Modern Kwaidan - Original Stories. [Temporary Cover]

A Thousand Springs Ago

(If you like listening to music while you read, there is a video above with traditional music that goes well with the story, RM)

Sadao sat at the coffee table by his radio, he turned it on, it was quiet, the voices only had to be louder than the voice inside of his head, besides, he wanted to hear the wind outside. The wind that stirred up the snow in devilish tornadoes which howled and sung. The voices on the radio weren't loud enough that he could understand the words, but he heard the faint clicking and scratching of a shamisen, and every so often the soft, yet solid impact of the sticks hitting the taiko drums.

Hours passed and the storm picked up, Sadao stood from the table and snuffed out the candle, he turned the dial on the radio, it shut off and the voice inside his head returned. The voice haunted him each time he was alone for the last thirty years, he took off his robes and he lay in bed. He stirred, and his legs would not rest, he moaned the name of a love he had from what felt like a thousand springs ago.

He shifted, he shivered and broke a sweat, pulling the blanket over his pale skin and removing it once more, not a moment sooner than his body slumped and folded, sunk into the bed with relief did he hear a gentle scratching at his window; not the scratching you might hear from a cat at its post, or a dog at the door, no, not that loud. Not even as loud as you might scratch your own skin, not quite that loud. The scratching was soft and constant, one long scratch, three seconds then it'd stop for a moment then, again one long scratch, he had never heard a thing like it.

It sounded like two or three nails being gently dragged simultaneously along the windowpane, it could only be a branch or twig brushing against my window he thought, that's all. But his mind conjured up images of Chiharu, the love from a thousand springs ago, her hand tenderly rapping at his window, he closed his eyes, and let her ghostly face soothe him.

The voices in his head returned, reminded him of things of grief, things of regret, the ghostly Chiharu in his mind turned her back on him, he could see everything but her pale feet as she floated away. He turned over, tried to sleep but he heard a whisper coming from his window; not quite the whisper of gossip, not quite that loud, not the whisper of lovers, no, not that loud. It was soothing, yet haunting, it was constant but stopped every so often with three huffs, like one catching their breath, it'd then continue, it could only be the wind, the snow floating, blowing through the trees, through the few cherry blossoms, Sadao thought, that's all. But his mind recreated scenes of Chiharu, the love from a thousand springs ago. The garden of his childhood home, the whisper, the sweet whisper of his childhood love, when he whispered to his father, he promised he'd marry her, he'd marry Chiharu, a thousand springs ago.

The whisper at his window grew louder, turned into a whistle; not like the whistle that your kettle makes, not quite that loud, not like the tune he whistled to keep the voice out of his head, no, not that loud. More like a song, a song calling to him, a sweet song, a beautiful sound. Sadao sat up, put on his robes, he lit a candle and put it on a tray, he approached the window, the soft orange glow from the candle lifted the features of his saggy face.

He could better hear the whispering now, he could hear the words it spoke, he could feel the breeze from its cold breath, 'Sadao, my Sadao,' spoke the voice.

Sadao stood still for a moment, and the voice from the window spoke again, 'Sadao, my Sadao.'

'Chi—Chi—Chiharu, is that you?' asked Sadao, his voice tremulous and old.

'It is I, my Sadao, come closer, my dear.'

'Chi—Chi—Chiharu, my love from a thousand springs ago,' he said and approached the dusty curtains that flapped and shook.