What we don’t expect are the dozens of other dolls strewn around it.
Most of the dolls are unfinished or half made. Some are missing hair and eyes and facial expressions. There’re piles of arms and legs gathering dust and rust. Time has done a number on all of them, but their states of decay only make this more horrifying.
“I was right,” Kagura murmurs. “If the Kajiwaras were the doll makers of Aitou, then they would have been extremely influential. That they were the masters of ceremony might have made them the predominant family in the village after Mikage. They were very likely conspiring with the kannushi in exchange for a share of the power. Remember that he left Edo with a handful of followers after he was exiled. Some of them could have been the Kajiwaras.”
“I am so glad I found you” is all I say. I take a step forward, but Kagura stops me. “Be ready. The ghosts are irrevocably tied to their hanayome ningyō. Take the doll, and its ghost bride will most likely attack.”
“I wish I’d known that two dolls ago.”
Despite our situation, Kagura grins. At her instruction, we circle the room first, trying to ignore the profusion of doll heads and appendages. It’s the largest room we’ve seen, which only highlights the miko’s assertion that the Kajiwaras must have been very rich or very well-respected to afford this rural luxury. That didn’t seem to prevent one of their daughters from being sacrificed in the ritual, and I wonder if they resisted or simply accepted her fate.
Kagura scours one side of the room while I circle the perimeter in the opposite direction. Then she places a finger to her lips, signaling for me to stop. Her hearing is sharper than mine. I need a few seconds to detect the strange humming from the room in front of us, coming from the other side of the shoji screen.
As we watch, a shadow rises from behind it—a profile of someone with long hair streaming behind her. The silhouette rocks back and forth for several moments, and the humming continues. And then, much to my horror, I watch as it lengthens and expands, the neck rising, rising, rising, until it’s stretched several feet above from the still-reclining body.
The rising head turns. It is looking at us.
Despite my shaking knees, I manage to take several steps back. Kagura is made of stronger stuff. She glides toward the screen and yanks it open in one hard movement. The screen slides back easily, but no one is behind it, just a tatami mat and a moth-eaten kimono strung along a small clothesline.
Farther into the room, however, is a small closet.
“Kagura,” I whisper, sweating now despite the cold.
“You might want to stand behind me.” The miko’s voice is terrifyingly calm. “Grab the bridal doll as soon as I give the order.”
I obey, and she steps into the room. Back by the altar, hand poised over the doll, I watch Kagura. She must have nerves of steel. She isn’t trembling, and every step she takes toward the closet is made with such preternatural calm that she could be strolling down a street of shops in Akihabara.
Kagura’s hand slowly reaches for the door, and I brace myself for the worst. With a deft flick of her wrist, she sends the door sliding open.
There’s nothing there. Kagura swears, a rare occurrence for her.
“Language,” I chide, not sure whether to be relieved or terrified.
She turns to scowl at me. Then her face pales. “Tark!”
A voice giggles in my ear.
I snatch the doll from the altar and dash away, but I’m too slow. Pain blooms along my upper back as nails score my skin. I hit the floor hard. Instinct tells me to crawl away as fast as I’m able, and that’s what I do. There’s a heavy thunk and a brittle shriek. I risk a look behind me. A stake has found its mark, sinking into the ghost bride’s chest. Kagura is an excellent shot. The ghost ripped into my knapsack, tempering the blow before it could reach me and saving my life.
The sacred stakes have weakened her, but she closes the distance between us. Her eyes are too large for her face, her mouth too wide, and she is screaming.
Kagura runs toward me, the familiar chants leaving her lips even as she raises her arm to throw another spike. The pain in my back is getting harder to bear. I don’t think she’s going to be able to save me.
But the killing blow never comes. I feel instead of see Okiku reaching up from inside me to deflect the clawed hand. There’s a sickening crunch followed by a shrill scream.