Alright, part 8! And Generic User, you have been heard. I think the only issue is that I can't put my email address in the notes of this chapter. It will automatically be edited out of the document. I'll put it in the reviews if I can, though I have to figure out if I can delete it. If it is possible, it will be gone by the end of today.
On another note, thanks to Generic User, 20spooky40me, and Anon-kun for the reviews, although I would like to politely disagree with the lattermost statement made. I can further explain why, but I don't feel that this is the most appropriate place with which to do it. In addition, I would like to apologize for inciting whatever anger would drive someone to say such things. I'll drop the subject and do my best not to spark anymore trouble.
Please enjoy the chapter in the meantime. It's late and it feels a little shitty, but I'm finally getting over my cold. Hopefully, it's still good in some way or another.
Part 8
When he was a young boy (perhaps no older than ten) Jotaro played the game for the first time, having learned from the more "native" half of his family. While those on his Mother's side were of overseas descent, those on his Father's side seemed to be the more charismatic and odd. More foreign, in an ironic way. Take for example, his grandmother. While she was still alive on this earth, Jotaro had met his Obaa-chan only a handful of times. She was a withered old woman, antiquated in mind and body as many grandparents are. But not quite the sort that clung to old and closed- minded standards (though she was at first suspicious of Sadao's choice in a bride). Rather, she was the type to be easily lost in her tremulous and fantastical memories. On and on she would go about her stories, of paper cut-out films that were magic at the time and of the vibrant world Japan once was, of hiding from foreign soldiers and never seeing her beloved mother again after the bombs fell, and of the strange and lonely peace that came back after rebuilding her family. She would tell so many that they all seemed to blend and blur together into an otherworldly fairy tale or the backdrop of a peaceful trance. And Jotaro didn't entirely understand at the time. He couldn't comprehend his home or school being decimated, couldn't imagine what it would be like to suddenly have his Father or Mother gone without a final goodbye. But he listened. He sat right on the floor and stared up at his Obaa-chan as she sipped her tea by the open porch door, back when they lived in the old house. There were some parts that were memorable and easy to understand. Simple things, like how she would make flower crowns with her best friend Aiko or how they would run barefoot in open fields. Perhaps the most memorable was when they played Kokkuri-san. Or rather, when she met him.
"I only met Kokkuri-san one time," she had said. It was a vivid memory, her in her faded kimono with a cylindrical cup in her hands. "Back when I was about your age, I played in the dead of night. And I tell you this: He's real. Me and Ai-chan saw what a goof he was. The Kokkuri-san we met never wanted to hurt no one- he just liked to play tricks as a bit of sport. Sometimes he would get bored and just circle the coin around the paper. The three of us had so much fun, but we were never able to call him again after that night. Every time we tried, he never answered." And this childish light sparked in the old woman's wrinkled eyes. Obaa-chan set her tea aside. She leaned into whisper, stuffing her swollen fingers into her coin purse. "Jotaro, let's you and me play. One last time for an old, dried up hag. Wake me up when everyone else is asleep tonight and we'll see if he decides to visit after all these years. What do you say?"
Jotaro leaned on the window pane, letting the April air drift in. His mind had finally cleared. It hit him how silly the whole thing was. First off, it didn't even work with his Obaa-chan. They went back to sleep that night and carried on because the coin didn't move. Why would it work now? Second, such a thing could very well be disrespectful to the dead in one way or another, though Jotaro couldn't bring himself to care beyond the mere fact of it. Third, even if this did work, where was the guarantee that the ghost boy would come? What if someone or something else took his place? It wasn't out of the realm of possibility. The way Obaa-chan said "Kokkuri-san" made it seem like it was a respectful term for anyone or anything who happened to answer the call rather than a single someone. He looked back to the paper on his desk, prepared enough to include the red arch at the top and some characters outside of hiragana (as a precaution, of course). A five-hundred yen coin held it down so it wouldn't be blown away. In a way, he had already committed to it. His mother slept peacefully a few walls over. If he was going to do it, now would be the time.
Jotaro still needed answers after all. It would be a different story if he could watch, but there was no telling when the spirit would show up again. And even if he did, not everything would be clear cut. This was eating at him and he couldn't come up with another way to deal with it. Jotaro was never bothered by such things. So why now?
Delaying it would do no good. Jotaro swiped up the paper and laid it flat on the ground. He sat, back to the open window. He had left the bedroom door open, just as back up. The coin rested on the arch and his finger rested on the coin. It was a calm night. And a late one. The hour had recently passed eleven, according to the clock on the desk. No one seemed to stir- not the neighbors, not the occasional driver. Even the far away city seemed dim and lifeless. Jotaro glanced at the open bedroom door, then at the spray bottle sitting next to him. If things went south, the salt water inside should have been sufficient. Jotaro inhaled slowly.
"Kokkuri-san, Kokkuri-san. Are you there?"
The young man waited. He strained to listen for footsteps, scratches, anything that told him that the spirit had decided to come out. Even an out of place "tap" would be enough. The house creaked every now and again. His mother snored softly, alone in the master bedroom. The faint smell of sakura blossoms drifted inside. All was quiet and peaceful otherwise.
Jotaro paused a bit more and tried again. "Kokkuri-san, Kokkuri-san. If you're here, please move the coin."
A breeze teased the back of Jotaro's neck. He felt his body mold comfortably into the seated position. Everyone else would be asleep by now. Or most people should be. Could dead people follow that trend? Probably not. The room wasn't as cold as he thought it was at first. Without warning, Jotaro started to nod off. A brief shake of the head seemed to work, though only for a moment.
Nothing came. The coin remained still.
Jotaro frowned and rubbed his eyes. How long had he been waiting? It couldn't have been more than a minute or two, but he was already feeling himself drift. Maybe that was no surprise. The room was warm, despite the open window, and it was late. That would make anybody sleepy, right?
Sleepy. . .
. . .
. . . The room came back into focus. From the look of things, Jotaro was still sitting up, finger resting on the metal disc. A small shadow sat in the far corner of the room. Did something arrive after all? He let his eyes slide shut again. If they wanted to talk, they would come.
No need to rush. . .
. . .
. . . He opened his eyes again slowly. Moon light was just enough to illuminate his surroundings. The shadow had moved closer, standing up and in front of the doorway. Couldn't have been any bigger than an infant. It made soft babbles, sweet and calming like candy or sunshine. Jotaro saw no threat. Babies never attack out of malice. He'd be just fine. A little longer would be just fine. Just a few more minutes. . .
. . .
. . . . . .
Red.
Bright, angry, bloodthirsty. Two bulbous eyes watched him hungrily from just across the paper. A smile broke out on the figure's face, parading two pearl white fangs. Iggy had started barking, loud and vicious, from down the street. Jotaro suddenly wasn't sleepy anymore. Vicious pain sank it's teeth into his internal organs. Yeah, perfect time for another stomach ache. He had to leave. The young man attempted to rip himself off the floor, but he just wouldn't budge. He tried again. Every limb held fast and stiff as rock. All he could do was move his eyes and sit there. The spray bottle sat mere centimeters away, yet it could have been kilometers for how futile it would be to grab it. Even his breathing, which should have been at least somewhat erratic, remained slow and even as though he were sleeping.
What was this, some kind of paralysis?
The thing laughed, a chilling and sadistic sound. It was the laugh of someone who loved to inflict pain and suffering, the type of nightmarish creature that fed off agony. Tiny steps pressed into the paper. A meaty hand reached up, close enough for one to see the claws sprouting from the fingertips. What was it going to do? Claw out his eyes? Rip out his tongue? Dig deeper and tear everything beyond recognition? Obaa-chan did say never to play Kokkuri-san alone. Maybe this was exactly why. Jotaro screwed his eyes shut, bracing himself for-
Bambambambam!
The infant startled, eyes fixed on the closet door. Jotaro immediately followed the sound, tracing it to the closet.
Bambambambam!
The visitor gave another startled jump and pressed itself against the opposite wall. Jotaro couldn't even turn his head to look and had to use only his eyes. Even then it was clear to see something was making a racket from the inside. Slowly, the door slid open, no wider than the spine of a light novel. A green and silver tendril slithered out, feeling the air and winding all across the floor. The door opened wider. Two more joined the search. A hand curled around the edge. From behind the crack, a single violet eye glared. A menacing air burned around the closet.
And that was enough. Like a rag suddenly thrown, the visitor lept out the window as suddenly as he had arrived. Jotaro lurched forward, grabbing at his abdomen. He wasn't paralyzed. The intruder had left. Regardless, the young man was stuck in place. He dug his nails in further. More pain to counteract the first. Not ideal, but it was still an idea. As the spirit walked out, the room's temperature dropped again from warm to cool. The aroma of charcoal and paint had returned. He looked around, perhaps in search of further threats. The extra appendages wound about the floor, slithering up walls, through them, and even in and around the furniture. Dresser drawers, desk drawers, the shelves in the closet, anything. Eventually, they pulled back. No more danger, perhaps. He turned his head towards Jotaro, analytical and concerned. Without a moment's hesitation, the spirit walked towards him and knelt from the other side of the paper. He must have been thinking, deciding on some plan of action or trying to cook one up.
"I'm fine," The young man forced out. "Get my bag. It's by the desk." If he could get a cigarette in, he'd be fine. Just one was enough.
The ghost didn't seem convinced. Swiftly, the tendrils slithered together and collapsed together. Three tips flayed into five and the base of these tips widened. A third hand had been formed. The fingers curled and uncurled experimentally. It reached towards the young man, the arm stretching like boneless rope. . . And Jotaro felt the hand rest gingerly on the back of his neck. It was cool. Perfectly so, neither incisive nor ineffective. The hand seemed to ripple softly and dampen his skin like water. Jotaro reached up and found his neck dry. Maybe the spirit saw him use the rag before. Maybe he knew he was in pain somehow. All the while, he waited and watched. Surprisingly, it was working. The pain simmered away from the touch just like the rag.
Jotaro finally relaxed. He didn't like being touched usually, but this was alright. He let the arm rest in his lap. ". . . Thanks."
The ghost boy made no reply. He let his eyes fall. Pale hands smoothed through the red hair. Once. twice. The hand blurred through countless other times and twirled the coil before holding up his chin. He was thinking again. Finally, the spirit reached for the coin.
And slid it to rest over "no".
Jotaro blinked. Wait, what? The spirit continued to slide the coin across the paper. Mo. I. Chi. Do. Wa. Ta. Shi. Ni. De. N. Wa. Shi. Na. I. De. Ku. Da. Sa. I.
Don't ever call me again.
Was this guy serious? Apparently so. The movement started again before Jotaro could protest. Ko. In. O. A. Chi. Ni. U. Go. Ka. Su. Wa. Ta. Shi. O. Ka. E. Se. Move the coin to the arch. Send me back. Ka. Mi. O. Ha. Ka. I. Shi. A. Shi. Ta. No. Yo. Zo. Ra. De. Ko. Ka. O. Tsu. Ka. U. Destroy the paper and spend the coin by nightfall tomorrow.
"No." The words flew out on impulse. "I've got questions. You owe me answers."
The spirit didn't reply. He started Jotaro for a bit, eyes eventually flicking this way and that. Did he not understand? He blinked and fidgeted like he didn't, but didn't bother to spell anything else out. If anything, he just tapped impatiently on the tarnished metal.
Did Jotaro have to use the coin and spell it all out?
That would have been a nice detail for Obaa-chan to include. Jotaro tried and spelled out the word "Why". The spirit took notice. His mouth pressed thin. He looked away. Reluctantly, the ghost started to form a response. Wa. Ta. Shi. Wa. Wa. Ru. I. Ko. To. O. Yat. Ta. Wa. Ta. Shi. Wa. Ko. Ko. Ni. Zo. Ku. Shi. Ma. Sen.
I did bad things. I don't belong here.
Bad things, huh? He must have been referring to when he attacked him before. The way the spirit glanced between the other's neck and knee was incriminating evidence of that. Jotaro slid the coin across the board.
They. . . Don't . . . Hurt . . . Anymore.
The spirit clenched a fist. So. Re. Wa. Mon. Da. I. De. Wa. A. Ri. Ma. Sen. I. Ma. Wa. Ta. shi. O. O. Kut. Te. Ku. Da. Sa. I.
It doesn't matter. Send me back now.
Send him back, send him back. Send him back where? Something about the atmosphere seemed as bleak as finding an answer to that question. All was silent. All was still. Despite the moonlight, the room seemed to be shrouded in darkness, plunging deeper and deeper. The ghost sat across the paper, head hung and face unreadable. He seemed to unconsciously weave hopelessness, grief, every inescapable sorrow imaginable into a tapestry, blanketing and suffocating whoever got too close. Iggy gradually stopped barking. The stars outside seemed to die, one by one. Jotaro shed not a single tear. There was no hollow ache, no need to curl up in the dark and stay there for forever. As far as he was concerned, this was only sadness. Sadness was a problem and problems usually have solutions, even if it wasn't his job to fix them. Jotaro wasted no time in picking his words. He spelled out each one carefully.
I . . . Don't. . . Hate . . . You.
The spirit slowly lifted his head and stared at the paper, dumbfounded. Jotaro continued.
Stop. . . Being. . . Upset. . . It's. . . Fine.
Was he getting through to him? Why did he suddenly care?
You. . . Live. . . Here. . . Too . . . I . . . Don't . . . Mind. . . Just. . . Don't. . . Do. . . Anything. . . Creepy.
Something about seeing him so distressed. . . didn't sit right. Jotaro couldn't put a finger on why or how. Was this enough to mitigate it? Maybe, maybe not. The spirit only seemed more confused. Something like this just didn't compute. He ran a hand through his hair, sometimes normally and sometimes at a sonic speed. What, was he having World War III in his head there? Aside from a periodic blurs of facial and eye twitches, he didn't really budge. Seriously? Jotaro didn't care that this thing decided to live in his closet. What was so hard to understand about that?
Maybe something simpler would be better. Something normal. Something that followed a process for when you find certain people you like to be around and proved that there was not a shred of doubt or animosity to be had.
Can. . . I . . . At . . . Least . . . Know . . . Your . . . Name?
Being asked such a thing was apparently shocking for him. The spirit's posture stiffened suddenly enough to jolt the curl or red hair over the side of his face. He stared back, skeptical. The young man waited patiently. This guy should be smart enough to tell that Jotaro was serious. If not, that wasn't his problem. Eventually, the other seemed to relax, as if thinking that maybe it wasn't that far of a stretch. He reached slowly across the paper, feeling about the air. Eventually his hand found Jotaro's shoulder. A refreshing chill seeped in through the fabric of his shirt. Strange. This and the hand on his neck were perfectly fine. Warnings of all kinds should have been going off in his head, but they didn't. The hand slid down. Down the bicep, down the forearm and gently coaxing Jotaro to hold the whole limb out. The spirit felt the wrist thoroughly and then the hand, turning it so the palm faced flat upwards. With the tip of a finger, characters were delicately written into the calloused creases. Jotaro strained to feel just what they were. He counted. . . three in total. First "flower", then "Kyoto", and finally "hospital". So all together. . .
". . . Kakyoin." He tested the name. Yes, it most definitely suited someone like him. "So that's what I should call-"
He looked up. The spirit named "Kakyoin" was no longer present. After a quick glance around, Jotaro found that he was alone in his room once again. Apparently, they were done talking. Yes, it was annoying, but it didn't seem like he was leaving for good. Another opportunity would come. They could talk again eventually. He calmly returned his attention to the paper. "Kokkuri-san, Kokkuri-san. Please return home."
Jotaro felt the coin pull from under his finger. At a much more relaxed pace, it slid over to "yes", and then came to rest on the arch. Slowly, but surely, the temperature of the room met an equilibrium with the night outside. The closet door closed shut on it's own accord. He could no longer smell paint or charcoal. Even the coolness on the back of his neck disappeared. The game was over. Jotaro stood and shut the window, giving one last wary glare to the outside. He eventually tore up the paper, set the money on the corner of the desk, and retired for the night.
~JJBA~
He spent the coin on fruit the next day. It was evening and some unsold cherries happened to be on sale. Holly, of course, was ecstatic. Jotaro didn't partake much (Frankly, he had just forgotten to spend the money up until that point), but couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched by something sad and pitiful.
~JJBA~
Alright, there we go. It's pretty late, but I'm doing better. I think this is the longest piece of multi-chapter fanfiction I've worked on, but it also has some of the shortest chapters. Regardless, I'll keep chugging along. See you guys next time!