The Girl from the Well

And yet nothing happens.

But by the third hour it becomes obvious that something has taken hold of the shrine. The small wind chimes that hang by the entrance, greeting each gust and whisper of air that enters, have now fallen silent, barely stirring in the sudden stillness. Something creaks along the floor, though no one moves. Callie, sitting just outside the circle, sees the looser floorboards bend under some unseen weight, as if an invisible foot treads on them. The creaking sounds circle the dolls and the mikos beside them, like an invisible beast stalking prey.

If the others are aware of this unseen intruder, they give no sign. But at the obaasan’s signal, the other mikos begin chanting in unison, a chorus of voices and sutras that crackle through the air with hidden power. The creaking increased in retaliation, an invisible tantrum stamping angrily about.

Callie suddenly understands. The mikos and dolls are creating a barrier between Tarquin and the unseen spirit, preventing it from gaining access to his body. Slowly and painstakingly, they are severing her connections to him.

Something begins to scream, but it comes from no physical source. Shriek after shriek rings out, howls of rage echoing up to the nearby mountains. Callie presses herself against one corner, arms clapped around her head to drown out the horrible sounds. And still the mikos remain unaffected and chant on. Tarquin stares up at the ceiling, never blinking, and gives no indication he hears the tumult around him.

In time the screams grow weaker, as if the screamer has been drained of most of its strength. At another gesture from the obaasan, the chants increase in volume and speed, and the old woman lifts the ichimatsu doll over her head, shouting triumphantly. The floor begins to rattle, as does everything inside the Chinsei shrine. Dolls that do not take part in the ritual topple to the floor, cracks appearing in the display glass. Heavy bowls containing water slosh noisily, and from above, a wooden beam actually splits in two, showering sawdust and splinters onto the mikos below. Callie gasps, but the shrine maidens have nerves of steel and do not flinch.

Despite the growing violence around them, there is peace within this ring of dolls, and Tarquin remains untouched. The obaasan does not waver. The doll remains aloft, and Callie sees how the pupils of its eyes dilate and contract. A cold wind picks up, and the young woman spots a faint figure clad in black struggling against this air, helpless as it is drawn closer and closer to the doll. Inch by grudging inch it gives way, until finally the figure is sucked right into the doll’s prim rosebud mouth. Something wails loudly one last time and then stops. The wind dies down, and from outside, the wind chimes ring again.

The obaasan has stopped chanting, and so have the other mikos. With hands that now betray themselves by their trembling, the old woman sets the doll down beside Tarquin’s head. Brief sighs erupt from around the other mikos, sounds of relief. Tarquin does not get up from the floor, however, and stares at something above him. The strange tattoos around his body have finally disappeared.

“It is done,” the obaasan says with finality. Callie stares at the boy’s prone body, unsure why Tarquin does not move, why he does not look like he is breathing.

“Tarquin-kun,” Kagura says, “the ritual is over now. You can get up now. See? The tattoos are gone.”

And still Tarquin says nothing. The satisfied look on the mikos’ faces changes abruptly to one of concern when he does not move. His chest does not rise and fall, and he does not blink.

“Tarquin-kun?”

Saya crouches over the prone boy, frowning. And then she gives a small cry of alarm and turns one of his wrists over.