According to Kagura’s map, the Hirano residence is the nearest to where we’re standing, so we make for that. I’m hoping to take a clockwise route through the village, both to systematically search out Kagura and the other men and also so I won’t need to retrace my route back to the shrine. When I loop back, hopefully it will be with all the possessed dolls in tow so I can figure out a way to burn them all at once.
I’ve noted that Yukiko Uchiyama was prowling the area near her family residence, so I presume these ghosts don’t wander too far from where they lived during their lifetime. Most of the ghosts anyway, I correct myself, remembering the ghoul who chased Yukiko away.
One-man tag takes on a whole new meaning here. I won’t need much preparation to lure in the ghosts. I can’t scrub down the walls and floors with herbs or holy water for protection. I can’t mark small circles on the floor with salt. But the dolls should be enough to attract the ghosts, which is a good thing.
But I won’t have any kind of personal protection either, which is a bad thing.
“There,” Okiku whispers as we enter. The house is worse off than the previous two. Parts of the roof have already caved in, and there’s debris and dust everywhere. I’m pretty sure I would never have found the doll by myself, but Okiku, ever the trusty metaphorical bloodhound, leads me to a large pile of rotten wood and torn fabric at the center of the room. I wish I’d brought some kind of hazmat suit, because if the ghosts won’t kill me, the mold probably will.
I grab my shirt’s neck collar and lift it over my nose, trying not to choke on the dust. Everything here is so deteriorated that I’m surprised anything is left standing. But I see a dusty mirror, the glass still intact; a smattering of broken crockery and dented cookware; and the remains of what appears to be a tea set.
My ghost walks around the heap of rubble, which is almost as tall as I am. She keeps her distance. Technically, Ki is made from the same stuff as these other spirits, distinguished from them by only a conscience and willpower the size of Tokyo. She never touches the dolls I’ve used before, because they could be used against her too and because I suspect doing so would be like touching your own grave.
I set to work dismantling the mound, clearing away the bigger rocks and wood before digging my way toward its center. Fifteen minutes later, I’ve made some progress, though my hands are bruised and cut in a few places from the occasional unexpected splinter.
“Nothing out there yet, Ki?” I grunt, manhandling a three-foot plank out of my way. The way Okiku has been staring at the woodpile, I’m surprised it hasn’t spontaneously burst into flames.
The reason for her intense scrutiny soon becomes obvious. I pull out one last piece of timber, take a look at what I’ve uncovered, and nearly drop the whole damn thing on my foot.
There’s a corpse at the center of the heap, more skeleton than flesh. It’s a woman, because scraps of kimono are still clinging to what’s left of her frame and strands of black hair are spread out around the bits where her head used to be.
Nestled within its shrunken arms is the doll I’d been looking for. It’s grimy, with parts of its kimono frayed at the edges, but compared to its owner, it’s well preserved. A little too well preserved, in fact, for something that has been decomposing for years. I remember from Kagura’s notes that most girls in small villages played with paper dolls, because most wouldn’t have been able to afford any other kind. Villagers didn’t buy these ceremonial-looking dolls as a hobby.
This has to be the hanayome ningyō. It looks like it could easily have come out of the expensive doll collection my mother used to have.
The corpse’s arms are wrapped tightly around the doll, like it was never letting it go. Eye sockets gaze up at me, daring me to approach.
“This,” I say because I really don’t want to do this, “sucks.”
I draw as close to the remains as I can and, with shaking hands, reach for the doll. I don’t want to touch the corpse. I could be infected with all sorts of bacteria and disease and madness. As a compromise, I snag a kimono sleeve, gently lifting it and the bony hand inside it up and away from the doll. Then I do the same to the other arm.
“I’m sorry.”
The corpse’s hand springs up and catches mine just as I am lifting the doll away from its chest.
I am not ashamed of shrieking. My arm whips back, and the doll follows its momentum, landing on its head a couple of yards away. I sit hard on my ass as the skeleton tries to rise to its feet, bones rattling. The rotting body twists its head in my direction and groans.
“Ki!” I scramble for the doll, my fingers finding it just as something finds my ankle. I’m dragged a few feet but retain my grip on the doll. A bad time to choose the stake for my primary weapon, considering there isn’t much flesh to stab anymore. “Ki! What are you waiting for?”
Okiku hovers beside me, a concerned look on her face as another fierce tug drags me toward the creature. I kick at its arm, and it shatters, but the corpse is beginning to crawl.
“I promised.”
“What?”