Chapter Text
"Aah. Just like old times." Reigen strolled down the dim hallway ahead of Mob, shoulders lax and unconcerned, hands in his pockets. "Right, Mob?"
"Yes, master," said Mob.
"Thanks for filling in on such short notice, by the way. Hate to ask you to work over break, especially on your first day home. You're probably exhausted from finals." Reigen shook his head. "But our client seemed pretty desperate and like I said, Serizawa's off visiting his mom this weekend."
"It's fine, master," said Mob. "What did you say the client's problem was again...?"
"Haunted room, apparently. Or cursed. Either way, it sounds like it's the real deal this time. And given how old this place is...well, I'm not too surprised."
"How old is it?"
"Our client didn't say exactly. I'd guess early-to-mid Edo. She said it's been in her family for generations, though she only found out when they called her up to tell her she'd inherited it. She said it took her years to finish all the renovations necessary to get it looking like a proper inn again."
The hallway opened up to the night outside. Immediately they were met with the cool spring air and a glittering nocturne of insect chatter and frog calls. Before them lay a small footbridge, which led to the other half of the inn. Beneath them, a shallow stream burbled and winked in the moonlight.
"She did a good job," said Mob as they crossed the bridge and entered the inn's south wing. "It's beautiful."
"Yeah. It's only been open a few months, but it's already got mounds of glowing reviews. Even so, its success is still pretty far from assured, what with recent events..."
"What recent events?"
"A young woman died here," said Reigen. "Last week.”
Mob flinched at the revelation. Reigen held back a fond, albeit flagrantly inappropriate, smile. Ah, Mob. So sensitive, even now.
After a brief silence, Mob spoke. "That's awful."
“Mm. The doctors said it was a heart attack, but our client isn't so sure."
"What happened?"
"Apparently the victim was staying in room eighteen. The inn's last room. And ever since they opened for business, our client says she's been hearing weird complaints from the guests who happen to stay there. Noises at night...distressing, lifelike dreams...sleep paralysis...disturbing and inexplicable physical sensations..." Reigen listed off the grievances on his fingers like a physician reciting the possible side effects of a new pharmaceutical. "She said at first she didn't believe them—chalked it up to the overactive tourist imagination, conjuring up spirits in an old inn. But now..."
"Now it feels like it's her fault that that young woman is dead," said Mob.
Reigen nodded. "I think it's safe to assume there's a lot of regret there. Anyway, now it's our job to get rid of whatever it was that killed her, before anyone else gets hurt."
"Right," said Mob. In the moonlight Reigen thought he saw his eyes—remote and incomprehensible to the casual observer—betray a flash of inspired determination.
Reigen considered that look a moment longer, holding Mob's gaze in the dusky glow of the hallway. It tugged faintly at something inside of him: a niggling, insistent pull. It had been a long time since he'd last seen his student, who had gone away to university in another city, to meet new people, to try on a new life. Of course his master had missed him. He missed him even now, even with Mob standing right in front of him, on the job with Master Reigen just like old times, pausing no more than an arm’s length away to listen for his next instructions, close enough to touch, hair tousled slightly by a chance draft, chest rising and falling imperceptibly as he breathed. But things were different now, and Reigen had already let Mob go. He would have to get used to missing him.
Abruptly Reigen spun around, breaking eye contact and gesturing elaborately toward the end of the hall. "All right then," he said, awkward and loud in the night. "That ought to be our room, right down there." He stepped forward to approach the door, then stumbled back with a yelp when an indefinite form began suddenly to materialize out of the shadows before him. It emanated a dull pinkish light.
Limbs flailing, Reigen scrambled behind Mob, who stood steady as a statue, squinting up at the dull pink thing. Crouched behind his back, Reigen chanced a peek. A dreary, lackluster face had resolved itself in the midst of a small miasmic cloud. The general size and shape of the creature was almost reminiscent of Dimple's typical resting form. Instantly, most of Reigen's apprehension dissolved.
He sprang back to his feet and loomed imperiously over the small ghost. "Reigen Arataka, greatest psychic of the twenty-first century,” he rattled off. It was not a friendly introduction. “And this is my assistant. Tell us: are you the evil spirit who murdered that young woman?"
"No," said the ghost, in the dullest voice Reigen had ever heard. "I'm more of a neutral spirit. And you should leave."
"This spirit is very weak, master," said Mob. "I don't think he could kill anyone."
"If you're not an evil spirit, step aside," said Reigen. "We have a job to do and we won't be detained by small fry. If you refuse to leave, we will persuade you. Mob."
Mob raised his hand in warning, bright and crackling with power. The ghost sighed. He drifted out of their way, though continued to trail after them as they walked to the end of the hall, illuminating the shadows around them with a muted fuchsia light.
"You shouldn't go in that room," said the ghost.
Reigen scoffed. "Whatever's in that room, I promise you, my student and I have seen much worse. Let's go, Mob."
Mob nodded, and they went.
Room eighteen had the same cool, natural-toned interior as the other renovated guest rooms they had passed—yet here there seemed to be a palpable redness in the air, thick as smoke, dissonant, and warm. It hit them like a wave as they passed through the door.
"Do you know what this place used to be?" asked the ghost. "Can you feel it now?"
Mob winced under the strange pressure of the room and threw up a psychic barrier around them. "What...?"
Reigen sucked in a long, deep breath of the clear air beneath Mob's barrier. He stood with his hands on his knees, head still spinning with that desperate redness. Whatever it was, it felt like fear...and something else. Something more fevered and coiling.
He coughed and shook his head, trying to clear it. "A...brothel?" he guessed, somehow knowing he was correct. The words scratched his throat on their way out. "This...used to be a brothel. Is that right?"
The ghost nodded. "Long ago, yes. When the business moved to the city's pleasure quarter, this building became an inn. In terms of its use, I should say. Not in terms of its spirit. As you can see, the spirit of the brothel has remained."
"Is it a ghost?" Reigen stood up tall once again, bouncing back from the initial shock. "A spirit from back then, who hasn't found rest?"
"I don't know," said the ghost. "Perhaps at one point it was. But it may just as likely be the spirit of the building itself. Either way, it's been too long for us to know exactly how it came to be."
"Why did it kill that young woman?" asked Mob.
"The spirit of the brothel isn't evil," said the ghost. "I believe it killed her for the same reason that you humans and other animals kill each other in the living world. To survive. To eat."
"It eats people?!" said Reigen.
"You are loud," said the spirit. "No, it doesn't eat people. It eats feelings. Emotions, sensations. Specifically, those heightened human feelings associated with the desire for sex, and the fear of death. These are the feelings that brought about its existence, the feelings of the business that nurtured it. It needs them in order to continue living, and growing."
"I don't understand," said Mob. "What does the fear of death have to do with a place like that…?”
"The desire for sex and the fear of death," said the ghost, "are two sides of the same coin. It's simple enough to understand, once you really think about it. The spirit needs both to survive."
"So, what, you’re saying it fucks its victims and then kills them?" said Reigen. His mouth, normally so restless and animated, was a cold, hard line.
"Not exactly," said the ghost slowly.
"Really?" said Reigen. "'Cause I'm pretty sure that's what I'm hearing. And I think I've heard enough of it. Come on, Mob—we're searching the room. There has to be some kind of focal point for its power...Let's find it, zap it, and get the hell out of here."
"Yes."
"You plan to exorcise it?" The ghost sailed forward until he was in front of them, hovering between them and the rest of the room. “You won’t succeed. No one has. Years ago, a group of one hundred exorcists working together only barely managed to confine it to this one room. And this was after a week of failed attempts.”
"I think you'll find that my student and I," said Reigen, "are a hundred times more powerful than your hundred long-dead exorcists. Also, we're done talking. We appreciate the information you've provided but from this point on, any outside distractions will be permanently silenced."
"Sorry," said Mob to the ghost. "But this spirit killed an innocent person, so we have to erase it. Please don't get in our way. And don't worry. We'll be all right."
The ghost stared at them for a moment longer, then closed his mouth, turned, and drifted into the shadowy rightmost corner of the room, his dim pink glow growing even dimmer.
"Thank you," said Mob. The ghost did not respond, only watched them indifferently through eyes that drooped with a stoic, centuries-old pessimism.
-*-
It didn't take them long to find the bowl among the scant pieces of antique pottery displayed about the room. "Look for something red," Reigen had said. "I...get the feeling it would want to store itself in something red."
"Here," said Mob. Unlike the other decorative pieces—slender vases and wide, curved dishes—this one was small. It was a worn ceramic tea bowl, and it looked older than anything else in the room. And it was red.
Reigen rubbed his chin and squinted. “Huh. It’s a bit shabby. Then again...I do get kind of a weird feeling from it.” He snuck a glance at their pink companion. The ghost, observing them impassively from his corner, gave nothing away. Reigen sighed. He had forfeited the right to ask for clues when he’d threatened their friend with Mob’s powers. A misstep, perhaps. But nothing he couldn’t live with.
He turned to Mob and pointed at the bowl. “Think it’s worth dropping your barrier a minute, to get a better sense of whether or not that’s the source?”
“I don’t know,” said Mob. Then, “Master. How much time did that young woman spend inside this room? Do you know?”
“Three nights." Reigen held up as many fingers, for emphasis. "Every guest who stayed here before her spent only one or two nights. They felt weird, and they heard strange things, and they all left scared as hell—but they survived, obviously. So it looks like whatever it is the spirit does to its victims, it takes it three days to do it.”
“But master. Wouldn't the spirit be stronger now? I mean, if it managed to eat all the feelings it needed...?”
Reigen folded his arms and squinted as he considered this. “Hmmmmmm. Hm. That may be. I was just thinking that myself, in fact.” He put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes, assuming a posture of intense contemplation. “Aaaaah, but there’s no way it could be strong enough yet to kill someone in a single evening!! Right? Not after just one meal…” He nodded to himself, first uncertainly, then more forcefully as he went on. He made a definitive hand gesture. “Yes, that would be impossible. We’ll be fine, Mob. And we’ll be careful. We won’t risk any unnecessary exposure. Your barrier comes down only for the amount of time that it takes to either assess the situation or attack the source, once we’ve identified it. It stays up the rest of the time. Got it?”
“Yes, master.”
“Right then. Let’s see where this creepy aura’s coming from. Whenever you’re ready, Mob.”
Mob gave a short nod. Then he took a breath, relaxed his shoulders, closed his eyes, and dropped the barrier.