Once you choose hope, anything's possible.

Christopher Reeve

CHAPTER ONE

Do you believe in supernatural stuff? Like ghosts or something? Immortal beings that lurk around, ferrying people to hell? Well, I didn't... At first. I don't know about you, but they're true. Maybe you're thinking I'm a schizophrenic and I'm having delusions or whatever. But you can back out right now from reading this if you don't believe me. For those who wish to continue, go on. Read.

So let's start with the basics, shall we? My name is Isabel, Isa for short. I'm fifteen years young, a third year high school student. I live in the sunny Philippines, and what I mean by sunny is that it can literally burn your skin and consume all your body fluids. School's only ended this month, and I'm off to another country to save my skin (and my water reservoir in my body) and have my summer vacation. By another country, I mean Japan. I was planning on Europe, but unfortunately, my dad won't let me, despite the fact that his main business was there. *Pout*

Okay, my dad. Let's not divulge much about him, I want to keep him in low-profile. All I would tell about him is that he's a businessman and a darn rich businessman at that. He managed to buy a traditional Japanese mansion for a vacation house. Yes, a vacation house which would well pass to be the sister of the palace of the Imperial family. That's where I'm staying right now. Not going to Europe doesn't feel so much bad right now when my dad makes me feel a princess of Japan.

Moving on, even if my dad really did intend to make me his little princess, we're not that close. Heck, we are not close. Screw the father-daughter relationship when you see us. Why, you might ask. A lot of reasons, really. So many I've lost count. On top of all reasons, landing on the number one spot, was the fact that he's always away. Being a businessman, he does a lot of business trips. Not just in the Philippines but all over the world. He didn't really see me grow up. But he sent me things like wardrobe-full of clothes, shoes, or the latest gadgets. My selfish side loves him. And that's all the side he can squeeze love from.

It's a good thing he's always away. Second reason: I loathe him. Okay, that might be an exaggeration, but you get the point. Before I tell the whole story, let me introduce my mother first. My mother's name is Isabella. I was obviously named after her. She's the most wonderful woman in the world. When my father's gone, which is always, she would be the one there for me. We would laugh in our garden and she would braid my hair and she would tell me about all the flowers she planted. My life was great, even without a father in the picture. But the thing is: she's dead. She died when I was seven because of breast cancer, and my jerk father came home one year after her death, visited her grave for ten seconds and flew off to another land I didn't care to know. That's when he started sending me stuff. I didn't know why he did, maybe to console me or something, but it didn't work. He's still the lousiest father in the face of the earth.

My mother and father, well, their marriage was fixed. My mother was forced to marry him to save their family's business and reputation. I admire her for doing that, because she sacrificed her life's happiness (for a stupid man). She was a budding pianist, but gave up her dream when she married. I never dared to ask how her life was on those first few years, how she coped up with a husband who did not love her. I can see much in her song compositions, how, when I tried to play them, I would never reach halfway because it's so sad it broke my heart.

I often wondered how I came to be born into this world. Maybe it was just the love of my mother for my father, which she had learned to develop on the first few years of their marriage that it didn't matter if she was being taken for granted. Her love was never returned, and I hate my dad for not trying. My mom is not hard to love and with me around, that would've been easy (at least in movies). But I guess my dad wasn't at all the man-in-the-movies kind of guy. He only cared for his business and his wealth.

Another thing why I hate him is that I have his damn eyes. I'm a perfect carbon copy of my mom, but I inherited his eyes. Every time I look in the mirror, I see him. Well, not literally, because that would totally be creepy, but you get it.

Many people, usually my father's colleagues or business associates, would tell me my father do love me, that he works hard for my benefit and blah, blah, blah. I would look them in the eyes, try to understand them, and roll my eyes after they had gone. Pffft. Love, they say? I wonder if that man ever loved anybody but himself.

Let's carry on, because I might say more bad stuff about him.

I've been here for less than three weeks and I'm enjoying my stay. Miss Lu, who was attending to me every day, often took me outside the vacation house and would accompany me to the gardens, where she would tell me about the house, the flowers, and bits of Japanese history. She's the head keeper of the house, and she's nice, even though she looked austere in her black uniform. The maids would get out of her way when she passed, and she would wink at me, then I would smile.

One afternoon, I purposely sneaked out of the house without Miss Lu's permission. I was still bringing with me my attention-grabber headphones, which I again purposely wore that day just to annoy her. We have grown quite close, and since I already know her good side, I'm trying to see her bad side.

I came back at dinnertime, with my sneakers full of mud, and my clothes full off twigs and leaves. Miss Lu was on the verge of hysteria, and I bit back a laugh when I saw her reaction when she saw me. She was halfway her scolding when she abruptly stopped, closed her mouth and stood aside. I turned to my back and saw my dad, standing tall in his black suit. He looked down at me, his face expressionless, then asked:

"What happened to you?"

I looked at him, put my dirty hands at my back and shifted my weight to my other leg.

"Roaming outside," I said shortly. And trying to annoy Miss Lu, I thought.

He looked like he wanted to say more, but he did not. He only said that we will have dinner together in the ridiculously huge dining hall after I had washed up. Miss Lu accompanied me to my room, but if she was still mad at me, she did not show. We walked silently to my room, waited patiently for me to take a bath and delivered me back to my father. But before she finally went to attend to her other duties, she looked at me one last time, which clearly said, "I'll get to you later. Be prepared." It also said something like, "Thank your father for saving you."

But nooooo. My father is far from being my savior. Eating with him is worse than being scolded by Miss Lu. Thank God the dining hall is huge, and with it is a long dining table. My father was at the far end of the table and I'm on the other end. It would be impossible for us to have a conversation without yelling at each other. And, for other safety measures, I brought my headphones and my iPod with me. After the servant laid down my appetizer, I wore my shocking pink headphones, turned my iPod on maximum volume and started eating. I saw my dad look at me and I flashed him a sweet smile before I started eating (I can't even hear the clink of the utensils). That was disrespectful and Miss Lu would've strangled me to death if she was here. But hey, I'm a rebellious kid.

After the incident with my father at dinner, we never ate again together and I never saw him since then. After a week, still no face of him. But then, I don't really care. That day, it was raining outside and it was impossible to sneak from Miss Lu (she has grown extra cautious with me this time). Before she left me alone, she flashed her scary, sinister smile. Now I understand why the maids were scared of her.

So, with no choice left, I decided to hang out in the library, which was a bad decision because the library was filled with thick books that looked very heavy I'm afraid it would topple over me and crush my ribs. But it was better than wandering around the big house, so I got stuck with Mr. Library.

The library was spacious, it's every corner filled with shelves of books. I was running my finger through the shelves when I spotted a book. Well, duh, it's a library, it's normal for me to spot a book, but the book I found was out of place, and it was ingeniously kept because it was inconspicuous if you looked at the shelf as a whole. It was not thick, for one thing, and it was small, unlike its company of books. And it was jammed between two big, black books, which looked like a whole volume of Britannica (except that I can't read its title). And, when I forcefully pulled it out, the book was the only book with Japanese characters without a translation but surprisingly, it was written in English.

What would bored people normally do when they see a book? Well, of course, they would read it. So you know what came next. I read the book. The book was about a girl named Enma Ai. The author believed her to be the Hell Girl, the one who guarded the Gates of Hell and ferried people there. He narrated a story about seeing her past and whatever. He also mentioned about the Hotline to Hell, a website that can only be accessed at exactly 12 midnight. The author, who I discovered to be named Shibata Hajime, said that when you have a grudge on someone, you could visit her through her website, type the name of the person you hate, and then she will take it from there. You could avenge yourself and send someone straight to hell. The only thing is that you would also go to hell when you die.

I found the book bizarre but I still finished reading it, mainly because it was not such a boring story and it was not really thick. At the end of the book, there was a hand-drawn picture of a beautiful girl, long hair, wearing a kimono with a straight face. It was disturbing, because in the Philippine folklore, you should really be afraid of beautiful women.

Anyway, as it was nearing twilight, I started to look for Miss Lu, because Mr. Library was starting to scare me. I brought the book so that I can show it to Miss Lu then maybe she could tell me things about the mysterious girl (who doesn't seem to be mysterious anymore because I just read about her) in the book.

It wasn't that hard to find her, because I figured that she was looking for me too. She notified me about my schedule for next week, where we would go and all that. She said my dad fixed it for me. And I was impressed, because I would mostly go to history parks, museums, shrines and temples and such and I liked the idea.

"Hey Miss Lu, do you know about Enma Ai?" We already started walking. She led me to the dining hall to eat my dinner.

"She's an old myth, Isabel," she replied.

"But the book says she's real."

"What book?" she asked then turned to me.

"This book." I held up the gray book, which I forgot to mention that it was not tattered, and I assumed that it was not old.

I hardly heard her mutter, but I still made out that she said "Jigoku Shoujo."

"Can you translate it for me?" I asked, pointing to the Japanese characters on the cover.

"Hell Girl," she said. "You should believe that the Japanese have great imaginations, Isabel."

She walked again then said no more. I wanted to protest, to tell her that Filipinos are creative too, but thought better of it, so I kept silent and followed her.

That night, I can't go to sleep. I think it was because I mostly thought about Enma Ai. I would look at the book, fan its pages, and then glance at my laptop to see the time. It was already 11:59pm, almost 12 midnight. I started typing the URL of Hotline to Hell. I tapped my fingers on the desk, and my heart skipped a beat when the digital clock of my laptop turned 12:00am. I pressed enter. The site was all black and a small flame blazed. I did not understand what it said because it was in Japanese characters, and there was no translation, but I guessed it was an introduction or something. But I can see the box where the name of the tormentor was supposed to be typed and the very tempting button below it that must mean 'Enter' or 'Submit' or whatever.

I stared at it for a minute and the page expired. I looked at the clock and saw that it was already 12:01am. I can hardly believe it was real. I was thinking it was some kind of prank to scare people. But I'm not sure if pranks can make you visit it every 12 midnight.

Author's Note:

The title means 'hope.' Just to make a difference, I translated it in French. If you're asking how it's pronounced, I have no idea. Sorry if the personal stuff about Isabel bored you. :-)

Reviews are highly appreciated, and you will be loved. :-)

Vectress