A/N: Thanks for the review, JP.

I've decided to change the original plot up a bit, so I'm not totally sure anymore how long this is going to be.

Chapter 4

Hanagata was grinning widely. He picked up a candle that was laid on its side on the console table under the portrait of William Mackenzie, and lit it. The flickering light of the candle cast waxy shadows on Hanagata's features that made him look a little evil. And William Mackenzie's rotund English face appeared like the face of the Devil himself.

"Go on, Hanagata," said Kogure. He couldn't contain himself. "Enough with the dramatic pauses!"

Hanagata laughed.

"What I'd neglected to tell you," said Hanagata, "was that the murders made a permanent impression on the house. Mind you, you won't read about this in the brochure. The Tourism Department likes to keep things like this quiet, but my uncle told me all. The house is supposed to be haunted by the ghosts of forty-three people who were murdered here, as well as the ghost of William Mackenzie himself."

Gasps all around.

"The stories are all corroborated by multiple people, each of whom was determined to be perfectly sane and in control of his wits on examination. They also checked the place for carbon monoxide leaks, which is what the majority of specters and apparitions are attributable to, and found nothing."

Skeletons rattled to life nearby. It was Sakuragi and Kiyota.

"Are you sure you're not making this up?" said Sendoh.

Hanagata looked grave.

"I would never lie about these things."

Fujima snorted.

"Fine, but I'm not lying now," said Hanagata. "I could show you what Mackenzie's children had to say about this place after their father died. It turns out they were avaricious young people who arranged to have their father murdered in order to inherit the estate. William Mackenzie cursed all four of his children in his dying breath, and said that he would never leave the house till the earth itself was destroyed. All four children died perfectly natural and mysterious deaths within the next few months, and all subsequent owners up until the 1960s died mysteriously within a short time of moving in."

"What happened in the 1960s?" said Jin.

"The Tourism Department acquired the building, and used it only for tourism purposes. William Mackenzie no doubt found this arrangement favorable, and ceased killing people."

"And the forty-three murders?" said Mitsui.

"Hang on a minute," said Hanagata. He pulled out a sheaf of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket, and began leafing through it. "I've done my research. Twenty-five of them were previous owners. A dozen of them were injured soldiers who were murdered in the middle of the night by bandits during the Second World War. Three were domestic staff. And three were tourists like you and me."

Kiyota swallowed.

"I thought you said he didn't kill tourists."

"He didn't. Like I said, these were legitimate murders not directly attributable to preternatural causes. One of the three tourists who stayed back illegally after the late-night tour went crazy, and shot his friends before killing himself. It was believed that they had disrespected the property in some way."

Sendoh laughed nervously.

"I hope no one's brought a gun."

"The spirits always find a way," said Kogure cheerfully. He nodded deferentially in the direction of William Mackenzie's portrait, as if having a private moment with that great patriarch.

"And I'm only talking about murders," Hanagata went on. "There were even more mysterious deaths. This is an entry from the diary of Mackenzie's oldest son, written shortly before he died himself: I feel betrayed. It is as though the house has turned against me. Not a moment goes by when I am not assailed by the feeling that I am being watched. My misgivings are not unfounded, either. The housekeeper and a maid were found dead in the kitchen shortly after my father's death. There were no external wounds on their bodies, but they saw during the autopsy that all their major organs had been mutilated as with a knife. Shortly afterwards the gardener was beheaded in the garden in the middle of the day. The maid who witnessed it swore that his head fell off as if it had never been attached to his body. She lost her sanity to hysteria after that, and had to be discharged. Finally, my wife died this morning. She had always been healthy and full of life. I fear I shall be next."

A sudden gust of wind extinguished the candle.

Kogure almost jumped up and down in excitement, and Sakuragi and Kiyota were white as sheets.

"What was that?" said Maki.

Hanagata relit the candle, and frowned.

"I thought you'd have guessed. After what I told you about the house and all. Anyway, let me show you where we're sleeping."

"Sleeping?" said Mitsui. "The fucking candle blew out on its own. The doors are shut, and there are no windows in this hallway. How the fuck can you think of sleeping?"

"I agree," said Kogure cheerfully. "How can you think of sleeping when we haven't even begun to experience the horrors of this place?"

"Think of the kids, Fujima, goddamn it," said Maki, indicating Sakuragi and Kiyota, not without irony.

Sakuragi's face was dark.

"I'm an amazing fighter," he said gravely. "Mitchy will remember how I messed up his face. But I don't fuck with the spirits."

"Relax, Sakuragi," said Sendoh. "I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation behind all this. No one has to fuck with anyone."

"On the contrary," said Kogure, "I'm pretty sure there isn't a reasonable explanation. I mean, think about it. Did any of you so much as feel a breeze when the candle went out? And don't tell me it escaped your notice that William Mackenzie's eyes had moved when Hanagata relit the candle."

Kogure shined his trusty flashlight at William Mackenzie's austere English face, and everyone gasped.

"You see," said Kogure, "when we came in, Mackenzie's eyes were directed straight ahead. Now they're glaring straight down at us."

Hanagata gave a small cough.

"As I was saying, this place is definitely haunted."

"Quit fucking with us," growled Mitsui. "You think I want to get my head lopped off in the middle of the night? I've seen enough of this rundown old shithole of a house."

Hanagata winced.

"Mitsui, I must ask you not to insult the spirits—"

"There are no fucking spirits."

"How safe is it, really?" said Sendoh. "Spending the night here, I mean."

"Look, guys," said Fujima. "You've got to believe that this isn't the first time Hanagata and I have spent the night here. We've been here dozens of times, and it's always been more or less peaceful. Except for the occasional extrasensory disturbance, the random specter that appears when you're least expecting it—that sort of minor thing. The spirits are done killing people. They just want to be left alone. There's no reason the living and the dead can't live together in peace."

"Oh yes there is," said Mitsui. "The living and the dead can't fucking live in peace, because the living are fucking alive and the dead are fucking dead."

Kogure shook his head.

"Haven't you learnt anything, Mitsui? Why do you think we've been watching When the Clock Strikes One these past few weeks? It's to get us comfortable with the idea that the spirits are walking among us all the time. It's time you got past your denial."

Mitsui looked like he wanted to wring Kogure's neck.

Rukawa placed an unexpected hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

"What are you doing, Rukawa? Get the fuck off me."

"Get ahold of yourself," he said. "You don't want to anger the spirits any more than you already have."

Kogure cast a fatherly look at Rukawa.

"All this time you've been a believer, huh?"

Rukawa blinked.

"Not really," he said. "I just want to scare these two."

He jerked his thumb in the direction of Sakuragi and Kiyota, who narrowed their eyes at him.

Sendoh laughed.

"Rukawa, you fucking piece of shit," said Sakuragi.

"You fucking piece of shit."

"No, you fucking piece of shit," said Kiyota.

"No, you—"

"Knock it off," said Maki. "We'll spend the night here. If the spirits spared Fujima's annoying ass, then I wouldn't worry too much about the rest of us."

"Yeah, well, fuck you," said Fujima.

"Now, now, Kenji," said Hanagata. "Be nice."

Fujima took a minute to recompose himself.

"Enough swearing and shit," he said. "There's a restaurant down the street from here that closes in less than an hour. We should head there, if we want to eat anything tonight."

The restaurant was dark and shabby, and the group suspected that it did not exactly pass inspection, but the food was nevertheless delicious. The owner was an old man who stooped so low that a tap on the shoulder could have knocked him over.

"We don't get visitors very often this time of the year," said the owner solemnly. His eyes were glassy with cataract, and he spoke in a smoker's raspy voice. "It's nice to see that young people are still taking interest in our history."

"How long have you owned this place?" said Fujima, who knew the answer.

"Nine generations," said the old man reverently. "My family was here when the Old Master's curse befell the estate. My forefathers watched as the bodies were carried out of the gates. I was a young man myself when all those brave soldiers were murdered in their sleep during the War. Such a tragedy. I fear the spirits don't like change. That is the only reason I still live and work here. I fear that if I permit anything more to change, the spirits' anger will know no bounds."

The sun had set by the time they walked back up the stone pathway to the mansion. The edifice looked stark and monstrous in the dark.

"Let me take you guys upstairs," said Hanagata, walking up a narrow wooden staircase just off the hall with William Mackenzie's portrait. The stairwell smelt damp and musty, and the wooden steps creaked dangerously under their feet.

Soon they reached the second floor, which was just a narrow corridor lined with doors.

"These are the bedrooms," said Hanagata. "They're not worth looking at. Most of the old furniture was pawned off over the ages, or otherwise crumbled with age."

There was a window at one end of the corridor. A thin white curtain hung over it, billowing silently in the wind.

Sendoh stared at it while Hanagata talked about the layout of the second floor. The curtain looked so peaceful. He was beginning to lose track of himself when his entire being was jolted back to life with a start.

"What the fuck?"

"What is it, Sendoh?"

"I swear I saw a face appear on that curtain. It lasted a split second, but there was no mistaking it. It looked like someone was pressing his face against the curtain from the other side."

"Looks like you need sleep," said Maki.

Sendoh was less sure of himself.

"Maybe you're right."

Hanagata led them around the corner at the other end of the corridor. A set of steps led down to a landing halfway between the first and the second floors. A set of double doors at the end of the landing opened into what appeared to be a living room. It was unfurnished, but there was an fireplace in the wall framed by an ornate mantelpiece.

"This used to be the guest lounge. William Mackenzie entertained important people from England here."

Another set of steps on the other side of the guest lounge led back downstairs to the first floor.

"This over here," said Hanagata, pushing open a set of heavy double doors with some effort, "is the ballroom."

The ballroom was a spacious room whose ceiling was two stories high. There were tall windows at intervals that reached from floor to ceiling, with columns in the Greek style set between windows. But for the walls and windows the place might have looked like the Parthenon from outside. A plaster-of-Paris octagon on the ceiling marked the spot where a crystal chandelier must have once hung.

"This must have been the shit, huh?" said Mitsui.

"It definitely was," said Hanagata.

"Now let's go up to the third floor," said Hanagata.

"What?" said Kiyota. "We were just upstairs. Why did we come downstairs if we were going back upstairs again?"

Hanagata straightened his glasses.

"There is a method to these things," he said with some asperity. "A sequence. A proper order."

They passed under the staircase they had descended, through a narrow passageway, through the hall with William Mackenzie's portrait, and then out into the entrance hall, where they ascended the marble grand staircase up to the third floor.

There was only one bedroom on the third floor.

"This was William Mackenzie's bedroom," said Hanagata.

It was huge. There were windows overlooking each of the four sides of the estate, and a single four-poster bed pushed up against the wall with a second portrait of William Mackenzie right above it. He looked older in this portrait, and was without wig. His hair was black, and combed back so that it stuck fast to his scalp. He looked less silly without his wig, and his austere unsmiling face looked malevolent rather than pompous. The eyes were sharp and bright, bulging out from their sunken sockets like the eyes of a dead thing.

Sendoh swallowed.

"I'd hate to have been his wife," he said, making an attempt at humor. "You know—to have to sleep under that hideous painting. It must have been hard being her."

Hanagata adjusted his glasses.

"We're about to find out," said Hanagata. "You see, we're going to sleep here tonight."

Several voices immediately went up in protest.

"You must be out of your goddamn mind," said Sakuragi.

"This isn't fucking funny," said Kiyota.

"I don't see any beds," said Mitsui. "Other than that big old one over there."

"We're sleeping on the floor," said Hanagata.

Rukawa had his reservations about sleeping in a purportedly haunted place, but then again, sleep was good. The pros definitely outweighed the cons in his eyes.

"Good night," he said, and slumped down onto the old rug, throwing a cloud of dust into the air.

"Er, Rukawa," said Hanagata. "My uncle arranged for sleeping bags. They're in that closet over there."

Rukawa got up wordlessly, got himself a sleeping bag, and fell asleep in it.

Sendoh had to pull Rukawa's sleeping bag to the side to make room for the others.

"Good fucking night," said Kiyota. He felt safe sleeping between Maki and Sakuragi. Maki was strong and would protect Kiyota from harm; Sakuragi was stupid, and would get eaten first.

Sakuragi thought the same about Kiyota.

"Good night," said Fujima.

"Sleep tight," said Hanagata.

"Hope we get to see some ghosts tonight!" said Kogure.

"You can't say 'night' twice, Kogure," said Mitsui. "That's not a valid rhyme."

"Yeah, yeah," said Kogure. "Ghosts are less picky about rhymes than humans."

"Guys, can we get some quiet, please?" said Maki.

"Sorry."

"One more thing," said Fujima, sitting up. "You might hear some strange noises in the middle of the night, or see apparitions, but they won't harm you in any way. At least, I don't think they will."

"Looks like Sakuragi and Kiyota are out," said Maki. "Can't tell if they're asleep or unconscious."

By and by everyone fell asleep.

The moon in the course of its celestial journey illuminated the room differently as the hours passed. Around 2:30 AM it had sunk partially behind the tall trees around the boundary of the estate. The floor of the bedroom was plunged into darkness. The only thing that was illuminated was the wall with William Mackenzie's portrait. The moonlight fell on his eyes, which seemed to stare hungrily down at the slumbering intruders on the floor.

tbc.

A/N: I will tell you right now that my knowledge of Japan's history is questionable at best (even worse back in 2008), so try not to read the some of the things that you will have come across in the preceding chapter with the historian's critical eye. In any case, the stuff about opium was entirely made up.