Ghost Hunt 
by No. 13

It was a sharp, cold wind tearing at Tezuka’s coat when he rounded the corner to the street Fuji lived in. With a shudder he cast a doubtful glance at the stormy sky above, wondering absentmindedly whether the heavy grey clouds would open up as soon as the wind died down. Was there going to be a storm? Perhaps even the first snow storm of the year?

Snow would be nice, he thought idly, only dimly aware of the cold creeping through his coat. Snow always brought a sense of tranquillity. And he’d been feeling rather restless, worn-out even, lately.

Snow meant time to sit inside, time to enjoy a cup of good tea. Time to think. To order his mind. Maybe to cast away all those frightening ideas the last two days had brought him, to re-establish his inner balance.

Well, Tezuka thought, looking at the ever-green growing on man-high garden walls to his left, perhaps Fuji wouldn’t mind if he stayed over for a cup of tea. Because there were a lot of things Tezuka honestly wanted to talk about, a lot of questions he wished to have answered– but only if Fuji was healthy enough.

Subconsciously biting his lip, Tezuka once again saw the memory of last night flashing in front of his eyes. Blood on blue cotton… His heart clenched.

If there was anything he could do to help, he’d gladly do it. If there was anything…

Then again, this sudden sense of desperation, the intensity of this desire was a little strange, Tezuka thought, eyes tracing the path of leafless branches traces to the grey above. Frightening, even if he didn’t feel scared.

Yet it was with gentle bewilderment that he acknowledged this longing to make sure Fuji was alright, to reach out and hold him. Hold him close to make sure he wouldn’t slip away…

Was that friendship? Was that guilt? Or was it something far, far more enormous?

Looking at the cactus and the wasabi sushi, well-wrapped and safely stored in their paper bags, Tezuka couldn’t help but wonder at himself. Wasn’t this the Fuji equivalent of roses and chocolates?

Maybe so, but Tezuka could see Oishi smiling gently, shaking his head and saying this was just another way of expressing ‘I care’. And friends do care for each other, don’t they?

But if this was friendship, what had been between him and Fuji before?

‘It’s a crush! It’s a crush!’ would most certainly be an excitedly laughing Kikumaru’s comment on Tezuka’s dilemma, while Inui would rattle of the statistical possibilities before launching into a lengthy explanation on the possible involvement of Tezuka’s overly strong sense of responsibility and the resulting impression of guilt.

Shaking his head to chase away all those alien thoughts, he crossed the front yard, climbed the three stairs leading to the door and rang the doorbell.

And waited, watching leafless trees bend and shudder in the wind, their vivid brown bleached a colourless black by grey clouds above.

No sound emerged from inside the house, no movement within and Tezuka wondered whether Fuji was asleep or whether he had to go to a hospital, in spite of last night’s reassurances. He really hoped his friend’s condition hadn’t worsened overnight, or anything else…

The driveway was empty, dead leaves blown past by a rough gust of wind the only thing moving. It was getting colder by minute, it seemed, and no sign of life from the inside.

What if… ?

Heartbeat quickening, yet forcing himself to remain calm, Tezuka rang again, longer this time, more urgently. He could hear a car passing in the distance, the odd, dull roar of midday traffic somewhere far away, but the silence remained suffocating.

Nothing happened.

Maybe they had gone to see a doctor, maybe they had gone to a hospital, hell, maybe they’d gone out to buy groceries. Maybe Yumiko was still at university and Fuji was resting. Maybe everything was alright.

But his heart was pounding loudly, and his hands felt frozen when amid the howling wind and fluttering dead leaves Tezuka reached for the doorknob.

And the door slowly swung open.

Tezuka’s heart faltered. Why hadn’t the door been locked? Why was…

Wide-eyed, hands trembling with barely suppressed tension, he looked into the dark corridor, finding only open doors and no sign of movement. Nothing in disarray, nothing disturbed – just abandoned. For a split second, the mansion’s entrance room flashed in front of Tezuka’s eye, overlapping dangerously with this corridor.

The tasteful décor, the armchairs and paintings, this soulless and lost sensation…

And then it was gone, Tezuka found himself standing on the front step again, starring dazedly into a half-dark corridor. Fuji was not here, an odd voice in his head whispered. Not here, not here, not here.

A rustle outside, caused by a strong gust of wind, and Tezuka suddenly sensed movement at his feet. His head spun, yet he turned to look down, ignoring the sense of disorientation blurring his perception.

A black leaf fluttered by. Past his black loafers, out of the door to join the other wildly dancing leaves.

… but it had been no leaf.

With his breath caught Tezuka saw what he wished not to see. It were no leaves scattered over the polished floor tiles. Black petals danced merrily, mockingly in front of his disbelieving eyes, passing him on their way out from where those death-coloured flowers were lying.

The pieces fell into place.

Tezuka closed his eyes, drawing a shaky breath to calm himself, while his mind was racing. ‘Think logically.’ He ordered himself, ‘Be rational!’

Were he to be rational, Tezuka acknowledged, he could still contemplate the option of a rejected girl spreading terror through black flowers. That this had nothing to do with a ghost, with a drowned little girl, with Fujiwara Amane and a fourhoundred-year-old vow.

And the wind’s howl outside rang like mocking laughter.

Damn. They’d thought there still was time. They’d gathered the facts last night and had been too exhausted to think much on them. And had made the terrible mistake of overlooking that their enemy hadn’t been exhausted and wasn’t likely to rest, now that all conditions had been fulfilled.

Some-sixty humans dead, some to remain nameless forevermore. Two spirits bound to defy the laws of nature. And his friend gone without a trace, perhaps to be…

‘A vessel…’ ,he heard Fujiwara’s words rings, truly cold and malicious, now, that he understood their true content, now that he finally saw what she had known all along. Why the hell had he been so blind, why hadn’t Fuji-san noted it either?

It should have been clear – Fuji’s own talent, the fact that he’d already been possessed by her spirit once, her ambiguous speech – and yet they’d spectacularly failed.

He felt like fainting right here.

Tatsunori Ichirou had killed enough souls to revive his beloved. That little, five-year old girl had been the last one to die, since Tezuka had escaped. And Fuji was going to be the vessel – everything right out of a horror movie.

He’d seen it coming and done nothing. Now, standing on the threshold of an empty house with black roses on polished floor tiles and overcast skies against his back, he could only cling onto a desperate hope.

Hopefully it wouldn’t be too late for his friend yet.

“Are you waking up?” he drawled.

A weak, wet cough was the only answer. The body on the floor trembled and Fuji turned his head into that voice’s direction. Feverish blue eyes met abysmal dark ones, a silent, hopeless plead expressed in vain.

“It’s not quite time yet.”

Another cough racked the frail frame and a thin trail of blood trickled from Fuji’s mouth. Pale lips gasped for air, he could barely cling onto consciousness, yet he knew…

Knew that if he gave in now, all would be lost.

Underneath the ghost’s curiously watching eyes, Fuji rolled onto his stomach. The motion made him see stars, yet he could feel the adrenalin kicking in.

“Though, the ceremony will begin soon” Tatsunori stated, grey fog swirling to assume an upright posture. The chalk clattered onto a tiled floor covered in obscure markings. Fuji pushed himself up, slowly rising to his knees.

The world was spinning and he felt sick, he wanted to lie down again; knew his body would pay him back for every further step tenfold, knew that the pain was going to be unbearable once it caught up. But he had no choice.

Tatsunori Ichirou let a wide, expectant grin spread across his face. “You will need to get ready, too.”

Fuji, for the second time, raised his eyes to see the ghost descending.

Who knew what Fuji was going through this moment? Had the ghosts already begun? How long had his friend been gone anyway? How was his cold? Was he still…

Panting, he managed to catch the subway about to leave for the outskirts, squeezing into an overcrowded train without paying any attention to the frowns he received in turn. His fingers were already dialling the number of Fuji Yumiko’s mobile with the other hand.

Maybe she knew. Maybe just maybe…

There had been black roses on the floor. Tezuka closed his eyes, bit his lip and admitted to himself that even if all rational explanation failed, he ought not to cling onto any futile hopes.

The phone kept ringing and ringing and ringing.

And nothing happened. Fuji Yumiko refused to pick up. Tezuka dared not to think of what could be the reason. Hopefully she was only out, buying groceries or whatever. Hopefully not…

Biting his lip, Tezuka settled for texting her. It was odd, putting this situation into words. Made everything seem smaller, less important than it really was – and then he slumped down into his seat, burying his head in his hands, while outside, somewhere behind the grey storm clouds the sun begun to descend.

He didn’t know where he was, he realized, even though he might just be delirious. There remained just enough clearness in his mind to grasp that thought and hold onto it, while the rest of his senses were drowned by fever.

Shivering with cold, but burning up at the same time. Suffocating darkness, yet there seemed to be a light somewhere. Cold hard ground, but layers of soft fabric…

Maybe nothing of this is real, Fuji thought, trying to breath even though the constriction around his chest had worsened, maybe he was lying in his bed at home, delirious, and worrying his poor sister.

Maybe…

A violent cough shattered the beautifully warm-coloured picture his mind had been painting into a thousand cutting pieces. It hurt, physically; a sore burning in his throat, pain erupting from his lungs and exploding in his head.

He could taste blood in his mouth when the cough abated, but refused to consider the implications. Shivering weakly, he dazedly blinked into the light’s direction, trying vainly to collect himself.

The sense of tranquillity permeating those wistful wishes his mind had tried to stick onto a barren reality had irrevocably faded, abandoned Fuji to stagnant darkness and motionless air.

There were no windows he could see, he dimly realized, no door either. Walls, crumbled shelves and dust… and somewhere amid those a lonesome candle, it’s flame quietly eating away at the wax.

Dark foreboding befell Fuji’s senses.

This was not a beacon of hope.

It was his steadily shrinking lifelight.

For a moment Tezuka faltered. A strange sensation overcame him, something didn’t feel right in the air. Maybe it was only the wind, maybe the twilight. Maybe the complete lack of anything living… maybe he ought to call for help, ought not to charge ahead alone.

‘And abandon Fuji?’ he mentally asked himself.

Drawing a deep breath, and steeling himself, Tezuka put away his cell phone. He’d not call for help. Not his parents either. They’d be as helpless against the ghosts as he himself. If worse came to worst…

They’d notice his absence if he didn’t make it back in time for dinner. They’d grow suspicious should he fail to answer his mobile. Maybe dinner was still hours away, but if…

Just in case …

And then he took off running.

No soul passed him on his way to the old building. The vines were shivering in the wind, whispering to themselves; the old trees’ branches trembling as if possessed. It was still daylight out here, yet it felt like a nightmare.

With baited breath Tezuka pushed open the old iron gates. His heart pounded madly and he almost couldn’t believe what he was doing, having spent the entire, two hour train ride alternating between driving himself insane with worry or envisioning himself walking into…

… what?

What was expecting him behind the closed door? What kind of scene would he find… Or would he be dead before he had time to realize?

A soft click behind him, the door fell shut once again. There was an odd sense of finality to that noise that sent shivers down Tezuka’s spine. Fear gripped his soul in a previously unknown intensity, but he couldn’t back down now. He couldn’t turn back, couldn’t …

‘No.’ Tezuka told himself, even as a black crow fluttered down from the second story roof. ‘I made a decision.’

The bird landed on the fence, cocking his head and watching the newcomer with obvious interest. Was it waiting for him to enter and meet his fate?

Tezuka stepped on the stairs. Stepping inside meant stepping into the ghost’s own territory. He’d be a sitting duck there…

Crows meant death.

Tezuka looked at the imposing dark wooden door, trying to order his reeling mind, trying to suppress fear and anxiety long enough to clear his head. He had to keep his senses about him. Storming in heedlessly wouldn’t help Fuji; would be utterly suicidal.

Maybe he should go around and try glancing through the windows. It was still light enough out here to see the inside, and even though he wouldn’t be able to check the second floor like that, he prayed he’d find a clue on the first one.

Hurrying along the mossy, overgrown path that lead around the house and into the expansive backyard, Tezuka had to stop to catch his breath. Bending over, he wearily raised his head to survey the scenery.

Instinctively every nerve in his body tensed, urging him to distrust the undisturbed, tranquil garden with its enormous ponds, little bridges, hedges, leafless trees and evergreens. The water lay dark, undisturbed but by a few ruffles caused by the wind. Leaves flew by, playful, frightening, dead and yet in motion.

Following the path of an odd coloured leaf, Tezuka suddenly saw something else. Something that made his heart beat faster.

The teahouse.

Far out into the garden, only visible due to the seasonal lull of vegetation, he made out white walls and a dark roof, adorned with faded ornaments. Old, worn, but yet beautifully preserved in this autumn scenery of death and decay.

‘I died there waiting…’

Tezuka’s eyes snapped wide open.

Logic dictated he ought to search the house first. It was the ghost’s centre of power, the first possession had taken place in there – but a subtle sense, a voice Tezuka had never ever heard before, whispered to him that he had to go into the teahouse.

That secret room Fujiwara Amane had mentioned…

But did it still exist? And if, was it of any consequence? Logically, no, but…

For a moment he was torn between the options. Heart beating frantically he glanced both ways, until kissing rationality goodbye and taking off for the teahouse, not even caring if the ghost heard his approach.

The path beneath his feat was mossy, overgrown and barely visible, yet even over the desperation Tezuka felt like he was going into the right direction. Perhaps it was desperation, or the adrenalin kicking in, yet he recklessly tore through overgrown bushes.

He didn’t even notice the sharp branch leaving a bloody scratch along his cheek, when he practically jumped onto the porch. Out of breath and trembling with fear he stepped forward on ancient, creaking wood.

The spirits most certainly had already noted his presence, there was no need for secrecy. All he wanted was to get Fuji out of here, alive and unharmed. Nothing besides that mattered now.

He reached out and wrenched open the sliding door without stopping; the old, papery thin contraption burst inward, blown out of its frame. Frantically, mad with anxiety and with sweat dripping down his back, Tezuka looked around, searching for any hint.

Nothing was there, the room completely empty, empty even of dust and leaves. White had long since faded to grey and the tatami covered floor had seen better times, but there was absolutely nothing.

‘Underneath the teahouse…’

With shivering hands he dropped onto his knees, knocking on the floor, testing the tatami for anything, anything at all.

Maybe he was wrong, a malicious voice in his head was whispering, maybe you should have gone to the main house immediately. Maybe Fuji will die now, because you made a wrong decision. It’ll all be your fault…

‘Shut up.’ Tezuka firmly told himself. He’d never panicked before, and now was the wrong time to start.

With a grim smirk of satisfaction he heard his last knock resound hollowly. This is it, he told himself, dizzy with excitement and disbelief – he still couldn’t fathom what he was doing, that it was him, stoic, ever-rational and calm captain of Seigaku’s tennis team, who’d rushed headless to a friend’s rescue.

Tearing the tatami away violently, he found the old trapdoor. Trembling fingers grabbed the knob, wrenching the ancient construction open. Dimly he wondered if he was the first person to use it after four-hundred-years. And shuddered.

Dispelling the thoughts, he glanced into an abyss. It was dark, black even, he thought at the first moment. Until his eyes made out the outline of a steep ladder leading down. Some light had to be burning down there, else he wouldn’t be seeing down so far.

Fear suddenly gnawed at his insides. Did he dare to climb down there, with nobody knowing where he was? Did he dare to climb under the earth without a safe way back up? Would he climb down never to return again?

“Hello? Is …” Coughing. “Is somebody … there? Hello?”

AN: “lifelight” – (superstition in Germany (other places too?), that hardly anybody believes in anymore) tallest candle on your birthday usually represents your “lifelight”. Should that candle go out or fall over before you blow it out yourself it means bad luck – in a more extreme reading could even mean death.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it and if you have suggestions or comments, please share them with me.

On to Chapter 14~