The Girl from the Well

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Yagen Valley is a few hours’ hike away, along a small, unused road where no buses will go. The tourists along the road are even sparser at this time of year than at Osorezan. Two small hamlets are all that make up the population at Yagen. One is the Oku-Yagen, and the other is the unpopulated Yagen-Onsen. The miko says they are traveling to the latter.

“But the guidebook says Yagen-Onsen is uninhabited,” Tarquin’s father says as he consults his guidebook.

“Are we camping out?” Tarquin asks, stomping his foot on the hard ground and looking uneasy at the prospect.

The miko only smiles.

Callie is nervous. Perhaps, after all, the grinning miko is not who she says she is. There is little evidence that the miko knew Tarquin’s mother beyond what she claims, and yet they have embraced her words as the truth. This suspicion is also apparent in the father’s face, but unlike Callie, he is unaware of my presence, of the comfort Callie draws at knowing I am close by, my soundless feet padding after theirs. Only Tarquin seems unfazed, pushing on eagerly as we leave the forest path and trade it for the uncertainty of the woods.

“I’m not sure we should go any farther,” the father begins unexpectedly, but what he is about to say next is silenced when the miko calls out joyfully, “We are here!”

A smaller shrine is nestled farther into the thick of the forest, where no clear trail marks its location to outsiders. The only other visible landmark is a small well that stands beside it.

From inside, a few women emerge. Two are older than the miko by at least ten years, but the third is at least thrice as old as the oldest shrine maiden, though she stands straight and tall despite her weathered skin and her long, white hair.

“Kagura,” the old woman asks in Japanese, “are these the Halloways?”

The miko kneels on the rough-strewn trail and bows, her forehead touching ground. “This is Douglas-san and Tarquin-kun, Obaasan. And this is Tarquin’s cousin, Callie-san.”

The old woman moves along the path. Though her steps are sure, she walks slowly and with a limp. When she reaches us, she surprises everyone else by reaching out with her thin, frail arms and clasping both sides of Tarquin’s startled face, kissing each cheek and whispering in more Japanese, though the words are simple enough that her short time in Japan has taught Callie to recognize their meaning.

“Welcome to the Chinsei shrine, little Tarquin-chan,” she whispers, “Welcome to Chinsei.”





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


    Chinsei Shrine


The shrine is larger than it looks from the outside. The wooden floor is carefully swept and the furnishings austere at best, though the place can accommodate five more people easily. There is no indication that anyone else visits the shrine, located as it is within these forests unspoiled by paths.

But the dolls terrify the visitors as they enter the shrine.

Like those in Yoko Taneda’s room, they are everywhere. They stare down at the three from glass cases made in every conceivable size and shape and form.

(One doll, two.)

They are dressed in kimonos of varying colors and designs, some with hair done in a complicated coif, while others have hair left loose and flowing. Tarquin makes a strange sound and steps back, while Callie is unable to stifle her gasp. The old woman looks amused and rattles off another fresh string of Japanese.

“I apologize if our dolls make you feel uncomfortable,” Kagura translates for her. “We use these dolls for most of our rituals and exorcisms.”

“My wife used to collect dolls very much like these,” Tarquin’s father stammers.

“She was one of us, your wife. The Taneda sisters were two of the greatest exorcists of their generation.”

“You must be mistaken. My wife is no exorcist.”