The Girl from the Well

“You’re not afraid? Of Okiku?”


“So you even know the onryuu’s name.” Those soft brown eyes are on her again, but the miko somehow looks sad. “As I have said, Callie-san, you are an unusual girl, but I do not mean this in a bad way, and I apologize if I offend you by saying so. Sometimes it is better to be a little unusual every now and then than to be common all the time.” Then she sighs and will say nothing more of the matter.

The guests find the boiled eel served at dinner delicious, and Tarquin’s father decides they should all turn in early for the night. “It’s not like we’ve got much choice, anyway,” says Tarquin, who is eager to rest but does not want to admit that his quick expedition into town has sapped his energy. “Practically everything here’s closed for the night.”

But Callie cannot sleep. A few hours later, she rises from her futon and crosses the room, careful not to wake the others, and hopes that the crisp evening air will soothe her troubled mind.

She is not the only one awake in the little house. Kagura the miko is out in the small garden, once more dressed in her traditional haori and hakama skirts, socks painted green by the grass and wet from the dew. She is kneeling over a small Jizo shrine, and in her hands she holds a doll not unlike those that Yoko Taneda once collected. She places this before the small shrine, murmuring under her breath. Callie stands half hidden behind the shoji and watches her, unsure of whether to interrupt.

What she does not expect is the sudden rage of wind that hurtles through, as if threatening to blow down the house and everyone inside it.

It comes like a screech of sound, an inhuman wail. To Callie, it feels like a sudden hurricane has set down on top of them. She shrinks back inside, clutching at the wooden frame of the doorway, trying to keep from being sucked outside into the howling winds. The miko is unaffected, weathering the gale without difficulty. Her long hair billows out behind her like a dark sail, as patches of stone and soil fly past. When a large rock rushes too close to her face, she calmly lifts a hand and plucks it from midair.

“Begone,” she says, like an unnatural tempest is of little substance.

Something forms within the violent gusts. Callie expects this to be the face of the masked woman, but instead it is an unfamiliar face—a beady-eyed man with a quivering chin and a long face, nearly skeletal in its shape and form. He opens his mouth and bays like an angry wolf, but the miko is unmoved. She raises the tiny doll.

“Begone,” she says again.

The face in the wind twists in anguish, as if struggling against another unseen force. Finally, it gives one last shriek of despair before it dissipates completely. The rest of the swirling winds sweep toward the doll, seem to settle on it, and disappear.

The miko sits back and sighs.

“It is a small imp, a demon of little consequence,” she says without turning around. “A malicious spirit, but more one who looks fearful than one who should be feared. Tarquin-kun attracts its attention, one of the reasons why he has been falling sick in Tokyo. The ghost living inside him has weakened his energy and makes him more susceptible to possession than others. And in Japan, there are far too many ghosts wishing for such an opportunity.

“The onryuu, your Okiku, has a different kind of malice in her, more powerful, but one she modifies to a nobler purpose. And she is strong. Very strong. This strength enables her to leave her haunting grounds and move freely about. She has wandered around the human realm as a spirit for far too long, and it will take more than this simple exorcism to set her free, though I suspect she has become too accustomed to this existence to do so willingly.”