The person who had lived in that house was a wealthy merchant. He had a beautiful wife and a clever child. Many employees served under him, and he ran an expansive business that was considered one of, if not the largest of Kukrika. He paid his employees generously and looked after them with care, so there was never any shortage of people who came to his home seeking to work at his store. He was also well-regarded by fellow merchants, and it seemed that his store would continue to flourish for a long time to come. Then, everything changed.
It happened a few years ago. There was an incident in which multiple women of a young age went missing in the city of Kukrika. Girls in their late teens simply went missing one after another. The city guards worked day and night searching everywhere for the missing girls, and a notice was sent out cautioning women to avoid walking alone. Eventually, the investigators of the incident happened upon one element that all the cases shared: all the victims had either been working at the formerly-mentioned merchant’s store or been interviewed for a position. They found the thread that connected all the victims. Once they realized, the guards immediately rushed to the merchant’s house for questioning. When they arrived, they saw…
“They saw?”
“The very sight that surfaced in your mind right now,” said the salesperson in a low, hushed tone. Presumably, it was for effect, as the story had reached its climax.
Renya was not impressed in the least; nothing about the story grabbed him. The guy sounded like just another serial killer. What was so special about him? Sure, it was a tragic story, but if he started giving examples of similar incidents from his original world, they’d be here all day. If that was all it took for a place to be cursed, his whole freaking world would have been cursed multiple times over. Besides, if there were ghosts roaming around the guy’s house, they should have been popping up in the dozens.
“Well,” said the man, who seemed rather disappointed by his potential client’s profound disinterest, “so goes the story about the place, anyway.”
“That’s all there is to it? Just a story?” said a distinctly unamused Renya.
“Ah, well, as I’ve heard, they really do appear…” The man lowered his voice and tried for the ominous air again, but Renya was not interested in playing along.
“What’s ‘they’?”
“Ghosts, apparently. So far, every one of our clients who moved in to that property has terminated their contract, claiming they see them as soon as night falls.”
This time, Renya found himself genuinely surprised by the man’s words, which served as a stark reminder to him that things truly were different here. It seemed that in this world, unresolved grudges and grievances really could give rise to ghosts. His memories of his previous world remained missing, but he was fairly sure he had never come across any ghosts or spiritual beings there. This wasn’t a baseless assumption; until now, he didn’t believe they existed at all. Had he ever experienced a ghostly encounter, he should have at least believed in their existence. The fact that he didn’t implied no such encounter ever occurred.
“Do those ghosts only come out at night?”
“Yes, that appears to be the case.”
Apparently, some things didn’t change. Even here, he wasn’t going to behold any ghosts strutting their ethereal stuff in bright daylight.
“Can I take a look first? If I don’t find anything wrong with the place, I intend to purchase it.”
Renya eyed the poster again — a bargain-priced property with a past history of ghost sightings — and found himself, of all things, fascinated. In fact, he had half a mind to put his money down right then and there. Of course, he wasn’t yet sure if they truly appeared or not, and he still had the good sense to realize that if they did, he needed to first ascertain how dangerous they were.
“I see…” said the man with a nod, “we do at times meet clients with… more exotic tastes such as yourself. In such cases, we do allow for a one-night stay, during which the client may have a look-over of the property. Do note, however, that no furniture or bedding will be provided. It’s in the same state as the merchant left it. Will that be fine?”
“At least clean the place… You’re trying to sell it, right?”
“We’d love to, but it’s too creepy and nobody wants to go in.”
“Huh. Fine. On a side note, what happened to that merchant?”
“Of course, they arrested him and brought him to trial. He was sentenced to death. But, so that the souls of those women so cruelly murdered may rest in peace…” The man paused, presumably for dramatic effect, then lowered his voice again and continued in a hushed tone, “They took him to the mansion’s garden. There, they beheaded him.”
The man laughed, his voice meant to be low and unsettling. Even now, he was still determined to add a touch of horror to his story. Unfortunately, Renya, who was entirely uninvested, started speaking with an air of total nonchalance and ruined the man’s efforts to create some atmosphere.
“Damn, the clean up must have been a nightmare. I don’t know how people do beheadings in this world, but it’s harder than it looks. The neck’s wrapped in muscle and the bone’s thick, so it’s fairly tough. If you swing wide, there’s a chance you end up hitting the shoulder or the back. And if some fat guy shows up, it’s like ‘where the hell is your neck, even?’ and it degenerates into a farce sometimes. Also, it doesn’t matter if you use a sword or an axe, if you can’t lop it off with one swing, the convict’s going to suffer. I’ve heard about cases where a shoddy executioner hacked at a convict’s neck a bunch of times and still couldn’t cut through, and the guy was just writhing in pain the whole time… I mean, you could argue that was part of the atonement process, but imagine if it were you in that situation. Now there’s a thought that’ll keep you up at night, huh? The reliable way to do it is to get them onto the beheading stand, hold an axe over their neck, and slam the axe down with a hammer. That way, even a novice can do it in one go. However, if the guy swinging the hammer hesitates, the axe can get lodged in the neck halfway through, and then you’ll be in a pickle. Did you know that?”
As Renya rattled off his encyclopedic knowledge of the intricacies of beheading techniques, the man’s face turned deathly pale — far paler than from any ghost story — and scurried to the back of the store to get Renya the keys to the property. With the grin of a bully, Renya called out after the man.
“Where I’m from, they say that if you bury a dead body under a tree, beautiful flowers will blossom there. That guy’s body isn’t buried in the garden, is it?”
“How the heck would I know? Just take your key and go already!” shrieked the man.
He who told the ghost story was scared out of his wits. Renya shook his head and smiled a little. The irony was not lost on him.