Hyakki Yagyou

Chapter Eleven: Ghost Stories, Repetition

“The past is never where you think you left it.” 

-        Katherine Anne Porter

December 12th, 8:04 pm

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Abe asked.

Emi and Ryu stared at her. The only thing Nakagawa was able to say was “I’m sorry, what?” before the waiter came and placed caramel-flavoured hot chocolate in front of Miki, with a straw and a spoon inside the hot liquid. When the young man left, she spoon the liquid which was actually almost as thick as pudding and then licked some of it off the spoon, sighing. Her gaze never left the chocolate.

“I never believed in ghosts.” She continued ignoring the confused and almost disgusted (disgusted at the nonsense she was speaking) faces that stared at her. “Sure, I believed in spirits. I may not look like it but I was raised in a Shinto family. But, ghosts? Like the ones from the movies?” She huffed, gazing out the window. Her face was blank but her eyes revealed a glimmer or remembrance. “Never. It’s ridiculous to even think of that. You always believe those kind of ghosts are just fiction, old folk tales to scare children into going to bed early and not going outside alone when it’s dark.”

A moment of silence followed. It did not worry her that neither of her interlocutors responded in any way. Another deep breath.

“It was the winter of 2004. I had just turned twenty five years old. It was my beginning at the Yokohama police station. I was an officer with an ambition to become what I am today.” She explained. “I had just married as well. It was unusual for everyone that someone as ambitious as me decided to marry so early in her twenties. But, that doesn’t matter.” She shook her head. Not once did she look at Emi and Ryu.

“His name was Sakamoto Yuji. He was five years old at the time.” Abe started to talk again. The tone of her voice reflected the sadness she felt. “He was a victim of his abusive parents. They both abused and neglected the poor child. Neighbours reported noise, yelling and sounds of screaming several times but no one ever did anything about it. Nothing was ever done until the situation escalated.”

“We got a call from the hospital. A five year old boy was brought in for severe head injuries. I rushed there with two of my other colleagues. When we arrived there we saw the parents. The mother was clearly shaken up, but the father was in a state of shock… A kind of shock that made him worry if he’d go to jail rather than if his child would be alright. I hated those kinds of people and I could recognize them from a mile away. I still do and I still can.” The tip of her tongue licked her lips which became too dry due to the harshness of the cold weather. Her beverage was still too hot to be drunk.

“My colleagues questioned them. I went to talk to the doctor. The mother said the boy fell down the stairs after he had seen her arguing with the husband. The husband confirmed the story but the doctor told me that the boy was hit in the head with a blunt object. It could have been a vase. A fist perhaps. The impact of it made him fall down the stairs. The doctor was a hundred per cent sure of it.” Miki sighed. “I jotted it all down and returned to the waiting room. An hour later…” Abe’s throat suddenly dried.

She cleared it with a sip from the glass of water she was given and cleared her throat, swallowing down a lump. “An hour later… The boy was pronounced dead. The mother went hysterical, blaming the doctors for negligence at work but the situation was clear. The boy had died from his parents’ abuse.” 

It was difficult for her to talk about it. She herself had a son; a son she loved more than her own life. Her late husband was a good father, as well. Even if they fought… He never allowed their son to hear it. The boy was always kept away from all of that. Luckily. Now, that she talked about this case, she could not help but think about Koichi, her boy who had turned eight a couple of months ago. If something like that happened to him, due to her or anyone else’s negligence… Abe shivered. No. She should not think about that.