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Chapter 19 - THE GHOST’S CARVING: KUREHA’S STORY

"Despite my attempts to reach my parents through those rituals," Kureha's voice wavered, low and trembling, "nothing… nothing ever worked. Not even once."

Kōki stood with his arms crossed, jaw tight, his eyes locked on her. He could see the tension in her shoulders, the subtle quiver in her hands as they rested on her chest. Her gaze drifted away from him, fixed somewhere just beyond the classroom walls, as though the memories themselves were visible.

"I thought… maybe they hated me for what I said," she continued, voice cracking on the last word. She pressed her palm to her mouth, trying to stop it from trembling. "That's why… I gave up on contacting them. Completely."

Kōki swallowed, his pulse hammering in his ears. There was a weight in the air—thick, suffocating, the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above vibrating against his senses.

"But then… I found this… game."

A small shiver ran down Kureha's spine. Her fingers dug into her sleeves as if holding herself together. She let out a shaky breath, the sound harsh in the still room.

"It… it was a board game. I saw it online. Some kind of cheap spirit-communication kit. It had this big, flashy banner: 'Guaranteed Encounter with the Dead.' I was… desperate, Takeda. More than anything, I just wanted to say sorry."

Kōki's shoulders relaxed fractionally. He didn't speak—he only nodded slightly, giving her the space she clearly needed.

"I didn't think," she whispered. "I ordered it immediately. The moment it arrived, I set it up. I asked if anyone was there… and it moved."

Her lips curved briefly into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I thought… I thought it was them. My parents. I believed it, with everything I had."

She shook her head, and the smile faded.

"But it wasn't them."

The silence that followed pressed in like a physical weight. Kōki could hear his own heartbeat thumping, rapid in his chest. He could feel the tension in his muscles coiling like springs.

"One night…" Kureha's voice became almost a whisper. "I woke up… this… feeling. Like… someone was there. Watching me. I opened my eyes. Nothing. I thought maybe I was dreaming, but then… it got worse. I couldn't move. My body… felt like it was being crushed under a weight I couldn't lift. I opened my eyes… and I saw it."

Kōki's throat went dry. Sayoko floated closer, her face pale, eyes wide. Even Takuto shifted, leaning forward slightly, silent but tense.

"It… wasn't human. Not like… not even like a ghost. Its shape… twisted. Limbs too long. Eyes… just empty black sockets. And… its presence—it… it was suffocating. The air reeked of burnt incense and something rotten and the temperature dropped so sharply I could see my own breath."

Kureha's fingers clenched her sleeves tighter, knuckles pale. She took a trembling step back. "Then it… it spoke. Not in a language I could understand. It was chanting… like some kind of… foul, old thing."

Her voice hitched. "And then… its claws. Sharp. Real. It carved something into me."

Kōki froze as she began to lift her shirt, exposing her abdomen.

"Wait! Wait, don't—" he blurted, stepping forward, face flushing red.

"Don't you dare look!" Sayoko snapped, her arms crossing firmly as if she could shield Kureha with sheer will.

Takuto's lips quirked into a mischievous grin. "Finally, some perks to being dead… free show!"

"You pervert!" Sayoko's hand shot out, smacking him across the face.

"OW! That actually hurt!" he squeaked, rubbing his cheek.

Kureha rolled her eyes, voice flat but quiet. "I'm not stripping. Just… look."

Sayoko floated closer, hands flying up to cover her mouth. Her eyes went wide, glimmering with shock, the pale glow of her form flickering slightly in the sunlight.

"What could have done such a thing…" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Takuto's grin died the instant the words came into view. He leaned in half a step, then froze, jaw slack. "That's… not a prank," he said, voice small, the usual bounce gone. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes stuck to the carved lines. "Damn."

Kōki's stomach lurched as his eyes met her scarred skin, the jagged letters etched deeply across her pale abdomen: Your soul is mine.

His breath caught, and for a second, he almost staggered back. The words carved into her pale skin were raw and ugly.

"That… thing… did this?" he rasped.

Kureha nodded solemnly, shivering. Her shoulders tightened and her fingers dug into her sleeves. "It didn't stop there. It smashed mirrors… threw things across my room… pushed me down the stairs once. I almost broke my neck."

Kōki's chest tightened. He could feel every tremor of her words in the room, every subtle shift of her weight and the slight shaking of her hands.

"My aunt tried to help. She called a priest. I thought… maybe it was over." Kureha's voice broke, faltering slightly. "But it wasn't. The spirit… attacked her. Threw her from the balcony like… like she was nothing."

Kōki's stomach churned. He could feel the tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw.

"She survived… barely. Broken ribs. A shattered arm. The doctors… they weren't hopeful. And… it didn't stop. It… possessed me."

Kōki's eyes widened. "Y-you mean it—"

"Yes." Kureha's gaze dropped, fingers fidgeting along her sleeves. "One morning, I woke up… different. Weak. Exhausted. Like… I'd been running for days. I checked the calendar… twelve days… gone. Gone. No memory. Nothing."

"One morning, I woke up… different. My muscles ached as if I'd been beaten, my throat was raw, and my whole body trembled. The curtains were open, sunlight pouring in, but I felt like I hadn't seen daylight in weeks. I reached for the calendar. Twelve days… gone. Just gone. No memory. Nothing.

Like I'd been erased."

He could see the exhaustion in her face, the faint shadows beneath her eyes, the way her hands shook slightly when she clasped them together.

I reach out to the priest… she mumbled under her breath as the memory resurfaced.

She remembered her hands trembling as she gripped his, barely able to hold on. Her voice had been a ragged whisper, every word shaking with fear.

"Please… you have to help me," she recalled begging desperately, chest tight, heart hammering.

He had looked down at her, and for a moment, she thought he might say something comforting. But then… he refused. Not just a simple no. His eyes… cold, calculating, as if she were fragile and dangerous at the same time. "You're imagining things," he said. The words had hit her like a punch. And just like that… the last thread of hope she had snapped.

She looked at Kōki now, voice trembling. "He… he refused. Called me crazy. Said I was just… imagining things."

I had a feeling that anyone I told about this would leave me all alone… but I tried anyway, she whispered, voice barely audible as the next memory pressed against her.

She remembered walking through the school halls, shoulders tight, heart pounding. Teachers and neighbors turned away, friends stopped meeting her eyes. Whispers trailed behind her wherever she went, some avoiding her, others staring like she was a stranger. She had never felt so alone.

She remembered going to her teacher, trembling as she gripped his shoulder, trying to anchor herself. "Something's… following me," she had said, voice shaking. "I can't… I can't stop it." He had given her a brief, hesitant smile, patted her head. "It's okay. We'll figure something out," he had said. But later… she had overheard him talking to another teacher: "She's paranoid… maybe on pills… acting unstable." Her stomach had dropped. The person who was supposed to comfort her had already decided she was crazy.

Even her neighbors… she remembered dragging herself down the street like a shadow stripped of life, exhausted, eyes hollow, movements slow. They had whispered behind cupped hands: creepy… weird… not right… and glanced at her with suspicion and fear.

And her friends… the people she had trusted. She remembered telling them everything, trembling, desperate for someone to believe her. They had smiled awkwardly, patted her shoulder, said polite things that hadn't helped. But after that day… their smiles had vanished. Their voices fell silent. Hallways felt empty and endless. She could feel their eyes following her, but never meeting hers. The whispers had grown louder in her mind, echoing even when she was alone.

She looked at Kōki now, voice tight, trembling. "I… I didn't know who to turn to. No one believed me… not even the people I thought I could trust."

Kureha's voice softened to a whisper, her lips trembling. "I gave up. I… I was so tired. I… decided I was going to end it."

Kōki's breath caught. His body felt rigid, every muscle alert.

"I… I planned to hang myself… in the old school building. That's why I was there that day. But… I saw you. Talking… to someone who wasn't there. At first… I thought… maybe you were like them. Then I watched. I saw you talk to ghosts. And… I knew."

"So… that's why you were following me," Kōki said softly, almost more to himself than her.

Kureha's head dipped slightly. A small, almost imperceptible nod.

"I… didn't know what else to do. I… needed someone to believe me. Someone who wouldn't think I was crazy. That's all I wanted."

Tears glimmered in her eyes, silently falling, tracing lines down her pale cheeks. She pressed her fists into her sleeves, trembling.

Kōki felt a surge of protectiveness. The exhaustion, the fear, the hopelessness—it was all there, etched into her body language. He could almost feel her heartbeat through the tension in the room.

"Kōki-kun," Sayoko whispered softly, hovering closer. "She's suffering. We… we can't just leave her like this."

"I know," Kōki said, his voice firm but calm, steadying himself. He stepped closer, careful not to crowd her.

He met her gaze. "If what you're saying… is true… then I might be able to help. But I… I can't explain everything now. That thing… it can sense if we're planning against it. We have to be careful."

"You… you believe me?" Her voice cracked, disbelief clear in the tremor.

"Kurobane… I believe you," Kōki said. "And I want to help. But not alone. You can't go home tonight. That thing… it'll be waiting."

Her eyes flickered to his, searching, trembling. For the first time in so long, she felt a flicker of something she hadn't dared to hope for: someone who truly cared who understand. "You… you mean it?"

"I do." His voice was steady, gentle. "Don't worry about grabbing anything. I'll handle it. Food, clothes… anything you need. Right now… the most important thing is you staying alive."

"I… I don't need much…" she whispered, barely audible.

Kōki nodded, resolve settling in his chest. Whatever this thing was, they couldn't face it alone. He reached for his phone, fingers trembling only slightly as he scrolled through his contacts.

His thumb hovered over a single name. He exhaled sharply, then tapped.

The line rang twice before a gruff voice answered. "Kid? What's going on? What the heck could you possibly need from me?"

"Raikou… no, Deacon Crowe! I need your help. It's… serious. Something big… and I think—you're the only one who can handle it."

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