Reiko entering Hairama Forest at night
Disturbing visions and supernatural phenomena
First encounter with a trace of the kidnapper
The forest itself feels alive and hostile
Hairama Forest loomed ahead like a mouth, gaping wide and wet with mist.
Reiko hesitated at the tree line, the beam of her flashlight trembling in her hand. Beyond it, darkness stretched like an endless ocean, broken only by the pale glint of wet leaves.
The villagers never came here after sundown. Even the hunters avoided it. Too many old stories. Too many bones buried under the moss.
She stepped forward.
The instant she crossed the threshold, the air changed — thickened, heavy and damp. The scent of rotting wood and stagnant water curled into her lungs, making her gag.
The trees leaned close, their skeletal branches scratching against each other like whispering mouths.
Her footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet of dead leaves. Every few steps, her light caught flashes of things she didn't want to see — scraps of torn cloth, broken dolls half-buried in mud, strange symbols carved deep into bark.
It felt like walking into a grave.
The deeper she went, the quieter the world became.
No wind.
No birds.
No insects.
Only the steady thudding of her own heart.
Crunch.
A footstep.
Not hers.
Reiko spun around, flashlight slicing through the dark.
Nothing.
But when she turned back, the path ahead had changed.
Where there had been a narrow trail, now there was only dense thickets, roots like knotted veins twisting across the ground.
She stumbled forward, disoriented.
Shapes moved just at the edge of her vision — small, hunched figures scuttling behind trees. Faces peeking from hollow trunks. Thin fingers beckoning from shadows.
"Help…"
The voice was faint. A child's voice.
Reiko's stomach twisted.
She followed the sound, forcing herself through the undergrowth. Thorns clawed at her jacket, snagging her skin.
The flashlight flickered — once, twice — then died.
Total darkness swallowed her.
Panic clawed up her throat, but she bit it down.
She closed her eyes, steadying her breathing.
In the blackness, she could hear it more clearly.
The whispering.
Not words — not exactly — but a beckoning, a pulling.
Her feet moved of their own accord, deeper into the heart of the forest.
At some point, she stumbled into a clearing.
And froze.
Before her stood a massive tree — older than the village, its trunk so wide it would take ten men to encircle it. Its bark was blackened and cracked, oozing sap the color of blood.
At the base of the tree, the earth had split open.
A hole — a narrow, gaping wound leading down into darkness.
From within, a foul smell rose — sweet and rotten.
And something else.
A sound.
Breathing.
Shallow. Raspy.
Reiko's skin crawled.
Slowly, she knelt at the edge, peering into the pit.
At first she saw nothing.
Then — movement.
A hand.
Pale, thin, filthy — clawing at the earth, trying to pull itself free.
And above it — a face.
No — not a face. A mask. Crude, carved from wood, painted in wild colors — red, black, yellow. Twisted into a permanent, leering grin.
The thing beneath the tree tilted its head at her, as if curious.
Reiko stumbled back, heart hammering against her ribs.
The masked figure did not climb out.
Instead, it lifted one hand — a finger crooked in a beckoning gesture.
Come down.
Every instinct in her screamed to run.
But she couldn't move.
Roots snaked around her ankles, tightening like shackles.
The forest had her.
"Reiko."
She heard Koroe's voice — faint and desperate.
"Don't let it pull you in!"
But it was too late.
The earth shifted beneath her feet, and she slid forward, tumbling into the pit.
Darkness swallowed her whole.
Got it —
You want Okiku, a ghost of a small child, to appear in the next part!
She counts softly: "One... two... three..." echoing eerily... until she reaches nine — and stops suddenly.
Reiko is getting closer when this happens.
The world spun — blackness, dirt, whispers — until she hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud.
For a moment she couldn't move.
The air was cold. So cold it burned her lungs.
When she forced herself to sit up, she realized she was no longer in the forest.
She was underground.
A massive cavern stretched out around her — walls slick with damp moss, roots dangling from the ceiling like withered fingers.
In the distance, a faint light flickered.
A lantern?
She stumbled toward it.
Her footsteps echoed unnaturally, as if the stone was hollow beneath her feet.
As she moved deeper, she became aware of a sound.
A voice.
Small.
Childish.
Counting.
"One..."
The voice echoed faintly through the tunnels.
"Two..."
Reiko stopped, her blood turning to ice.
"Three..."
The voice was getting closer.
"Four..."
She pressed herself against the damp wall, heart hammering.
"Five..."
A figure appeared at the edge of her light.
A small girl.
No older than six, wearing a filthy white kimono, her long black hair hanging in a tangled curtain over her face.
Her bare feet dragged along the ground, leaving smears of black mud.
"Six..." she whispered, head tilted at a broken angle.
Reiko couldn't move.
Couldn't even breathe.
"Seven..."
The girl was closer now.
Reiko could see her face.
Pale.
Bruised.
Eyes hollow and empty.
"Eight..."
The girl raised one small, skeletal hand, pointing directly at her.
"Nine..."
And then —
Silence.
The girl's mouth hung open as if about to say ten.
But no sound came.
Instead, she jerked violently, like a puppet with cut strings, and crumpled to the ground.
For a moment Reiko thought it was over.
Until she saw something crawl out of the little girl's back.
A hand — but far too large, far too long, jointed in the wrong places.
It grasped the ground, pulling something else behind it.
Something unseen.
The girl's body was dragged backward into the darkness, vanishing without a sound.
Reiko stumbled away, biting down a scream.
But as she turned to run, she realized —
the tunnel had changed.
Where there had been a single path, now there were nine.
Nine dark, narrow corridors stretching out like fingers.
And from somewhere deep within them, she heard the echo of that small, broken voice.
"One..."
Counting had started again.
But this time it wasn't just one voice.
It was dozens.
Hundreds.
All counting.
All coming closer.
Reiko knew she had to move.
She chose the center tunnel and ran, the echoes chasing her, the air growing colder and thicker with every step.
The lantern light barely touched the walls now. Shadows moved on their own. The smell of rot was overwhelming.
Ahead, she saw it —
a doorway carved into stone.
A Torii gate, half-collapsed, leading into what looked like an old shrine.
Above it, faded words were etched into the stone:
"Sacrifice to Seal the Hairama."
She didn't have time to think.
Something was following her — fast, wet slapping footsteps — whispering her name.
"Reiko..."
She stumbled through the gate.
Inside was a cavernous shrine, lit only by the sickly green glow of mold.
And in the center — an altar.
On it, laid out like offerings, were small objects:
Broken toys.
Torn shoes.
Tiny bones wrapped in red cloth.
Children.
Sacrifices.
Reiko clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from vomiting.
Above the altar, scrawled in what looked like blood, were the same nine numbers, over and over.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
It wasn't just counting.
It was a ritual.
The number nine.
The missing people.
The kidnappings.
It was all connected.
Behind her, the counting voices grew louder, echoing madly.
"One — two — three — four — five — six — seven — eight — NINE —"
But this time, they didn't stop.
They kept counting.
And something monstrous began to emerge from the darkness behind her.
Reiko turned to face it — just as a hand, slick and black with rot, shot out of the shadows and grabbed her wrist.
She screamed.
The hand was cold. So cold it burned her skin.
She struggled, kicking and thrashing, but the grip was unbreakable.
From the darkness, a face leaned close.
Not human.
A twisted mask — stitched together from dozens of faces — grinning with too many teeth.
And from its mouth, a wet voice whispered:
"You shouldn't have come here, Reiko."
The floor beneath her cracked.
And Reiko fell again — this time into a place deeper and darker than anything she had ever known.
[ To be continued ]