Ghost Hunt 
by No. 13

“What did you do?” Fuji gasped, turning to the person that stepped from the darkness behind Tezuka’s motionless form. His fingers unconsciously gripped the soft material of Tezuka’s coat even tighter. Tremors were coursing through Fuji’s body, but he stubbornly remained clutching his friend’s unconscious body.

Seigaku’s buchou was slumped against the cold iron bars, kept half-upright there by Fuji’s arms, eyes closed in unnatural respite and a golden hairpin still loosely clutched in a half-opened fist.

As for the other person - pale, greyish skin and dark eyes twinkled with frightening, cold mirth in the flickering candlelight.

“Nothing yet. Though I could think of several things…”

“Don’t touch him!” Fuji interrupted fiercely, before coughs once shook his small frame. And when the ghost only kept smirking down at him, he abandoned his dignity, drawing himself to his knees and begged.

“Please! Don’t touch him! He hasn’t anything to do with this! He … He isn’t whom you’re after!”

Tears were burning in his eyes and his heart was throbbing with desperation. It felt like falling down a spiralling black abyss; he only kept falling deeper and deeper and there was no ground to meet, no hold to find, nothing to cling onto…

… he could only try his best not to drag Tezuka down with him. He’d already done so much – had stepped into a world he would under normal circumstances have not even acknowledged, tried to believe in the paranormal oddities that would have send anybody else run screaming.

And even after everything… even after Fuji himself had tried to take his life, Tezuka had come to save him.

“Please!” Fuji whispered, voice choked by tears, “Please.”

Hanging his head in wordless submission, ignoring the dizziness sending his senses spinning, he concentrated on the feeling of Tezuka’s body in his arms. Maybe for the last time…

The slight rise and fall of his chest… the dark, unruly hair tickling his nose… the smooth, unblemished skin… Tezuka, Fuji realized with a painful twinge, was still much of a child. Too much of one to die here, to die in a setting that most adults would never have braved.

Therefore…

“Please…. Please… I’ll… I’ll do anything.”

Tatsunori Ichirou tilted his head in mock contemplation. “Ah, now, if I promised to leave him alone – you would stop resisting? You would follow me and allow the ceremony to happen?”

It was, Fuji had to acknowledge, a rather generous offer. With his body as weak as this he had little chance of escaping his fate anyways. Even if his heart broke, when he thought about all the hopes he had clung onto only minutes ago. The rush of relief that had soared through his body when he’d heard Tezuka’s familiar voice, when he’d felt the warmth of buchou’s hands.

Had it all been too good to be true? Couldn’t, just for once, just this time his prayers been answered? Hadn’t he seen enough?

That girl, when he’d barely been five. He’d been her, when she’d been killed. His grandparents’ death, the night he and his sister had run through half of Tokyo in the rain, trying to reach the side of the accident before they did…

Hadn’t it been enough? Couldn’t – only this time…

No, Fuji told himself, trying to gather himself. Desperation was useless, not, when his life was as good as over anyways. He had known all along, that this moment would come. From the first time he’d set foot into this very house, he’d felt it.

Nee-san’s strange behaviour – she must have known, too. Or at least have had an inkling.

Fighting the inevitable wouldn’t change the outcome, he knew from bitter experience. So, now, that his time had come and he couldn’t save his own life … it didn’t mean he couldn’t do anything for anybody else.

There was no need for him to die lamenting his own fate, not, when he could repay the one person that had dared to stand up against the wheels of fortune. The one who had tried to defy fate and come to his rescue, braving insane ghosts and certain death.

If his death would protect Tezuka’s life, then he could still die without regrets.

“Yes.” he replied, voice deadened, “I’ll be your vessel and you’ll leave Tezuka alone for the rest of his life.”

Tatsunori Ichirou smiled, recognizing a kindred sentiment. “Very well. A life for a life. I’ll give you my word. And now, it’s time.”

Tezuka woke up to a pounding head and total darkness. The small candle had long since burnt out and night had fallen – at least, down here, underneath the teahouse no light remained. It made no difference whether his eyes were open or close, the impenetrable thick blackness remained.

His head began rebelling the moment he tried to sit up, and feeling as if he was going to faint soon again, he wondered if he only was missing the black spots in front of his eyes because he was already surrounded by complete darkness.

One half of his mind pleaded to consider his injuries. With his head aching, and his body stiff and cold, he should go for a hospital, or home in the very least, not for a blood-thirsty ghost. At least, to wait until that feeling of sickness abated…

But he recalled Fuji, dressed up in all those fancy clothes, the sacrifice for this occult ceremony. The smile on Fuji’s face, the look in his eyes the moment Tezuka had entered the scene. That small, heart-wrenching spark of hope when all ought to have been lost. Could he honestly break his promise? Could he just turn his back on the very person he had vowed to protect with his life earlier? Abandon Fuji to an unknown fate and escape to a safe haven himself? Would his conscience ever let him live this down? With his intestines churning, Tezuka pushed himself up, trying to quench the panic threatening to overcome him.

He wouldn’t give up just now! Not as long as there was still air his lungs and he didn’t know it was too late yet!

Blindly stumbling through the dark with his hand passing over cold, dirty walls and things he hoped he’d never have to identify – until finally, the grasped steel. Dizziness rose dangerously for a moment and he had to grasp the latter with both hands to remain upright.

Sweat was soaking through his clothes when he eventually managed to put one foot on the first step, and the world kept spinning. Drawing a deep breath he prayed that tonight, there was at least on generous deity listening in to grant him a safe ascend – if he failed now and here, they’d both end up dead.

‘Maybe you both will, anyways.’ that small voice in his head hissed again, ‘All your efforts in vain. You know, your friend might already be dead.’

A vision of Fuji, motionless on the ground crossed his mind briefly and for a split second, his grip failed. Then he got hold of himself again. Firmly shaking his head – even if those brought white-hot explosions of pain – he continued upward.

‘Say whatever you want.’ the voice continued, ‘You’ll see yourself…’

Step for arduous step, the metal cold and wet and dirty underneath his fingers, his heart pounding and nothing but darkness for company. Voices conjuring nightmarish pictures, rationality urging him to turn around, wait for morning, for help, or at least to take care of his own injuries first.

And Tezuka’s hand grasped Tatami instead of cold stone, felt a breeze of cold air ghosting over the back of his hand and making him shiver. Hurriedly, he pulled himself out of the hole, happy to leave this grave behind. The tearoom appeared positively light in comparison, even thought night had almost completely fallen outside.

He sank onto the mats and had to catch his breath. Painfully, because the air icily bit into his strained lungs. For a moment his vision went black, but he forced his body remain conscious. Muscles hurting as if he’d played an hour-long tennis match against a particularly vindictive opponent, throbbing cursing through his left shoulder. Dimly, just a far corner of his mind remembered that nasty injury, and hoped it wouldn’t worsen with the strain this. Then, no, as long as he survived whatever repercussions would be okay. Just as long as Fuji and he survived…

This wasn’t healthy. Dangerous – there had to be something seriously wrong with himself if he couldn’t climb a latter without collapsing half-way up, if he kept having spells of dizziness.

‘Turn back, run away!’ rationality cautioned, yet as long as his friend’s fate remained unknown Tezuka knew he couldn’t rest. Not without spending the rest of his life wondering whether he couldn’t have made a difference. Whether it hadn’t been his fault…

Even though he was sweating on a cold November night, Tezuka grimly forced himself up once more, making his way through the old door and into the even colder garden. Where the gently swaying evergreen trees had appeared tranquil before, now their forms appeared haunted, foreboding. Figures seemed to be lurking in darkened corners, sounds and movements in unexpected places and the world kept blurring before his eyes.

Making his way toward the mansion with a heart heavy with dread, his glance fell to the water on his left. The smooth pane reflected dancing shadows, ripples running across the surface,; a surface dotted with the last blood-red autumn leaves, their dead bodies floating gently across this picture of serene, haunting beauty. He wondered absently whether it was this pond that the little girl had drowned in and whether, if he were to loose consciousness and fall into it now, would suffer the very same fate.

Dancing shadows on the surface, luring him to come nearer, to let himself guided to his death by dancing lights. Cold wind made branches rustle, rippled the surface and howled around the mansion’s walls.

The house was a massive black silhouette looming threateningly overhead, only barely visible against the overcast night sky. With cold seeping through his clothes and the wind tearing at his hair, making him stumble along the uneven path he wanted nothing more than to wake up at home in his warm bed. Safe and whole and with everybody else safe too…

If everything could only be nightmare, if he could just wander into those dark waters and drown to wake up somewhere else…

But he’d never given up before. He wouldn’t start now, not when it meant death, not when it would mean a life-time spend regretting. Not when there was a friend’s life on line.

No, he told himself firmly, now wasn’t the time for such thoughts. He had to get his priorities in order – regardless of rationality’s reminder to take care of his own injuries first. Rationality didn’t understand the situation.

Because, actually, Tezuka realized and the accompanying shudder made his steps falter, against the ghost, no matter if he was healthy or not, he stood no chance. This was an ancient spirit, well-versed in killing – one more dead wouldn’t make any difference. Tezuka had no experience with the occult, no clue what he would find, how to make things right.

Yet backing down from a challenge, and the moment Tezuka recognized candlelight flickering from one of the mansion’s windows, he sped up once more, ignoring his ferocious headache.

Even if it’d mean his death, he’d still go in there and try all he could. He had given a promise, made a decision – and to him, breaking a vow would equal dying anyways. There was nothing to be afraid of, he told himself, hurrying into the direction of the back door, hidden in darkness. Overgrown bushes kept getting in the way, he heard his jacket rip, skin broke on contact, but he only wrenched his arm away violently and pushed forward.

With a pounding heart, he barged right through the back door that miraculously wasn’t locked. Ignoring the darkness, ignoring the screaming of his lungs for more air, for a rest, he charged in. It didn’t matter that he was practically blind, that the darkness was suffocating and that the old wooden panels scratched his palms until they bled. He knew only of one thing, one destination, one thing to do, before he could fall into pieces.

Blindly taking turns at the corners, tearing down black hallways at break-neck speed, until eventually, he came before the massive wooden door.

Dizziness or perhaps something else – fear, maybe – made him slow down. Almost in awe he approached step by step, fighting both exhaustion and terror on the inside. He dared not to imagine what atrocity would greet him on that door’s other side, what horrifying scenery would be revealed.

Touching the golden knob almost reverently he pushed everything back, hoping that a blank mind would be as good as any – he couldn’t listen to rationality anymore, had never tried to go with his emotions.

And with his breath held he opened the door.

It swung inward slowly, making no sound at all and revealing step by step a scene right out of a horror movie.

There were candles, everywhere. On the ground, on the walls, on the windows – some in holders, some simply put on the floor, all flickering, tinting the room a reddish glow with black, dancing shadows. There seemed to be some pattern to their placement, Tezuka thought, one that responded to the chalk markings on the marble floor.

Hadn’t Yumiko asked about markings on the ground, once, a long, long time ago? Hadn’t she been disturbed when they had been missing?

Had Fuji Yumiko – Tezuka’s heart halted – foreseen this happening?

A choked gasp escaped his throat and his eyes found the centre of all the patterns, circles and obscure writings. Laid out on cold marble was his friend.

Buried underneath the heavy clothes, Fuji’s frail form was almost invisible. He rested in an unnatural position, almost, as if he had been kneeling and fainted suddenly. But what scared Tezuka most was the complete lack of motion.

Not even the slight rise and fall of the chest could be perceived, no indication to be found that his friend was still alive.

Blood froze in his veins as his mind, for the very first time, seriously entertained an idea he should have much earlier considered a valid possibility. Hadn’t he been so caught up in denying the paranormal, getting rid of the ghost and restoring reality as he knew it, maybe then he wouldn’t have been so blind to the danger.

Because, he’d seen the ghost at work. Had witnessed a possession. Had heard of people dieing.

And still…

Still, it took Fuji’s lifeless form on the ground in front of him to make him finally admit to the danger.

Why hadn’t he…

No, Tezuka firmly told himself, no! Now self-incrimination now. No regrets!

There would be time enough later on – or perhaps not, if the ghost decided to spontaneously kill him too. But standing here, frozen and useless, was not doing anything at all. And he’d already stood by and watched for far too long.

“Fuji…” he wanted to shout his team mate’s name, but his voice came out a pitiful whisper that barely carried across the room.

Remembering to breath, Tezuka forced his body to move, to snap out of the horrified trance he’d fallen into.

“Fuji!”

He wanted to run over there. Run there and shake his friend until those blue eyes opened up and Fuji started complaining. Or coughing. Or whatever. Just until he reacted, showed a sign that he was alive, that this wasn’t permanent, that there everything would be all right. That he could continue clinging onto hope against all odds…

But a terribly familiar voice stopped his approach short.

“You’re too late.” Tatsunori whispered, gracefully stepping past Tezuka’s stiff form from behind.

“Too late, boy.”

The ghost appeared solid, now. The greyishness had given away too truer, deeper colours, to blacks and dark reds; his form had solidified and Tezuka could only stare, mesmerized at the back.

What had been only vaguely outlined before had gained sharp lines. Clothes appeared well-defined, decadently ornamented and fascinatingly ancient. Face and hands too were no longer shapeless grey blobs, only those dark, malicious eyes had remained the same. Tatsunori Ichirou had been revived, more powerful than ever before.

“It’s already been done.” the ghost announced, having approached the circle wherein Fuji’s pale form rested.

Tezuka remained were he stood, frozen to the spot with words of desperate protest stuck in his throat. How to deny a ghost? How to deny, when he didn’t even know the truth anymore? How to deny the possibility of death when all appeared too late already?

Couldn’t he wake up in his bed once more? Wasn’t there another chance to go different about this Saturday? Try again? Restart? Because this couldn’t be the end, Fuji couldn’t just … disappear here, that just wasn’t supposed to happen.

Darkness rose inside of him, tearing at his heart and threatening to overwhelm his senses. He felt faint, the world already blurring in front of his eyes when the ghost leaned down over Fuji’s body and said:

“Amane. Wake up.”

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

On to Chapter 16~