****

I sat up in my futon to find bloody writing on the wall directly in front of me. At least, that’s what it seemed to be. I didn’t really feel like fighting my fatigue, prying my eyelids open, or giving the situation much thought.

What time was it though? Two or three in the morning? I was awake for some reason, but couldn’t recall any noise that woke me up. My heart beat slowly, so if there was a crash or clatter it apparently hadn’t registered with my brain. I woke up for no reason then?

I sat there half-asleep, or maybe three-quarters asleep… yet not quite ready to collapse back to full-sleep. Was there a reason for that?

Somehow I was able to light the floor lamp beside me. Once my vision adjusted for the dim light, I discerned two rows of crimson calligraphy glistening a couple meters in front of me.

Ah, right. Some kind of message perhaps? My eyes already squinting from weariness, I managed to work out the kanji that stood before me.

I love you, Naoki-kun.

That was my name. I stared at the writing for a few more seconds, not quite sure what more to think of it all. It was the middle of the night, I was all alone in a haunted mansion, and somebody just confessed their love to me.

I could figure it out in the morning, my listless subconscious decided. The moment I fell back against my pillow, I was gone.

* * * *

I woke up the next morning—or rather, later that morning—and there it was again. The bloody writing on the wall.

I love you, Naoki-kun.

It didn’t make any more sense now than it did the first time I saw it, unfortunately. Nobody had ever said something like that to me before, save perhaps my mother on occasion. But only when I was really little.

I doubted my mother was responsible for this. So who wrote it? And why in blood? The owner of the mansion had mentioned receiving some threatening messages in blood a few times, though the words had conveniently disappeared before I arrived.

I stood up to inspect the writing a little more closely, and noted how it still looked a little wet. Perhaps it wasn’t actually blood? And yet that seemed unlikely to me. Who would bother wasting everyone’s time with red ink? If you’re going to all the trouble to scare someone with crimson messages on a wall, you’ve got to use blood. The whole effect is diminished if you cut corners.

The question remained though: Who did this? Someone trying to make a fool of me? There were plenty of people in the world who didn’t like me very much, but this seemed like too much work for anyone reasonable. Was it possible the old mansion owner himself wanted to play a practical joke? He said he was going away for the week to visit relatives, but perhaps he made that up. Old people do strange things sometimes.

Some people say it’s the most obvious possibility that tends to be correct. Well, I was in what people called a haunted mansion… Sounds like I was witness to the work of a ghost then, right? A ghost whose penmanship produced immaculate kanji, curiously. But still—a ghost, yes?

It was only natural to at least consider the possibility at this point. Despite my proclaimed profession as an onmyoji—or more colloquially, a ghost hunter—I had never actually seen a ghost before, nor had I felt convinced a true poltergeist had given me grief. That didn’t rule out the chance that ghosts could actually exist, however—and I was open to the possibility, given the number of people who truly believe they had encountered spirits of some sort. The concept of being haunted or possessed needed to come from somewhere, right?

The fact remained though—or at least in my personal experience it was rather clear—that most people who claim to sight ghosts or to suffer the wrath of an ancestor or to cross paths with some kind of kami or yokai are actually… wrong. Or rather, just mistaken? Mistaken.

In life… things happen. And whenever we can’t readily explain what happened, our minds tend to fill in the gaps. To some degree consciously and to some degree unconsciously we fabricate our explanations. It’s generally not that hard to dismiss conflicting points that may be brought up in the future. At the same time, it is also quite easy for people to amend their understanding of an event or concept the moment it suits their needs.

It’s the same with ghosts. Everyone knows about spirits, but the fact spirits tend to be invisible makes the whole premise rather difficult to be certain about, let alone any of the details. And yet details exist… I have read entire books and scrolls that are just full of them. It’s a fascinating subject to be certain, but the average person will never need to know any of it. So when people believe they are haunted by a spirit, they need an expert to come help them deal with the problem.

And that’s where I come in. The expert on ghosts. As luck would have it, it doesn’t take much to convince people I’ve managed to banish the spirits lurking within their homes. Since it’s a field of work drenched in mystery, I don’t even have to put on much of a show. Most of my work has to be done in private, I can say. And most of the time, people don’t want to stick around any longer than they have to in the first place—at least, not while the area is still “haunted.”

Perhaps it’s not a truly honest living, but I don’t lose much sleep over it. My efforts to exorcise the ghosts ultimately do, in fact, exorcise the “ghosts” people have conjured in their minds, after all. Plus, it’s no small matter to find a well-paying customer in the first place. It’s only thanks to those rare mansion-owners that I’m able to keep filling my bowl with rice each day. The man I was working for at this time was one such person.

Unfortunately, it looked like I was going to have a bit more to deal with than I had anticipated. I could technically just take off with the down payment the old fellow gave me, but I wasn’t quite ready to risk becoming an outlaw. Plus, I did have a ghost-hunting reputation to uphold. It was the one decent thing I possessed at this point.

First things first, then. I needed to figure out if everything here really was the work of a ghost. Could it have simply been children from the village wanting to pester me and the old man, for example? Such an explanation had a lot of holes to fill, unfortunately. But perhaps the old man had an enemy? A relative wanting to scare him out and claim the mansion for himself, for example? This explanation didn’t seem to fit either. I really needed something more to work with if I was going to find the culprit.

And so long as the truth didn’t involve an actual ghost, I was probably going to be okay, I reasoned.

* * * *

A thorough search through the mansion availed me nothing. I had hoped to find at least some sign of someone’s breaking an entry, but I was met with nothing but silence in every room and corridor. Perhaps that was my cue to get out of there while I still could, but it really wouldn’t have been nice of me. Someone was causing trouble. I couldn’t let this situation worsen and leave the old man to die of a heart attack.

Granted he probably only had a month or two left before his natural deadline, but still…

Maybe some food would inspire me into some new course of action. I generally went without breakfast during my travels about the country, but the old man did give me permission to eat whatever food I wanted during my stay. Might as well take advantage of that, I decided.

The mansion had a raised iron stove with four cooking holes, making it easy to heat several dishes at the same time. Once I got a fire started I went ahead and prepared some rice porridge and miso soup for myself.

After breakfast I slid open the door to the adjacent living space, a sparse yet immaculate room twenty tatami mats large. There were presumably walls available to divide the room, but the old man probably didn’t have much reason to do so. It made the desolate living space feel terribly… not living.

There was still a glossy black floor table in the middle of the room, at least. And a nice cushion and arm rest, and a rather elaborate wooden chest. One wall had a number of recessed shelves built into it, holding a variety of potted plants, small statues, and decorative ceramics. Meanwhile the far wall had a lake and mountain scene painted on its sliding doors, and if I wished I could slide that open for a view of the mansion’s inner garden. It was too cold for that though, so I just paced around a bit to collect my thoughts.

After a few minutes of that I grew bored. Nothing good came to mind.

I ended up walking through the mansion again. Nothing appeared to have been moved in any of the rooms since my arrival the previous day. Each of the mansion’s entryways were still locked. There were no hidden storage spaces with pots full of blood. I thought to check the walls and tatami mats for a secret hideaway of some sort, but I wasn’t sure how to go about that beyond a basic search. Regardless, I neither saw nor heard anything out of the ordinary.

I recalled feeling certain I hadn’t heard anything when I awoke in the night as well. Did I simply sense somebody had entered and left the room, but the culprit was so quiet I didn’t make anything of it amidst the stupor of my half-asleep reverie?

I thought of each of the things the old man had told me regarding his experiences with the one he termed “a haunting spirit.” First there were nights where he would suddenly feel incredibly depressed. Then there were times where he thought he heard someone repeating a few whispered words over and over again. Later, he began to feel the mansion was growing much colder than was normal. And lastly, a number of bloody messages appeared on various walls. One in his room stated “Someone is here,” another in the kitchen read “My presence is poison,” and a third in the entry room proclaimed “You are already dying.”

Of course, there was no way to prove any of this. The purported messages were all gone, all homes are cold in the wintertime, it’s normal for the wind outside to play tricks on our ears, and it’s not that unusual for people to feel sad every now and then. The explanations were even more obvious when considering the fact it was a lonely old man who was getting depressed, hearing things, feeling cold, and thinking he saw bloody writing. Since I had seen a message of my own on the wall though, it seemed that much at least was probably legitimate. But why would the culprit threaten the old man on three separate occasions, then not do anything further?

The purpose behind the vandalizing was a mystery. The manner in which these words disappeared was a mystery. And then there was the content of the messages themselves…

I walked back to the guest room I spent the night in and studied the writing once more.

I love you, Naoki-kun.

The biggest mystery of all. This succinct confession was quite different from the foreboding omens the old man received. Beyond this discrepancy, there were two further points to consider.

First of all, the writer knew my name. I hadn’t even given the old man my full name—just my family name: Tsunoda. Nobody I interacted with on my way here knew who I was. So who was it that knew me and wished to set up such an elaborate “ghost scare” for me? Nobody came to mind, and the entire notion felt too ridiculous to dwell upon.

The second point I pondered was perhaps even more unsettling. What was it that the shift in tone implied? The first three messages felt like threats against the old man’s life. Why would the follow-up for the hired exorcist be some kind of bizarre love letter?

It brought me back to the question of whether or not a ghost could be responsible for all this. If people intended to make a place feel haunted, they would be certain to orchestrate grim and ghastly acts of terror. So the fact the culprit wasn’t doing what one normally thinks a ghost should do actually made the proposition of a real ghost being responsible that much more likely. People have expectations of what a haunting entails, and what I had experienced felt too out-of-place.

Unfortunately, the explanation of a restless spirit being the culprit only brought more questions.

For starters, why would a ghost love me? Though I had never truly dealt with ghosts before, I was still regarded as an onmyoji. I hunt ghosts. I exorcise spirits. I put an end to hauntings. You don’t usually fall in love with people trying to destroy you.

Perhaps I needed to focus more on a plan to apprehend the culprit, should my enemy turn out to be living or otherwise. For the event of a bandit attack, I always kept a small knife hidden in the sash of my kimono. I didn’t want to use it if this was only an elaborate joke I was dealing with, though. And in the event of my foe being a vengeful yurei… Well, I certainly knew a lot of methods for dealing with ghosts. But could I actually pull off an exorcism should it come down to that?

I rather doubted it. It’s one thing to read about how a samurai general leads his army to victory against all odds, and another thing entirely to actually pull off such a feat yourself.

I paced the room for a bit, and eventually transitioned into pacing the hallway and then on through the rest of the mansion. I couldn’t help but shudder at the thought of what I would do if I couldn’t deal with the situation at hand. Failure now could very well expose me as the fraud I was.

I had nothing to fall back on. And just to reach this point—this vague semblance of stability—was the result of many difficult and unpredictable years. A whole lot of days wondering if I had any clue what I was doing with my life. And more than a few nights wondering if I should even care.

* * * *

I walked about the mansion, my thoughts wandering amidst possible motives of the culprit, the likelihood of a ghost being near me at any time, and whatever feeble plan of action I could piece together.

I shuddered. Did it suddenly get a lot colder? I slid open a door leading to the back deck and found the sun had already begun to set behind the distant snow-capped mountains. My kimono had a couple layers to it and that generally sufficed, but I thought to make use of the hefty metal hand warmer I found in a room down the hall. Perhaps I could move it into the tea room adjacent to it? There was a sliding door between the two rooms, so it wouldn’t be difficult.

The hand warmer had a large, sturdy base that made it a good half-meter tall. A myriad of tiny flowers were painted on it, and the cover above the bed of coals depicted a great cherry tree, its sakura blossoms serving as the holes to let heat sift out. If I had an eye for art I perhaps would have been more deeply impressed by any number of its intricate details, but for the time being I just wanted to get the room heated up.

I wondered how often the old man used this room. He supposedly lived in this giant house all by himself, so he might not have served anyone any tea in years. But then again, perhaps he had some old friends who came over to play go or mahjong each week. There wasn’t much I knew about the old man. I probably should have asked him more questions before taking on this job.

Besides his account of the bloody messages and restless forebodings, all I really had to work with were various tales associated with the mansion itself. Tales of the place being haunted went back a full hundred years, supposedly. Every now and then someone would die in some slightly vague and arguably peculiar manner, and it would be attributed to ghosts. The anecdote that stood out the most to me now was the one regarding a couple shrine priests and an onmyoji who were murdered by a wild spirit. I had taken these brief accounts as generic ghost stories though, so I didn’t press for details…

Once I had a cup of gyokuro green tea—a variety that tasted sweeter than what I was accustomed to—I turned my thoughts back to the job I had to pull off by the time my client returned at the end of the week. Was there something important I wasn’t giving enough consideration? Some detail that would make everything clear if I just examined it from a different angle?

I set my tea cup on the little floor table beside me and shut my eyes.

What did I have to work with, exactly?

Someone is writing messages in blood. Someone knows my name. Someone is really quiet.

Someone has a lot of free time on his or her hands.

I opened my eyes and frowned. A message in crimson kanji adorned the wall before me.

You can’t see me, can you?

I stood up and looked in every direction I could. There was nobody there. I immediately ran into the hall and looked down both ways.

Nobody. And not a sound to be heard. No pattering footsteps of someone running away. No sliding of doorways. No breathing.

I looked back in the tea room and found another message to the left of the previous one.

Are you really an onmyoji?

My heart beat far faster than was comfortable. My subconscious seemed to recognize the need to run. To get away from that room—and this mansion—as fast as I possibly could. But I somehow stayed put. I perhaps still reasoned that if the enemy wanted to attack me, he would have already done so. But nothing was happening.

Just messages.

I stared at them. Such simple words. But suddenly they carried more weight than my mind could hold.

What was I supposed to be thinking about? What these messages on the wall meant? Or who wrote them? Or how any of this was happening?

I decided to just answer the questions.

“Of course I’m an onmyoji,” I said to the wall. I had no idea where to look for this trespasser hiding in plain sight. Or… this ghost. But either way, it was best to not give away the fact I had never confronted one before.

For what may have been a full minute, I waited for a response. What was supposed to happen now? Perhaps I needed to respond to the first question as well. But wouldn’t that give away that I’m not a legitimate ghost hunter? I needed to tread carefully through this discourse.

“I can’t see you because of the unusual qualities you hold.” I placed a hand near the location of my hidden knife, just in case an ambush awaited me. Was this answer sufficient? Hopefully it was good enough for now.

Silently and without any warning, red strokes appeared on the wall to my right. It was as if someone were painting the wall right before my eyes—but nobody was there.

I clenched my teeth and froze in place as the lettering for Is that so? appeared from thin air.

I wanted to ask what in the world was going on—but wasn’t it obvious at this point? I was in the same room as a ghost. A ghost I could not see. A ghost who knew my name. A ghost who suspected I did not know how to exorcise it.

More lettering appeared on the wall. What unusual qualities do I have?

It wasn’t exactly fear I was feeling at that moment. If I was truly afraid for my life, I would have run away screaming by then. But I felt compelled to stay. Perhaps a fear of being killed for trying to run away played a part in it, but… maybe it just felt better to go ahead and keep chatting with this spirit.

If this could really be called chatting.

I maintained normal breathing and spoke as calmly as I could. “You are special.”

It took just a few seconds for a new question to appear on the wall.

How so?

I smiled and held out a hand to the side. “It seems you’re just an especially cursed spirit.”

What felt like at least a couple minutes passed, but there wasn’t a response. My hope was that if I acknowledged the ghost’s power in a casual way like this, it would look like I knew what I was doing. As long as I maintained an air of confidence, the ghost would perhaps hesitate doing anything rash.

Second after second passed, and I had to exert all my self-control to not appear concerned. Was the spirit just thinking of what to write next? Or was it about to wreak havoc in some way? Or did it just grow bored and head off somewhere else?

A stroke of red appeared to the left of the previous question. I was receiving a response after all.

You’re probably right.

I’m probably right? It sounded like the spirit itself wasn’t so sure about what it was, exactly.

Maybe it was time for me to ask some questions of my own.

“What’s your name, spirit?”

It sounded ridiculous as I said it, but I wasn’t sure of a better way to ask.

In response, four kanji appeared for the family name… slowly followed by two more kanji. The long pause between the writing of the surname and personal name almost gave a sense of shyness to the ghost’s introduction.

“Kijimuta-san,” I pieced together. The personal name that followed was Michiko, a girl’s name. “It’s nice to meet you. I’d like to help you out if I can. Is it all right if I ask a few questions?”

The response came more quickly than I expected.

Yes.

“Great…” I reached for my empty tea cup and held it out on the palm of my hand. “Can you pick things up?”

The ghost didn’t need to write a response. The cup rose from my hand and floated in the air a couple paces in front of me.

I was standing face-to-face with a spirit. In theory I should have been taken aback by all this, but perhaps my years of acting like an onmyoji made this feel less unusual than it actually was.

The cup suddenly fell to the tatami floor. I stepped back in surprise, but fortunately the finely embellished clay didn’t shatter.

Did this mean the ghost could only hold something for a few seconds then? Well, for my purposes a few seconds would be long enough.

“So, Spirit-san… Do you know how to play go?”

* * * *

* * * *

The ghost said—or rather, wrote—that she knew how to play go, but was not very good at it. Once I brought in the mansion owner’s finely-carved go board and the wooden frame that held it up, I placed nine black stones across the board to provide a handicap for the spirit to work with.

I set a floor cushion and small basket of go pieces on either side of the board, then sat down to make my first move.

“Your turn, Spirit-san.”

A black stone rose from the ghost’s basket and floated to one of the board’s intersecting points. Given the number of games I had played over the years, I didn’t need to think long about where to place any of my white pieces. But going through the motions of the game helped me organize my thoughts regarding the current situation.

And more importantly, it gave me something to do while the ghost wrote out her responses to my questions. People can’t write as fast as they speak, after all. Since it seemed likely this conversation would last a while, I figured a game could help pass the time.

Things proceeded about as straightforward as could be expected of a match with a beginner. I didn’t really need to concern myself with the game itself, so I found myself staring through my invisible opponent whenever it was her turn.

The very idea of playing go with a spirit… It was about the most ridiculous situation I could ever imagine. So much so, I couldn’t help but smile something between a grin and a cringe. It was apparently an amusing expression to witness, because the black go piece hovering above the board started to silently bob up and down, ever so slightly. The ghost was laughing!

I had to laugh a bit too. “You don’t seem so bad, Spirit-san. But since I can’t see you, could you describe yourself a bit? How old you are, where you’re from—things like that?”

I brought in a couple pieces of half-used paper over to where the spirit was presumably sitting. I flipped the sheets over and set them down on a piece of cloth on the floor, then placed an inkstick, inkstone, and calligraphy brush next to it. If the ghost could use proper writing utensils, there would be less blood on the walls to clean up afterward. Then again, since the old man’s messages in blood had disappeared, perhaps any new ones would too? Regardless, I felt the conversation would be less unsettling this way.

I knelt beside the paper and poured a little water into the inkstone. “You can write with this, Spirit-san.” I ground some of the inkstone to form an ink of the right consistency, then returned to my spot on the other side of the go board.

Once the phantom settled on a less-than-apt spot for her game piece, I decided to take it slowly with my own turn in order to give her enough time to write a couple sentences.

The game continued for a few turns before the first paper floated off the ground, wiggling about the air like a confused butterfly. I took the paper and looked over its contents.

I am 23 years old. Well, I died a year ago, so maybe I’m just 22 still.

She was three years younger than me, if going by her age when she passed away. Once I established communication with the spirit I had guessed I was dealing with a younger ghost than this—or more specifically, a mischievous zashiki-warashi—considering how juvenile the whole bloody-message-on-the-wall efforts seemed to be. But then again, if I had been dead for a whole year and had nothing to do, perhaps I too would resort to this sort of thing.

I had a lot of questions to ask, but I still wasn’t sure how to picture this unusual company. My books on dealing with spirits included all sorts of unseemly depictions of ghosts, but I didn’t want to assume an image that was inaccurate. Did she wear a white burial kimono and triangle headband, and have long, unkempt hair draped over a ghastly, deformed face?

An idea sprang to mind. “Can you stand against that wall right over there, Spirit-san? I’ll be right back.” I ran to the kitchen and obtained a small sack of rice flour.

As soon as I returned, I opened the bag and swung its contents forward, dumping the flour against the spot I instructed the ghost to stand in front of. As the ensuing cloud of powder spread about the room, I stepped back into the hallway to wait for the flour dust to settle.

Unfortunately, there was nothing to see.

My hope was that the flour would render the ghost visible, but in hindsight my idea didn’t make much sense after all.

“Well, looks like it just goes through you.” I sat back down and motioned toward the go board. “Never mind, go ahead and make your next move. I can clean that all up later.”

Once the game continued, I peered over toward the pile of flour spread across the floor and noted how there weren’t any footprints. Did that mean the ghost could float around? Or did she just not leave any trace of herself since she’s immaterial?

“Sorry if I surprised you there,” I said, realizing it must have been odd to have a bunch of rice flour thrown at you without warning. “Could you perhaps write a description of yourself? Or draw a picture?” I just wanted a basic idea of who it was sitting right in front of me.

Once the spirit placed a stone down she proceeded to ink the calligraphy brush and ready a second sheet of paper. A few strokes of the brush revealed she was going to draw a picture—and a good one, too. Perhaps good penmanship and artistic ability went hand in hand.

Somewhat amusingly, every now and then the brush would fall from the spirit’s grasp. It seemed to confirm my suspicion she could only hold an object for a brief period of time. About ten seconds, it looked like. To confirm one more point, I leaned forward and tried reaching over to where Spirit-san was sitting, but my hand only passed through empty air. While holding her brush, the ghost in turn tried to reach out to me—the brush would pass above my arm without her invisible arm making any sort of contact with me, however.

I resumed contemplating matters once the ghost returned to writing. As I stared blankly at the go board, a piece of paper pushed its way in front of my face. I accepted it and found an ink drawing much more detailed and realistic than I expected. The self-portrait of the ghost—Kijimuta Michiko, I recalled—depicted a young woman with an innocent smile on her face. She had straight bangs and a short hairstyle, the frame of which rounded her face in general. And though the picture was only a limited number of black ink strokes, it still gave the impression that her kimono was a rather cheerful outfit. Instead of a more typical flower design, it looked like this kimono had snowflakes of various shapes and sizes dyed into it. The image here was quite different from what I presumed was typical of a ghost.

Was it possible the spirit had made this image up? I didn’t see much reason for the ghost to lie about who she was. But maybe she simply perceived herself as a normal-looking human being, when in reality she was a terrifying monster? At this point it probably didn’t really matter, but I felt better believing I was dealing with a regular person. A dead person, granted, but still an everyday one.

The paper flew out of my hand while I was still looking it over. Seeing the ink brush rise again, I took it the ghost wanted to add some more details to the sketch. Could they be some horrifying final touches that would mark her as a phantom? My thoughts shuffled through a variety of alarming possibilities. What if the ghost was just cooperating with me in order to put me at ease? Perhaps she was indeed planning to have her way with me, just as soon as my guard was down.

The paper jostled in front of me once more. Careful to not show my trepidation, I accepted the paper and braced myself for the worst.

There were no changes made to Spirit-san’s appearance. Instead, a second figure had been added to the picture. A man holding the ghost’s hand, and apparently quite happy to be doing so. He had short hair with long and wispy bangs, wore a black kimono with gray designs reminiscent of incense smoke trails, and his eyes gave off a sort of casual yet piercing stare. It was hard to tell if he was gazing off toward something in the distance, or if he was just tired.

In other words, it was a picture of me.

As I pieced together the implications of my holding hands with this ghost, the first bloody message I saw at this mansion returned to my memory.

I love you, Naoki-kun.

I set the paper down and forced myself to stifle my exasperation. “Spirit-san, why do you… feel this way, exactly? Have we met before, back when you were still alive? I guess that would explain how you know my name.” After a pause I added, “Oh, but finish your turn first.”

Priorities, right?

Once she placed a stone down I shifted my thoughts from the game to the likelihood that the ghost was truthful in her writing.

One of my texts on ghost hunting, a book titled Nets Won’t Work, listed many types of yurei—spirits that tended to haunt people. The most common were yurei which sought revenge for some misdeed inflicted upon them in life (typically the misdeed that got them killed). These were known as onryou, but there were many other kinds of ghosts that supposedly existed and caused problems for select individuals. Accounts of supernatural dealings included no small number of ghost stories involving female spirits who sought some form of deep and passionate affection.

The stories I recalled off the top of my head all played out in different ways, but the end result was generally quite unfortunate for the fellows these ghosts managed to seduce.

The spirit’s motive was given to me from the very beginning. She needed someone to love and destroy. Maybe.

The spirit handed me a response to my questions. I just really like you, Naoki-kun. These feelings are hard to explain… And as for your name, I found it on your ghost hunting certification in your pack.

“I… see.” I placed a white stone down and captured eight spaces of the ghost’s territory. I considered asking for details for why she liked me, but decided to ask instead, “Why are you haunting this mansion?”

Once she took her turn in the game she wrote up a response.

It’s a nice place.

Well, that was true, but I was hoping for something more to work with.

After gaining another section of territory I posed another question. “If it’s okay to ask, how did you die, Spirit-san?”

Her response came a few turns later—a bit longer than I expected, given the answer’s length.

I tripped down the stairs.

Really? Could her death have been any more banal? Was I seriously dealing with a clumsy ghost? With all this in mind perhaps it made sense she was desperate for love.

Just as there are all types of people, perhaps there are all types of ghosts as well. This made sense, I supposed. Ghosts were just people who had died, after all.

I moved on to the next question. “Where are you from? The village south of here?”

The spirit placed a stone near a couple separate sets of black pieces on the board, surely in hopes of quickly connecting the two segments together. It was rarely that simple of a matter though—not when there was someone else to watch your every move and break apart each of your attempts to form such nice straight lines.

Spirit-san handed me her paper. Yes, I lived in the village with my father and mother.

Which made sense if she hadn’t gotten married yet. I wondered if her parents were still at the village. Would they approve of their daughter becoming a ghost like this? I smirked at the thought.

I captured some more territory and took several of the ghost’s pieces in the process. There weren’t too many areas left to fill on the board. I decided to ask another question.

“What is it you don’t like about the old man who lives here? It seems you wrote him some threatening messages.”

The spirit and I took a few more turns before she put brush to paper again. Since she continued playing for a while, I wondered if she had heard my question. But perhaps she just didn’t want to answer it?

She handed me her response. It was just a joke. There’s not much to do when you’re a ghost.

I wasn’t sure what to make of this. Did this make matters simpler? It was starting to baffle my mind, just how straightforward the whole situation was turning out to be.

There was a deeper answer in all this. What was the connection between the spirit’s messages to the old man and her messages to me?

The first messages accomplished two things. Spirit-san got rid of the old man. And in his place, I arrived. She wanted to meet me. Or at least, she wanted to meet an onmyoji. But why would she want an onmyoji to come? One whose livelihood entailed exorcising ghosts? Did she have a death wish? Or rather, a post-death death wish?

No, that wasn’t it. I thought over each of the things the spirit had told me.

I love you, Naoki-kun.

You can’t see me, can you?

There’s not much to do when you’re a ghost.

She was lonely. She died, and hadn’t had human contact for a whole year now. She came to this mansion to haunt the old man in order to get an onmyoji to show up. To get someone who could see her to show up.

Just her luck to have someone like me appear then.

But in a way, this actually was lucky for her. She took a huge gamble in luring an onmyoji here. Had it been anyone else, she could have already been exorcised by now. What was her plan to keep that from happening, exactly? Would the average onmyoji be hesitant to do away with a ghost that claimed to love him?

While I thought this over, the ghost took the paper back and wrote something more.

Since I’ve answered your questions, can you do me a favor now?

I didn’t like the idea of agreeing to anything before I knew what I was getting into, but I did say I would do what I could to help her out. For now I needed to at least look like I intended to work things out with her. If the spirit were to realize I wasn’t a true onmyoji at all she could turn hostile.

“What do you have in mind, Spirit-san?”

The second I asked this, the paper flew from my hand and onto the floor. The ink brush in turn did a frantic job of scribbling a new line of dialogue on the page, the atmosphere turning urgent.

The paper flew in front of my face as soon as the spirit finished writing.

Naoki-kun, please take me on a date!

I wasn’t able to respond right away. I had to let this sink in for a bit.

This spirit… She wasn’t joking, was she?

“Why?” I had to ask.

The ghost wrote a quick response: You already forgot? I love you.

“Right, but…” What was I supposed to say here? “What would we do?”

Another scuffling of paper and ink brush. We can go to the village. I can show you around. There are lots of squirrels. It will be fun.

This was a bit much to readily accept as reality, even after playing a board game with an invisible opponent. What was it she was really hoping to do? Was there something she was after in the village? Or did she need me to do something for her there?

I resumed playing the game, but my thoughts focused on the spirit, and whether or not she was orchestrating some kind of terrible plan.

Maybe she did need to be avenged somehow. That was the most common reason for ghosts to linger on, wasn’t it? When people are so unforgivably wronged, they can’t help but seek some kind of recompense. Was there any emotion that was stronger than the desire—no, the need—for revenge? Perhaps there was someone who required a little of Spirit-san’s malice in order for her to finally depart from this world.

Whether or not that was the case, getting her out of this mansion was my original goal. With that in mind, it made sense to go along with the ghost’s wishes for now, and perhaps along the way I could figure out what she was really after. It had to be a pretty big deal, considering she was risking her ghost life bringing in an onmyoji as part of her plan. But was there any hope her plan would work, considering I had no actual experience as an onmyoji? She would likely kill me with some kind of ghastly power if she were to find out the truth.

I had to respond to her request. “I don’t know you at all, so I’m not sure how to take all this, to be perfectly honest.”

The ghost replied with a new message. You can get to know me on the date.

The prospect of learning too much about this ghost woman seized me with a sense of discomfort. I was treading dangerous ground as the object of her desire, at the very least. Could her infatuation possibly be the sort of love at first sight that some people experience in life? Or did the ghost simply intend to… have her way with me?

I waited for Spirit-san to take her turn before I gave an answer. “Okay, I’ll go with you to the village. But tomorrow, okay? It’s too late for traveling tonight.”

In the corner of the paper the ghost drew a small and simple picture of her smiling face.

I wasn’t sure if I should smile or grimace. I was in way over my head here, not that there was much choice in the matter. I was going to have to help fulfill her wish, whatever that really was, so that she’d be on her way to some new life.

There wasn’t another alternative, was there?

I thought my question over as the game drew to a close. There was an obvious answer to it, of course. It was to do the very thing I was supposed to do.

I placed my last stone on the board. I had conquered the vast majority of the territory and won by a landslide. It was an easy game.

Perhaps I likewise needed to approach my current circumstances with an easy solution. Who was in this room? A ghost and a ghost hunter.

I didn’t have the experience, but I at least had the know-how. I could figure out a way to exorcise this ghost. Wouldn’t that be the simplest and safest solution to this whole situation?

* * * *

It was time to go to bed, but I wondered if I should really go to sleep. It didn’t seem wise to leave myself utterly defenseless while a ghost lurked about. After all, it was quite possible Spirit-san wasn’t as naïve and pure as she let on. I wasn’t sure how it would work since we couldn’t touch each other, but… Well, those seductress ghosts always seemed to find a way regardless, at least in the accounts I had read.

Once our game of go ended I made it clear that I would retaliate if Spirit-san tried to do anything unseemly while I slept. I then placed a number of paper talismans in my room and explained that an invisible barrier would protect me from any of her advances, and that she’d be instantly obliterated if she tried to attack me in any way. Her written response confirmed her understanding, but in the end it was impossible to know if she truly believed in my threats.

Similarly, she had agreed to stay out of my room, but there was no way to know if she would keep her word. There was no reason a ghost couldn’t lie, and indeed I had already suspected there were at least a few truths she had kept hidden from me.

I lay in my futon with a book in hand, somehow thinking I could cram for this final exam. I had read through all my ghost hunting books several times over the years for the sake of putting on a good show for everyone, but now I suddenly had to hope there were tactics that were legitimately effective.

Was I capable of pulling any of them off? I knew plenty of chants I could recite, had plenty of talismans I could use, and could reenact all sorts of rituals. But would any of that make a difference? If you could get rid of a ghost just by reciting a few lines from an old scroll, then there wouldn’t be much need for ghost experts.

One book of mine had some special paper talismans I could tear out in the back, but I decided to make one of my own. There was a particular deity worshiped in the local village, a boy who apparently embodied youth and vigor. Each depiction I saw of him included a large firefly of sorts perched on each of his hands, his arms outstretched in religiously significant poses. Perhaps the lights on his hands could drive away ghosts? I didn’t know anything about him, but I had a good feeling this kami was a reliable little god. In the event that I needed to get rid of Spirit-san right away, I assumed I’d need something special to ward her off.

I took my ink brush and wrote the deity’s name on a small sheet of paper, then placed it aside. Once the ink dried, I decided I could put it beneath my pillow.

The way the light of the room’s floor lamp flickered off the red writing on the wall left an ominous feeling in my heart. Wasn’t it possible—perhaps even likely—that the ghost was watching me this very moment?

There was no reason to try calling out to the ghost. She would just respond with more bloody messages on the wall, and I didn’t want any more of that.

* * * *

I had a terrible dream. In the dream, it was revealed Spirit-san possessed inhuman supernatural strength. The invisible phantom grabbed me by the shoulders and flung me off my futon, then proceeded to grab me by the foot and swing me about the room. I was bashed back and forth against the tatami floor, then thrown straight through the shoji paper door and onto the wooden floor of the hallway. Before I could even get up, the ghost grabbed me again and threw me straight into the ceiling. As I fell back down, I was bashed in the face and sent tumbling down the hall. This process of continually grabbing me and swinging me into walls went on for what felt like hours. It didn’t seem like I was getting any injuries throughout this torment, but the pain felt all too real. And for some reason, all throughout this I couldn’t say anything—I couldn’t even scream. I just had to take the beating.

The dream ended with the ghost jumping on my stomach.

I awoke with a pounding headache, but as far as I could tell nothing else had actually happened to me while I slept. Considering what could have transpired, a simple nightmare wasn’t so bad. I couldn’t help but think of it as an ill omen, though.

The sooner I dealt with this ghost then, the better. But as I strained to sit up and tackle the day, I had to wonder if that dream had actually happened to some degree. Perhaps the ghost actually was hurting me in some mental capacity, for example…

I looked to see the sliding door was still fully intact, at least. Not all was as it should have been, however: a new bloody message was delicately strewn down the length of the door. Each kanji was in its own little box within the framework of the door’s wood lattice.

What would you like for breakfast?

In all honesty I didn’t feel like having breakfast, but I especially didn’t like the idea of eating something a ghost cooked.

More disconcerting, this meant the ghost indeed had been in my room at some point. Maybe the entire night. In other words, Spirit-san wasn’t dissuaded by the paper talismans I placed about the room…

I walked to the kitchen to see if she was already cooking something, but there was no sign of food being prepared. At the sound of a fluttering paper I turned around to find a new message hovering before me.

I can cook anything you’d like, as thanks for your help today.

“I haven’t done anything yet,” I said. “You don’t need to—”

The paper flew off before I could finish my sentence. It drifted to the floor near the cooking hearths, where an invisible force began to get a fire going underneath.

It was happening. The ghost was going to cook breakfast.

Perhaps this was my perfect opportunity to act, I realized. She was busy cooking rice, boiling some soup, and grilling fish. Would she notice if I were to start reciting a mantra or setting up a gobosei pentagram? It felt rather cruel to try dispelling the ghost as she prepared breakfast for me—in fact, just thinking this made me want to reconsider—but regardless, this was the most logical course of action.

It was my job, first of all. But more importantly, my life was at stake. And really, the spirit needed to move on anyways. Exorcising her would be for her own good.

I went back to my room to grab the paper talisman I made the night before. I had placed the ofuda under my pillow, and to my relief I found it still there undisturbed. Perhaps it had kept me safe last night? If so, there was a chance it could dispel the ghost if I placed it on her forehead. Powerful onmyoji supposedly could send ofuda like this flying straight toward the malign spirits they were called upon to exorcise. I held the paper up, struck a pose… and frowned.

How do you throw a small rectangular strip of paper, anyways?

Perhaps there was a lot of mental will-power involved in the act, and the talisman could just be thrown like a ball. It was probably worth practicing a few times before I made the attempt on the ghost. I would only get one shot before she realized what I was doing, after all.

I chose a bloody kanji to throw the paper at and gave it my best effort. The paper fluttered straight to the floor, landing just beside my feet.

Maybe it was all in the wrist. I gave it another try, this time taking note of how I flicked my wrist as I let go of the paper. Unfortunately, this didn’t make any difference at all.

I threw the paper again and again, but each time it simply twirled within a meter of where I stood. There was no way I was going to actually throw this at a ghost I couldn’t even see. Was the best course of action then to just walk up to Spirit-san and try to place the ofuda on her?

As I walked back to the kitchen, I suddenly came up with a better idea. I folded the talisman into a paper glider and tossed it toward where it looked like the spirit was busy cooking. The folded glider arced through the air… and straight through where I had guessed her head was.

Did I just miss? Or did this confirm that there was nothing I could make that could actually connect with her?

Perhaps there was no way I would ever know. But the glider lifted off the ground and arced back to me a few moments later. Apparently the ghost just thought I was playing around, since we ended up throwing the glider back and forth to each other for the next several minutes. Perhaps I should have been thankful she didn’t unfold the paper and discover it was an ofuda meant to exorcise her. But wouldn’t it have been nice if she magically vanished upon picking it up?

Seeing Spirit-san capable of handling the talisman and inanimate objects in general without any issue made it feel strange that she couldn’t make contact with me, so to double-check I placed a hand where I assumed Spirit-san was. She had to be in front of the stove grilling the fish since a floating pair of chopsticks was right there poking at it. But I felt nothing, and my hand never felt any sort of resistance.

“Are you really there, Spirit-san?”

The chopsticks floated down to a nearby table, allowing the ghost to write up a response. I’m here, but I just can’t connect with people. To make sure, I tried pinching your nose this morning to wake you up—but it didn’t work.

A mildly annoying piece of information, but it eased my fears a bit. It also explained her leaving a message on the door, since she couldn’t force me awake.

“While I’m thinking about it, where are you getting all this blood to write on the walls with? I’m assuming it’s blood.”

Spirit-san wrote, It just flows out of my fingertips. I’m not sure if it’s real blood though. I never seem to run out of it!

And on that note, I decided it was too soon for me to give up on exorcising this ghost. I covered my mouth with one hand and whispered the mantra of kuji-in.

“Rin pyo to sha kai jin retsu zai zen.”

I watched patiently for five seconds. Ten seconds. Was anything going to happen? A flash of light or a burst of smoke as the ghost bewails her untimely demise?

No. Nothing.

A piece of paper rattled in front of my face. I lowered my hand and read the spirit’s message.

No need to mutter impatiently. Breakfast will be ready in a minute.

Was this ghost truly misinterpreting everything I did? If so, I could just keep trying something new…

In every book I had ever read on ghost hunting, one of the most basic methods employed by onmyoji was the use of purifying salt to drive away haunting spirits. Luckily I knew precisely where this kitchen’s stash of salt was located.

Once I acquired a small handful of some kind of fancy salt, I made my way behind where I believed the ghost stood. I tossed the salt in that general direction, most of it landing in the soup pot and fish griddle. I took a few steps back, not quite sure what to look for but simply hoping for something to happen.

It didn’t take long for Spirit-san’s ink brush to scribble another message for me.

What are you trying to do?

I took another step back and held my breath. Was this it then? Had the phantom finally realized what I was trying to do, and was ready to curse me in every way she could manage?

Another row of kanji appeared to the left of the previous one.

That’s way too much salt! Don’t blame me if your meal is too salty!

* * * *

Before I knew it, I found myself sitting at a personal dining table, wondering what the rest of the day would entail. If I did lead Spirit-san out of the mansion, could I simply persuade her to never return? Perhaps that was my most likely route to success, but I knew better than to count on one single plan. I couldn’t afford to take chances with a ghost.

I tried to dish out the food myself, but Spirit-san insisted via paper message that I sit down and wait patiently. From the next room over, I watched as the ghost brought over a bowl of rice. She had to set it down before losing her grip on it, but over the course of two trips she managed to bring it to my little floor table. She repeated the process for the soup and the fish.

Was it a good idea to eat any of this? I wasn’t sure if it was discussed in any of my books, but I had a good hunch the average onmyoji would call it a bad idea to eat food prepared by a ghost.

It smelled good though, so I ate every last bit of it. Since it was such a delicately-prepared meal, I couldn’t help but take my time with each satisfying bite. It was admittedly a bit salty, but that was my own fault. Regardless, it was undoubtedly the tastiest breakfast I had enjoyed in years. If it was going to kill me, so be it.

By the time I set my chopsticks down and thanked Spirit-san for the meal, I couldn’t really imagine there being some kind of otherworldly poison in the soup. It was enough to make me wonder if the ghost truly was genuine in all this. Could a ghost really fall in love with someone? And not inflict a curse on him in the process? Either way, I couldn’t find a believable motive. You don’t fall in love with a random person you’ve never met before for no reason—especially when that person makes his livelihood trying to destroy you!

Perhaps it was best to not sweat the details and just focus on doing my job. There were still a number of tactics I could employ to deal with this phantom—I simply needed to make sure I didn’t raise Spirit-san’s suspicions as I did so.

I just needed to make it look like… a date.

* * * *

* * * *

I set aside the personal dining table and got some more paper for Spirit-san to communicate with. Perhaps it was a long shot, but my hope was to deal with the ghost here and now before she could wreak whatever kind of havoc she potentially had in mind upon exiting the mansion.

“Before we head off, how about we rest here a little longer? We can play a game.” Since Spirit-san wasn’t holding anything, it was difficult to know where to look. I had to just pick one of the walls in the room and talk to nothing in particular, like some lunatic. “I don’t want to hike right after eating, and we have all day.”

After a few seconds a paper and ink brush lifted off the floor, and Spirit-san began to write.

I don’t really want to play go again.

It didn’t look like she was upset about the delay. “Don’t worry, I have something else in mind.”

Rather than attempt some advanced exorcising technique, I decided to stick with the basics. The ofuda was the most trusted tool of the ghost hunting trade—I just needed to get the ghost to interact with the right variety.

“You seem like the creative type, Spirit-san. Are you familiar with the fine traditional art of folding pieces of paper into the simplified likeness of a flower or long-billed water fowl?”

Spirit-san wrote her response. I love origami! What do you want to make?

I sat down beside a small stack of paper talismans I had prepared. Each one had the name of a different kami worshiped in the region, or a deity that held special significance to lingering spirits.

I held out an ofuda for the ghost. “Can you make a fish?”

The spirit immediately proceeded to fold the talisman into the shape of a fish, complete with little fins sticking out from either side of it. She had to set it down a couple times before losing her grip on it, but it was obvious she had lots of experience with origami.

It was also obvious the ofuda had no effect on her whatsoever, as she didn’t even wait to pick up another one. It seemed the ghost was waiting for me to say something else for her to fold.

“Um, how about a fox?”

A part of me wondered if the ofuda could affect the ghost if she were to fold a specific kind of animal. Perhaps one with some religious significance? A fox would work in that case… I was truly grasping at straws though. Who had ever heard of spirits being banished through ritualistic origami?

In the end, Spirit-san’s paper fox turned out even better than I thought possible. I could even make out the thin slits for its crafty little eyes.

“You’re pretty good. Do you…” The ghost grabbed another talisman before I could finish my sentence. I couldn’t help but smile. She was really getting into this.

“Okay, how about a turtle then.”

The ghost folded a turtle. It really looked like its head and legs were poking out of a paper shell. And it hardly took her any time at all.

Clearly, I needed to come up with something a little harder.

“Let’s see you make a tanuki, Spirit-san.”

She made a tanuki.

“Hm… a whale?”

That one was way too easy.

Perhaps I needed to pick something other than an animal. Maybe a flower? She probably knew how to fold every kind of flower in the world. Boats and houses were probably just as easy for her, and chances were she could make paper dolls of people too.

The next paper talisman bobbed up and down impatiently.

I said what came to mind first. “A ghost. Make a ghost.”

Spirit-san immediately set to work. I realized that the request was a bit of an odd one, but it appeared Spirit-san didn’t mind.

It made me curious. What would she fold, exactly? She could just make a paper doll of herself, right? What she folded didn’t look anything like the self-portrait of hers from earlier, though.

The final result was the image of a long-haired figure in a plain kimono, but this person didn’t have legs—instead it possessed what I inferred was the smoke-like tendril found in many depictions of ghosts. On the figure’s head was the headband with a triangular forehead cover—the hitaikakushi typically placed on a corpse.

It was a very basic depiction of a ghost. The sort of thing people always thought of when the topic of haunting spirits was brought up.

“Is this how you are now, Spirit-san?”

A message formed on a new piece of paper. No, I really haven’t changed much since I died.

I looked up to the ceiling a few moments to collect my thoughts. “Then… when I said to fold the likeness of a ghost, you should have just folded a person, since they look the exact same.”

This is just art. It doesn’t have to be true.

I guess that made sense.

The ghost added another line. This is what people usually think of for a ghost though, right?

“Yes, that’s true.” The depiction did make me wonder about Spirit-san’s death, however. Or rather, what became of her after her death. I had guessed she was here as a ghost because she had some unfinished business, but it was possible she simply didn’t have a proper funeral. My books all made it clear that when people died without any particular rituals being performed, they were likely to linger on as spirits.

The depiction of ghosts with smoke-like qualities made sense in this context—they were the unusual aftermath of a death and no longer had substance, yet continued to exist and affect the world in some manner. The life of flesh and bones was a mortal, temporary thing, but a spirit could have trouble vacating this realm should there be anything holding the individual back. The abandoned, the discarded, the forgotten. Without legitimate ceremony, the deceased could find no peace.

“Spirit-san, you said you died falling down the stairs, right? Did your parents make sure all the proper rituals were done for you afterward?”

The ghost dabbed the calligraphy brush in some ink, but took some time before writing anything down. Apparently this was a response she had to think about.

Yes, everything was done as it should. Why do you ask?

“Simply curious to understand your situation a little better. Your motive for haunting this place feels rather unlikely, is all.” Perhaps I said too much, but I was curious to see how the ghost would respond.

She set the paper back down and wrote. Not every ghost needs an ill motive.

I thought over this phrase she used. An ill motive. Who was to discern whether or not a ghost’s haunting was justified or not? If you were so wronged in life that you couldn’t stand to just move on and leave things be… it seemed it would be quite easy to claim honorable motivation.

* * * *

The ghost handled every single paper talisman I gave her, but as far as I could tell they were all useless. Perhaps it meant this was the wrong way to go about dealing with this ghost, but maybe I was just doing something wrong. The fact the ghost was making contact with the ofuda of her own accord was perhaps the issue here.

Are we ready to go then? I’m ready whenever you are.

I set aside Spirit-san’s paper and walked to my room—or rather, the room I was staying in. What was there left for me to try before leaving the mansion? Perhaps there was one simple thing I had overlooked this whole time…

I surveyed everything in the room. Was there some tool I could utilize to deal with this ghost? Some resource I could turn to, that I hadn’t thought of? There was my pack, my coat, my umbrella, and my rolled-up futon tied to my pack. Then there was the very nice futon I was borrowing from the old man. A floor lantern. A folding screen. Sliding doors.

Ah, maybe this was the real problem. The futon I laid out was directly in front of the entry to the room. The placement of my futon was not aligned in accordance with the geomantic principles of feng shui. I slid it to the side of the entry a ways and repositioned the lamp and pack a bit to allow for the life force energy of the room to flow more smoothly.

For all I knew, the very essence of misfortune had built up and piled upon me all throughout the night, leaving me in my current predicament. Of course, this was all rather superstitious of me, but the concept of invisible forces suddenly carried a lot more weight now that I had met a real-life ghost.

So maybe this would help? Or even better: Maybe this was all I needed to do in the first place?

“Are you still here, Spirit-san?”

A piece of paper floated into my hand.

Yes.

“I see that.”

That was the best I could do for now. No option left but to go along with the ghost and see what happens. How could I even begin to predict what this phantom would have in store for me?

The ghost’s paper flipped over to reveal a new message.

This is going to be so much fun, Naoki-kun!

Complete with tiny stars, flowers, and hearts.

* * * *

I slid open the front door, a bit unsure how I was going to know if the ghost was actually keeping up with me over the course of this trek through the woods. Spirit-san said she wanted this to be some sort of date, but I couldn’t guess what she had in mind for the time it would take to walk to the village. Was I going to have to carry some papers, ink, and a book for Spirit-san to write on? She’d only be able to write a little bit before handing everything back to me, since she could only carry items for a brief time. We would be at it all day.

More importantly, what was she really after here? She had something in mind for the village.

I turned around, assuming the spirit was standing behind me. “Are you ready?”

There was a piece of paper on the floor, and I watched as a brush scribbled a series of kanji for a reply. I can’t leave this mansion on my own.

“What do you mean?” Didn’t that make all her plans doomed from the start?

I came to this mansion several months ago, and I’ve been stuck here ever since. I don’t know why, but I can’t leave, the ghost wrote.

I bit my lip and tried to work out the ramifications of this piece of information. She was able to enter the mansion, but could not exit it. My books went into detail regarding the many different types of spirits in the world: some were free-roaming spirits capable of traveling wherever they pleased—but most were site-bound spirits, haunting a specific location. Often it was simply their very nature that they remain at one location, be it a building, a graveyard, a well, or some spot in the woods. Bound by their hatred, their despair, their craving for revenge, or their passions, spirits build upon their feelings year after year, rooting themselves to a site that holds special significance to them.

Was Spirit-san actually a spirit bound to this mansion? She may have been lying about coming here from the village. She may have been lying about everything.

The ghost wrote something more. You can help me out of here, right?

Perhaps her only goal all along was to get out of the mansion. Wasn’t it possible she’d been stuck there for a hundred years? The old man had said that’s how long the place had supposedly been haunted…

A competent onmyoji would probably be able to free the spirit, but the average ghost hunter would just exorcise her. Did that explain Spirit-san’s proclamation of love then? She wanted it to look like there was some deep emotional connection between us, so that I wouldn’t exorcise her. Spirit-san took a gamble and chose this roundabout means of achieving her freedom from this house.

It made sense in my head at least, but knowing this didn’t really change the status quo.

“I can help you out, Spirit-san, but I’m curious why you think I would,” I said. “Most onmyoji wouldn’t find much incentive in courting a ghost.”

Most people in general wouldn’t.

Spirit-san responded. You’re a nice onmyoji! You’ll help me out, won’t you?

She thought I was nice? “It’s very difficult to free a ghost from the place she’s tied to. Not to mention dangerous. It’s not worth the risk just to let you take a walk.”

The excuse sounded legitimate enough, but the ghost was already writing something more as I said it.

You can definitely do it if you try, Naoki-kun.

“It doesn’t work like that.” You don’t become capable of something just by trying. You can try something a million times, and even then it might not change a thing.

You must be a great exorcist to be called to this great mansion! There’s no way you’ll fail.

She kept writing these words of encouragement, but how was that going to change anything? Shouldn’t she have just attacked me? Or start burning the house down, or something? A ghost was supposed to be dangerous. Threatening. Spiteful. Cruel. Destructive. Anything but… this.

I walked back inside and closed the door. I wasn’t going to be able to help Spirit-san with whatever it was she needed. I needed to give a reason for this of course, and I couldn’t say it was because I wasn’t a real onmyoji. “I can’t help you with anything without enough information to work off of. I don’t even know why you are tied to this mansion. What is your relation to this place? Did you die here? Did you know the old man, or somebody else who once lived here?”

Spirit-san wrote, I didn’t die here. I had never been here when I was alive. I’ve never known anyone that’s lived here.

Going by everything I learned from my books, this sounded unlikely. A ghost doesn’t attach to a random location for no reason. And spirits don’t linger on for no good reason in the first place.

“You were able to walk over here from your village, right? Why did you come here? What is keeping you here?”

I don’t know, the ghost wrote. I just walked this way, and felt like I needed to go inside. And then I couldn’t leave.

“Well, you’re some kind of anomaly,” I said. “Even for a ghost.” If she really couldn’t leave though, that spelled trouble for me.

My mind quickly worked out a potential solution. Perhaps I just needed to persuade her to stop bothering the old man? If she never wrote any more bloody messages, the old man would think the ghost was exorcised. He’d be none the wiser.

“How about I make a deal with you, Spirit-san. Why don’t we just have our date here, and then… if you don’t want to be exorcised, then you can just agree to stop painting the old man’s walls with your blood. Doesn’t that sound reasonable? If all you really wanted in life was to spend some time with an exorcist, then we can just do so here.”

The ghost started writing again, and this time didn’t stop until she had several lines inked.

That’s no good, Naoki-kun! I just want to get out of this house for a bit. After we spend some time at my village, I’m fine with being exorcised. I just wanted to have a nice experience before I passed on.

“What? You had your whole life to have nice experiences,” I said. “Sticking around as a spirit isn’t worth it just to play some games and go sight-seeing with an onmyoji.”

The ghost was already writing her reply. It will be worth it. We’re having fun, aren’t we? We’ll have some more fun.

I wasn’t sure how to respond. She thought this was fun? What was fun about trying to deal with a ghost? It felt like my life was on the line.

But as soon as these thoughts passed through my mind, I began to question myself. The ghost hadn’t really done anything bad to me. And just going by the way she acted and by the things she wrote, it did feel hard to believe she was out to get me. Was my life really on the line? And going over each of the things we did together…

Well, it was kind of fun. In a very strange way.

“You’re really determined to go through with this. But why would you want to spend time with me so badly?”

The ghost’s response was a short one.

I’m lonely?

Of course. I considered this possibility before, based on the fact Spirit-san had been all alone ever since she died. Is that why she said she loved me? She was just excited, thinking she had finally found someone who could see her and interact with her. Someone who understood ghosts. She acted friendly like this in hopes that an exorcist would spend some time with her before purifying her. She had set everything up, picking out a mansion owner who would want to hire an exorcist and would be willing to leave for some period of time.

It was a decent plan, if that were the case. She just had the misfortune of winding up with me. But perhaps there a way I could make things work out for her somehow? I did find a way to communicate with her, but I didn’t see how I was going to get her out of the mansion.

A new message appeared. I have an idea for getting out of here. Maybe I can just possess you?

The paper set back down once I finished reading it. Was this spirit capable of such a thing? I quickly recalled everything my books detailed regarding the subject. Things usually didn’t end well for those possessed by ghosts… I needed to convince the spirit to not bother making the attempt.

I held my arms out in front of me, taking a stern defensive position. “No, possession is out of the question. It’s too big of a risk. There could be any number of complications that—”

I think it’ll be all right, a voice rang out.

My heart nearly leaped to my throat. I scanned the room, turned around, then turned around again. There was nothing. I distinctly heard a woman’s voice. Someone was here.

The ghost, right?

“Was that you, Spirit-san?”

Yes, came the voice again.

I heard her, and she was so close! “Where are you?”

I’m possessing you, so… in your head? Or in your whole body? That’s how it seems.

It did sound like the voice was in my head. Almost like one of my own thoughts, but more… distinct. And outside of my control. And feminine.

So this was Spirit-san?

“When did you possess me?” I asked.

Right after I set the paper down. I’m sorry if I surprised you.

It was unsettling to hear a voice other than my own in my head. I kept wanting to check if someone was behind me.

I lifted an arm and wiggled my fingers a few times. It seemed I was still in control of my body, so this wasn’t a full possession. Apparently the only ill effect of this situation was the presence of the ghost’s voice.

Well, I’m ready to go now, Spirit-san said. I immediately found myself turning around and walking to the door. It felt so natural I barely realized it wasn’t actually my will to do so. I slid open the door and stepped out onto the mansion’s deck, all without my intention.

It was the most bizarre feeling in the world. Like sleepwalking while fully awake.

I shut the door and locked it, then proceeded to walk down the wooden steps that led to the entryway. My mind struggled to keep up with it all, despite how mundane each action was. There was no fighting any of it—I simply did it, and that’s all there was to it.

Ah, finally! It feels so good, feeling the sun shine down on me. Breathing the cold fresh air. There’s a whole world out here to see!

Without even thinking to do so, I ran down the stone walkway and raised my arms out to either side of me, as if pretending to fly. After a bit of this I began spinning in a circle, an ecstatic grin spreading across my face.

“Hold on, Spirit-san,” I said, my smile dissipating in the process. Apparently I was still able to speak as I wished, but I continued to spin in place. “You’re… you’re making me dizzy.” I was running out of breath, and this sudden turn of events was giving me a headache.

Ha ha ha ha ha!

“Okay, you’re outside of the mansion now, so you don’t need to possess me anymore.”

I finally stopped spinning. Taking a few deep breaths, I bent down a bit and placed my hands on my knees for support. It felt like I was doing this of my own volition, but it was hard to tell. Maybe I was only doing this because my body required it, and it was thus a natural response for the ghost.

But this is fun, Naoki-kun. We’ll be able to talk easier this way.

I blinked a few times and tilted my head to the side—my body moved as I intended. The spirit was just easing up on her control over my body, it seemed. Reflecting on what precisely entailed the nebulous topic of ghost possession, I recalled my books never delved too deeply into it. It was likely difficult for people to describe the act of being possessed, and the situation was perhaps different for each individual.

Are you set to go? I’ll let you lead the way.

My first instinct was to order Spirit-san to stop possessing me, but I wondered if that would be wise. If she declined, it would be strange of me as an onmyoji to not then force her to vacate. My inability to do so would make it all too clear that I was not an onmyoji at all. I needed to just pretend I was fine with this setup for now—that I was willing to go along with Spirit-san’s wishes in return for her abandoning the mansion.

As much as I didn’t like the idea of being possessed, it was technically getting Spirit-san out of the house.

“All right, let’s take a look at your village then.” There was surely a specific reason she wanted to go there, and it probably wasn’t something good if she didn’t want to tell me anything about it. If it was going to take a couple hours to walk to the village though, I at least had an opportunity to figure things out before Spirit-san sprung her potential trap.

“It’s not a bad day out,” I said. “Let’s take the scenic route.”

* * * *

I walked down a snow-splotched path through the woods, somehow accepting my fate to carry a conversation with a voice in my head. Perhaps this was what it felt like to have a split-personality? I had to hope things wouldn’t turn even more bizarre.

The scenery wasn’t particularly noteworthy in this area, but Spirit-san had something to say about every single thing she saw. Or every single thing I saw, whichever the case might have been.

Look at the moss on those rocks! I found myself pointing toward some large stones up ahead.

“Yes, I see it.” I placed my arm back down.

Moss on that tree too, Spirit-san added. All those tiny patches… It’s like a starry sky.

I glanced over the nearby trees until I spotted the one the ghost was referring to—and indeed, specks of moss were scattered about the surface of its trunk. I personally didn’t feel there were enough bits of moss for the comparison to be made, however.

For the most part the snow wasn’t very deep, which was fortunate since I didn’t have any boots. The canopy of trees caught most of the snow that fell here, it seemed. And with the season approaching its transition to spring, there had been sunny days that melted some of the snow—but also enough cold nights to freeze most of it up again. It made for a winter scene that lacked most of the qualities haiku and tanka tended to describe the season with. Instead of a crisp, pure blanket of snow covering the earth, this path provided messy snowdrifts, clumps of dirty snow, crackling sheets of ice, misshapen ice chunks, and areas marked with a frozen layer of dead, muddy leaves and pine needles.

Look at the little icicles on that tree! Against my will, I hopped off the path and made my way toward a large tree.

“Careful, you’ll get my socks wet,” I said, trying to keep Spirit-san from stepping in the deeper sections of snow. Of course, right when I said so I planted a foot into a slight dip full of mushy snow, which went well past my ankle.

Spirit-san either didn’t notice or didn’t care, because I just kept making my way toward that tree. Once I reached it, I proceeded to pick off little icicles from each of the lower branches.

“Do you have to take off every single one?” I asked.

I worked my way to the other side of the tree, where my eyes immediately honed in on a branch holding a long line of tiny, evenly-spaced icicles. Or perhaps more accurately, it was Spirit-san’s fixation on the icicles that caused me to stare at them. A smile spread across my face, but I wasn’t sure if it was due to Spirit-san’s glee or if it stemmed from some amused exasperation on my part.

I lifted and held my right arm straight out to my side, then ran down the length of the branch, knocking off all the icicles in one fell swoop. I laughed all the while.

Thus began my life as a schizophrenic… however long that was going to last.

* * * *

It grew colder as the day drew on. I had put on my scarf after leaving the mansion, and fortunately I thought to bring a change of socks with me in my pack. I brought a good chunk of my provisions with me, actually, just in case I wasn’t able to get back to the mansion that night for whatever reason. Chances were Spirit-san was was going to do something once we reached her village, and there was no way to guess how long it was going to take—particularly since there was little chance I’d really be able to fulfill whatever task it was she had in mind for me.

I had to wonder… Could the ghost read my thoughts? She was always speaking in my mind, after all. I focused on a single unwholesome thought to see if I could get an immediate reaction out of her.

Whoa! Spirit-san’s voice emerged. Did you see that bird? That had to be a hawk.

So no, she couldn’t read my thoughts.

This trend of Spirit-san noting every little thing continued for a good while. I tried to tune out her talking a bit so I could think of the right questions to ask her. It was very difficult to brainstorm and analyze my own thoughts though, when another voice kept surfacing without warning.

Hey, Naoki-kun. How about you tell me a little about yourself? I already told you all about me. I want to learn about you too.

She really hadn’t told me that much about herself, but I decided not to bring it up.

“One day I was born, my parents raised me for some time, and then I became a ghost hunter.” I closed my eyes and raised a hand in the air for dramatic effect. “And one day, I will die. Perhaps in the very near future? My life hangs by a spider’s thread every time I deal with a ghost.”

Spirit-san laughed. She saw it as a joke, of course.

You’re a good actor, Naoki-kun! You’ve never had any trouble with ghosts before, have you?

I didn’t have to lie at all to answer that question. “Indeed, no trouble at all. But that doesn’t make the job any less dangerous, you know.”

Do you think I’m dangerous?

“How could you not be? You are a ghost, I hope you’ve realized.”

Spirit-san waited a bit before shifting back to her earlier question.

There’s nothing else you want to say about yourself though?

“If I say anything more, the sense of mystery will vanish entirely.” I raised my index finger to emphasize my point. “Doesn’t the title of ghost hunter imply a hidden past? Questionable motives? A wistful yet unwavering disposition? Besides, the mysterious aura I emanate is likely the quality that appealed to you most when you suddenly chose to proclaim your love in blood.”

Are you really that mysterious though?

“Yes.” Why not?

That’s neat! But that’s not the thing I like most about you, Naoki-kun.

I tilted my head and closed my eyes a few moments. I had a strong suspicion I was going to get a ridiculous response to my question: “And what would that be, Spirit-san?”

The ghost chuckled. It was just a whisper, but I could still hear it.

Oh, there’s so many things I like about you, it’s hard to choose just one.

After having only known me for a day? And even then, most everything she could know about me was a farce to begin with.

You have a really cute laugh, Naoki-kun. And the way you fall asleep instantly and just lie there motionless like a rock all night long is quite surprising. There’s this straightforward way you like to do things. And in general, you always like to be doing things! Even when I first talked to you, you wanted to play a game in the meantime. I thought that was really funny. And when you eat rice, you have this really laid-back way of holding your chopsticks.

Once again, I had no idea if the ghost was being serious or not. She certainly sounded earnest… I also had to wonder if she had just implied watching me in my sleep all night long.

I stared at the path ahead, but my thoughts were entirely lost in the ghost’s rambling at this point. “So… what you like about me are… random quirks that don’t actually amount to anything?”

They amount to everything, Naoki-kun, and I’m not done yet. You see, I like how friendly and reliable you are, and how well you handle everything. You’re the sort of man who doesn’t judge people right away, and can accept things for how they really are. That’s the impression I get. And I’m never wrong about these things.

“You’re never wrong when judging a person’s character?”

I’m never wrong about anything! Ha ha ha ha ha ha!

I almost laughed as well, though there was something about Spirit-san’s laugh there that made me tense up a bit. Was it possible she really did see right through me?

A ghost bored out of her mind… It made sense she would want someone to mess around with, and what would be more exciting than to engage with an exorcist? My understanding of Spirit-san continued to shift with each passing hour.

* * * *

I decided to take a short break when I found a clearing with some large, dry rocks. I sat down and set my pack aside. For a moment I wondered if the last leg of this little trek would be the last hour of my life. But it was also quite possible this was going to lead to absolutely nothing. Perhaps Spirit-san really did just want to have some fun. And now that she was out of the mansion, she could spend the next chunk of her poltergeist life making mischief in this village. My job would be completed, and if she caused trouble for the villagers… Well, they could hire a real onmyoji to deal with her.

I slid a gourd flask from my pack and took a few gulps of ice-cold water.

That was amazing! Spirit-san yelled in my head. I lifted my hands so I could cover my ears, but stopped when I recognized how little that would have helped.

“What’s so amazing?”

The sweet, exhilarating taste of water! That was so tasty…

I found myself shoving the canteen straight back to my mouth. “Wa—!” I couldn’t get out a single word before Spirit-san forced me to take a few more deep gulps of water.

Aaaaaahhhhh! I never realized just how delicious water could be. So refreshing, it’s practically overwhelming. That slick, icy texture coursing down my throat… Or your throat? Doesn’t matter. It feels so good! I might just melt into a puddle of water myself.

I chose not to respond to this nonsense and placed the canteen back into my pack. I didn’t want to waste all the water if I couldn’t get more at the village.

It was interesting though. It had been at least a year since Spirit-san had a drink. And if she were lying about when she died, it could have been up to a hundred years. I couldn’t imagine how thirsty she must have been. And for that matter, she must have been really hungry too.

Do you have something to eat?

Right on cue…

“No, I’m afraid not.”

We’ll have to eat a bunch of food when we get to the village. Something sweet, and something savory. And everything else that’s yummy.

“Don’t act like I can afford all of that,” I said. “I’m not planning to eat out, unless of course your next reveal is how you have a secret cache of gold coins hidden in the village.”

Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t have any money. But you sure do! You’ve already gotten a bunch from the old man for this job, right? I can’t count this as a real courting if we don’t go out for a romantic dinner. And lunch. It’s almost lunchtime.

She was still insisting she only haunted the mansion just so she could spend some time with me. Perhaps I shouldn’t have found that so impossible though—after all, I hadn’t dealt with a real ghost before. Maybe it was typical of ghosts to linger on for trivial matters like this? The stories everyone hears about ghosts are much more dramatic of course, but then again most people don’t tell stories in the first place if they’re not interesting. Who would care about the story of a ghost who just wanted to go on a fishing trip?

“I’m not sure I could ever satisfy a hungry ghost,” I said. “I’m not about to go digging for corpses.”

I’m not that kind of ghost. Yuck! Just give me some nice hot soup.

“Soup? Isn’t that a boring choice for your first meal in over a year?”

No, soup is the best. There are as many types of soup in the world as there are people. You just need to change the ingredients, or even just the amount of some of the ingredients, and you have an entirely new soup. Every day you can have a soup that’s different from the last. In other words, every meal you ever have can be a new and exciting experience.

Soup is an art form, and you can spend your whole life trying to find the perfect soup. There probably is no perfect soup though—it’s all a matter of opinion after all, and there’s so many good kinds it’d be hard to pick which one’s the best… But anyways, it’s still winter time, so a hearty soup is definitely the perfect food choice. We should have some when we get to the village.

Plugging my ears wasn’t an option, so I had to accept the ghost’s lecture on the most banal food in the world. The fact she sounded so genuine though at least made me think she was serious about her wish—but would a stroll through the village and a quick bite to eat really be enough to appease her?

It was difficult to know if I could really trust someone I couldn’t even see. And given how I hadn’t interacted with a ghost before, I couldn’t be certain of her honesty. I had no true frame of reference to go off of.

All these years as a ghost expert, and I had nothing to work with at all.

* * * *

My walk with Spirit-san continued to lead into unpredictable directions. Only about twenty minutes passed before my body stopped again. What was it Spirit-san wanted now?

Is that a pond over there?

I looked through the trees and found the sheet of ice she was referring to. I walked toward it, unsure if I was only doing so because Spirit-san wanted to. The distinction between doing something for someone and doing something because of someone had become quite blurry.

“It’s frozen solid,” I said. The pond was a decent size, perhaps a hundred meters or so to walk all the way around it. It didn’t look deep, and the ice that wasn’t covered in snow was a nice dark blue.

We should go ice skating!

“Ice skating? What country do you think we’re from?” The very idea that I’d be possessed by a spirit who wanted to go ice skating…

It’ll be fun, I promise.

I had to state the obvious. “I don’t have ice skates.”

You can slide around without them. I can show you how.

“I’m just going to slip and fall.”

No, you won’t! It’ll be easy. We’ll have lots of fun. Come on, let’s go skating. What can be lovelier than ice skating together on a crisp winter evening?

Technically it wasn’t even noon yet. And it couldn’t really be ice skating together when there was only one person on the pond.

Prepare yourself, Naoki-kun! It’s time for your first skating lesson.

Spirit-san took control of my body again and tried sliding forward onto the ice. I quickly lost my footing and only managed to turn enough to keep from landing flat on my face. My right shoulder and the side of my head collided against the ice instead. I wearily rolled to lie flat on my back. An exhausted groan struggled its way through my lips.

Oooowwww, Spirit-san whimpered. That hurt a lot! Ha ha ha ha!

Suddenly the phantom had become a masochist. Or rather, a sadist! It was my body getting battered about here, after all.

Hey, let’s try again.

Did I have a choice in the matter? I shakily attempted to get back on my feet, but I slipped again, landing hard on my butt.

Oooowwww, Spirit-san whimpered again. That hurt! A lot more than I expected… Ha ha ha!

“This is hurting me more than it’s hurting you, you know.” I felt like I was in control again, and managed to get myself to stand up. I had to hunch forward and hold my arms out to either side to maintain balance, though.

There you go, you’ve got it.

“You said you were going to teach a skating lesson, right?”

I’m not sure how skating works, to be honest. I thought it’d be easier than this. But I think we’ve almost got it! Let’s keep at it a little longer.

Since I was on the ice and had already injured myself, there probably wasn’t much left to lose. It seemed best to keep going along with the ghost’s wishes for now.

One step at a time, and skate, skate, glide… Skate, skate, glide…

The directions were useless, especially since I was still trying to get myself to stand up straight. I wished there was something I could hold on to.

You’ve got it. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.

I managed to start shuffling forward. Lifting my feet would only make me slip and fall, so it felt best to keep them on the ground at all times.

Let’s do a spin, Naoki-kun. We’ll do a few spins, and then start skating backwards, holding hands. Then you can lift me off the ice, and we’ll do another spin.

It was going to be a small miracle just to make it to the other side of the pond without sustaining critical injury, but there was something infectious about Spirit-san’s delusions of skating grandeur. With each careful slide forward I wobbled in some random direction, never quite able to predict which way my body was going to go. It seemed an apt metaphor for being possessed by a ghost.

Spin, Naoki-kun, spin!

I was satisfied with shuffling forward, so I tried to just stick to that. It wasn’t long before I found myself trying to turn to the right, however, and I immediately lost my footing entirely. Since I had slowed down before turning, I at least managed to land on my hands. The ice scratched at my palms as I slid forward, but I couldn’t shift my body out of the position I found myself in. Once I slowed to a stop, I maintained this uncomfortable pose for a bit so I could work out how to get up again.

We’ll have to work on that technique some more, Spirit-san said.

I inched my hands back until I could regain my footing. Once I found my center of gravity I gradually lifted my palms off the ice and stood up straight.

The rest of the ice skating charade didn’t entail much more than me falling to the ground repeatedly. Overall the ghost seemed impressed with what little progress I was making, if it could really be called that. But maybe she really just found it funny, making me slip and fall at her expense—making me the imbecile of a manzai stand-up comedy.

I worked my way toward the edge of the pond and tripped once more. I hadn’t quite learned the proper way to stop… The end result was my entire body sprawled out in the snow. To some degree it felt like a relief. Was the frigid snow easing my pain, or was I just feeling comfort in the fact I made it off the frozen pond in one piece?

That was the greatest, Naoki-kun! It was like we were flying. There was no stopping us. Ha ha ha ha! I’ve never had so much fun before. We’ll have to do it again some time! We’ll do it again some time, right? We’ll definitely do it again some time.

Obviously we wouldn’t, but her eagerness made me smile. It was a bizarre experience to be sure, but there was a sort of fun to it.

It made me wonder about Spirit-san though. She really did seem to find joy in flailing about across the ice with a random stranger. She didn’t mind the pain that entailed. She just lived for the moment. Was that natural for a ghost? Or was that natural for her?

* * * *