Surrounding us are human-sized cocoons. In the beam of my flashlight, they writhe in their silk prisons, pushing and prodding against the threads binding them. My encounters with them tell me that they’re not dangerous, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to bolt out of the cave all the same, even if it means running into the ghost priests again.
Okiku stares intently at the massive demon effigy above us.
“Okiku, do you know what this is?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she continues toward the stone shrine, still entranced by the face looming above us. The altar is stained a rust color, and by the time Okiku speaks again, I realize why.
“This place is a killing field. This place begs for blood.”
Okiku stands to one side of the grotesque chantry, looking at something behind it. I move to follow her line of sight. There is a large pit behind the altar, and the smell of rot and decay grows as I approach.
There are bones inside the pit—enough that I cannot see its bottom, only the pile of yellowed cartilages and skulls that serve as its bedding. I don’t doubt that I am looking at the villagers who defied their leader, Hiroshi Mikage. And then I shudder, knowing that among those bones are the remains of the unfortunate men who were betrothed to the ghost girls. This was the vision Kagura saw from the Konno girl and the vision I saw at Mineko Kunai’s.
But there is something else in the pit; another corpse is sprawled atop the bones. Its head is tossed to one side so that it is looking straight at me, and what is left of its arm is raised parallel to its chin. Bits of flesh still cling to its bones. This man hasn’t been here as long as the others, and in this cool, damp cave, who knows how long it would take for him to putrefy.
A long, jeweled dagger is thrust into the corpse’s body between its ribs. None of the other skeletons show any evidence of how they were killed, and none of the ghost girls I’ve encountered favor stabbing their victims with knives—though I can vouch that their fingernails are sharp enough to do the job.
“He is not one of them.”
“I think so too. His clothes look different from the other ghosts’.” As I shine my flashlight into the pit, a glint on the body catches my attention. A small jewel is tied to the corpse’s neck by a piece of string. I know what it is!
“Ki, that’s a magatama.” I swallow, now knowing who the poor man is. I’ve seen the necklace in Kagura’s photo. “That’s Kagura’s dad. Kazuhiko Kino. It has to be.”
Okiku’s silence is all the affirmation I need.
I can almost hear Kazuhiko telling me what I need to do, and I know I can’t leave until I do it.
“I don’t suppose you could retrieve the magatama for me, Ki?” The last time I tried to pillage from a skeleton, things didn’t go according to plan.
Okiku shakes her head. Spirits can’t handle certain holy objects, and I suppose the magatama falls into that category.
“Right. Help me find some rope.”
I find a lengthy piece coiled up in a corner, making sure to avoid the squirming cocoons while I’m at it, telling myself I’ll deal with them later.
The altar is the closest immovable object to the pit, so I tie one end hastily around its leg and then dump the rest of the rope into the hole, giving it a few tugs to ensure my knot won’t unravel. I relinquish my backpack, setting it near the edge of the pit, then use the rope to lower myself into the hole, trying not to focus on the death around me, the smell of the open grave, and the sickening noise my feet make when they came into contact with a hapless skull. I tread warily toward Kazuhiko’s remains, wincing whenever the cushion of bones can’t handle my weight and I sink in ankle-deep.
I slip on a bleached head that’s smoother than I expect and land on my hands and knees, hovering above Kagura’s father. A tiny white maggot chooses that moment to crawl out of the corpse’s eye sockets, and I draw back with a shudder. Not wanting to linger, my fingers find the magatama, and I lift it from his neck. At the last minute, I snatch the jeweled dagger as well, because I figure any added protection would be welcomed.
The invisible spiders crawling up my spine have multiplied and wriggle over every inch of my skin. I’m familiar enough with that feeling to know something’s about to happen, and I don’t want to be in the pit when it does.
I am halfway up the rope when I hear the scuttle of bone, the angry slide of femur against rock. The clacking sound only makes me quicken my pace, and for once, I’m smart enough not to look back until I’ve hauled myself to the side of the pit, flailing a little with my arms so that my chin hits the ground. For a brief moment, I swear something brushes against my leg, but I grit my teeth and kick back, then crawl the rest of the way out.
Okiku is perched on the edge, coolly assessing the situation. “Brat,” I growl at her but not with much grumpiness. If she’s not attacking, the ghosts are not hostile.