“Stay on the marked paths. There aren’t a lot of them, so always remember to keep to the buddy system and know where your partner is at all times. Don’t stray from where you can see your group. If you see anything unusual, call out to others before investigating.”
Most of the local residents, we discover, call Aokigahara “Jukai”—literally, the Sea of Trees. Despite the number of tourists that visit each year, most refuse to even set foot inside the forest, believing that spirits and demons lurk in it.
Our leader also warns us about other possible dangers, and we’re each handed whistles to wear around our necks in case we need to call for assistance. There’s a chance we could get lost, that we could trip and injure ourselves, and—this is what chills me—that we might find dead bodies as we search. Aokigahara isn’t called the “suicide forest” for nothing, I suppose.
It’s still early morning when our group is given clearance to enter. Aokigahara is a deceptive forest. It has all the hallmarks of a popular tourist destination: narrow but well-maintained hiking trails with a surprising amount of litter, not to mention strips of tape and ribbon wrapped around tree trunks. The leader explains that hikers use them as markers to maintain their bearings. Later on, one of the other volunteers whispers to us that some of the tapes were left by those who came here to kill themselves, in case they decided to change their minds. The revelation horrifies Callie.
A few miles into our hike, anything resembling civilization disappears. Roots crawl across the hard forest floor, and it’s easy to trip if you’re not constantly looking down. We’re outside, but the trees make it feel claustrophobic. They reach hungrily toward the sun, fighting each other for drops of light, and this selfishness grows with the darkness as we move deeper into the woods.
It’s quiet. The silence is broken by the scuffling of feet or snapping of dry twigs as we walk. Every so often, volunteers call back and forth to each other, and rescue dogs exploring the same vicinity that we are will bark. But there are no bird calls, no sounds of scampering squirrels. We’re told that there is very little wildlife in Jukai. Nothing seems to flourish here but trees.
This deep into the woods, any roads and cleared paths are gone. At times, we’re forced to climb to a higher ledge or slide down steep slopes to proceed, and there’s always some root or rock hiding to twist an ankle.
And yet—the forest is beautiful. I like myself too much to seriously think about suicide, even during my old bouts of depression, but I can understand why people would choose to die here. There is something noble and enduring and magnificent about the forest.
That sense of wonder disappears though, the instant I see them. There are spirits here. And the ghosts mar the peacefulness for me. They hang from branches and loiter at the base of tree trunks. Their eyes are open and their skin is gray, and they watch me as I pass. I don’t know what kind of people they were in life, but they seem faded and insignificant in death.
Okiku watches them but takes no action. These are not the people she hunts. They don’t attack us because they’re not that kind of ghosts. Most of them, I intuit, aren’t violent. The only lives they had ever been capable of taking were their own.
I’m not afraid, despite their bloated faces, contorted from the ropes they use to hang themselves or the overdose of sleeping pills they’ve taken. If anything, I feel lingering sadness. I can sympathize with their helpless anguish. These people took their own lives, hoping to find some meaning in death when they couldn’t find it in life. But there’s nothing here but regret and longing.
And there’s that tickle again, so light it is nearly imperceptible. Something in this forest attracts these deaths. It lures its unhappy victims with its strange siren’s call and then, having taken what it needs, leaves their spirits to rot. A Venus flytrap for human souls.
Something is wrong here, and suddenly, the forest no longer looks as enticing or majestic as when we arrived.
The faded ghosts bow low to Okiku as she drifts past, and she nods in turn. Many bow their heads to me too. I gulp.
“What’s wrong?” Callie whispers, tugging at my hand.
Telling her about the ghosts would be counterproductive. The last thing I want is for Callie to hyperventilate in this middle of nowhere. So I say, “Nothing. This place just gives me the creeps.”
“I don’t know.” Callie looks around. “If there weren’t all those stories about the suicides, I’d think it was a lovely place to visit.”
“That’s how it pulls you in.”
My cousin shoots me an odd look but doesn’t push it.
Shouts ring out from the other side of the woods, and the volunteers break into hushed murmurings. “I think one of the dogs found a body,” I translate for Callie, fear rising in my chest.