The hatred in the old woman’s hushed words seeped into the night, causing the shadows to grow even deeper. Moonlight traced the crooked line of her stooped back.
Right then, I noticed something in front of the old woman. It looked like a clump of straw and was about the size of a child. Two horns, like withered branches, protruded from either side.
I was about to call Miyaki’s name, when suddenly, the thing was right in front of me. A beast with no eyes, nose, or ears. No mouth. Its fleecy, camel-colored fur swelled up in the middle and parted. Its belly bulged like a frog’s—transparent. Its intestines were like a red rubber hose, its organs plump like full balloons. They pulsated. I couldn’t take my eyes off the thing; I couldn’t move a finger. My thoughts alone raced through my head.
The victims were supposedly chosen without rhyme or reason. But some of the villagers must have had an inkling by now. That the victims’ organs had been devoured by the god that ate men after having their own wishes granted. The people of this village, however, continued to make supplications to their ghastly god. They no longer cared if their organs were gone once they died.
I was still holding the penlight. I felt something brush against my right hand. It felt too soft to be a branch or a leaf.
My gaze drifted ever so slowly to the right. Something dark was dangling there. No, not a branch. A bundle of black hair, like dried seaweed, moist and stiff. A woman was standing there.
I couldn’t see her face or upper body; they were hidden by her hair. But I could see she was wearing a pleated red hakama on her lower half, the same skirt worn by shrine maidens. The color grew deeper near her waist, like a rusty burgundy or maroon rather than scarlet. The woman’s hands trembled, reaching for the hair that hung down around her stomach.
I wanted to shout for her to stop, but I couldn’t speak anymore. The curtains of black hair began to spread, as if being forcibly stretched open. The center of her clothed stomach, as it finally came into view, was traced with the remnants of multiple curved lines etched in blood. The same pattern we had seen in the notes that Karahara’s grandmother had left.
She undid the sash around her waist and loosened her kimono. Inside, she was hollow. A yawning black hole, like the burrow of a grand old tree.
The beast had no mouth. But somehow, I knew it was smiling.
The woman was staring at me, too. I could feel the force of her gaze from within her tangled mass of hair. “You’ve come so close,” she seemed to say. “Why not make your own offering?” Karahara had never made his own wish. But I realized he was being affected, too. He was proof that the god was growing out of control. And there was only one way to stop this god. Someone would have to offer themselves up, just like the shrine maiden once had, to bring an end to the human feast.
“But I still haven’t…”
I heard a scuffing sound then, like something tumbling down the mountain. Suddenly, I could move again, as if a spell had been lifted. Miyaki was standing next to me, a weak smile on her face.
“S-sorry, my foot slipped…,” Miyaki said.
Turning back, I realized the beast and the shrine maiden were gone. In their place, the old woman, having noticed the noise, was staring our way.
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”
I grabbed Miyaki’s hand and began racing back down the craggy, uneven mountainside, nearly tumbling head over heels.
I could feel a set of eyes on us, though whether it was the beast’s, the shrine maiden’s, or the old woman’s, I didn’t know.
We stumbled out into the road at the foot of the mountain, out of breath. The clinic was waiting for us, grimy in appearance as if abandoned. Glancing up, I could see the sheet still fluttering on the laundry pole atop the roof. The full moon shone overhead, its stomach full, round, swollen, and gorged.
I rubbed my stomach with a clammy hand. I could feel my ribs and flesh pushing back against my hand. I wasn’t hollow inside.
As noon approached, the village was peaceful and bright. There was no sign that anything dark lurked within it. Miyaki sighed where she sat in the passenger seat of the van as she looked over the report I had drafted.
“No immediate issues?”
“I’ll convey the details directly, by mouth, so that no record is left behind. Only to those who can be trusted, of course. The higher-ups will figure something out, just like always.”
My supervisor apparently had connections I wasn’t privy to. For instance, connections that could fabricate local records, rewriting an object of worship little by little to gradually create new beliefs among the villagers.
That sounded like the literal definition of tempting the gods to me, but the boss man insisted otherwise. According to him, it took years for the effects of such minor changes to be felt. As for myself—as someone incapable of anything so noble and selfless as sacrificing my own life or as wicked as turning to monsters regardless of the consequences—that solution seemed as good as any other. I lit my cigarette with my lighter and exhaled the smoke. That old woman had seen our faces, so it would be better if we didn’t stay in this village much longer.
“We should get going soon. You sure you don’t want to get another taiyaki first?”
“I don’t feel so hungry anymore…”
“Why? Because it’s not chunky?”
Miyaki chuckled and rolled her eyes at me.
Down past the train station, I could see a small hotel that was maybe three or four stories tall at most. From behind its brown, prisonlike walls emerged a single taxi, which sped off into the distance, while a concierge in a white button-up shirt and vest bid the vehicle farewell. The man seemed familiar to me as he stood there, watching the exhaust fumes trail in the car’s wake. His hair was parted, and the smile on his face looked entirely natural, but that thin back and the bags under his eyes could only belong to one person. Karahara.
For a moment, Karahara glanced my way. The corners of his lips, which had been lifted into a professional customer service smile, dipped suddenly. His expression became blank, like that of a man who had already given up on everything. He glared at the taxi with dead eyes as it grew smaller in the distance, before turning on his heel and disappearing back inside the hotel.
“‘So long as it doesn’t affect them while they’re still alive’…”
I rolled down the window and let the tobacco smoke stream out. The guest Karahara had just seen off would probably never know the depths of resignation and darkness that lay in Karahara’s gut. Not for as long as they lived.
“We all get by on deception in the end, though, don’t we? If it works in the moment, why worry about the rest? At least, that’s how most people feel, I assume. Take me, for example. I don’t know anything about whatever department you were with before you transferred here,” I mused aloud.
“Did you want to ask?” I shook my head, so she continued. “You know, I heard a rumor that you’re already divorced, despite your age. But I promise, it never even crossed my mind to ask.”
The smirk I could hear in Miyaki’s voice almost made me wince. I stared out the windshield of the van, at the woman tending the taiyaki stall next to the station. And then I stubbed out my cigarette in my portable ashtray.
The tear-shaped mole still made the woman look tragic, even when she smiled.
“Yeah, something like that,” I said.
I closed the window and fastened my seat belt, before stepping on the gas.