Ghost Hunt 
by No. 13

Tatsunori Ichirou raised his head slowly, disbelief sparkling in his eyes. Carefully, gently, he pressed Amane’s delicate white hands, holding onto them as he desperately clung to their now fast-fading fragile dreams.

Their victory had been short-lived.

And yet…

“Amane…”

“Ichirou… no. No!”

Tezuka could only watch in mesmerized desperation. Head spinning, gasping for breath like he had just run a marathon, incapable of taking just one step forward. Darkness lurked invitingly at the corner’s of his vision, tempting him, calling out.

To close his eyes, to leave this scene, this world where reason and logic failed, where the paranormal was common and fiction became reality. Close his eyes and pray to wake up safe and warm in his bed, wake up to the beeping of his alarm clock.

To open his eyes to see the sun just peaking over the horizon outside. A new day. An ordinary day. A day where Fuji’d gently smile at him, like he always did.

A sudden stab of pain in his chest, and Tezuka gasped and abruptly looked up. There, behind Yumiko’s crumpled, motionless body his blurred vision came upon the two perpetrators.

Those two who where completely lost in each other, disregarding the outside world, disregarding the consequences of their actions, ruthlessly; cold-blooded murderers… for a moment white-hot fury welled up in him, tearing at his sanity, raging through his mind like a fire storm, conjuring up the worst damnations to befall those two.

It was their fault!

Everything!

Everything!

Belatedly Tezuka realized that tears were burning in his eyes, threatening to overflow. And when he tried to blink them away, to swallow that sudden bout of unparalleled, helpless rage, his eyes fastened on the forsaken couple once again.

Amid twilight, a few remaining flickering candles and the grand, wide French windows, Tezuka saw Fuji.

Not Fujiwara Amane.

This was still Fuji Syusuke’s body, and as long as that body was warm and breathing he refused to believe that Fuji was dead.

Because…

Because death wasn’t supposed to happen on ordinary November nights. Death wasn’t supposed to happen to ordinary fourteen year old boys… but so was possession. And everything else that played out right in front of his eyes.

And it certainly was not Fuji Syusuke raising his hand so elegantly, with wide silk sleeves swinging like butterfly wings in the darkness, to touch that grey, ghastly cold cheek so affectionately. Who smiled such a grievously beautiful smile, with darkness flickering brightly in his eyes.

“Ichirou.”

And darkness once more waved to Tezuka, promising sweet relief from desperation. And end to this confusion. Oblivion. And then…

“We can still…”

As hauntingly beautiful word ghosted across cold marble, and the world teetered one the edge of destruction, a deep, croaking groan carried abruptly through the darkness.

Suddenly, all motions stopped. The pair, that just had been completely engrossed in themselves, whirled around, heads shooting up with fear painted brightly upon them.

A breeze of cold air washed into the room, fresh and icy.

Tezuka froze. Not daring to move or even to breath, half-praying for the darkness just to take him over, and yet he couldn’t keep his eyes from straying to his right. Where in the dim light, he could just make out the great, oak door moving slowly.

As if moving by itself, the door opened, bit by bit. Each painful centimetre more only revealed glaring blackness.

There was nothing behind the door. Complete, black nothingness.

A shudder ran down Tezuka’s spine.

Nothing?

Was that door really moving by itself?

The sound of rustling leaves carried inside; trembling and glittering in the cold, humid air. Hushed through the room, echoed and the candle flames danced merrily along to the haunting melody.

Amid that dance of shadows, the door opened only a quarter, then stopped, as mysteriously as its movements had begun.

Tezuka slowly dared to breath.

A hand reached out.

One white, ghastly white hand suddenly shot out from the penetrating darkness of the corridor, reached out to flickering flames and dancing shadows; small, delicate and almost transparent.

Tezuka’s heart stopped.

Tiny fingers bend around the thick wooden frame.

Outside, the wind died down. Noises faded, and absolute silence descended over the room. A suffocating stillness settled down, heavy and oppressive.

And then a curious face emerged from the darkness. Barely taller than the door’s handle, skin whiter than white and wide, innocent eyes blinked into the twilight.

“Mother?”

His blood had suddenly turned to ice. He couldn’t breath, couldn’t think clearly, and yet…

Yet, even while he logically, somewhere in dark, far-away corner of his mind, where reason still existed, knew, that he had never in his life seen this face before…

Yet he still recognized her.

Instinctively, he knew who this child peering around a half-opened door was. The ghastly pale skin, those hopeful eyes – those eyes lacked every sparkled.

Amane gasped. Or was it a cough, forced upon her form by the body’s prior condition?

Yet Tezuka couldn’t tear his eyes away; he kept starring in dumbfounded fascination, as the small ghost looked up at him.

It was a girl, as he had known. A girl, who couldn’t be older than six, with well-kept long hair, and entirely translucent and dead. So very, very dead.

For a moment confusion crossed her small face, perhaps caused by Tezuka’s own horrified expression. Yet, undaunted by this stranger’s frightened grimace, she turned farther, looking inquisitively for the cause.

“… she…” barely a whisper, yet it carried through the dead silence of the room louder than thunder. Amane’s eyes were wide, wide and fearful and desperate.

The girl’s eyes finally came upon the couple standing in front of those huge French windows offering a mesmerizing view of glittering black leaves under an even darker night sky. A small gasp escaped from her lips.

Tezuka saw her eyes widening in fear.

Tatsunori Ichirou hissed. “So that…”

Grimly starring at the small ghost, his grey features twisted. “That’s what that woman did.”

And those words did nothing to reassure Tezuka’s frantically pounding heart or to assuage the darkness swirling in his mind, threatening to overwhelm it once and for all.

“Ichirou.” Amane whispered, but her voice was deep and melodious again, dark and lacking it’s former, breathless, scared quality. “We can … undo this, can’t we?”

Ruthless determination carried in her words. The little ghost bit her lip nervously, and Tezuka unconsciously willed her to turn back and run. This…

“We can undo what she did.”

This was getting worse, wasn’t it?

“We can undo it.” Fujiwara Amane drew herself up smoothly and cast a disdainful glare at Fuji Yumiko’s body a few metres away. There was no sign of life from the still form, yet Tezuka didn’t dare to run up and confirm his worst fears.

Amane’s eyes were sparkling maliciously once more, as even Tatsunori held his breath, completely bewitched by her unearthly beauty.

“It won’t need much.” Amane purred. “Not much at all. To think we were that scared by such a foolish attempt at thwarting our plans – we’ll laugh about it when we remember. But how desperate must she have been to give up her life just to pull one soul out of the equation… Pitiful, really.”

And then she stepped forward, head held high and a dark smile playing on blood-red lips. She seemed to be floating more than walking, her kimono glittering beautifully in the light of the flickering candle flames. Golden threads sparkled like fireflies, silk swished and her white skin practically glowed in the darkness.

“We’ll only need to return this one soul to the equation. Return it, and nothing will harm us anymore!”

The small ghost gasped, eyes wide with fear.

“You…” she breathed, voice trembling. “You…”

Tezuka watched her stepping back, watching Amane match her every step, and wondered whether this was still really happening, or whether unconscious had long since claimed his mind and he was now only caught in a cruel nightmare.

“You…” once again, but that quavering hand was not pointing at Amane’s darkly smiling visage, but past her. Past Amane’s delicate shoulder at Tatsunori Ichirou’s grey face.

“You are that man… On that day…”

Her voice trailed off. That small, shivering hand dropped back to her side. Numb with fear, it seemed, she simply stopped moving at all. Wide-eyed awaiting her fate, awaiting death for a second time…

And something within Tezuka snapped.

He understood that the world wasn’t fair, that cruelty happened, that good didn’t necessarily triumph. But yet… maybe he was still a child at heart, maybe he just hadn’t lived long enough to let go of that foolish notion of having to make things alright. Maybe he just wasn’t jaded enough to stand by and watch while others suffered.

But no, not now, he wouldn’t watch this girl die for a second time. He wouldn’t simply stand by while those two had their way, he wouldn’t step aside anymore. Because really, what did he have to loose?

His life?

Tezuka felt hysterical laughter welling up in his chest, yet his face didn’t budge an inch. Really, fear for his life – was so absurd, considering that he was about the only living person currently in the vicinity.

That small girl was a ghost, killed only two days ago, drowned in the lake, summoned there by grey-faced Tatsunori Ichirou, who, all things considered, looked more like his ghostly self again. Fujiwara Amane, proudly standing in the middle of the half-lighted room, was pale as death – alive in a body that wasn’t hers, a body that formerly had housed his friend’s precious soul… there was no telling what had actually happened to Fuji.

And Yumiko, prone on the ground, appeared dead.

Swallowing against the bitterness constricting his throat, Tezuka forced his body forward.

“No.” he declared, firm and stern as he ordered laps on the court.

Three pair of eyes immediately rested on him, shocked, confused or plainly annoyed, he couldn’t tell – it felt like needles piercing through his skin. He would have given up at once, self-preservation instincts flailing in desperation, howling at him to retreat, but when he recalled the alternative, the world he would succumb to…

No.

If stepping back meant Yumiko had died in vain, meant giving Fuji up for dead, meant letting this child die a second time, meant letting those two have their way – no, he wouldn’t let that happen. As long as he had breath in his lungs, he wouldn’t.

Because, what kind of a world would it be, what kind of a life could he hope to lead, with the death of two people on his consciences. Of regretting not having lifted a finger when he could have saved Fuji’s life?

What kind of a life would it be without Fuji’s gently smile?

Regardless of what reason was telling him, regardless of prudence, Tezuka decided he did not want to know. Either he’d try and succeed and everything would be alright, or he’d die trying.

But he wouldn’t back down here.

With grim determination he stepped between Fujiwara Amane and the girl.

“What kind of foolishness is this?” she asked, turning her nose up at his unexpected appearance. Tatsunori drew up to her, frowning as if deep in thought.

“I won’t let it happen.” Tezuka bravely declared, even though his knees felt weak. Biting his dry lip, he cast an imploring look at the girl over his shoulder.

“Run!” he hissed and she stumbled backwards.

Fujiwara Amane’s eyes narrowed. Her smile sharpened, even as she wiped at her mouth before elegantly raising her hand to unplug another golden hairpin.

“Are you offering your own soul, then?”

His breath caught. Eyes widening dramatically at the sight of Amane’s blood-stained lips quirking upwards in a wicked smile, it took all his will-power not to flee. Scared to death of the pin glinting evilly in glow of flickering flames, Tezuka bit his lip and remained rooted to the spot.

“It is well.” Amane purred seductively, eyes sparkling merrily, “Your soul will be just as good as a replacement for the one ripped out of the equation. Your…”

And suddenly, unexpectedly she faltered. Her floating steps came to halt, she hunched over as wet coughs sent her body trembling. Harsh, cruel and unrelenting, painful coughs wrecking the slim body and when she finally raised her head once more, fresh blood glittered on her lips.

“Amane…” Tatsunori whispered, a worried frown twisting his features into an unfamiliar expression.

Angrily she wiped at her mouth, but a spark of fear glittered underneath the determination in her eyes.

“We need to get this over with.” She declared unimpressed, her eyes once more coming to rest on Tezuka’s shaking form, “With every minute that passes with the spell incomplete this body will continue to weaken. I won’t…”

Amane raised the hairpin again, while Tatsunori watched her with a frown from the sidelines, perhaps worried about her body’s condition.

“O-ni-chan!”

Breathless, Tezuka dared to look away from the approaching demon, throwing a panicked glare back over his shoulder.

There, at the end of the black corridor, almost as if she glowing, stood the little girl. The small ghost’s eyes were wide, frightened, but serious. She waved at Tezuka again.

“O-ni-chan! Come! This way!”

…what?

Amane coughed violently behind his back, and Tezuka stared in dumbfounded incomprehension at the girl beckoning him away and into the darkness. What was her aim? What did she intend to do, where did she want to lead him? What…

“Amane…” Tatsunori Ichirou said, suddenly, voice grave as if something troublesome was happening.

Tezuka whirled around, hearing a swish of heavy silk just behind his back, and found himself face to face with Fujiwara Amane. White-faced, with blood staining the sleeves of her kimono. And the golden hairpin glittering threateningly overhead.

He gasped, stumbling backwards, just as she brought it down violently.

Coughing, she teetered forward, still elegant, but grotesquely so.

“Come, o-ni-chan! Hurry!”

Not daring to take his eyes of the demon this time, Tezuka took another step back. Away from this room, out of this nightmare – out of this, before it claimed his life, too.

“Why are you running away?” Amane cooed, voice raspy and full of darkness, “Are you afraid, Tezuka-kun? Are you afraid of death?”

Dizziness swamped him, a sudden sense of vertigo almost entirely shattered his vision and nausea rose from his stomach. Tezuka tore his eyes away from the creature approaching. This wasn’t Fuji anymore, there were no traces of the gentle being he called friend left in this … this monster.

“Where do you think you are going, Tezuka-kun?” he heard Amane call behind his back, voice barely carrying over his pounding heart, the swish of silk far too close for comfort.

“Don’t you want to be together with your sweetheart?”

Darkness, darkness, everywhere. Only the small ghost ahead, a bizarre beacon of light leading him away, out of this candle-lit confusion, out, to where the ice cold wind of November was blowing, out.

“This way!”

He didn’t know whether his footsteps or his heart pounded louder. Couldn’t tell whether this darkness was natural or the consequence of dizziness, the lack of oxygen in his aching lungs. The only thing he recognized where the pain tearing his heart into small pieces, the fear screaming at his instincts to run faster, not to mind the shadow gliding behind him, not to listen to that monster’s words.

“Don’t you love him?”

Because she was, she was so frighteningly, heart-wrenchingly right. Hadn’t he sworn to protect his friend, hadn’t he sworn to try everything, hadn’t he…? Could he return to a life without Fuji by his side, but his death on his conscience? Could he?

“O-ni-chan! Here!”

Even as his feet hit soft ground instead of old wood, even as the cold wind picked up his sweat-soaked hair, cooling his heated forehead, even as the rustling of dry leaves became so much clearer to his blurred senses, his heart was screaming at him to stop, to turn around and just to…

… to …

Face the demon behind him? Give up or fight? Fight her, as he heard her coughing again, slowed down by those heavy clothes taking their toll on Fuji’s delicate condition.

“Why do you run?” Amane gasped, her voice brittle and hoarse, yet wet with unknown liquid. Tezuka shuddered, distantly remembering how sick Fuji had been, wondered, if his life still could be saved, or whether…

“Does he mean nothing to you?”

It hurt as if his heart was being torn into pieces, and he squeezed his eyes shut to stop the tears from falling. He wanted to save his friend, hell, he’d give up his own life –

- yet, if there was no chance, if his own death would accomplish nothing but bring more sadness to people he loved, if everything would only mean more pain for those that he wanted to see laughing, those he wanted to see happy…

A memory of Fuji’s gentle smile rose in his mind.

‘Forgive me.’ He mentally pleaded, wishing with all his might that Fuji might somehow receive his sentiments, even if his failure was unforgivable. Inexcusable.

Raising his head to face the cold air outside, he instantly recognized the place where his feet had carried him. Hushed noises, the rustling of dry leaves, the wind tearing playfully at his clothes and hair and soft ground muffling his footfalls.

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 Part III~