Chapter 64: Tōkigan (Part 8)
“Because of her gender?” Ōgami Yōsuke frowned, his analytical mind clearly not satisfied with Yomikawa Tsuko’s simplistic, historical explanation. “Even in an agrarian society with deeply ingrained patriarchal views… this is a legend, a story. Such a social structure might apply to recorded history, but it doesn’t necessarily apply to the internal logic of a folktale. Legends have their own rules.”
Junko, sensing the shift in the conversation, turned to him, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Do you have a different theory, Yōsuke-kun? What do you think really happened to Takehime?”
Ōgami nodded slowly. “My own inclination is to believe that Takehime was, in fact, killed during the chaos. But by whom, it’s impossible to say. Perhaps she was one of the unfortunate victims of the doll owners’ desperate, bloody ‘hunt.’ Or perhaps she died later, an unintended casualty of the second or third taboo’s curse.”
Junko nodded thoughtfully. “Well, that would certainly make sense. But then why not just say so in the story? Why leave her fate a complete mystery?”
“Because she wasn’t important, right?” Takada Shōji analyzed, with a dismissive wave of his hand, reducing the complex narrative to its simplest components. “When you really think about it, there are only two truly important characters in this whole legend, aren’t there? The first is Tōkigan, the creator. And the second is Lady Aoi-jō, the doll who became a god. Everyone else, they’re just… extras. Side characters, meant to move the plot forward.”
At this, Yomikawa Tsuko suddenly, and with a surprising sharpness, kicked the leg of the wooden table, a sharp, jarring sound that made everyone look at her. “There is, in fact, another, far more plausible possibility,” she said. “The story, as we know it, was likely compiled by later generations, long after the initial chaos had subsided. It is entirely possible that those who wrote it down simply did not know what became of Takehime. And if that’s the case, then they couldn’t very well include her fate in the story, could they?”
Takada nodded vigorously in agreement, but Ōgami Yōsuke frowned again, a new thought taking root in his mind. Why is she suddenly so interested in Takehime’s disappearance? he wondered. There were several other strange, unexplained parts of the story earlier, and she showed no interest at all, barely even seemed to be listening. And her logic… it’s fundamentally flawed. A story like this, a cornerstone of a village’s oral tradition, wouldn’t have been compiled by a single, uninformed person. Even if Villager A didn’t know Takehime’s fate, Villager B might have. They could have simply pieced the information together over time.
All in all, Ōgami thought, a familiar and unwelcome unease creeping back in, Senpai is acting… very, very strange.
He made a mental note of this new, troubling inconsistency, but recalling his last, humiliating public interrogation at her hands, he decided it was best to keep his suspicions to himself. For now.
“The disaster caused by the violation of the third taboo,” Kana said, her mind suddenly making a connection, her voice a hushed whisper, “it’s a bit similar to Kimura-san’s ordeal, isn’t it? Ōgami-san, when you said the two incidents were related, this is what you meant, right?” She shivered, a genuine, visceral reaction. “The villagers, silently being turned into puppets, living their normal lives during the day, and then, at night, being controlled, forced to murder their own kin without even knowing it…”
“That’s… that’s absolutely terrifying,” she whispered. “To become a murderer without even realizing it… that’s just… it’s not fair. It’s a violation.”
“The so-called disaster… it does sound a lot like a mass sleepwalking phenomenon,” Takada Shōji nodded, considering it. “And there have been real cases of sleepwalking murders, haven’t there? I think I remember hearing about a case somewhere where the killer was even acquitted by the court because of it.”
Ōgami Yōsuke nodded. “There have been about thirty-odd documented cases of homicidal somnambulism worldwide. The one I remember most clearly is a bizarre case that happened in Canada in the last century. The perpetrator, a man named Kenneth Parks, drove sixteen kilometers in his sleep to his in-laws’ house. He first bludgeoned his mother-in-law to death with an iron rod, then attempted to strangle his father-in-law, but was unsuccessful. Afterwards, he drove himself directly to a police station and turned himself in, completely unaware of what he had done. After extensive analysis by a team of specialists, they found that Parks’ brainwave activity was highly abnormal, consistent with a severe dissociative sleep disorder. This kind of disorder can cause night terrors, and in extreme, though rare, cases, can lead to complex, and sometimes violent behaviors.”
At this, Junko said, “But Kimura-san’s sleepwalking, for the person experiencing it, it’s much more terrifying, isn’t it? There’s a gradual progression, a process of him becoming aware of his own horrifying condition. And compared to just… waking up and finding you’ve done something terrible, the feeling of being slowly, inexorably drawn towards some unknown, and likely malevolent danger… that seems so much worse than what happened to that Kenneth guy.”
“But let’s not get sidetracked by who was luckier or unluckier,” Takada Shōji interjected, a thoughtful frown on his face. “The villagers, all killing their own kin in their sleep… could that really be a case of mass sleepwalking? If it is, it seems like too much of a coincidence, doesn’t it? Especially since the bizarre murders stopped right after they built the shrine to Lady Aoi-jō.”
Kana agreed. “It is far too much of a coincidence. But after the shrine was built, it seems some villagers still experienced sleepwalking, didn’t they? The story said that someone took a nap by a field and woke up at Aoi-jō’s shrine. And someone else went to sleep at home and woke up in a field. That part… that’s exactly like what happened to Kimura.”
Junko turned to Ōgami. “Yōsuke-kun, what do you think?”
Ōgami Yōsuke replied, “I have no concrete opinion. To be honest, this part of the story goes far beyond any rational, scientific explanation. My initial theory, my first analytical pass, was that the disaster caused by the violation of the third taboo was likely a metaphor for something like a plague.”
“A plague?”
“Yes. After someone dies unjustly, their vengeful spirit lingers, eventually leading to a mass death event. Stories with this kind of plot, in many cultures, often reflect real plagues that occurred in ancient times. Because ancient people didn’t understand the science of virology or epidemiology, the only way they could explain such a devastating, seemingly random event was through supernatural phenomena like lingering resentment, or a curse.”
“Besides resentment, other common folkloric stand-ins for a plague include the wrath of the gods, curses, or the dark magic of a great yōkai. And of course, sometimes it’s not just a metaphor for a plague. Disasters that were devastating to ancient agrarian societies, like droughts, floods, and locust plagues, could also be represented this way. And in Japan, due to its unique geographical location, earthquakes are also one of the common metaphorical underpinnings for such tales.”
“If you analyze the legends of various gods and disasters from different regions in detail, you can almost always find the faint, ghostly shadows of these real-world events. Although the specific cultures may be different, the confusion and terror in the face of natural disasters are the same for people all over the world. It’s like how almost every ancient culture in the world has a myth about a great, world-ending flood.”
At this point, Ōgami Yōsuke frowned, a look of deep concentration on his face. “But in the legend of Tōkigan, the resentment directed towards the village by Aoi-jō is clearly not a metaphor for a plague or a natural disaster. It is presented as a literal, directed, and malevolent force. And that’s what makes this story so unique, and so… disturbing. The only other story that can really be discussed in the same breath, that shares a similar narrative DNA, is the legend of Lord Mask-Taker. In that legend, after Hanako, who had taken Natsuhime’s identity, died, strange, inexplicable incidents occurred in the village. Although it’s not explicitly stated what these strange incidents were, it’s certain they weren’t related to plagues or locusts, or any other natural phenomenon.”
“So,” he concluded, a note of genuine intellectual frustration in his voice, “I can’t really interpret this part of the story with any degree of confidence. But to simply call it ‘mass sleepwalking’… that doesn’t seem quite right either. It feels… inadequate.”
Takada Shōji suddenly asked, “The villagers being turned into puppets… is that the original wording from the story? Why would it be recorded that way? Did Aoi-jō say it?”
“That part,” Ōgami said, “is likely the villagers’ own interpretation. Their own attempt to understand the incomprehensible. The original text of the legend is recorded that way, yes. In fact, even today, the locals on Mie Island have similar, strange ways of referring to themselves, like the ‘descendants of the dolls.’ The local belief, passed down through generations, is that when Aoi-jō manipulated the resentment of the failed dolls, she actually, on some fundamental, spiritual level, transformed all the villagers into dolls themselves. And since Aoi-jō, as the first doll, was created by both a god and Tōkigan, she naturally had the ability to control all the other dolls. This, they believe, is the true origin of Aoi-jō’s divine, god-like status.”
“And so, when sleepwalking incidents occur on the island now, they are interpreted differently depending on the specific circumstances. Generally, they can be divided into several distinct categories: ‘Lady Aoi-jō’s prank,’ ‘the god’s punishment,’ or ‘being chosen by Lady Aoi-jō to carry out a divine oracle.’”
Comments (0)
Please login or sign up to post a comment.