WOMAN IN OSAKA BOX
Kiyoka had walked around Osaka House so often she only had to close her eyes to remember what each wall, each corner, looked like. Even then, her sight marred with the onset of cataracts, she was able to easily keep up with her son, Hiroshi. They both knew what had happened, even though neither had actually stated it. The second ritual had failed. She had known it would, without Yae, and yet part of her had still hoped.
Part of her had refused to believe that she and her children were to be swallowed by the darkness. Her two youngest sons, both ten, were playing hide and seek upstairs. At least, they had been when she had last checked. She hoped they were still there, still safe. She could almost hear Sae cackling.
Hiroshi stopped her and raised a finger, signalling that she should be silent. They both stopped, their eyes darting towards the door. Someone started banging on the door, crying for help, for refuge. The cackling wasn't in her mind. Sae was outside, approaching that man whose voice was made unrecognisable by pain. The man's screams raised in pitch, spurred higher by fear, only to suddenly drop into a gutteral screech that only agony can cause.
The screams stopped yet the banging on the door continued. The knock wasn't so hard this time, not so frantic, a rhythmic banging that seemed to mimic her own heart as it knocked against her ribs.
"Oh, help me, please?" Sae's laughing voice was a mockery of the poor man's. "Let me in before she gets me." Then someone screamed and she moved away from their door.
Kiyoka started walking past the square fireplace when she heard heavy footsteps on the floor above. Something smashed and she heard lighter feet running. Letting out a strangled cry, she rushed towards the staircase but Hiroshi was faster. By the time she'd reached the top step, he was coming back out of the room. He had a look on his face that she would never forget. An expression that no word could ever do justice.
The mere look on his face was enough to make her knees shake and she started to fall. Not forward or backward, merely down towards the floorboards. Hiroshi lunged forward and caught her, carrying her down the steps in the same motion. She screeched and tried to tear free from him, trying to get upstairs. She could hear sobbing. She could hear her poor sons sobbing.
"Let me go, let me go," she said, her voice torn and mangled by emotion. "Why won't you let me check on them? I can hear it. They're alive. Get them out."
"It's not them anymore," Hiroshi whispered in her ear.
"Mummy?" her youngest child, Fudo, said. She had recognised his voice. He sounded okay. Didn't even sound injured. She struggled to free herself with renewed vigor and managed to force him away. Managed to fling herself down the hallway and push open the door.
The scene was hideous. Now that she thought about it, she couldn't really remember what it looked like. Only one of her precious boys were no longer intact and there was evidence that the other boy was just as damaged. There were three arms, or three legs, something in a set of three. Fudo was mostly there, mostly lying in a semi-smear, semi-person, only two feet from the door.
It looked like he had been trying to run, trying to escape. Even after the first attack, he looked like he had still tried to make it to safety. Make it to mummy. Now her eldest was dragging her away again, dragging her down the stairs, and this time she doesn't fight. In the room by the foyer, the kimono room or something, she could barely remember it's name. At the back, in the storeroom, lay a large empty box. More than large enough for her to lay in.
"I'm going to go find a way out of here," Hiroshi had said.
She had refused to let him leave her here, half out of fear of being alone and half out of fear for his life. She hadn't really wanted to join him in searching for a way out. Some part of her reasoned that this was her home. This was safe. That Hiroshi should wait here with her and that they would be safe. Fudo's face wasn't enough to make her disregard that notion.
But he had merely kissed her cheek, apologised and shaken her away. Then he had gone for the door which she promptly fell upon, pleading with him not to go. She could not lose the last of her children. Who else would carry on the Osaka line? It was a futile argument but the only one she could think of.
But he had merely punched her and shoved her into that empty box. There she had struggled to lift the lid, to get out and follow him. But the lid was too heavy for her frail arms to lift, at least from such an angle. To push up and across. Particularly while injured. So she had merely heard his footfalls and then the front door slam shut.
Then she had listened to his screams. He had barely taken a few steps out before he started screaming. A few hours passed with her lying there, imaging herself trotting around her house to keep herself sane. Imagining what it all looked like. Pretending her children were by the fire or asleep. Her eldest one safe. It was all lies but she could still take refuge in illusion.
It was after the third run-through of her fantasy of Hiroshi's upcoming wedding when she heard it. A sort of heavy breathing, like a child whose nose is blocked. It was coming from inside the box. A set of breaths different to her own. A different rhythm.
Slowly, hesitantly, she turned to face the direction of the wall and saw Fudo's face hovering an inch from hers. Then he reached out his arms and enveloped her. His pain, transformed into malice, claimed her and she screamed as her body went into spasms. She kicked at the box lid, her black hair falling in her face, a veil in the darkness that was coming to claim her. She could not push the lid back.
After a time, the pain went away and she could lay there unthinking. Possessed by her pain and her sorrow. In a place where even illusions of joy do not dwell.
Does anyone have a particular ghost they'd like me to do a story on for the next chapter? If so, send it to me in a review. Sure, that's technically not what reviews are for, but what the hey?
Kiyoka had walked around Osaka House so often she only had to close her eyes to remember what each wall, each corner, looked like. Even then, her sight marred with the onset of cataracts, she was able to easily keep up with her son, Hiroshi. They both knew what had happened, even though neither had actually stated it. The second ritual had failed. She had known it would, without Yae, and yet part of her had still hoped.
Part of her had refused to believe that she and her children were to be swallowed by the darkness. Her two youngest sons, both ten, were playing hide and seek upstairs. At least, they had been when she had last checked. She hoped they were still there, still safe. She could almost hear Sae cackling.
Hiroshi stopped her and raised a finger, signalling that she should be silent. They both stopped, their eyes darting towards the door. Someone started banging on the door, crying for help, for refuge. The cackling wasn't in her mind. Sae was outside, approaching that man whose voice was made unrecognisable by pain. The man's screams raised in pitch, spurred higher by fear, only to suddenly drop into a gutteral screech that only agony can cause.
The screams stopped yet the banging on the door continued. The knock wasn't so hard this time, not so frantic, a rhythmic banging that seemed to mimic her own heart as it knocked against her ribs.
"Oh, help me, please?" Sae's laughing voice was a mockery of the poor man's. "Let me in before she gets me." Then someone screamed and she moved away from their door.
Kiyoka started walking past the square fireplace when she heard heavy footsteps on the floor above. Something smashed and she heard lighter feet running. Letting out a strangled cry, she rushed towards the staircase but Hiroshi was faster. By the time she'd reached the top step, he was coming back out of the room. He had a look on his face that she would never forget. An expression that no word could ever do justice.
The mere look on his face was enough to make her knees shake and she started to fall. Not forward or backward, merely down towards the floorboards. Hiroshi lunged forward and caught her, carrying her down the steps in the same motion. She screeched and tried to tear free from him, trying to get upstairs. She could hear sobbing. She could hear her poor sons sobbing.
"Let me go, let me go," she said, her voice torn and mangled by emotion. "Why won't you let me check on them? I can hear it. They're alive. Get them out."
"It's not them anymore," Hiroshi whispered in her ear.
"Mummy?" her youngest child, Fudo, said. She had recognised his voice. He sounded okay. Didn't even sound injured. She struggled to free herself with renewed vigor and managed to force him away. Managed to fling herself down the hallway and push open the door.
The scene was hideous. Now that she thought about it, she couldn't really remember what it looked like. Only one of her precious boys were no longer intact and there was evidence that the other boy was just as damaged. There were three arms, or three legs, something in a set of three. Fudo was mostly there, mostly lying in a semi-smear, semi-person, only two feet from the door.
It looked like he had been trying to run, trying to escape. Even after the first attack, he looked like he had still tried to make it to safety. Make it to mummy. Now her eldest was dragging her away again, dragging her down the stairs, and this time she doesn't fight. In the room by the foyer, the kimono room or something, she could barely remember it's name. At the back, in the storeroom, lay a large empty box. More than large enough for her to lay in.
"I'm going to go find a way out of here," Hiroshi had said.
She had refused to let him leave her here, half out of fear of being alone and half out of fear for his life. She hadn't really wanted to join him in searching for a way out. Some part of her reasoned that this was her home. This was safe. That Hiroshi should wait here with her and that they would be safe. Fudo's face wasn't enough to make her disregard that notion.
But he had merely kissed her cheek, apologised and shaken her away. Then he had gone for the door which she promptly fell upon, pleading with him not to go. She could not lose the last of her children. Who else would carry on the Osaka line? It was a futile argument but the only one she could think of.
But he had merely punched her and shoved her into that empty box. There she had struggled to lift the lid, to get out and follow him. But the lid was too heavy for her frail arms to lift, at least from such an angle. To push up and across. Particularly while injured. So she had merely heard his footfalls and then the front door slam shut.
Then she had listened to his screams. He had barely taken a few steps out before he started screaming. A few hours passed with her lying there, imaging herself trotting around her house to keep herself sane. Imagining what it all looked like. Pretending her children were by the fire or asleep. Her eldest one safe. It was all lies but she could still take refuge in illusion.
It was after the third run-through of her fantasy of Hiroshi's upcoming wedding when she heard it. A sort of heavy breathing, like a child whose nose is blocked. It was coming from inside the box. A set of breaths different to her own. A different rhythm.
Slowly, hesitantly, she turned to face the direction of the wall and saw Fudo's face hovering an inch from hers. Then he reached out his arms and enveloped her. His pain, transformed into malice, claimed her and she screamed as her body went into spasms. She kicked at the box lid, her black hair falling in her face, a veil in the darkness that was coming to claim her. She could not push the lid back.
After a time, the pain went away and she could lay there unthinking. Possessed by her pain and her sorrow. In a place where even illusions of joy do not dwell.
Does anyone have a particular ghost they'd like me to do a story on for the next chapter? If so, send it to me in a review. Sure, that's technically not what reviews are for, but what the hey?