Sakaki, Amanozaki, Sawada
‘The Witch’s Dance’. Sakaki Okitsu’s debut work. A captivating supernatural mystery which catapulted him into the public eye, it was acclaimed as one of the most influential books in 20th century Japan, and he was heralded as one of the most exciting new authors leading the vanguard of modern Japanese literature.
That was then.
This is now.
Sakaki bites down on the cigarette irritably. The editor’s comments are on his messy desk, where they had lain untouched for the past week. Too drawn out. Needs more sex. Ghosts are not popular nowadays, could you write about something else? Twenty books on from ‘The Witch’s Dance’, he has been relegated to a has-been, a writer stuck in a horror rut, a man who can only retread old ground and resurrect stale ideas. His attempts at changing genres had been met with even more derision than his usual writing. In a fit of frustration, Sakaki jabs out the cigarette on his manuscript, and begins thinking.
Hidetaka’s musings on Yomiki Village had helped him to write ‘The Witch’s Dance’. There were still unsolved mysteries there, both in real life and in his book. Maybe a revelation of truth would shed light on the inspiration that he knows is buried somewhere within him. From his early childhood, there had been something that he has always wanted to write, a dream that he wanted to convey in words, but it remained an incomprehensible haze, fleeting in and out of his grasp. ‘The Witch’s Dance’ was the closest that he had ever gotten to his wish.
As he sighs helplessly, Sakaki is suddenly reminded of Hidetaka’s last words, just a few days before he seemingly vanished from this world.
“We know that the Witch dances for the Maiden, but who… or what… is the Maiden?”
Sakaki lights up another cigarette. Perhaps he should take up the offer. To be the man that uncovers the full tale of Yomiki… that may just be what he needs for his magnum opus.
***
Amanozaki waves off the last of her clients for the day. She begins to pack up her street-side stall. Work had been relatively lucrative today, but…
“Hey, Young Miss! Hey!”
Definitely time to run. Hurriedly stuffing the last of her paraphernalia in the bag, she lifts the foldable table she had been using and hurls it at the group of scarred men in suits advancing upon her. The lead thug cries out in pain as the edge of the table catches him square in the face, and she takes the chance to break into a sprint, fleeing as fast as she can. She had hoped that they would not come today. Today is a rather important day after all. She did not know how her father had tracked her down, but there is no way she is going back.
Get married off to some underling, join the family business? Get real! She knows that quitting school and becoming a hostess was a pretty bad decision, as far as life decisions go, but she is quite happy where she is right now, thank you very much. The Sakaguchi-gumi are in her past. Being a famous occultist consultant to the stars is in her future. This, she has foreseen.
After being relatively sure that she has lost them – she didn’t slum in Tokyo for years without picking up some survival skills – Amanozaki heads towards the nearest park. Her father’s men will eventually catch up to her, and before that, she needs to make herself famous enough that they cannot drag her back.
Amanozaki looks at her cellphone: a message confirming that the noted writer Sakaki Okitsu would be at Ikei today. She had been promised that he would be of help: certainly, in this country his knowledge of the occult must be second only to Hidetaka Matsui.
She can’t fail. The story practically writes itself. A girl, descended from a family that moved out West generations ago to seek their fortune, returns to dispel the curse of their ancestral lands, and become famous in the process.
A greedy smile spreads across her lips as she begins imagining the celebrity lifestyle in her future.
***
“You’ll catch a cold, Maya.” Sawada carefully tucks her hand under the covers, taking great care not to dislodge the IV port. The only response he gets is the continuous beeping of the hospital monitors, but that does not discourage his gentle smile at all. He looks at the woman on the bed, her eyes wide open and staring blankly at the ceiling. “Ah, you’re going to dry your eyes out again. Hold on a minute.” Fussing about the side table, Sawada picks up the eye-drops. With a practiced hand, he places a few drops in the open, unblinking eyes.
“There, you should be comfortable now,” he says. After two years of tending to her, Sawada has gotten quite good at it. He still remembered the day he got the call clearly: she had come to the hospital for a routine check and had collapsed all of a sudden, ending up catatonic. He had rushed to the hospital the moment he found out – that had definitely infuriated his agent, and cost him a promising gig – and Seiji was the one to meet him at Ikei.
Apologetic in his cold way, his university buddy had calmly and quietly told him what was going on. An experiment in the hospital had gone wrong. Maya, and a few other patients, had gotten drawn into it entirely by accident, and that had affected their brains. In more simple terms, Seiji had put it, they lost their souls.
Sawada remembered being angry, grabbing Seiji’s collar, and demanding that he set things right.
He could not. Seiji was a marked man: he would be gone soon, one way or another, and he was truly helpless. It was the first time that Sawada saw his friend to be so emotional… so vulnerable. Seiji’s expression conveyed the feeling of some great loss, and though Sawada had grabbed him with every intention of giving the man a good sock to the jaw, he lowered his fist.
There was something he could do, however. Seiji reached into his pocket, and took out a mini USB drive. There were instructions inside, he claimed. A way to restore Maya’s soul to her. Sacrifices would have to be made, but if Sawada thought it was worth it…
He had agonized over it for months before finding his resolve.
If this was to succeed...
Was it worth it?
There was no doubt in Sawada’s mind.
There is still no doubt in Sawada’s mind.
All of the preparations are complete. All of the letters and messages have been sent out. All of the contacts have been made.
He stands up, gently brushing his girlfriend’s cheek with his hand one last time. Reaching into his pocket, he brings out a ring. He had bought it shortly before she was hospitalized - it was one she had picked out herself. Sawada slips the ring onto her finger quietly. Even if he fails, at least they will have this. Seiji’s instructions had been clear on one thing: the plan was akin to throwing dice into a raging ocean, and hoping that it came up with the number that they wanted. Once it began, there would be no way whatsoever to control it.
All they can do would be to attempt to rig the dice as much as they could, before they tossed it.
***
“What are you planning on doing, Sawada-san?” asks Sakaki, alarmed. This… is not what he expected.
“You wanted to see the true Yomiki, Sakaki-san. This is how,” replies Sawada. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”
“W-wait, is this really necessary?” Amanozaki asks.
“That’s not-“ Sakaki’s shout is drowned out by a gunshot. He watches in horror as the doctor falls to the ground, groaning. The young man holding the gun trembles from rage and fear, not knowing what to do. Sawada moves towards him, whispers in his ear, and then sends him off.
***
“Sawada-san,” Sakaki says weakly, pleading.
Sawada ignores him, his eyes closed and his lips muttering a chant. Catching bits of it, Sakaki can’t help but gasp. It appears to be some form of Yomiki’s Ritual of Opening.
When Sawada is finished, he says, “Now it all starts. Tokigawa will serve as the initial gateway for the malice of the dead.”
“And… the point?” whispers Amanozaki, frightened by what has just happened.
“To create an offering so large that God cannot ignore it.”
***
As the last of the visions fade away, you realize that the plate has vanished, and that your surroundings have taken on a more life-like form. They are no longer silhouetted shapes, but actual buildings.
“We’re not at the exit yet, Acchan,” says Ei. “This is merely the next level of the labyrinth… so, what do you see? Where are we now? Where have the connections you made between the twelve led you?”
What you see before you is…
A. A Western-style manor in a quiet rural village.
B. A Western-style manor in a town that seems to have been repurposed as a military facility.
C. An old hospital made of brick and wood in the middle of a city robust with growth.
D. A large hospital, its sleek, gleaming towers connected by pathways of glass.