The Collector, Page 2

  M-- Okuda contacted Morris within three months of the last transcript. She apologized profusely for her absence, then in the next breath began telling him of her search into Aomori Prefecture. In many ways, her ordinary life was about to take a new and unsettling turn. Skype Transcript of *M-- Okuda, October 24 2009

  “I haven’t been...well lately, Will. But, I...I think that soon things are going to be better.

  I’ll pick up where I left off now. The very next day, I visited the temple to talk to Hosokawa about the failure of his blessing. The head priest, Moriya, explained his acolyte’s absence as having begun a pilgrimage to Ise shrine, offering his own counsel.

  I gladly accepted, telling him all that I had told his acolyte.

  Moriya listened to me ramble. Once spoken of in the clear, bright light of day...things lost their quality of being unexplainable. I remembered being frightened, but of not knowing what would happen next. “The house,” he began carefully, “there were no incidents before you moved there?”

  “None whatsoever.” I hadn’t touched the shallow Spring cup of green tea. The pungent steam curls had long-since vanished. I took it up now, embarrassed.

  “Do you know the history of the house? Was anything told to you?”

  I looked at him startled. That had never occurred to me before. Was it the house that was haunted? Hosokawa had seemed to think it was the Ii armor because of its placement before the front door serving as a kind of summons to otherworldly forces attached to it. “No, I’m sorry, I’ve never heard any stories connected to my property.” For the neighborhood famous as the ‘Garden District,’ the price had been fairly reasonable, the grounds weren’t as extensive as some of the neighboring properties nor was it by far the largest property on the block. But, still...I wondered.

  “Do you believe I’m in any danger?” I asked bluntly.

  Moriya considered my question for a few minutes, finally answering with a superior smile. “Have faith in the goodness of Buddha, my child, and everything will turn out all right.”

  I felt little comfort from the presence of the large gold Buddha within the main shrine. Though, it was true that nothing physical had happened to me, I was still on edge returning to the house; the priest’s words echoing in my head. Morisaki-san from next door wasn’t home nor were the Haradas from across the street. I had heard that most of the people whom lived on my block were newer homeowners and hadn’t lived long in neighborhood.

  Exhaustion overcame me sometime after lunch and I went for a lie-down in the den. Odd that since the housewarming, I had scarcely been in there, avoiding it for reasons even I couldn’t answer. Kicking my slippers off, I tucked my legs in, curling up on the sofa. I must’ve lain there thinking for a time about upcoming exams, calls I had yet to return. At any rate, my eyelids eventually drooped. I don’t remember consciously falling asleep...just the feeling of cold scattered earth dropping onto my upturned face...

  Damp, it clung to my eyelashes, streaked my face, smelt of wet rot and the cloying tart of copper. I struggled to open my eyes, shaking my head from side to side. The lower half of my body seemed to be in a paralysis of some sort. I couldn’t move - I had to awaken - I was being - buried alive! With a gasp, I started halfway upright, my arm shoved out in a warding gesture, my loose hair tousled in my face. That lost thought...buried alive? I shoved my hair from my face, gathering it up into a bun. Yes...that was what I imagined it felt like. The claustrophobic walls hindering freer movement, the dollops of earth shoveled by bare hands onto the inert living form within -

  I shuddered violently, looking about the walls and furnishings. Familiar as they were, my mind refused to find comfort in them. They were threatening...somehow. I had never experienced such a life-like dream before. Closing my eyes, I could still feel a sensory remnant of that cold, fetid soil against my skin. I remember glancing at the clock, startled. I’d been asleep for nearly five hours. The hours had dwindled by in that nightscape.

  I didn’t feel particularly hungry, pacing restlessly about the house. It was on the late side to pay my social calls. Heating up a noodle cup in the kitchen, I went into the study, booting up my laptop computer. A while later, I was engrossed in property history reports. My house had passed through a number of hands throughout its thirty-year history. Though, from what I could tell, there hadn’t been any reports of strange activity, no violent crimes committed on the grounds. Nothing at all like Moriya-san had suggested. I’ll admit that I was at my wit’s end. Why me? Why was this happening? Had I offended someone in a past life and now was to suffer karmic retribution? I bought into none of that spiritualism, Will, you know me well.

  I felt foolish jumping into the car, unable to admit to myself that I was afraid to sleep in my own house alone. Jiro-san should’ve returned from that business trip, I thought I could spend the night at his place then return in the morning with a better idea of what to do next. My thoughts were in a jumble as I hit the Tomei International Highway. In another twenty minutes, I was pulling into the parking lot of the high-rise complex. Jiro-san would know what to do. He always had sensible advice.

  I quickened my steps in the echoing lot. Cars were dark hulks beneath a single light post. Through the double doors, I entered the main lobby comprised of glass and steel modernity. I dialed his number, my glance straying to the glass that reflected dark night. Each ring brought a deep shudder to my soul. On the seventh ring, it was picked up.

  A woman’s voice came through, “moshimoshi?”

  “Ah...,” The words died in my throat. I stared up at the flat panel monitor on the wall through which the person on the other end of the line could see me. “Who is this?” I asked sharply. The woman released a light laugh and the line went dead. Hanging up, I called again this time receiving no answer. Infuriated, I was on the road when he called me back. He said he’d run down to the corner store to buy a pack of cigarettes. He’d seen my car pulling out of the parking lot. Jiro claimed he’d been alone the whole time even said his phone showed my call had been missed.

  I didn’t know what to believe. I’d heard that woman’s voice...I’d heard her laughter! We started to argue over the phone, all the while, Jiro maintained his innocence. I refused to believe I’d simply imagined it, or worse, hallucinated that someone had answered! That he was deliberately lying to me felt the worst of it.

  In a foul mood, I pulled into the driveway, the headlights bouncing off the darkened two-story facade. Every single light was off save for one upstairs. I slammed the car door and walked around to the front, keys ready. Stepping into the blackness of the main hall, I edged to the left, my hand gliding over the smooth stucco side, searching for the switchplate. Seconds before finding it, something unutterably cold like the frost of winter closed around my wrist. I choked on my scream, thrusting blindly at the unknown assailant. Left off-balance from my sudden motion, I flopped backward weakly, suddenly let go.

  I fell to the floor painfully, the sudden flood of lights all around, blinding. I was alone...My right hand went first to my left wrist where traces of wet soil smeared my skin into the shape of five fingertips.

  You may wonder, Will. How I slept that night? It was not easy though a mumbled recitation of holy texts pacified my mind. I had placed a few o-fuda paper talismans given to me by Hosokawa, on the door. I emailed you that night, remember? We hadn’t spoken in over a year since I’d gotten together with Yumemakura-san. In the morning, I found a reply from you, saying you’d be travelling within the next week for business.

  - End of transcript

  Now, Morris took up the thread. He had arranged the file in such a way that his version of events covers the gap between M-- Okuda’s transcripts. Morris also explained to me that was the way M-- Okuda wanted her story to be told.

  Statement of William Morris, October 24 2009

  We met at a small teahouse of her choosing in sight of Tokyo Tower. The red spire formed a picturesque background to candies served with our tea. We were
acquainted through a foreign exchange student program popular during recent times. Her aunt, Tsubame, hosted me one summer in the coastal city of Odawara; a time I look upon most fondly. It had been years since we’d seen each other in person. To be honest, I hadn’t expected communication to resume between us, thus was pleasantly surprised when she’d asked if I would meet her.

  “I wanted to ask your thoughts on a matter, Morris-san.” She said carefully.

  “Dear heavens, a matter? Could it be the reason for those dark circles under your eyes? I am very perceptive, you know.” I inquired seriously, a touch concerned.

  She demurred, embarrassment flushing life into her wan face. “Ah, no. That is... do you believe the spirit world exists?” Her eyes slid furtively around the busy cafe. “That spirits are all around us?”

  I stared at her in disbelief for moments, “M--, you don’t mean to tell me you believe in ghosts?”

  “I don’t...I-I swear I don’t!” M-- mumbled hurriedly, sounding embarrassed. “Only that there have been strange things going on at my house. I would very much appreciate you staying the night with me. Gomen! For springing this on you.” She delivered her request with a bowed head, her small hands clasping mine almost fearfully.

  As you can guess, I spent the night in the guest bedroom just to humor her. It bears noting that nothing strange occurred during the night and subsequent morning. M-- had a faculty meeting in the afternoon, leaving me to catch up on some of my paperwork. While she was gone, I had situated myself in her downstairs study. The kitchen was well-stocked so I wasn’t worried when she said she’d be back late.

  The house was styled after an Edwardian villa bearing light touches of the uniquely Asian aesthetic. I’d looked over the armor in the front hall, bemusedly imagining my broad frame fitting into the narrow platelets of leather. A majority of the rooms were barely furnished, I’d noticed. M-- had done little entertaining over the summer, leaving me to wonder whether Yumemakura Jiro was the cause. She hadn’t mentioned it at all during our conversations. Somewhat selfishly, I admit, I hoped he was out of the picture.

  The hours passed by fairly quickly, enough so that three ‘o clock chimed from a big old Meissen clock mounted on the mezzanine landing between floors. Three times it rang and I rose, stretching the kinks out of my body. I’d been going at it since before lunch. Feeling like a break, I wandered out the sliding doors out onto the west side of the property, having first retrieved my shoes from the outer hall.

  Plum trees lined the high-walled enclosure, their arrow-shaped leaves donning a garish orange hue. M-- hadn’t had much time to cultivate the yard and it showed in the beginnings of a Koi pond in the northwest corner. A few half-hearted attempts of plants were sprinkled in various nooks.

  I must’ve been walking for a good ten minutes, pausing beneath the trees, observing that very Japanese sensation of aware. I had just circled back toward the front of the house, looking for a trash can or an ash tray of sorts to stub out my cigarette when I had this strangest feeling of being watched. It was the same sort of feeling one has when seated in a quiet room reading and someone walks up behind you.

  My stomach gave a kind of funny flop, my mouth felt unusually dry, ashen from the remnants of nicotine. I stopped, facing the wall ahead. The back of my neck prickled, my heart rate sped up. Gradually, I turned toward the house - and there, in the window of the small downstairs den, a figure stood.

  I can’t say how long it was there - a second, a few minutes, only that it was there as solid as you or I. Something, I don’t know, maybe the passing of a car along the residential thoroughfare snapped my attention. I blinked and in that second, the figure was gone. In a state of agitation, I hurried into the house, determined that he should not get away - for I had decided in my head - that it was a he; though no feature had been visible.

  I searched the downstairs under the false persuasion of an intruder had somehow gotten into the house. These suspicions continued until utterly destroyed the instant I set foot inside that small den on the eastern side of the house. It was a smallish room, bookcases lined two of the walls, ahead was the fireplace made for a more aesthetically pleasing facade than usefulness. To the left of this, rounding out the house’s peculiar corner, was the window.

  A dash of cold shock went over me. I saw immediately how no one could appear standing there. For there was a heavy side table of pseudo-Chinese merit, reposing against the window casing. M-- rarely entered this room, she never said why, though I admit my imagination worked overtime as to her reasons. Approaching the window carefully, as though some one-eyed oni from a cheap Bunraku play lay in wait, I found nothing to support my previous assertion that there had been a person filling the view of the window.

  Shaken, I was about to return to the study when my eye caught sight of a fragment of paper on the floor. I bent, taking it to hand. Brought into the light, it seemed to be a fragment of a very old parchment or scroll. The paper was yellowed, brittle with age and bore a character of Asian origin that I couldn’t at first place. Unfortunately, from my handling, the scrap disintegrated to dust. Committing the character as best as I remembered it to a napkin from my pocket, I immediately searched out a dictionary of the Japanese language, retrieving a copy I’d seen in the bedroom I’d occupied upstairs.

  M-- found me perusing a heavy old tome of crabbed kanji, when she returned.

  “Will,” said she, coming over to where I had taken up residence on the garden bench outside. “What are you doing outside?”

  True, the daylight had grown wan. Long shadows crept over the house. “You won’t believe this...,” I shook my head vigorously. “But, I saw a man standing right there.” Pointing, she followed the direction of my gesture toward the house. Suddenly growing quite pale, M-- sat down beside me, drawing her arms around her torso. “A man?” she asked nervously.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re quite certain? With no...no discernible features?”

  “Couldn’t have been a living man,” said I, sensibly. “I searched top to bottom and found no one inside.” She and I both knew where that explanation led to. Our eyes met briefly. M-- rose smoothly, her voice eggshell thin. “W-We should go inside. I brought us karaage for dinner.” She mumbled something else about the food getting cold. For the uninitiated, karaage is Japanese style fried chicken, and I confess, one of my favorites. The damned woman knew my weaknesses.

  Hot food served as a safeguard against the paranormal. We ate in relative silence in the kitchen. Once filled, M-- washed the dishes rather than turn and face me. “We’re both rational adults,” I began; her small back flinched. The sound of the water drowned out her soft sigh. “Have you, yourself seen anything? Anything at all?” She had mentioned strange occurrences but with catching up ‘til late yesterday, she had diverted any talk from the house.

  “Just that once.” M-- said softly, her hands stilled beneath the water. “The neighbors and the repairman I hired two months ago, too. The lights sometimes come on in the morning. They’ve said they’ve seen a man walk past the downstairs windows. I’ve tried asking them for descriptions...you remember the trouble I had with Itou-san?”

  I simply nodded. That had precipitated her move from the small town of Odawara to the big city. One thing I’ll never get is the politeness termed toward a bastard like that. “What did they say?”

  “That it must’ve been him.” She shut the water off, drying her hands on a cotton towel lying on the counter. “Morisaki-san from next door said I should install a home security system. But, I haven’t. Oh, Will!” she burst out suddenly. “You don’t think I’m losing my mind, do you?”

  I’ve never put much stock into spiritualism, however for her sake and my sanity, I allowed that something unexplainable was going on here. I agreed further that I should spend the remainder of my trip with her. M-- expressed relief, her gratitude profuse to the point of discomforting me. In all truth, I wasn’t certain the use of my presence. Perhaps as reassurance
, perhaps to validate M--‘s secular beliefs. During the rest of the week, I kept watch for any sign of the unusual. The house despite the anomaly of that day, had location, a quiet neighborhood and a hominess to it that made my stay dare I say enjoyable?

  Nothing further was experienced that week nor up until the following Sunday night on the eve of my inevitable departure. M-- seemed disappointed nothing else had happened; I jokingly told her more than once that these ‘spiritual things mustn’t be rushed,’ a shade of an old seaside Ninsomi fortuneteller whom had read our younger selves fortunes by peering into our faces.

  She smiled wanly at my feeble attempts to lighten the mood. There had been other problems other than the preternatural. Yumemakura Jiro showed up every day at her place of work around lunchtime, asking to see her. Her refusal fell on deaf ears and he occasionally called the house when I was there that week.

  On the last night of my stay, she prepared katsudon, a dish of pork cutlets on rice. We had cans of cold beer and small bowls of fried tempura vegetables on the side. We talked of the old days, shared memories of the old castle-town. M-- laughed more than she had the whole week, seemingly lightened from her burdens. I relieved to see whatever shadow that had hung over her, had lifted. She had become the person I remembered. A little of my suspicions dwelt toward blaming Yumemakura for her previous transformation, but I mentioned it none, unwilling to break the mood.

  After dinner, we retired to the den, watching some silly variety shows until the hour had grown late. M-- dozed on the opposite side of the sofa; I closed my eyes for just a second during a commercial break. Then, started awake with all the force of cold water dashed over me. M-- looked just as confused. The TV screen on the wall had gone white with static, through the closed door from the hallway, the clock chimed two times, the hour of the ox.

  We’d fallen asleep, there could be no doubt. But, what had awakened us? As the grogginess receded from my mind, I gradually became aware of a new sound: footsteps. A heavy, limping tread that dragged on the right side. M-- gasped and stared wildly at the door. An intruder? I instantly assumed a rational explanation.

  But, the acoustics were strange, all wrong. One moment, they were crossing the opposite side of the hall, the next second they had...jumped? And were on...our side. I felt M-- beside me, she had crawled over, reaching for my arm. “It’s happening again,” she whimpered. I barely paid attention to her, listening intently.

  The hall closet, the shoe rack where our shoes were, our door. I tensed, expecting nothing, uncertain of everything. Would I see a flesh and blood person if I opened the door? Or nothing at all but the coldest, foulest air like that of a tomb? The temptation was too great for a skeptic whom had lived a life of rational reality. I leapt from the sofa, heading for the door even as she tried to hold me back.

  “Iie, Will! Kudasai! Don’t go out there!” Her broken English was interspersed with her native language, fright in her voice. M-- grabbed futility at me, but I pushed her off, my hand closing around the brass knob - the sounds ceased. Hope shone in her face as she looked from me to the door. “I-Is it over?”

  I stood still, listening. My chin slowly tipped up, my gaze going to the ceiling. There was a distant thud above. “No...it’s on the second floor.” Come Hell or akuryo, this was my last night that I could help M--, overseas, the distance was far too great. Despite her entreaties, I hurried up the flight of stairs, reaching the second floor landing. A shade of something blacker than the night, flittered down the hallway. I glimpsed its malaise crawl across the ceiling, along the floor, the sound echoing like footsteps on the roof.

  At the partially open door to the guest bedroom, I saw it slip through like a slant of darkness. I rushed to the door, gathering my courage in one fell swoop. Within, a single bedside lamp cast a pool of murky illumination upon the floor. Before my astonished eyes, the shade had coalesced into the form of a man standing in front of the closet door. Then, it simply vanished, melting through the closed portal without a sound.

  I stepped toward the closet as M-- reappeared with a handful of crumpled o-fuda. “Is it gone?” she asked timidly, waving one of the Buddhist scriptures in the air. I didn’t answer, opening the closet door. My spare clothes had already been packed into the suitcase, the closet was mostly empty with a few hangars rattling on the bar above. But on the floor...

  I rifled through the collection of bags; ignoring her query. I had just realized something very important. “It was looking for something.”

  She looked at me strangely, “what’re you talking about?”

  “That thing... that yurei, onryo, yokai...whatever the hell you people call them. It was looking for something...” I straightened, pointing down. “In here. She peered inside, confused. I’d uncovered a book of dried cherry blossoms, a photo album that had seen better days and a long white box at the very bottom. M--‘s eyes lit up, “that’s-!” But, she didn’t pick it up. “I was cleaning a while back and just brought this stuff up here to store it.” She further explained that the items in the closet comprised mostly of her housewarming gifts.

  “And the box?”

  “The box-?”

  She was strangely loathe to touch it. Though, M--‘s attitude puzzled me quite a bit, I had no such reservations as she, and promptly plucked up the box and carried it over to the bed.

  “Oh!” she gasped, but made no attempt to stop me.

  “Let’s see what’s inside, shall we?” She could have told me, she could’ve said more, but she just stood there, watching. “Why, it’s a katana! Looks on the old side better than one of those cheap imitation knock offs.” I said surprised, lifting the lid off, pushing aside the wafts of crinkled tissue paper. So, it was. A black scabbard much weathered by age bore a few cracks along its dull charcoal-colored surface. The Sage-o or hanging cord was a sad frayed mess of former color and the Kurigata cord fixture was in no less bad shape. There were a few remnants of fabric or paper seemingly torn away from it, littering the bottom.

  M-- had stayed back but now approached, her eyes going to the sword. “The paper! It had paper strips wrapped around or maybe cloth of some kind, where did it go?”

  “You mean like this?” I plucked a tattered shred from the tissue paper. “Who gave this to you? Was it Yumemakura Jiro-san?”

  “No, it wasn’t him.” She mumbled, looking away. “It came from a woman whom works with him. An OL by the name of Kiwako Arisa-san.” M-- explained how this woman had been her rival of sorts for Yumemakura’s affections and sent a few rather nasty letters to M-- during the period of their early relationship. She said that ‘Jiro-san’ had defended Kiwako’s actions, even was amused at the thought of two women fighting over him. I hadn’t thought it possible before, but my opinion sank ever lower for that man.

  “I thought that was the end of it until she showed up the night of the housewarming party.”

  In the silence that followed, my thoughts raced. “I wonder...,”

  “What?”

  But, I didn’t finish the thought because...well! It was just too improbable. Our conjecture was useless at this point since nothing could be gained with my presence. I was to leave in the morning, how could I help M-- from America? My own uselessness was damning and I retired with a heavy heart. Even then, what could a mere mortal man do against the hand of the supernatural?

  M-- drove me to the airport in the early morning hours, thoughtful in her own way. She tried to put up a brave front for me, she was scared, but didn’t know how to resolve her fears.

  You may laugh at me, Lindstrom, though I assure you I wasn’t converted by that singular appearance of the shadow. There was also that oddity of the scrap of paper I’d found in the den. I recollected it after I’d boarded the plane and we were far past the Sea of Japan. Airliners have gotten so strict on what you can and can’t bring aboard. Fortunately, I’d packed my laptop into the carryon and was easily online by noon.

  It took me quite a while, I should say, to narrow down th
e results. I’d had little to go on other than my own scribble of the character. I wasn’t wholly certain of its importance, yet gut instinct drove me on. At last, circling over Europe, I came across a familiar section in a scroll held by the Zen Center in Los Angeles, California. It was remarkably the same yet the whole formed an integral part of an binding ritual for malevolent spirits.

  - End of the statement of William Morris.

  M-- Okuda’s second transcript continues after Morris’s description of his stay in the house in Ōta Ward. Skype Transcript of M-- Okuda, October 24 2009:

  I can remember thinking I was frightened, Will, but not actually being frightened. I suppose it was because you were there. I missed company, missed the sound of our voices, your loud American ways. I tried to have Kakera Shino-san stay with me for a couple of days, but that fell through after two nights. Shino complained of cold spots hovering over her face and chest and a terrible pressure holding her down until morning’s first rays. She told me to call a monk in, but I had and nothing had worked.

  I heard the footsteps the night she left, methodical, precise. Going through all the rooms, accompanied by intense cold and the rattle of the windowpanes, the creak of the doors. Then, the dreams...horrific, realistic nightmares of clotted, cloying earth filling my mouth, my lungs, swallowing me up.

  My work began to suffer; my supervisor gave me a few days off after pulling me aside. What could I do alone? I didn’t want to return home so I went for a walk in Horai-koen, the nature preserve in Den’en Chōfu. When Jiro-san called in the evening, I answered even knowing you’d disapprove. He apologized for the way he’d been acting, asking if we could work things out. I was desperate, Will. What could I do?

  Jiro-san laughed at our feeble suggestion of Kiwako-san’s gift being the cause of the disturbances. He blamed overwrought nerves, the sensitivity of women. He said nothing when I mentioned that you had experienced some of the same things I had. Somehow, we made a truce. Jiro-san though greatly reluctant, offered to accompany me to the Kiyomizu Kannondō Temple in Ueno-koen where ningyo kuyo doll-funerals are performed annually every September. There, on rare occasions often weighing on the gravity of the situation, they offer funerals for Tsukumogami-possessed objects. Objects that have gained souls through human use and years. It hardly seemed possible a Tsukumogami was the culprit, however I went along willingly, if only because I had no other ideas.

  Though, we explained the situation, they were reluctant to go to the extremity of destroying the katana and instead had me offer it to the Goddess Kannon, where after the brief ceremony, it would take up a place in a small back room of the temple where other objects of rarity were kept. They seemed to sense something about it, something that they warned against destruction as the means of ridding myself of it. Left with a mellow feeling of peace, we left the slopes of Ueno-koen together.

  “Better?” Jiro-san asked me.

  “Definitely.” I replied serenely. We spent the day out, had dinner at a favorite restaurant. It was dark by the time we were on Tomei highway, chatting easily, avoiding any mention of the subject which we had participated in earlier in the day. The expanse of road darkened as we entered a new stretch. Jiro-san was asking if I would leave Japan with him. We had talked over his company’s transfer over dinner, weighing the pros and cons of moving into a foreign country.

  “You don’t have to answer now.” He said and that moment lasts forever in my mind as a moment between life and his death before my eyes.”

  M-- furnished another clipping, since Morris compiled everything, he thought its placement here, fitting: