The Girl from the Well (15 page)

“Poor Yoko was married by that time but aware of Chiyo's growing decline. She insisted on coming to the shrine that day, and Tarquin came with her. When the ritual went wrong, she had to act quickly. None of us were pure enough or strong enough to become the next sacrifice—no one but her own son, Tarquin-kun. The more innocent the vessel, the stronger its ability to contain. Yoko sacrificed him to prevent Yagen Valley from becoming a place haunted perpetually by the ghosts and demons Chiyo had unleashed. But to have brought Tarquin-kun along, knowing full well that the ritual could fail… Perhaps she herself knew it might come to that.”

Again she falls silent. Only the soft bubbling of the hot springs mars the quiet.

“That's horrible,” Callie whispers, aghast.

“So you can say that Tarquin saved us all, and that is why he is treated the way he is by the others,” Kagura says with a small smile. “Yoko tried cleansing him at the
Obon
festival, but Chiyo's spirit did not leave. Perhaps it was the guilt she felt that drove her mad, that drove her to attempt to kill her own son. As a last resort, one can purge a malevolent spirit by killing the human vessel it possesses.”

At the look on Callie's face, Kagura quickly adds, “We do not intend to kill Tarquin. But innocence is lost as one grows older, and the spirit that was once Chiyo is now fighting to break free of him.
Obaasan
says that we must act quickly, sometime within the next few days, if we are to rid Tarquin of her malevolence forever.”

Amaya says something in rapid-fire Japanese. Kagura responds in kind, and the two argue for a few minutes while Callie sits across from them, feeling uncomfortable.

Finally, Kagura shakes her head and turns to her. “Amaya-chan also wants to know about the
onryuu
that has been following you around.”

“I don't know much about her, only that her name is Okiku. From the old Japanese legend?”

Amaya is nodding, looking satisfied. She speaks again.

“Amaya-chan can see her, too, as well as I can. She also does not feel any enmity coming from the
onryuu
, which we both find odd, but I suppose that is not uncommon with long-lived spirits. We believe that objects become personified after one hundred years of existence. They begin to have their own thoughts and feelings, and are venerated as
kami
. It is the same with ghosts—they become stronger, the longer they exist in the mortal plane. If this is truly the Okiku of the legends, then she has existed for more than three hundred years. It is fortunate she appears to be more benevolent than others that come to mind.”

“On some other occasion we would try to appease her ghost, but Tarquin-kun's ritual must take priority.” Kagura hesitates. “You are more than welcome to leave before it takes place, if you wish.
Obaasan
feels that you ought not to be involved in this for your own personal protection. She thinks it is unfair for you to be here and to put yourself in danger for something that does not truly concern you.”

“Tarquin is my cousin,” Callie says. “And I've seen the woman in black myself. If my presence can help in any way, then I would much rather be there.”

The two
mikos
watch her, this time with newfound respect. “You are a very brave woman,” Kagura says. “If I had a choice myself, I would choose to run.” She looks over Callie's shoulder directly at where I am standing and nods to acknowledge my presence. I incline my head but do not move.

“
Kami
willing, we might survive this yet.”

Pressing business summons Tarquin's father back to Tokyo. The head
miko
, Machika-
obaasan
, is alarmed when she hears him making plans to leave to return to the city. “But we have not finished yet,” she protests. “Tarquin-kun has been doing very well since arriving here, and I do not think it will be in his interest to return to Tokyo, where his health may take another turn for the worst.”

Tarquin's father pauses. He does not want his son's unusual sickness to return, for doctors to worry and prod and run tests and find nothing wrong. Here in Yagen Valley, Tarquin has continued to steadily improve. Surrounded by the adoration of the other
mikos
, he seems happier here than he has ever been in Tokyo or in Applegate.

In the end, Tarquin's father appeals to Callie. “I know that this is an imposition on you, but would it be possible for you to stay with Tarquin for the next few days? There's a business merger I need to oversee, and I'll return as soon as that's finished.”

Much to his surprise, Callie is amendable to the idea, assuring him that he would not be forcing her to do something that she is already set on doing. “I like it here,” she says, a bright smile on her face even as her stomach churns over what the next few days might bring, “and it's such a nice change from the city. I'd be glad to stay here with Tark.”

“Thank you,” the man says with a faint smile. He looks around the shrine, perhaps realizing for the first time how little he knew of his wife and how little he knows his son. “Take good care of him,” he says unexpectedly, a strange note entering his voice. “I never seem quite able to, myself.”

“That's not true, Uncle Doug,” Callie says, startled.

“Not in the way I should have, perhaps.” He takes another glance at the room. “I didn't really know Yoko, did I? I wish she'd trusted me enough to tell me about this part of her life.”

“Dad?” Tarquin has stepped into the room. “You're going back to Tokyo?”

His father nods. “Don't get Callie in any trouble.”

Tarquin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, 'cause that's all I'm usually good for.”

“No,” his father says quietly but with unusual firmness. “I don't always say it, but I've always been proud of you.”

The words throw Tarquin off guard. His face is a mosaic of expressions: surprise, gratification, embarrassment. “Sure, Dad,” he says awkwardly, though the grin on his face is genuine enough. He gives his father a quick hug. “Don't be getting yourself conned by those Japanese businessmen in Tokyo,” he says, and both his father and Callie laugh.

Finally the man leaves, if still a little disquieted by the uneasy feeling there is something here that he is missing.

The
obaasan
is in good spirits. “This will give us all the time we need to finish the ritual,” she exhorts after Tarquin's father has gone. She is optimistic for a reason, for she believes this ritual will succeed, unlike others that have gone wrong before.

Kagura takes Callie aside some time later. “This is how the seals were made,” she explains, selecting one of the dolls—the same doll Callie had seen her use by the Jizo shrine in Mutsu. She pulls the kimono sleeve up, and Callie is stunned to discover that it bears the same inked tattoos as on Tarquin's skin.

“Every one of the dolls you see here has been hand inked by us.” Kagura turns the doll over and lifts the kimono over its back. Like Tarquin's, more of the tattoos dot its sides and back. “To break this seal one must hate.” She touches the first of the seals on the doll's back, then the other. “And to break
this
seal, one must respect. To break the seals on the left and right wrists, one must know fear and friendship. To break the seals across the chest, one must know love.

“On the dolls these are merely symbolic; on humans, much less so. Every day we take the dolls out and inspect them. If we see any one of these seals growing faint, we know that they have been compromised, and we perform another ritual to reinforce them or transfer them to another.”

“Can't you do the same for Tarquin?” Callie asks, but the
miko
shakes her head.

“Human sacrifices are different. Dolls have always been sterile and unchanging things, but humans are not made the same way. To perform a repurification on a human sacrifice might harm more than it can repair. I have seen the seals on Tarquin-kun. I know that four of the five seals have faded. When the last seal crumbles, the poison inside him will be freed. So much blood has already been spilled for this that we cannot wait to allow
her
to seek more.”

“Blood?” Callie feels sick.

“To break each of the seals, another kind of sacrifice is required. The blood of people slaughtered must be placed against the seals to weaken them, and with each break she becomes more powerful. Whenever Tarquin feels frightened or angry, the malevolence inside him is at her strongest and can even control his body to some extent. What is the matter, Callie-san?”

“It's nothing,” Callie says hurriedly, her heart pounding as her hand drifts once more to trace at the unseemly scar on her finger, a permanent mark of her very own seal.

“What's this?” Tarquin enters the room, curious. The
miko
shows him the doll, and he winces.

“Would you like to hold it, Tarquin-kun?”

“Wouldn't that be dangerous for me?” He speaks in moderately broken Japanese, one of his many growing attempts to practice the language.

“The seals are in place. It will cause no harm, that much I can promise.”

Tarquin takes the doll, holding it by the hem of its kimono so it dangles in the air before him. “This is kinda creepy, Kagura-san. Why are its eyes so black? Most of the other dolls' eyes don't have any color in them.”

“It is because this one is already possessed by a spirit. It is the spirit's eyes that you see, looking out at the world.”

Tarquin nearly drops the doll. Hastily, he shoves it back into the
miko
's arms. He is trembling a little. “This is why boys don't play with dolls. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to go and freak out in the next room.”

A day after Tarquin's father leaves, there is an unexpected development. Voices call out from somewhere in the woods, and one of the
mikos
heads out to greet the new visitors. “It is a possession,” she reports once she returns, and her words set the other
mikos
off in a tizzy of activity. The
obaasan
becomes businesslike, barking out orders that the others scurry to perform. Unsure of how to assist, Callie and Tarquin sit and watch, fascinated.

Kagura heads out into the garden and returns bearing fresh clumps of sweetgrass and sage. Amaya moves from room to room, setting candles around the shrine in large, concentric circles, lighting each in turn. Incense is added to the small altar, and soon the air is filled with its sweet, smoky scent. The other
miko
, Saya, sprinkles rock salt everywhere before setting up
ofuda
, strips of paper bearing sutras, against the walls and shoji screens.

The
obaasan
takes one of the dolls from the glass display. With quick precision, she slits its body in half, emptying out the cotton balls stuffed inside it. She replaces these with grains of white rice, stuffing the doll before sewing it shut again with red thread. Next she brings out a large stone knife and begins cleaning it with hot, steaming water.

“We are ready,” she says, and the
mikos
view this as the signal to bring the possessed in.

It is a little boy, perhaps only seven years old. He is twitching uncontrollably as he is brought in by his worried parents and other concerned relatives. His eyes constantly roll into the back of his head, and his mouth spits horrible, snarling obscenities. Even Callie and Tarquin, who do not understand the words, shrink back at the venom bubbling from the froth of his lips.

“Lay him down on the floor,” the
obaasan
commands, and this is promptly carried out, though the boy now screams in agony. Each
miko
holds a limb in place to prevent him from sitting up or crawling away, as the
obaasan
dangles the doll above the boy's head and chants in a long, sonorous tone.

Though the sun was shining only moments ago, a dark cloud quickly passes over the little shrine, over the whole of Yagen Valley. Something that sounds like thunder rumbles through the Chinsei shrine, and the boy's howls grow louder. The boy's parents, now looking very pale, clasp their hands together, mumbling prayers of their own.

For nearly half an hour, the boy twists and writhes in pain, alternating between uttering long frightful shrieks and cursing the
obaasan
in a deep, guttural voice that a seven-year-old should not possess. A small earthquake besets the building, earthenware rattling, the ground shifting and settling. The old woman is unmoved by these threats and continues her long litany until finally the boy begins to weaken. His arms and legs begin to tremble less, and his head rolls against the floor. Finally, he takes a long, deep breath, exhales noisily, and falls silent.

The
obaasan
keeps the doll hovering atop his face for several more minutes after the boy has fallen unconscious. She places it on the ground beside him and picks up the knife.

And just as suddenly, the boy sits up, knocking the knife from the
miko
's grip. The young child's face is twisted, almost a poor imitation of a human's, little slits of teeth showing through an abruptly wide mouth. His eyes bulge, a bulbous black pair starting out from his head. With one loud, inhuman shriek, he rips himself free of the other
mikos
' hold and bolts directly for Tarquin. The tattooed boy has little time to react, gaping open-mouthed as the possessed youth closes the remaining distance between them and leaps—

—only to hit an invisible barrier that sits between two of the dolls protecting the circle, knocking him backward. The
mikos
are on him immediately, still chanting, though the boy now seems to possess the strength of ten men. He manages to tear himself away from both Amaya and Saya, and is well on his way to pulling free from Kagura when his whole body suddenly jerks upward, stiffening before falling back lifelessly onto the floor. The
obaasan
has reclaimed the stone knife and, without hesitation, plunges it into the doll's body. A sound much like a heavy slap reverberates around the room. From outside, Callie thinks she can hear a long wail of pain, louder than any the boy has made, before it stops abruptly in mid-scream.

A queer calm descends on Chinsei shrine. Even the birds do not sing.

“It is done,” the
obaasan
says wearily. Kagura gently mops at the now-sleeping boy's face with the sage and sweetgrass leaves. “The spirit has left him. When he wakes, he will be just as he was before.”

The parents and relatives are effusive with their praise, offering the
obaasan
a few sacks of rice and vegetables, though the fear and awe do not quite leave their faces. It is meager payment for so violent an exorcism, but the
mikos
accept the offerings gratefully, with heartfelt thanks.

“And that is how a person is exorcised.” Kagura sighs once the visitors have left. Tarquin is staring with horror at the doll still draped on the floor, with the stone knife still stabbing through where its heart would have been. Its sightless eyes, once devoid of color, are now a deep, burning black. The other mikos are already busy, cleaning the floor with the rest of the sage and the sweet leaves.

“It is a part of the ritual,” Kagura tells him, as the
obaasan
picks the doll up and slowly twists the knife out from its chest. She waves it over the stalks of incense several times, murmuring all the while, before placing it inside a different glass case altogether, where other dolls with those same black eyes are kept. “The spirit is now trapped within the doll and shall be fully cleansed at
Obon
.”

“I gotta go through that, too, don't I?” Tarquin asks suddenly. Perhaps in his mind's eye he sees another ritual, one where he is strapped down on the floor, screaming and hurling vile imprecations. But his face is calm, as if he has already accepted this fate. “That's how
Obaasan
is going to exorcise the ghost out from me.”

“If it comes down to it, will you agree?” The
obaasan
's eyes are boring into his, a strange hush in her voice. Callie feels angry. It is too much to ask a young boy to accept such a horrible task so freely, and she opens her mouth to protest.

“It's okay, Callie,” Tarquin says with a serenity that surprises her. “If this is what it takes to get her out, then I guess that's what I have to do.”

“Brave boy,” the
obaasan
says softly, stroking his head with a smile. “Always, always you have been so brave. I promise that the ritual will be quick, and that you will not remember any of it, if this is of any consolation. Tomorrow is an auspicious date, the best day to perform the ritual. Do not worry, Tarquin-kun. It will be over soon enough.”

“I seriously doubt it,” Tarquin mutters to himself.

Dinner that night is a feast of flavor. To celebrate the successful exorcism, Kagura has cooked several more dishes than the shrine's usual, simple fare—fragrant
onigiri
, balls of rice soaked in green tea, with
umeboshi
—salty and pickled plums—as filling. There is eggplant simmered in clear soup, green beans in sesame sauce, and burdock in sweet-and-sour dressing. The mood is festive.

“It is important to approach the next day with a good heart and better spirits,” Saya explains and laughs at the pun. Tarquin eats more than his fair share and shows little concern for what the next day may bring for him, instead laughing along with the others as the
mikos
tell jokes and recount funny experiences, for even living in the wilderness, there are still many stories to tell. When the meal is over, the
mikos
gather up the dishes, and Tarquin remains by the small porch, staring out into the world outside the shrine. His face is neither worried nor uneasy nor frightened, but curiously thoughtful.