghost was trapped, yet didn’t look bothered in the slightest. He was at the brink of exorcism, but he wasn’t worried at all. In fact, his ecstatic grin only grew with each passing minute. He turned to stare directly into my eyes. He never blinked, not even when rivulets of blood dripped through his eyes. The confidence etched in his face held the look of a man who had no fear of failure. He knew he was going to win.

I couldn’t waver now. My entire being felt ready to collapse, but I couldn’t let my brother down. He and the onmyoji were both counting on me. If I failed now, I’d endanger the entire village.

I noticed the onmyoji trembling a bit. Since he had initiated the ritual and was standing on one side by himself, he was probably under considerably more strain than my brother and I. But he was the most well-renowned onmyoji in the land—or so his story went. His power backed up the claim though, and I trusted his skills in overcoming the violent energy of the ghost. He would hold strong; I just needed to make sure I did the same.

The ghost took a step toward me, and his grin grew thinner and longer.

How had he moved? And why was he coming toward me? He probably recognized I was the weakest of the three binding him. The ghost’s eyes rolled back slightly as he leaned forward. He intended to possess me. And if he did, he would kill the onmyoji and my brother. I couldn’t let him reach me. I had to hold him off… just a little longer.

The ghost took another step toward me. His grin extended even further—far past what was possible for a human being.

My body was shaking. I hadn’t noticed when I began to tremble. The ghost was so close to me, his very presence causing my hairs to stand on end. I couldn’t let him possess me. I couldn’t let him take another step toward me.

But he already had. He was closer now. When did he take another step? When had he gotten this close to me?

The ghost was right there, right in front of me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t step back. I couldn’t scream. The ghost’s streaming lines of scarlet rose toward me. He had the power to manipulate his blood, apparently. And I couldn’t back away. Everything turned silent.

A hand grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back. I fell backward, my utterly spent limbs collapsing beneath me. My brother stood in front of me, still holding his paper talismans—and though I couldn’t hear him, I could see he was still chanting the mantra. The ghost froze in place, his strands of bloody hair not quite able to reach my brother. The grin on the ghost’s face didn’t dissipate, however.

I struggled to sit up, and the attempt sent burning pain coursing through my entire body. But I forced myself to keep going—I had to return to help my brother. This was the moment he needed me most. I couldn’t abandon him. I couldn’t leave him at the phantom’s mercy.

I had to keep my hands on the ground to prop myself into a sitting position—and by the time I managed that, sound began to return to my ears… And all I could hear was screaming. The onmyoji was screaming out in agony, drowning out my brother’s wavering mantra. The ghost meanwhile remained silent, grinning all the more wildly.

The onmyoji was dying, I realized. My sudden absence from the circle had taken a grievous toll on him. I needed to return to help…

But before I could stand, the onmyoji fell to his hands and knees, still screaming and trembling in bitter torment. My brother continued to recite the mantra, but there was no time left.

The ghost’s strands of blood solidified, taking on an almost metallic sheen.

And without having to move a muscle, the thin spikes of blood drove straight through my brother’s body. In one swift movement, my brother was stabbed in at least a dozen places at once.

I still couldn’t scream. I could barely even breathe. My mind hardly even processed what was happening. The ghost was killing my brother. And what was I doing? I couldn’t do a thing. And my brother was right there, dying right in front of me.

While my consumed mind tried to comprehend what was happening, the onmyoji threw a small paper cutout at the ghost from behind. A shikigami, I somehow registered. Immediately upon contact with the shikigami, the ghost’s entire spectral image burst into flames. For a moment it looked like the ghost was about to crumble into ash…

But still he continued to grin.

The ghost turned around and sprinted toward the onmyoji, crashing into him headfirst.

And the ghost vanished.

The onmyoji lay there motionless, and it was then I realized it was far too late for me to do anything. My brother was dead.

And the onmyoji was possessed by the ghost.

I had to run, but I couldn’t even get myself to stand. And even if I could, what was there to do? My brother was lying on the floor, soaked in his own blood, and I couldn’t even crawl over to him.

The onmyoji shakily stood up and drew out his sword. It was the wakizashi he always kept at his side—but now it was in the hands of the ghost.

It was my fault my brother died. It was my fault the ghost had taken control of the onmyoji. And now I was going to die for my weakness.

The onmyoji walked toward me on weary legs—the fact the ghost was now possessing him didn’t seem to have healed or rejuvenated the onmyoji’s body in any way. But I was in just as terrible a condition—I had never handled spiritual arts as well as my brother. I bowed my head low, ready to die.

But before the onmyoji could swing the blade of his weapon upon me, he stopped short.

“Mi…shima-san…”

I looked up, and I could see the onmyoji was trying to step back and lift the sword away from me. He couldn’t stop trembling, and he appeared to be gritting his teeth against the worst of pain.

“Kill… me now…” the onmyoji forced out. “Hurry…”

He was fighting the ghost. Even now he was struggling against the impurity possessing him. And at this deciding moment, he was giving me one final chance. He was counting on me.

I forced myself to stand and wrenched the weapon from his unsteady grasp. I nearly fell back to the floor in the process, but I somehow kept my balance and remained standing. The sword felt so heavy—far heavier than I could have ever expected of the relatively small blade.

The onmyoji looked like he was trying to say something more, but he couldn’t control himself enough to do so. He was doing all he could just to keep the ghost from attacking me. There was no time for me to think about what I was doing.

I already knew it was wrong. I already knew how wretched I was to do it. But I pushed the blade through the onmyoji’s stomach. I was killing the man who had come to help me and my brother. I only had the one moment to make a decision, and I had to justify my act in the very process of dealing the final blow.

I pulled the sword out and stepped back, allowing the onmyoji to fall to the floor. His dying, garbled breaths completely drove out every last possibility of reaction on my part. The level of shock had torn me to shreds, had left me hollow and cold. Almost ethereal. Something entirely inhuman.

I fell to my knees, but I couldn’t cry. I just stared out at nothing, unable to look upon the innocent man I had slain.

But then something moved. Something emerged from the onmyoji’s back.

It was the ghost, slowly crumbling into pale and bloody pieces.

He had escaped before the onmyoji completely died. The ghost had taken a terrible blow, but some part of him still existed.

And there was still one body left for him to possess.

The ghost rushed upon me, and as soon as he vanished a screaming voice began pounding in my head. The pain was so sudden I could hardly make out anything the ghost wailed. The words all meshed and echoed against one another, and all I could hear were bits and pieces: kill, maim, and one by one.

There was no time to speculate what was best to do. The onmyoji was gone. My brother was gone. And my own life was already forfeit. But still I had to try. I had to try to stop the tragedy from only growing worse.

I pointed the gleaming crimson blade toward my own stomach.

And with all that I had left in me, I drove the weapon through my body.

There was no chance the ghost could survive, but I felt no relief at that. The way everything else had ended…

It was wrong.

It was wrong.

It was wrong.

It was wrong.

It was wrong.

It was wrong.

It was wrong.

It was wrong.

* * * *

“It was wrong,” I said, standing once more before the ghost of Mishima-san.

The tendrils of blood that had emerged from his body all dropped to the floor in a gradual, quiet rain. I pulled the onmyoji’s sword from Mishima-san’s stomach and stepped a few paces back. Mishima-san didn’t make a move; he simply stood there, waiting once more.

You told me the priest’s story… Kijimuta-san said. Why was it so different from what really happened?

Apparently she witnessed everything that happened as I experienced Mishima-san’s memory. Fortunately I had an answer to her question, and it was the central point I needed to bring up for the fallen spirit.

“You painted the story of what happened on the walls of this mansion,” I said to Mishima-san. “But it wasn’t what really happened. Reality felt so utterly wrong, you died with the most truly unquenchable of attachments: the desire to change the past.”

“It was wrong,” Mishima-san said in a quiet monotone. “It was wrong. It was wrong.”

“Your situation was a terrible one,” I said. “But in the end, you accomplished more than what you should have been capable of. You completed the task you, your brother, and the onmyoji had set out to do. You fulfilled your duty to the village you spent your entire life serving.”

“It was wrong,” Mishima-san repeated.

Though there was no expression to be found in what was left of his face, I could sense the things he meant behind those words. It didn’t matter that he had succeeded in vanquishing the yurei. Through his own shortcomings his brother’s life was sacrificed. And that unhappy chain of events led to his killing of a fellow human being, as well as the taking of his own life.

“It was wrong,” I agreed. “And it was no wonder you wanted to change the way things ended. Your severe self-loathing at that final moment bound you to this mortal realm even after death. Becoming this type of spirit enabled you a perpetuating self-inflicted punishment—one you would build upon for eternity if you could so manage it. And in the process, your hatred was twisted to extend past not only yourself, but to all elements that made up those final moments of your life: spirits, the mansion, and onmyoji.”

Mishima-san’s body of blood contorted ever so slightly. There was something different in the way he held himself, almost as if he were surprised. As if he had remembered something important—something he had forgotten many years ago.

He spoke in a strangely calm, approachable voice. “I know it was my fault my brother died… but I still couldn’t help but blame the onmyoji. He was… the most powerful ghost hunter in the land. And yet against this ghost, even he wasn’t enough, and he needed my brother and me to help him. Why did he choose to rely on someone as weak as me? I had no chance against such a powerful ghost…”

He looked ready to stop, but forced himself to go on. “But every time this excuse had run its course, the truth would always return to take hold of me. I wanted to be there for my brother. I wanted to make sure he returned home safely. I wanted him to lead as the shrine’s kannushi for the rest of his days. I wanted… just once… to help my brother out. I wanted to be… worthy of the family name he so honorably upheld. I wanted to be just like him.”

“You spent all your days with him,” I said. “And he was always there for you. It’s no wonder you didn’t want to fail him in his time of need.”

I knew what it was like to fail people I cared about, and to fail people who cared about me. But I also knew that these people didn’t want me to suffer needlessly.

“I forgot everything,” Mishima-san said. “So many years passed, and I forgot everything.”

“You didn’t intend it,” I said. “But what matters now is that you find the peace you’ve needed for over a century.”

“Peace…” the ghost whispered. “I spent all my days working toward peace. A pure life. That was all I wanted for my brother and me.”

“Fortunately, I know someone who can make you pure.”

I stepped out to call for Akita-san, and it wasn’t long before she arrived with her wand of paper streamers.

“So you managed your end of the bargain after all,” the shrine maiden said.

“I didn’t do much,” I said. “Just needed to help him remember a few things.”

Akita-san smiled ever so slightly. “I’ll see your efforts don’t go wasted then.”

I stepped aside so she could stand in front of Mishima-san, who suddenly took on a much more somber expression—or at least one that felt somber. It was hard to tell with most of his face still composed of blood, but the way he quietly stood before Akita-san gave a strangely forlorn impression.

Akita-san on the other hand looked resolute as always, though a sense of relief may have chipped away at her harsh exterior.

“I will now begin the purification ritual,” she said. “May you be cleansed, Mishima-san. And may we both find the rest we’ve needed.”

Mishima-san knelt down and placed his hands and forehead upon the ground, bowing in sheer humility before her.

“I am sorry, young shrine maiden,” he said in a low, almost desperate voice. “There is nothing I can do to make up for what I did to you. I… I don’t deserve to look upon you. Not even for a moment.”

Akita-san frowned, and at this time it hinted at the much lonelier feelings in her heart. She had suffered death at the hands of this man, and there was no escaping the fate that awaited her once this purification ritual was through.

“You were a ghost who couldn’t help it,” she said. “I can not truly blame you for my untimely demise. More importantly, I’ve accepted my fate, and I’m ready to finish what I set out to do fifty years ago. Before I died, I strove many years for the opportunity to use my power to help the village. I am here right now because I want to accept the chance that has been given to me.”

She bent down to one knee and held out her right hand. “Get back up, Mishima-san. It will be easier if we’re both standing together.”

Mishima-san slowly raised his head, and his blood shifted to expose both his eyes—each of which were streaming tears of blood. He looked at Akita-san’s hand, then back up to her face.

She nodded, and Mishima-san caused the blood of his right hand to shift into colorless ghostly flesh. His and Akita-san’s spirit hands clasped together, and the shrine maiden helped the fallen priest to stand up once more.

Once Mishima-san was on his feet, Akita-san proceeded to wave her paper tassels left and right. She took slow, long strokes, letting the zig-zagging streamers rustle against one another—the sound of a calm, healing wind to purify the area about Mishima-san.

Over the following minutes, Akita-san continued by brushing the strips of paper across Mishima-san’s body. Impressively, the pure white paper did not stain. Instead, the shrine maiden was effectively wiping away the blood that composed Mishima-san’s body, replacing it with the spiritual essence that formed the basis of the lingering dead.

With each stroke of the sacred instrument, Akita-san brushed aside more of the tainted blood that had plagued Mishima-san for so many years. But by the time the ritual was completed, Mishima-san looked just like a regular shrine priest, save for the lack of color marking him as a spirit.

He bowed to Akita-san and smiled, his exhausted face filled with the subtle glow of relief.

“Thank you… so very much.”

“Farewell,” Akita-san whispered.

And with one final wave of her paper wand, the ghost of Mishima-san vanished entirely.

I breathed a long sigh of relief. Some part of me perhaps assumed something would have gone wrong at the end there.

Wow, Miko-chan did a wonderful job! Kijimuta-san said. She had been quiet for some time, so hearing her now took me by surprise. Sorry, I can’t remember her name.

“It’s Akita-san, and yes, she did surprisingly well,” I said.

The shrine maiden turned toward me and folded her arms. “As if I’d have trouble with something so simple!”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” I said. “Thanks for your help, Akita-san.”

She smiled at that, and it was most certainly the most genuine smile she had worn since we first met. It was what she had always been hoping for though—the chance to prove herself, to feel needed by someone else, and to use the skills she worked so hard for to bring others peace.

She walked into the hall and I followed her—but instead of going into the room with all our things she led me into the main room. Curiously, the blood that once filled this room was entirely gone.

Oh hey, wasn’t this room painted red before?

“That was blood, Kijimuta-san,” I said. “And I imagine it disappeared once Mishima-san was purified.”

“Indeed,” Akita-san said. “And with that, my work is almost completed. You may have forgotten, Tsunoda-san, but I can’t rest until one final item of business is taken care of.”

Of course. There was still one more spirit Akita-san intended to take care of.

Kijimuta-san.

“No…” I found myself saying. “There’s no reason for it, Akita-san.” My heart began pounding much faster. It was all too sudden, too needless. “Not now. Not so soon.”

“I’ve waited a long time to rest,” Akita-san said. “And I’m not about to risk anything fouling that up. My soul can’t part with this realm until I’ve fulfilled the most burning desire of my heart.”

What is she talking about? Kijimuta-san asked.

“I’m sorry, Akita-san,” I said. “But if it comes down to it, I will fight you on this one.”

Akita-san gave the most condescending of smirks. “I’ve already beaten you up at least a couple times now. Your threat falls on deaf ears.”

Miko-chan hurt you? Kijimuta-san shouted. What happened, Naoki-kun?

She was getting really riled up, but now wasn’t the time.

“If you’re really that worried about Kijimuta-san doing anything…”

I stopped when Akita-san walked past me, and right on to the entry. She slid open the front door and motioned a hand outside.

“Kijimuta-san, I hereby banish you from this mansion.”

The silent pause that followed felt like it lasted a whole winter.

“What?” I asked.

“Move it!” Akita-san said. “You’re letting in a draft.”

So this was how she intended to banish Kijimuta-san. Technically, sending me outside was a way to remove the last of the spirits she had to deal with in this mansion. I stepped into the entry, slipped on my sandals, and walked out onto the wooden porch. I continued down the steps for good measure and didn’t stop until I was a few meters down the snowy pathway.

I turned around to look back to Akita-san, who still stood in the entry with her arms folded.

“Farewell, Tsunoda-san,” she called out, briefly raising a hand in departure.

Good-bye, Miko-chan!

“Good-bye, Akita-san,” I said. “Kijimuta-san says good-bye as well.”

“I’m sure she does,” Akita-san said, smiling once more. “Take good care of her, Tsunoda-san. And in the meantime, keep helping the rest of us spirits out. There’s not many among the living who still see us as people.”

“I’ll give it a shot,” I said.

“That’s often all we really need.”

And with those final words, she faded away into nothingness.

* * * *

The mansion stood before Kijimuta-san and I, completely empty—perhaps for the first time in over a century. Perhaps for the first time since it had ever been constructed.

I’m going to miss Miko-chan, Kijimuta-san said.

“We’ll have to remember her,” I said. Which wouldn’t be a difficult task at all, I wagered.

The sound of footsteps approached in the distance. I glanced around to figure out which direction they were coming from—it turned out to be right behind me.

Jogging up the trail was a short woman carrying a large pack on her back. She wore the outfit of a shrine maiden, and had more than just a passing resemblance to Akita-san. This woman had her hair untied though, and wore a much more worried expression.

“I’m sorry!” she said as soon as she reached me. Between breaths she continued, “I got lost and ended up heading back to the village, and then my brother said an onmyoji wanted to see me here, and then I headed back and got lost again… but now I’m here? This is the mansion I think.” She smiled. “My name is Akita Mizuki! I’m the shrine maiden at the village! I heard there’s a ghost here? And I hope I’m not too late?”

I grinned, having to use every fiber of my being to keep from bursting out laughing.

“I’d say you’re right on time. How about we chat inside? It’s freezing out here.”

* * * *

I led the shrine maiden into the mansion and decided to put the old man’s tea room to good use. Kijimuta-san asked if it was all right for her to return to the mansion, but I assumed it was safe at this point. Akita Kazue had moved on, and I only intended to spend one last night here. The old man was going to return the next day, and I couldn’t leave before getting payed.

I spent the afternoon going over the story of what happened here, and it made for a relaxing tea time since the shrine maiden was enraptured by each and every detail. Then to pass the remaining hours of the day away, I decided to play a game of go with the new and much easier-to-please Akita-san. Setting up the go table here felt like I was entering another distant memory, but this one felt much calmer than most of the others I had to go through the past few days.

Instead of playing Akita Mizuki myself, I decided to let Kijimuta-san decide where I should place each of my playing pieces. The two of them were beginners, so it worked out better for the three of us—and I was content to just watch the game for once. I simply followed the directions Kijimuta-san gave me and placed the stones where she wanted—even if the choices she made were poor at times.

Strangely the process didn’t feel that painful at all. It wasn’t so bad to make so many mistakes, and it was kind of nice to not try so hard to compete with everyone so much.

In the end I lost the game. But that’s just how it goes sometimes.

* * * *

To keep the shrine maiden from getting lost again, I offered to help her get back to the village the next day. She slept in one of the mansion’s many guest rooms while I took the room I had first stayed in. All of Akita Kazue’s stuff was gone, which seemed to confirm they existed in some spirit form ever since she died. After going through the mansion once more the next morning to tidy anything that was messed up during the various incidents of the past week, I decided everything was in order for the old man upon his return.

He arrived earlier in the morning than I expected, but that was just as well. Kijimuta-san had just finished cooking some rice and miso soup for breakfast, and once she possessed me again we sat at a long floor table with the mansion owner and the shrine maiden. While the old man’s servants went about their work to inspect the mansion and conduct whatever tests they had in mind to check for signs of ghosts, the three of us—or four if counting Kijimuta-san—enjoyed a nice meal together. I was asked to give a full account of my ghost hunt at the mansion, but the old man was fortunately satisfied with my drastically abbreviated account. Thankfully the shrine maiden didn’t bother to expound on any points, so we were all able to get through the morning without any particular incident.

Before the shrine maiden and I took our leave though, I thought to ask the mansion owner a couple questions that had been on my mind.

“While searching for the ghost, I noticed a nice wakizashi displayed in your room,” I said.

The small old man stared at me with a stern wrinkled squint and gave his tiny beard a couple strokes, apparently trying to think of what it was I referred to. “Oh, the sword,” he finally said. “I believe it belonged to an onmyoji like yourself. The poor man unfortunately died while dealing with a ghost here, I believe—at least that’s what my father had told me. Sadly none of the onmyoji’s relatives were ever reached, so the sword remained here.”

“It proved useful during my efforts against the ghost,” I said. “I wanted to thank the owner as well as the craftsman who carved the blade.”

“It’s said to have some spiritual qualities to it,” the old man said. “If you think it would be useful to you in the future, I would be glad to pass it on to you as a little bonus, we could say.”

“That’s much too generous,” I said to be considerate. “It’s far too nice of a blade for someone like me.”

“It’s nothing,” the old man said. He led me to his room so he could hand the weapon to me. “I have more than enough swords I could display in this mansion, and it’s not every day that I get to help anyone out. I also believe the onmyoji would have preferred it be used by a fellow ghost expert than just sit here collecting dust, wouldn’t you say?”

He gave me the weapon and I accepted it graciously. “Thank you. I’ll see to it that it continues to find use in the hunt for ghosts in need.”

Oh wow, a sword! That’s great, Naoki-kun. Let’s learn how to use it, train in the ways of the samurai, and go slay all the yokai monsters!

There wasn’t a response I could give right then, so I tied the sword to my obi belt and thanked the mansion owner once more.

“I suppose there’s only one other question I have,” I said. “Why is your mansion so far from the village? It’s kind of all by itself out here.”

The old man smiled and held his hands behind his back. “Oh, there’s such a long story for that, I think it would take days to tell.”

Perhaps I didn’t have to know everything.

“I understand.”

“Let’s just say my great-grandfather really liked the natural scenery,” the old man said. “It is quite nice, isn’t it? And if we leave it at that, I can have something to chat with you the next time you may visit.”

“Do you expect I’ll come back?” I asked.

The old man maintained that all-knowing smile. “If some ghostly issue resurfaces, I have some friends who would be happy to help you find your way back here, so you can finish the job for good.”

The old man didn’t flinch, but I probably did—or at the very least my heart skipped a beat. I didn’t like the idea of getting put on any kind of list the yakuza crime syndicates of this country might happen to have on hand, but I supposed I had long accepted the dangerous life.

“Sounds like a plan.” I glanced back to the hall and saw the shrine maiden holding her giant traveling pack.

“Did you get lost in the mansion?” I asked.

“No!” the shrine maiden said, the cross look on her face reminding me much of another Akita-san. “Well, maybe a little. But it’s a big place!”

“Sounds like you better be on your way,” the old man said.

The shrine maiden and I took our things to the entry, put our sandals on, then bid the old man farewell.

I thanked him once more, and he thanked me, and we bowed, and then the shrine maiden remembered some things of hers she left inside, and then she returned and we went through the whole process again.

And then we were off to the village.

* * * *

Once I dropped Akita-san off at her shrine and said my good-byes to her and her brother, I continued down the path until I reached a fork in the road. One led to Kijimuta-san’s village, while the other led down a path into the mountains. I wasn’t certain where it went without consulting my map.

“Here we are, Kijimuta-san,” I said. “How are you feeling?”

I’m doing great, of course. Why do you ask?

“I… don’t know,” I said. “There was a time when I thought deep down you’d want more than anything to move on. To not be a ghost anymore.”

It is kind of sad, but… I’m glad so long as I can spend more time with you. Is that… okay?

I smiled. For a moment I thought it was kind of funny, the fact I was standing out here, seemingly talking to nobody. But I had grown used to this. It felt right somehow, talking to Kijimuta-san like this.

“I like you, Kijimuta-san. You’re just adorable.”

Wh-what! That’s the nicest thing anyone… Say it again, Naoki-kun! And can you use my first name? Use my first name from now on! It’s Michiko, in case you forgot!

“As if I’d forget your name now, Michiko-chan.”

You added a chaaaaan! That’s perfect, now let’s go on an adventure somewhere.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said. “How long are you planning to stick around?”

How long are you planning to live for?

“Considering all the trouble you’ve landed me this past week… I think I could last maaaaybe a month. Five weeks, tops.”

Then let’s make it the best five weeks ever! Go ahead and take the mountain path, Naoki-kun. I’ve already seen everything at my village.

I went the route Michiko-chan suggested and took my time walking down the icy forest path. It was a cold, silent morning, and there wasn’t much to look at the further we went along. Everything was frozen and lifeless… It truly could only be described as a dead and dreary winter scene.

But I felt there was something rather peaceful about it.

“What do you want to do when we get to where we’re going?”

Let’s look for some more ghosts!

“I don’t know, I think I’ve had more than enough ghosts to deal with already. Wouldn’t you rather we just play some board games, go ice skating, and eat soup?”

We’ll do all that too. But don’t forget you can definitely help out all the ghosts now. You’re the expert on ghosts!

Maybe that wasn’t true. But maybe it was? The possibility that it was made me smile.

“If you say so, Michiko-chan.”

* * * *

Fin.

* * * *