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CHRYSANTHEMUMS

a hunter investigates a ghost in the woods that has been plaguing the village & terrorizing the other local hunters, only to find it to be a long lost friend. longer short story, about 20 pages in normal format. written by jan van gouden.

The hunter Genjirou liked to fancy himself a bit of a local celebrity, as he brought in the majority of the food for the village– fat pheasants, meaty rabbits, even sometimes a wild boar. The village was one that did not so much pride itself on its inhabitants’ individualism as it did their sense of community. They didn’t care to have the claim to fame of any famous actor born there, nor any famous samurai… they cared for one another deeply, & silently agreed not to get caught up in any selfish ambition. The artists of Passions collaborated & worked on elaborate projects together, the children always played together, the hunters often hunted together.

Despite his self-assurance, Genjirou was actually quite unpopular amongst the villagers, & considered rude for hunting individually. They did not care for his talent, and while they ate his food, they did not do it with so much enjoyment, perhaps finding it soured by his individualism. Nobody in Passions liked to gossip, but if they did, there would certainly be some cruel words exchanged about the hunter behind his back, especially from the other hunters, who were deep-down jealous of the considerable stock he seemed to always bring back every time he hunted.

Genjirou did not pay these sentiments any mind, even as he was intimately aware they were abrew. He’d grown up parent-less and knew he at least had some of the village’s sympathy over at least that fact, & that they presumed he was so stand-offish because he felt he was alone in the world. Sometimes a pretty young maiden, Fuku, sought him out and offered him lilies from her garden, but he rejected her kindness. He did not do so cruelly, only smiling and asking if she didn’t have anybody more handsome to tend her attentions to, that a pretty girl like her shouldn’t worry over a guy like him…

This only spurred Fuku’s interest in him, & she’d secretly follow him on hunts sometimes, watching with intense interest as he played his game. Fish, deer, wild boar, & even a bear once! Over the course of a few weeks, her friends finally convinced her to stop following him & offering lilies, & she did, although deep in her heart she still loved him.

“Look at that Genjirou, there’s a storm brewing on his face,” a village elder murmured to her husband, fanning herself as the two sat on a bench outside a small store. “He’s probably realising he can’t stop pushing the world away, but is in denial,” her husband chuckled, as he knit away at what looked like a baby sweater. “He’s young, isn’t he, only twenty-two? He’s probably going through a phase… not too long ago, he used to be quite social.”

They chuckled quietly but averted their gaze when Genjirou stomped by, pale, rushing into the store. The store owner couldn’t help but to giggle when he walked in, propping her arm up on the counter. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she remarked, choosing to busy herself with dusting off some vases.

“Why did nobody tell me a man was murdered in the woods?” Genjirou exclaimed, staring at her like she was a monster. He had come across a corpse earlier that day, already purplish from decay, bloated beyond recognition, & on full display in the middle of the grounds where he usually hunted. “You would have known if you hunted with the others,” she scolded him, flicking her feather duster towards him. Genjirou grit his teeth. Sometimes the people of Passions worked on his nerves insatiably– he was introverted by nature, shy, & didn’t like to constantly associate with others like everyone else seemed to, & it always seemed to blow up in his face. Namely, everybody always knew “the scoop” on everything, while he was left blind as a bat on any news, & had to practically beg.

He already knew the shopkeeper knew the story behind the corpse. His demeanor suddenly grew much more meek, and sheepish, as he asked, “What is the story behind him? It’s odd a body just lies so disgracefully in the middle of a clearing like that.”

She pursed her lips. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask the hunters; they told me not to tell you the story… as for why he was there…” A hum; she wrinkled her nose in disapproval and lowered her voice. “That was a mean prank; they were messing with you because you never hunt with them… I don’t like to gossip, but I think it was very rude, not to mention disrespectful to the deceased, that they did that… I think they’ll be lucky if they’re not haunted on their next hunts.”

A glint of curiosity shone in her eyes. “What did you do when you saw the body? I think I would have passed out, tee hee.”

“I buried it,” Genjirou said simply. He found it disgraceful already how the disfigured corpse was laid out in the middle of the grass, even if it was clothed in burial robes, but he found it even more disgraceful somebody had placed it there on purpose.

“You buried it!” she gasped, putting a hand to her mouth. “That’s even more scary… what if it wants a grave? What if it haunts the whole village? Oh, oh….” She paused. “...one more thing… please don’t tell the hunters I told you about what they did when you get with them. I have a bit of a big mouth, if I’m being honest. But, you weren’t supposed to know they moved the corpse. Only ask about the corpse itself, ok?”

Genjirou felt his mood entirely ruined, but, grumbling, he agreed, then left the store to find the hunters.

He found them easily, like they were hoping to be found, outside a building exchanging words & laughing. When Genjirou approached them, they fell silent, and the humour in their eyes turned a reproachful coldness. They wore their hair in prim and trim top-knots, as was customary, while Genjirou wore his uncut & loose, only inviting more scorn from the villagers. Scorn, scorn, scorn. He sometimes just wanted to go wild, feeling like no matter what he did, it wouldn’t matter; he wouldn’t be accepted anyways!

“Good afternoon, Genjirou,” one spoke up, putting a hand up to him. “How was the hunt?”

“What was with the corpse in the woods?”

The hunters exchanged a few odd looks with one another. “Oh, you saw it, too? Wasn’t that scary? He wasn’t someone from our village, we know that for sure.”

Genjirou wanted to ask them to cut the bullshit, but he was too polite. Still, a wrinkle in his brow conveyed his frustration. “What’s his story? Who was he? Why was he just out in the open like that?”

After a long silence, one finally said, “Choyakoshi. We’re guessing that’s his name, anyways, since the characters were crudely written in ink on his kimono somewhere.” Choyakoshi had worn a slightly tattered, dirtied white kimono. It was folded right-over-left, meaning he must have been buried in it. “Why wasn’t he buried?” Genjirou repeated his question, but worded it differently.

The hunters exchanged glances with each other, & ultimately shrugged. “We don’t know, either. We’re sending one of the morticians to the mountain tomorrow to see what he can figure out.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Genjirou said hesitantly, drawing questioning glances. “I already buried him.”

“You buried him!” one of the hunters exclaimed. “What if he isn’t happy with the burial, & he haunts our village because of it?!”

“Then let him!” Genjirou spat. “I’ll be happier with that!”

He stormed off, blocking out the commotion the other hunters caused in his trail.

Did you hear that? I know Genjirou isn’t very social, but I think he totally hates us!

How dare he! We haven’t done anything to him, & now he’s practically wishing some ghost would come haunt us?

What nerve! What if this Choyakoshi is a cruel and vengeful spirit?

Genjirou didn’t let their words get to him– he knew that no matter what he did, they’d find some reason to dislike him. Same old same old.

At least, he thought their words didn’t get to him. That evening, nobody touched a lick of the considerably-smaller-than-usual bit of food he’d brought to the village dinner, and not even Fuku attempted to say a word to him, averting her gaze when he pleadingly looked over at her. She giggled instead with her friend, ignoring him as he stared emptily at his plate.

In times of good weather, the village always insisted every dinner be shared, outside, and the village leader would make a big deal about having a vast space cleared out, and every person who could cook or hunt or farm bringing something to the great potluck. Genjirou attended because he felt obligated to more than anything, but after quietly finishing his food, his sense of obligation disappeared, along with him, as he receded to his house.

It was considered very rude to leave before everybody had finished eating, and of course, there was a tiny uproar and a string of murmurs as Genjirou left. He’s so cold; what’s his problem?

It’s bad enough that he already hunts alone… does he really have to make such a point out of being an outcast?

I wish he would just be friends with us already. Can’t he see how hard we’re trying to help him fit in?

Parents or no parents, you’d think that after twenty-two years of living here, he’d know how to behave. Tsk.

Genjirou felt immensely weak and pitiful as he brushed tears from his eyes that night, silently sobbing himself to sleep. He didn’t get out of bed the following morning to hunt as he usually did, finding he couldn’t work up the energy nor the passion to. In fact, he slept until about noon, and even when he officially woke up, he just lay there, contemplating if in fact he was very rude and dislikable, and whether he should work on his personality. He self-consciously fretted, melting into a puddle of his own thoughts, and crying, for a good two hours, unable to piece together just why he was feeling so miserable.

He was fairly well-off from what money he did make selling furs & other homemade goods from the leftovers of his prey to other villages & sometimes the villagers. He was very fit, & had someone who he knew had a crush on him, even if he wasn’t interested, so he couldn’t be ugly. He didn’t feel particularly sad, so why was he still crying? If nothing else, he was very thankful no one from the village could see him in such a pitiful state.

Right as he thought this, a knock sounded at the door and he stifled a yelp, quickly wiping as much from his eyes as he could. The knock sounded again, more urgently, and he squinted as he opened the door, the sun glaring at him from up above. “Genjirou, I don’t want to sound accusatory, but–” It was the shopkeeper, Toyo, rapidly fanning herself. “–have you been hunting today?”

“I just woke up,” Genjirou said so earnestly she knew he wasn’t lying. “Oh, it’s just terrible… the hunters sent me to come get you; they want you to come to my shop…”

“Why didn’t they come get me themselves?” Genjirou asked, irritated. Toyo fanned herself, hiding the lower half of her face, eyes shifting to the side. Genjirou didn’t ask again. “Fine. May I at least know what happened?”

“They wanted to tell you themselves… don’t tell them I told you already, but the hunter Hideto died today… he’d been pierced by an arrow! Please follow me… they’re trying to blame you for it; they’re very sore right now.”

Genjirou didn’t bother cleaning up, & garnered some odd looks as he followed Toyo through town, still wearing his sleeping robes, hair disheveled and eyes heavy. It was clear that, at two o’clock in the afternoon, he had just gotten out of bed. For the villagers, who usually operated on a clock from eight A.M to nine P.M, this was very unusual. At the store, Genjirou was immediately confronted by the remaining seven of the eight hunters. “Were you out hunting today, Genjirou?” one spit accusingly, jabbing a finger against his chest. “I was not!” Genjirou immediately defended himself, covering his chest, half to protect it, and half self-consciously, as he realised it was mostly bare.

Toyo pretended to be busy in the background, feverishly organising some trinkets on a high shelf in order from small to large and then back to large to small. The hunters glared at him suspiciously, but like Toyo, they had no reason not to believe the man who looked like he’d just woken up. Good thing I wasn’t, he thought to himself, thinking back on his profound moment of sadness. As awful as it had been, it saved him from getting tangled up in these accusations. “Hideto died,” another hunter lamented, fiddling with an arrow from his satchel. “He was shot by an arrow, like this one… but it wasn’t any of ours.”

The men all suddenly seemed very sheepish, and looked downwards, realising how pointless it was to question the man. They knew he made an easy scapegoat, and they knew they were accusing him for no reason. Not all seemed to let the matter go so easily, however, as one suddenly spoke up, “It must be that Choyakoshi ghost! He’s probably furious he wasn’t given a proper burial!”

The other hunters were quick to agree with him, and again, Genjirou was put in the negative spotlight, this time blamed for the hypothetical haunting. Now he was the one hanging his head low, not having the energy to argue with them. Instead, he quietly trudged out of the store back to his house. The hunters took this as a victory and yelled behind him, but this time he truly paid them no mind, only wanting to sleep again. At least when he was asleep, he didn’t have to deal with any of the villagers’ drama. When he returned, he noticed a trampled bunch of chrysanthemums scattered in front of his house. He paid them no mind.

The following morning, he woke up with a splitting head and stomach ache, and remembered he hadn’t eaten, let alone drank, a thing the day before. He pulled on a proper robe and fixed his hair, hoping to be able to make it through the village unbothered. He left his bow and arrow and his swords at home, still not having the energy to hunt, and also not wanting to risk any more serious accusations. On his doorstep, he found a fresh bundle of pure white chrysanthemums, bound by a silk ribbon that smelled of lilac.

Smiling and suddenly feeling much better, he picked up the bouquet and carefully set it in a long-empty stone vase atop his dresser. He made a mental note to thank Fuku for the kind gesture later.

He purchased a bowl of soup, a lamb chop, and some water from Passions’s inn and restaurant. The shopkeeper had a sort of sad look in his eye as he watched Genjirou eat, and Genjirou avoided looking at him at all– he knew well what his reputation was in the village by now, and this man, like the rest of them, surely either pitied or hated him. He wanted to associate with neither sentiment. After he finished eating, he set out to find Fuku, walking a few rounds around the village in hopes of catching her outside. He found her, but when he did, she avoided his gaze and acted like she hadn’t heard him after he called out for her, instead turning to her friend and murmuring something. The two giggled and Genjirou froze, not daring to approach them anymore. He hated how timid he was sometimes, but decided it was better to be the dog with its tail between its legs than the lamb on the cutting board.

Still, it was perplexing. Why would she leave him flowers, then not even acknowledge him? Complicated feelings, maybe, or her friend didn’t like him. Whatever. He already had more than enough stressing him out as it stood; he certainly didn’t want to trifle with yet another thing.

As soon as he got home and was about to close the door behind him, a sandaled foot wedged itself in the doorway. Toyo! “Genjirou– I really hate to bother you again, but you-know-who is asking for your presence again in my humble shop.” She muttered, “Why don’t they do this stuff in one of their own places, anyways? I’m seriously about to ban them from entering more than one at a time.”

“Let me guess,” Genjirou huffed. “Someone else died?”

“Actually, yes.”

He immediately went pale, biting his lip. “Why do they keep bothering me about it?! I’m very sorry this is happening, but at the rate things are going, I might not even want to attend their funeral!”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Toyo hissed, fanning at the air as though she were combatting mini-ghosts. Her kimono was a brilliant white, decorated with koi and tangerine trees. The white reminded Genjirou of the corpse’s burial clothes, & he wondered if maybe this really was a haunting, & if he really was to blame. He suddenly blushed and apologised for his rudeness. “There’s no need to apologise; I don’t think they’re ghosts, yet… I say, you can do or say whatever you want as long as you know you won’t suffer any consequences. That’s why I’m very careful with my words.”

Right, Genjirou thought. How many secrets had she let loose in her lifetime?

“Anyways, please come with me… as you can imagine, they’re very bitter, and I’m sure it’s better you meet them in my store, which at least I know they don’t want to burn down.” She laughed nervously, looking the house in front of her up and down.

And so, Genjirou once again trudged to Toyo’s store, and he was once again chewed out. “I saw the ghost!” one hunter declared, putting up an arm high above himself. “He was this tall, but was definitely the corpse from the other day… he was armed with a bow and arrow surely laced with evil energy, and shot down poor Genta…”

Again, a finger was jabbed against Genjirou’s chest, with such force it knocked the younger man back a few steps. “...this is your doing, Genjirou!! If you hadn’t buried him… what did you do, just dig into the dirt a little and toss his body in there?!” Genjirou flushed a deep shade of crimson. That was exactly what he had done. “It’s better than letting his body rot out in the open!” he half-heartedly asserted, knowing there was no way he’d win this argument. “Tell that to Genta and Hideto!” the hunter sneered. The remaining six of the eight hunters seemed very self-assured they wouldn’t be the ones to die next, all their noses stuck in the air with a sort of pretentious air as they confronted Genjirou.

Deep in his mind, Genjirou couldn’t help but to ponder if anyone had even died at all, or if this was all just some twisted scheme to get back at him for hunting alone. The hunters didn’t seem particularly fazed beyond rage at their friends’ deaths; then again, they rarely ever showed any real emotion, and liked to poke fun at men who did, insulting them by calling them womanly. Genjirou always wondered if they were at all self-conscious of how insulting it was to find womanhood a “bad” trait, and if they were, if they cared.

Having no comeback, Genjirou dared himself to quietly retreat. Seeing that the hunters made no effort to stop him, he ran back to his house, not caring that they saw him as a total coward. Let the negatives stack up. A coward, a traitor, a bringer of evil, an asshole… what difference does it make if there is another bad thing said about me, when there is already so much? Genjirou, rolled up inside his blanket, found himself sobbing again, unable to control it. He had always felt at least tolerated in Passions, but now he felt outright disliked. The only pleasant thought he had as he drifted yet again into sleep, having nothing else to occupy himself with, came with the whiff of his chrysanthemums’ scent drifting by, evoking images of Fuku, who he felt was his only possible friend in the village.

He woke up very early in the morning, and found, yet again, by his doorstep, a fresh bundle of white chrysanthemums, tied with a silk ribbon. He managed to squeeze them next to the other bundle in the vase, and added some water. It was six in the morning; nobody in the village was awake yet. Feeling emboldened by this striking solitude, Genjirou retreated to put on his hunting clothes and grab his bow and arrow, deciding that he’d either confront the ghost or do what he enjoyed, hunting, without letting himself be dragged down by his fears & insecurities.

& so, with only the light of the barely-rising sun, he set out to go hunt, secretly hoping he wouldn’t encounter anyone in the woods, let alone this allegedly fearsome, murderous spirit. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a ruse. Genta and Hideto were probably hiding out somewhere in the village to throw a scare into Genjirou, & maybe even to keep him away from the mountains, since the hunters were always jealous of how much he brought in by himself.

The dew of the grass brushed against his sandaled feet and the air smelled crisp and fresh. He drank some water from a river to refresh himself, then hunted marvelously as ever, carrying, two hours later, four pheasants and a boar. He found the site where he’d buried the corpse and leaned by it, frowning as he dug down a foot or so, revealing the rotting face. I really did bury him poorly… I hope he isn’t actually insulted, Genjirou thought, deciding then & there to dig a deeper hole. He shuddered a bit, feeling as though somebody was watching him… he shook the feeling off.

This time, he carefully placed the body in, taking care to fold the arms over the chest and neatly adjust the burial clothing. Satisfied, he placed a pheasant atop the body, then carefully covered it in dirt again. He’d taken a chrysanthemum with him to put on top of the grave, which he hoped was this time less crude. He said a quick blessing, then found a nice spot next to the river to enjoy the spoils of his hunt alone. He knew this was an area of the woods the other hunters rarely visited, so he felt confident starting a fire to roast a pheasant there, until he heard a clamour in the distance, coming closer.

Genjirou scrambled to put out the fire and panicked when he saw the silhouettes of the hunters in the distance. Unable to find anywhere to hide, he dove into the river behind a rock, breathing only when he was certain they couldn’t see him. He cursed that his pheasants and boar had been left behind, knowing that the hunters would surely take it as their own. It was unlikely they expected him to have regained his confidence so much as to go hunting, let alone dare to to begin with given the recent events. Genjirou vigilantly listened. He heard some laughs, as they engaged in idle chatter, and some excitement as they stumbled upon what was supposed to have been his breakfast, lunch, dinner, and then some. He then heard shouting.

Looking behind the rock, his eyes locked with one of the hunters. Terrified he’d been seen, he submerged himself in the river, holding his breath for his dear life. Even through the water, he could hear the shouting on land had gotten louder, and cursed himself for being alive. Why? Why’d they just have to come out hunting so soon? Why couldn’t I have finished my meal in peace?

Unbeknownst to Genjirou, Fuku had followed him into the woods as she’d done in her lovesick days– however, her motive wasn’t as sweet as it once had been. Gento had been Fuku’s cousin, & following his death and the rumours in the village, she’d grown awfully cold and suspicious towards Genjirou, & secretly followed him to see if he was up to anything suspicious. So far, her surveillance had been futile, but that day, as she followed him into the woods, she was certain she’d catch him in the act of killing, confirming her, & the villagers’ suspicions.

She got more than she bargained for, however, as she had to put her hands over her mouth to stifle a scream when an arrow pierced through one of the hunters’ shoulders out of seemingly nowhere. Scrambling to find the source without giving away her position, her eyes went backwards from where the arrow had landed, resting upon an awful-looking creature hidden behind a tree like she was. Its aim was off; it seemed to have been distracted by something in the water. It drew another arrow from its bow and aimed steadily at the same hunter. Fuku wanted so badly to call out to the hunters, but she didn’t allow herself to, and before the next arrow could hit, the six of them had already started to run out of the woods, screaming and cussing and hollering.

Ghost!! They quickly told the villagers, running around like mad. The hunter whose shoulder had been pierced barely even paid it any mind, too thankful he was alive, and too frightened, to do so. It’s an awful, evil, vengeful ghost in the woods of the mountain... it’s going to kill anybody who enters them! Once is a coincidence, twice is revenge, but three times…. It’s evil! It’s an evil spirit that won’t rest until every one of our villagers is dead!!

In those very woods of the mountain, Fuku was still standing behind the tree, hands over her mouth, doing everything in her power not to scream as she watched the ghost emerge from behind the tree. She found it horrifying– its skin was a sickly, corpse-ish grey with tinges of purple, and it had long, wavy, unkempt black hair, which it tossed over its shoulders with its hand as it strode forth, picking up the prey the hunters had dropped. It wore a flowing, tattered white kimono, burial clothes. Moving more quickly, it waded into the river, grabbing an object… Genjirou!!

In the heat of the moment, Fuku had totally forgotten the entire reason she’d come up the mountain in the first place! She wanted to cover her eyes, terrified to watch the surely gruesome scene that was sure to come unfold, but couldn’t, hands glued to her mouth and eyes to the ghost. To her surprise, no gruesome scene came– the ghost carefully lay Genjirou upon the ground, pressing firmly on his chest. Genjirou sputtered water. Water, water, and more water… he would have surely drowned if the ghost hadn’t pulled him out.

The ghost disappeared for a minute and Fuku’s heart dropped, certain it had sensed her and was going to kill her. Maybe Genjirou was controlling this cruel mountain spirit? No… she immediately shook the thought out of her head. She was bitter over her cousin dying, certainly, but she wouldn’t so quickly assign blame now that she had no proof. Besides, this was the man who she still secretly loved… she knew him, to an extent, and she knew he was a very simple person, absolutely incapable of something as sinister as the dark arts. Revenge on the hunters for talking badly about him was so silly, anyways. She felt embarrassed for having taken part in his ostracisation, knowing that more than anything, he needed at least a friend, if not a romantic partner.

She reminded herself to be more friendly to him.

When the ghost returned, she’d expected it to come maybe with a knife, or a sword, wanting to kill Genjirou personally and watch the life drain out of his eyes… but all it returned with was a handful of chrysanthemums. It shyly placed one in his hair, and then one on his chest, scattering the rest around his body as it played with his hair, running the long black strands through its scraggly, ashen fingers. Fuku couldn’t believe her eyes.

A short while later, Genjirou’s brow furrowed and he coughed. As quickly as it had come, the ghost ran away, leaving Genjirou alone. Determining the scene was safe, Fuku ran out from behind her cover to Genjirou’s side, placing a hand on his cheek. He grabbed the hand and flared his nostrils, recognising her by the scent of lilies. “Fuku?” he mumbled, managing to pry his eyes open. “Yes, Genjirou!” Fuku breathed, beaming. “Are you alright? You almost drowned…”

Genjirou promptly sat up, wide-eyed. “The hunters! I… I saw them earlier; it’s why I…. oh, it’s a long story. Are they alright? The ghost didn’t come again, did it?”

In her gut, Fuku felt even worse for doubting Genjirou. He was stand-offish, but not a selfish person, & even after nearly dying himself, was more worried about what became of the hunters. She couldn’t help but to nervously laugh. “The hunters are alright… Genjirou, I– I’m really sorry about how the villagers have been treating you, including me. I’ll be honest, I came up here because I saw you leaving to hunt, and wanted to see if I had any basis for my suspicions… I didn’t.” She stood up, and bowed deeply. “I’m very sorry.”

Genjirou wanted to stand, as well, but didn’t have the strength to. “It’s alright; I’m sorry, too…” He also laughed a bit. “I really am too stand-offish, to be honest, I’m not good at socialising at all!” Fuku elegantly sunk to her knees again. From the crisp condition of her kimono, you would never have guessed she’d been running around in the woods. “Then let’s be friends!” she suddenly declared, holding a hand to her chest. “I saw everything… the ghost, it did appear, but… it missed; it only shot one of their shoulders.”

“That’s very good… say, Fuku. May I ask two questions?”

Fuku nodded.

“One–” Genjirou picked up a chrysanthemum, spinning it between his fingers. “Are you the one who’s been leaving these flowers at my doorstep the past few days?” Fuku bit her lip. She knew none of the women in the village grew or sold white chrysanthemums; in fact, up until that day, she had never seen anybody who had them. She hated lying, but this was too good a moment to let pass. “Yes, I am,” she said shyly.

“Two, are you the one who saved me from the river?” Fuku prayed internally the ghost wouldn’t come to her house personally and beat her upside the head. Please forgive me, ghost, but this is the man I really love!! She couldn’t even verbalise the lie, this time just nodding, blushing more. Genjirou thought it was because she was shy, but really, it was because she couldn’t stand to lie! Genjirou smiled, gently touching her hand. She allowed him to hold it. “Then may I ask you a third question, Fuku?” She nodded again.

“May I kiss you?”

Wide-eyed and blushing profusely, she turned to him. She’d been waiting to hear that question her whole twenty years of life! “Yes! You may!” Genjirou delicately pinned her to the ground, his wet, but soft, long hair falling over her kimono as he kissed her, placing a hand tenderly behind her neck. Fuku blushed even more profusely, hugging him. She wanted to kiss him forever and ever, but she eventually let go, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and looking up at him in awe and disbelief.

“You’re wonderful!” she felt awkward as she blurted this, and immediately put a hand over her mouth. “Have you ever had a girlfriend before?”

It was a silly question, for she’d known him his entire life, but still felt the need to ask to be sure. “I haven’t,” Genjirou affirmed her knowledge, and she embraced him again. “Could I be yours?” she asked suddenly, letting the heat of the moment spur her on. “You may!”

She kissed Genjirou again, and the two walked down the mountain to the village. Fuku braced herself, anticipating all the while that an arrow would be lodged into her back, but no such thing came, and she let herself relax as the couple strode into the village safely. “Genjirou is innocent!” she declared, attracting the attention of some people sitting outside. “He is innocent, and he is mine! The ghost haunting the woods is beyond any of our control, & is ungrateful for the beautiful burial Genjirou gave him!”

She needed to say no more. Faithful to their tradition, the people of Passions spread the news around like wildfire, and within that single day, Genjirou’s reputation was restored & renewed, & he was even met with praise, for pairing with such a fine woman as Fuku. That evening, after the village dinner, they were wished well as they went arm-in-arm to Genjirou’s house, where they engaged in passionate affairs until they fell asleep, content in one another’s embrace. While Genjirou slept peacefully and deeply, his troubles seemingly behind him, Fuku slept lightly, certain she heard a weeping outside, but not daring to look.

She took care to rise much earlier than Genjirou– at four in the morning, she crept outside, and found outside his door a bouquet of fresh white chrysanthemums, tied tightly by a silk ribbon. She snuck to a farmer’s house and discarded the flowers in a pig pen, a pang of guilt coursing through her as she did so. She shook the feeling off. What business would a ghost have with a human? It would be better for the both of them if he just passed peacefully and left him alone!

Still, as the weeks went on, her guilt only grew stronger every time she had to throw away the chrysanthemums, or pretend she’d gotten them for him, making up some tale about someone from another village who grew them just for her. One day, she couldn’t stand it anymore, and while Genjirou slept, she snuck into the mountains, surrounding herself with the most positive energy possible, hoping she wouldn’t be torn into shreds by the ghost. She hadn’t dared bring a hunter with her as the ghost seemed to carry a special vengeance for them, but as she ventured further and further, she felt dumber and dumber she hadn’t even brought some sort of a spiritual weapon.

“Ghost?” she called out, clinging onto a chrysanthemum she’d brought with her as she stood by the side of the river. Her face was painted ghost-white with crimson red eyeshadow and lipstick, and she wore her finest clothes, hoping that by putting such extra care into her appearance, she did not insult him by appearing in any way unsightly. One could mistake her for a geisha, but that she was most definitely not.

“Misses… or, erm, Mister… Ghost?” she called again, fidgeting with the chrysanthemum, pulling on a petal. She froze as she felt a firm hand over hers just as she was about to pull. “Mister Ghost,” said a voice that was too pleasant to be able to belong to that terrifying being she’d seen in the woods, and Fuku yelped, staggering forward a bit, almost falling face-first into the river. The ghost grabbed her and steadied her, and she slowly turned to face him, doe-brown eyes locking with his, bloodshot and ebony. Up-close, he was almost handsome, but the fear factor still won out in her mind, not allowing her to appreciate any aestheticism. “Have you come to return these to me?” he murmured, gently taking the chrysanthemum from her.

“Are you the one who has been leaving them at Genjirou’s doorstep?” she asked, her voice wavering even as she tried to make it as firm as possible. “I am,” the ghost admitted, staring at it distantly. “Do they smell good?” Fuku gathered all her resolve and nodded. “They’re very nice… where do you find white chrysanthemums?”

“I used to grow them,” he sighed, handing the flower back to Fuku. “I thought ghosts couldn’t touch things,” she suddenly blurted, then immediately felt embarrassed. Her fear made her speak her thoughts out loud. The ghost laughed a bit. “I can if I want to, just like I can make myself seen if I want to. As for the white chrysanthemums– I grow them in a village on the other side of the mountain, where the weather’s much better for them.”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve been throwing them away,” Fuku almost whispered, pulling at the petals again. “I came here to tell you that… I won’t say I’m sorry because it won’t do anything; I have been acting out of selfish desire & will accept it if you kill me like you killed those hunters if it will let you rest in peace.” She kneeled, head lowered. Fuku was very spiritual, and believed, more than anything, in the importance of a peaceful death, & felt she had disrupted this somehow.

The ghost’s expression suddenly darkened. “Get up,” he said in a voice so commanding Fuku didn’t dare object, shakily getting back up on her feet. In the background, leaves gently fell from the looming trees of the dark woods. His hair, ivory black and long, shone slightly in the moonlight, & his white burial clothes, for as dirty as they were, had an eerie glow to them. The odd, off-putting kindness from before had somewhat dissipated, and Fuku was met with a slap across the face– it wasn’t hard enough to be disrespectful, or hateful, but it was firm enough to sting slightly, and cause her to pay very close attention. “Genjirou loves you, doesn’t he?” the ghost asked coldly, glaring down at her. Fuku pondered this, then felt silly for doing so, & nodded. “I think he does, yes.”

“Then how dare you offer your life so lightly!” the ghost wailed, and Fuku noticed he was sobbing, odd, white streams of a heavy gaseous substance oozing from his eyes. “How miserable would Genjirou be not to be loved? You must cherish him more deeply! You must think more heavily before making such rash decisions! To be in love with him, you must tie your heart to his with an iron chain that will cause both to burst if it is severed! Do you understand?”

Fuku seldom considered the somewhat taboo fact that men could fall in love with other men, but she considered it deeply as the ghost spoke to her. It suddenly struck her that the chrysanthemums likely symbolised more than respect or an innocent friendship, and her face flushed a bit, hidden under the heavy makeup. She hadn’t known she’d acted so rashly she’d snatched away another person’s love, even if he was a ghost! “I understand,” she breathed, aghast.

“Then return to him– love him like no other, and remind him of how much he means to you every day… spoil him not with gifts, but with words, and raise his self esteem, so that your relationship may be meaningful like no other! Kiss him every day and linger so that he knows you do not wish to part ways, and hold his hand so that he knows he is not alone… drown him in sweet nothings that grow to be somethings, so that in old age he can look back on all these moments and say, I was a loved man!”

The guilt Fuku felt was so great she almost wished the ghost had just killed her the second he saw her, but she took his words to heart, just nodding along, still holding the chrysanthemum. She wondered why a ghost was so attached to Genjirou…. had they known one another in a different life? No, it couldn’t be; she would have surely seen him. Everybody knew everybody in Passions. Still, she ventured to ask, “Before I leave, Mister Ghost… may I ask your name?”

The ghost hesitated, before he answered, “Chikayoshi, although that name has not been spoken in years.”

She had no desire to ask how he died, nor why he killed the hunters, deciding she’d probably done enough damage, and that she should definitely head back. As she turned around to leave, the ghost implored of her one final thing, “Please do not mention this name to Genjirou… he will be tortured, & I could never forgive myself.”

She said nothing, unable to lie and say she wouldn’t, & quietly left, ultimately leaving the chrysanthemum with Chikayoshi. She couldn’t put the thought out of her mind– she never quite understood the concept of a man falling for another man, but if it were indeed true that this happened… oh, how cruel she was, how heartless she’d been, throwing away all those chrysanthemums & taking credit for the rescue, forcing Chikayoshi to watch as she did just that! She had never ventured before to think it was anything like that! She slid back into bed– it was only four in the morning, but she couldn’t sleep, haunted, quite literally, by Chikayoshi’s words & the expression he’d made when she offered herself to him.

Chikayoshi. Chikayoshi. She held onto the name like a prayer, determined not to forget it. After Genjirou woke up, things proceeded like normal– she was met with an array of kisses, the two went out to get breakfast, then lazily hung around the village. Nobody dared go into the woods for the time being, and the village leader was making arrangements with a self-proclaimed “expert of spirits and the supernatural” from another village to get rid of the ghost. Of course, this news spread around town like a wildfire, and the second it hit the couple, Fuku absolutely had to ask.

“Genjirou,” she whispered, as the two flipped lazily through texts in the library. “Could we go home? There’s something I really want to tell you.”

Genjirou raised a brow but put up no objection, and the two returned to his house. “Have you ever had any friends I haven’t known about?” she asked, biting her lip. She didn’t dare to ask boyfriend, the word not seeming right on her tongue, let alone seeming terribly informal. “Not that I can think of, no,” he replied earnestly, pouring himself a cup of tea from what remained in the teapot from that morning, placing a cup in front of Fuku as well. She ignored it, shifting uncomfortably on the mat. “Do you know the name Chikayoshi?”

Genjirou nearly spat out his tea, his eyes turning a terrible dark Kufu had never seen before. She immediately regretted the question, but it was too late now. “Why do you know this name?” His voice was calm, but some deep-rooted emotion was masked behind it, threatening to come out like a storm from a drizzle.

“It’s…..” she whispered, staring blankly down at her tea. “I– please promise you won’t be mad when I say this, Genjirou…” She also regretted saying this, knowing it was an infamously useless phrase. Genjirou only nodded. If he was going to get mad, he would get mad. She was prepared to handle the consequences. “I… I wasn’t the one who rescued you from the river, and I’m not the one who’s been leaving you chrysanthemums… that was Chikayoshi.”

“He’s back?!” Genjirou exclaimed, something wild about his expression. Fuku shook her head. “No, that’s – he's... the ghost on the mountain. Please don’t take this the wrong way, or think that our relationship is built on a lie, but I only took the credit because I thought it would be better for the dead not to interfere with the living…. I didn’t want to shock you.” And I was being selfish, she thought but did not say, leaving Genjirou to make that determination. There was a terrible period of silence, and when Fuku dared look up, she saw that Genjirou was sobbing silently, streams of tears pouring from his eyes as he wrung his hands aggressively, knuckles turning white from the pressure.

With a long sigh, he responded, “I haven’t taken it the wrong way, and I appreciate the sentiment…” He seemed to be mulling over his words, choosing each one very deliberately. “I don’t think you’re a liar, Fuku.” His eyes were filled with an indescribable sort of sadness, as he looked over at the vase of chrysanthemums. They were old, as Fuku had thrown away the ones from the past few days, and their petals fell to the surface of the dresser. “I have… I had… a friend you didn’t know about.”

THREE YEARS EARLIER

Chikayoshi struggled to catch his breath as he and Genjirou rolled and rolled and rolled in their special corner of the mountain, the exact center of the walking distance from the village of Passions to the village of Water’s Blessings. Genjirou placed kisses up and down Chikayoshi’s torso, who in return curled his toes in pleasure, wrapping his legs around the other’s hips. The two had met a year earlier during a hunt, or, in Chikayoshi’s case, a scouring-of-the-mountainside for flowers. They’d hit it off and become wonderful friends, only realising it was something more when Chikayoshi had sprained his ankle while Genjirou chased him. Once Genjirou caught up to him, he carefully tended to the wound, kissing it jokingly afterwards. When smiling at Chikayoshi, he was met by a cold, terrified gaze, & recognised it as longing. Daring himself, he moved his face closer– & closer– until he was finally met by a trepid, evolving into passionate, kiss, and the two realised their friendship was no more.

They made careful sure to not be seen by anyone else– Chikayoshi’s parents wanted so badly for their son to have a loving wife and have children, and Genjirou’s village wasn’t known as the most tolerant, infamously once having had kicked out an esteemed samurai after he flirted brashly with a male shopkeeper. Just as Chikayoshi was halfway through undoing Genjirou’s robes and the two felt daring enough to take the next “step” in their relationship, they froze as they heard the crackling of branches not too far away. Chikayoshi rapidly withdrew and Genjirou pretended to be busy with some mushroom, but it was too late; the two had been spotted by a hunter from Genjirou’s village who’d ventured further into the woods than his peers, and was met with quite the shock as he saw one of his fellow hunters arms-up with a strange man in the woods. Convinced his friend was of the female persuasion and that this was an assailant, he swooped in, throwing Genjirou as far as he could, sending him tumbling down a bit before he landed against a tree, and passed out immediately from the blunt trauma.

Unbeknownst to him, the other hunter had already drawn his bow and arrow, but too late– Chikayoshi took off like a mad dog into the woods, and the hunter chased after him, calling to his peers to help. They searched, and searched, and searched, all convinced Genjirou had been violated and that this man must die, but could not find him anywhere.

Just as how in the future, Genjirou hid from those very hunters in a river, Chikayoshi hid as well, but waded too deep into the water, and, unequipped with the ability of swimming, drowned. His corpse resurfaced soon enough that the hunters found it, and they buried it gracelessly in a ditch, leaving it to rot.

Chikayoshi’s body did rot, and his bones were taken away by wild animals. His spirit was very weak, and it took him three years of constant wishes for vengeance to manifest in a way that he could take on a physical form. He immediately sought out Genjirou, and also, his revenge, stealing a random corpse and marking it as his own– however, he was not at all well-written, & did not realise he had misspelled his name.

In the meantime in those three years, Genjirou distanced himself from his peers. The hunters agreed not to speak of what had happened to him in the mountains, finding it too shameful, and Genjirou could not stand to hunt alongside them anymore, choosing to hunt alone, hoping all along he’d encounter Chikayoshi, though he never did, & drearily presumed he’d been chased away by the others. The villagers started to grow cold towards Genjirou as they realised that he less and less interacted with them, let alone the fact that he so arrogantly hunted by himself– at least, they found it arrogant, as they did not know the true reason the hunters left him alone.

PRESENT

Fuku pursed her lips as Genjirou had only told her what he knew, personally– that he & Chikayoshi had once been involved in an affair, only to never see one another again after the incident on the mountain. Neither of the two had a clue as to how he’d died, but they didn’t want to think about it, knowing deep in their hearts it had to do with the hunters. “You must think I’m very silly,” she finally sighed, slightly laughing. “That I would so persistently chase after you even when your heart belonged to somebody else…” she blushed a bit. “I really do feel very foolish.”

“Don’t feel foolish,” Genjirou said pointedly, holding her hand in his. “Women should never feel foolish for trying to make their feelings known to a man… it shouldn’t be something to be embarrassed about, & I do appreciate you wholeheartedly for your support.” Fuku’s gaze was a bit empty, & that word was written across her brow: FOOLISH. “Please don’t think I’ve used you in any way,” he added, tightening his grip slightly. “You were not just a body for me to cling to, a soul for me to pour all that missing love into. Your friendship was always meaningful to me, and I always appreciated your reaching out to me where others wouldn’t, and our relationship was wonderful. You’re an amazing person, Fuku, and I wish nothing but the best for you.”

Fuku’s grip tightened in his. “We’re over, aren’t we?” she whispered. She had a gut feeling, even before she knew exactly how close Chikayoshi had been to Genjirou– she had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to love her anymore, knowing what he did. “Please don’t find me superficial,” Genjirou pleaded, searching her eyes. Fuku smiled wryly, reading his every facial feature. “I don’t,” she responded quietly. “I think in another life we would have paired quite nicely.”

“I think so, too,” Genjirou whispered, then stood up, taking the tea cups. He disappeared that same day, not offering Fuku a good-bye, as he knew it needed not be said. He did leave Fuku his house and possessions, and with that, she knew he would never return. She wished to have a love so powerful it could bring her back to life… she eventually got her wish, as, a couple years later, she met a beautiful, kind man from another village, who showered her every day in his affections and never failed to remind her how much she meant to him, even in the hard times, or when they argued. They never fought, making them a couple rather envied by a large sum of the villagers, who couldn’t seem to go a few days without fighting with their spouse.

The two married, and after their marriage, Fuku found a magnificent bouquet of chrysanthemums by her doorstep, wrapped in a silk ribbon….

#historical #ghosts #romance #fantasy #Japanese #shortstory #chrysanthemums #genjirou #chikayoshi