Chapter 7: Kimura’s Ordeal (Part 3)
“So, he found more bones, then? Other skeletons?” Ōgami Yōsuke’s question was less a question and more a grim statement of the obvious.
Itō Takuma nodded, then gave a slight, uneasy shake of his head. “Not quite like that. Kimura said the place was littered with bones, all of them ancient-looking. No stench of rot, nothing fresh. In that deepest chamber, right in the center, was a burial pit. Not deep, maybe half a meter. But it was crammed with skeletons – he swore there were at least ten, piled on top of each other. When he swept his phone’s flashlight over them, he counted at least ten human skulls staring blankly up at him.”
“Ten?” Takada Shōji’s breath hitched. “That many… The rituals they performed here, they must have been huge. Or this went on for a terrifyingly long time.”
Junko’s brow furrowed in thought. “But I’ve never heard any legends about human sacrifices involving fresh blood, not on that scale. Surely, something that massive, that horrific, would have left some kind of record, some dark whisper in history.”
“Unless it was some shadowy, evil cult,” Kana offered, her voice hushed. “Or a belief system so incredibly old, so forgotten, that no trace of it survived in the outside world.”
“Let’s hear the rest, Itō-kun,” Yomikawa Tsuko interjected, her voice smooth. She noted with satisfaction that she had their complete, undivided attention. The bait was taken.
“The light from his phone wasn’t great,” Itō continued, “so Kimura couldn’t make out much detail in the pit itself. He started looking around the edges. Tucked away in the east corner, he found an old, rotting wooden chest.”
“It was full of junk – rusted metal things, decayed wooden bits. He could make out what looked like old candlesticks, some ceremonial-looking knives, a few bells… all tools of whatever dark rites they performed there, no doubt.”
“But it wasn’t all just ritual clutter. Buried beneath the rest, Kimura found a statue. Just a head, monstrous and unsettling. It was sort of like an ox, he said, but with a pig’s snout and two long, wicked-looking horns.”
“He couldn’t tell what it was made of, some kind of dark metal. He grabbed it by the horns to pull it out. That’s when he realized it was hollow. Weighed almost nothing.”
A wry, almost pained smile touched Itō Takuma’s lips. “Kimura… he can be a real idiot sometimes, too impulsive for his own good. He said, when he found out the statue was hollow, he got this idea, this… theory. So, he lugged it by the horns back to the first chamber, the one with the altar. He compared the hollow base of the statue with that raised bit in the middle of the stone slab. And they matched. A perfect, chilling fit. So, what does he do? He puts the damn statue back on the altar.”
Kana wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Why in the world would he do something so stupid?”
“He said he wanted pictures,” Itō explained, a note of exasperation in his voice. “Said the back chamber was too dark, the photos would be useless. And putting the statue on the altar, it would be like… recreating the original scene. Better for any ‘future investigation,’ he figured.”
“So, Kimura snapped a few photos of the statue on the altar, and the weird carvings on the walls. Then he decided he’d had enough; it was time to get the hell out of that creepy place. But later, when he was trying to piece it all together, Kimura remembered… in his hurry to leave, he forgot to take the statue off the altar. And that one stupid mistake, that’s what he thinks opened the door to all the bizarre, terrifying things that happened next.”
The way Itō Takuma spoke, it was clear Kimura’s nightmare had only just begun.
He looked slowly from one face to another around the circle. “Look, I’m just telling you what Kimura told me. I wasn’t there. I don’t know all the ins and outs. So, if parts of it sound crazy, don’t ask me to explain it.”
Seeing their eager, almost desperate nods, he continued, his voice dropping again. “When Kimura got to the mouth of the cave, just as he was about to step out into the sunlight, he heard it. Someone called his name. From behind him. Inside the cave.”
“Kimura.”
“Shōta—”
“The first voice, the one that said his surname, it was deep. Low. Like some middle-aged guy deliberately making his voice rough and gravelly.”
“The second voice, the one that called his first name, it wasn’t one voice. It was a chorus. Men and women, all chanting his name together. And they dragged out the last sound, long and wavering, like a funeral dirge.”
“Kimura spun around. But the cave was empty. Silent. Nothing. It was like he’d imagined it, a trick of his stressed-out mind.”
“But he knew. He swore it wasn’t a hallucination. He heard those voices. As clear as day.”
“That’s when the real terror hit him. Kimura didn’t wait. He just ran. Scrambled out of that cave and didn’t look back. Even though it was still broad daylight, the mountain suddenly felt… wrong. Unsafe. He just wanted to get down, get away.”
“And then, halfway down the trail, he heard them again.”
“Kimura.”
“Shōta—”
“Just like before. The same voices, the same chilling, unnatural calls, echoing through the trees.”
Itō Takuma seemed to be reliving Kimura’s fear, his own face pale, his voice strained. He swallowed hard. “When Kimura heard it the second time, he got this sudden, ice-cold premonition. Like a voice in his head, whispering that the more he heard those calls, the closer he was getting to something… something incredibly dangerous. Something that was hunting him.”
“So, he ran faster. Jammed his headphones on, blasted his music as loud as it would go, trying to drown out everything else. Karasu-Go isn’t a huge mountain, the paths are pretty easy. Once he hit the halfway mark, he knew the way down blindfolded. He made it back to the city limits in record time.”
“He was still shaking when he got on the train home. It was around five o’clock. He took a long shower, tried to wash the feeling of the mountain, of that cave, off him. His nerves started to settle a bit. And then, curiosity, that damn dangerous curiosity, got the better of him again. He decided to go online, see if he could find anything about that statue, about those kinds of rituals.”
“That’s when he hit the next wall. He plugged his phone into his computer, planning to upload the photos from the cave. But every single picture he’d taken inside was… gone. Not deleted, but blurred. Smudged. Like someone had taken a wet thumb and smeared the images into an unrecognizable mess.”
“He tried everything. Photo recovery software, online tools. Nothing worked. The images were just… ruined.”
“The fear came flooding back, colder this time. For a split second, he thought about telling his parents. But his mom… if she found out he’d lied about where he was, that he’d gone up the mountain alone… she’d hit the roof.”
“So, he made a deal with himself. Wait a couple of days. If nothing else weird happened, he’d just bury it. Forget the whole thing. Never mention it to anyone. That was the plan, anyway. That was what he was desperately hoping for.”
“But that night… that very same night… something far, far worse happened.”
Itō Takuma paused, then bent down and began to sketch in the dirt with a stick. He drew a single vertical line, and beside it, a three-by-three grid.
“Think of these nine squares as the city. The middle row, running west to east, that’s Fura Ward, then Nagano Ward, then Mitsuba Ward. And this line here,” he tapped the vertical line to the west of the grid, “that’s Mount Ōkarasu.”
“Kimura’s house? It’s right on the border between Mitsuba and Nagano Wards. As the crow flies, it’s a long way from Karasu-Go. You’ve got all of Nagano and Fura Wards in between. If you actually tried to walk it, following the roads… it’s even further. It’d wear me out, and I’m in decent shape.”
“So, Saturday afternoon, June 9th, from the time he got home until he went to bed, Kimura didn’t leave his house. Not once. He was cooped up in his room, glued to his computer, obsessively searching for anything on blood sacrifices, ancient rituals, statues with ox heads and pig snouts.”
“Around 10:30 PM, his mom came up, told him to call it a night. Kimura messed around online for a little while longer, then finally shut down his computer and climbed into bed.”
“However.” Itō Takuma’s voice dropped to a barely audible whisper, his eyes wide and haunted.
“When he woke up again… he was miles from home. Standing on the desolate border between Nagano and Fura Wards.”
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