"What miserable rain..." Utsuki muttered softly.
The heart of the girl―who, obeying her strict father's orders, had never set foot outside of the shrine―was as gloomy as the sky from which an incessant rain poured.
"Utsuki. We cannot make for the manor in this weather," said her elder sister Kureha, gazing up at the sky. "Let us wait for the rain to cease..."
"Very well, Sister."
Utsuki looked out over the rain-soaked grounds of the shrine, giving a soft nod as the sight and sound was overtaken by an old memory.
The home of the sisters, who lived at a shrine where silkworms were reared, was located in a remote place deep in the mountains. Sometimes, when their father, Ashiya Doman, headed down the mountain, he would not return for days, and the sisters, too young to do anything for themselves, would go everywhere and do everything together.
"Utsukiii! Come on! Hurry up!"
She turned to look back, beckoning enthusiastically.
"Sister! Wait for me...!"
As always, the timid Utsuki barely managed to keep up with the energetic and spirited Kureha. That day, too, they had been playing along a nearby mountain path, picking flowers and making decorations from dried leaves.
"Oh? What is this?"
Kureha had found something by the roadside. Utsuki, breathless, hurried to catch up to her.
"Sister... What is the matter?" she called to Kureha, as she swept away the leaves covering the thing at the edge of the path.
As she brushed off the piles of dry leaves and sand, little by little, a mass began to emerge. The lump that showed itself appeared to be a statue of harmonious twin Jizos.
"They seem to be Jizos..." said Kureha, looking at the friendly-seeming pair.
"Yes... But why...?" Utsuki replied, similarly confused.
For a time, the two of them stood together in silence, staring at the pigtail-wearing Jizos, a slight air of oddness about them. It was no wonder the girls were so surprised―after all, they had known this place since they were little, and there had never been a Jizo statue here before.
"How have we never noticed it...?" Kureha muttered as if to herself, struggling to understand.
But a mere moment later, as if she had decided to give up on pondering the matter, she let out a breath, plucking two flowers from the bouquet in her hand and placing one beside each of the Jizos.
"Perhaps they felt lonesome, standing here unnoticed by anyone for such a long time, but these should help to ease their loneliness."
Smiling softly at the Jizos, she closed her eyes and pressed her palms together in prayer.
"Yes, they should..." Utsuki agreed. But still, something seemed off about the statue, somehow―not the fact that they had never noticed it before, but something else.
A drop of rain landed on Utsuki's cheek.
"Rain...?"
She looked up at the sky, and noticed suddenly that it was now shrouded with black clouds, and that a gentle drizzle had begun to fall. Usually, she could quickly tell that rain was approaching when she was outdoors, but the large, overgrown tree that stood behind the statue, hanging down over it, had delayed the realisation.
Noticing Utsuki worrying about the sky, Kureha stood and followed her gaze. As she did so, a black dot birthed from the black clouds grew in size, and something fell to the ground close to the sisters as they stared up at the sky.
Thud! Rustle!
Kureha and Utsuki stared, frightened, at the source of the noise. Covered in fallen leaves and thrashing about desperately, it was a bird that had had one of its wings torn off. Had it run out of strength and fallen from the sky? Had it collided with a branch? Neither option would suffice to explain the wound that had claimed its wing.
"How did it get hurt like that...?"
It was Utsuki who broke the brief silence.
"The poor thing..." Kureha added, jolting back down to earth.
The sisters watched on worriedly as the movements of the bird, writhing in pain, steadily grew weaker. They wanted it to live, but from the way it suffered, it was clear that there was no saving it, and time seemed to go by very, very slowly. Kureha and Utsuki, painfully aware of their own powerlessness, watched silently until the moment it finally fell still.
"Rest in peace..."
Kureha spoke the prayer as she laid the remaining flowers beside a mound of earth with a tree branch staked into it. Utsuki, unable to conceal how shaken she was, put her hands together, but her eyes were empty.
"But why mulberry fruit, of all things...?" said Kureha in a low voice, recalling the peculiar sight of the bird they had just buried.
The bird's corpse had been so soft she could hardly believe it was that of a living thing, and when she picked it up, she could feel it sticking slimily to her palm. Its unnaturally swollen stomach was so stuffed with mulberries that the mere act of lifting it up had caused them to come spilling from its eyes and mouth. Mulberries erupted from the eyes and mouth of the pained expression it had worn as it perished. The sight was so strange that merely looking at it filled her with disgust.
"I'm sure there aren't any mulberry trees anywhere near here... Are there?"
She looked over at Utsuki to gauge her reaction as she spoke the last two words.
"N-... No..." Utsuki replied listlessly, hesitant.
At the sight of Utsuki's pale face, Kureha sprang to her feet, deciding that she mustn't let the girl be scared further.
"Come, Utsuki. It's awfully late. We ought to head home."
Kureha spoke encouragingly, a slightly exaggerated smile on her face, taking the hand of Utsuki, who looked as if she were about to burst into tears, and pointing to the mountain path. Even as her sister began to walk, pulling her along by the hand, Utsuki was unable to take her eyes off of the mound of piled up earth.
Their surroundings had gone completely dark. How long had they been walking for? They had covered enough distance that they should have reached the shrine long ago, but still there was no sign of any change in the scenery. Their weary legs and now separated hands were testament to just how far they had walked. The darkness that veiled the mountain path made everything in sight seem ominous, even the crunch of the dry leaves underfoot. Utsuki endured the pain in her legs as she walked.
Then, all of a sudden, she heard a voice right beside her ear.
"Fooound you!"
"Huh!?"
The sensation of a small sigh lingered against her ear. Utsuki bent backwards at the feeling of disgust that ran down to her lower back. She looked around her, flustered, but no one was there.
She could, however, hear something nearby. Though faint, she could hear a child's voice singing, mingled with the sound of the trees swaying in the breeze.
"Hashizoroe... Hashizoroe..."
Utsuki pricked up her ears and listened intently. The singing echoed around her eerily, birthing a fear that bore down heavily upon her along with its sinister melody.
"We are not safe here... We must hurry back..."
The instinctive sense of the approaching danger manifested as sweat running from her armpits, warning her.
"Sister!"
The anxiety-stricken Utsuki could no longer see the girl who, until moments before, had been walking ahead of her.
"Sister! Sister!"
She raised her voice to push back the fear. But no matter how many times she called out, the usual kindly response never came.
No sooner had Utsuki taken a step forward to set off in search of her sister than something had gripped onto her kimono with immense strength.
"Aaah!"
Caught off guard by the sudden force, Utsuki tumbled to the ground.
"Teehee... Ahaha..."
Utsuki looked up at the sky, and found four young eyes gazing back at her.
"Won't you play with us?"
Utsuki froze, overcome with fear.
"Won't you play?"
Two white faces drew within touching distance. The breath that touched her face was cold and lifeless-seeming. Clutching at her consciousness, which threatened to fade at any moment, Utsuki shut her eyes, unresisting. Then, someone grabbed her by the shoulder.
"What on earth happened to you...?"
The frightened Utsuki heard a familiar gentle voice. She timidly opened her eyes, and saw the form of her kindly sister. Unable to grasp the situation, Utsuki scanned her surroundings over and over.
"Utsuki? What on earth happened...?"
Kureha looked at her worriedly. Utsuki took a few deep breaths to regain her composure.
"What on earth happened to you?"
Kureha scooped Utsuki up, gently brushing the sand off of her. But a mere moment later, she gasped in surprise, her eyes going wide.
"W-... What..."
Small handprints and mulberries clung to the fabric of Utsuki's kimono, close to Kureha's hand, where she had been brushing the sand away.
"I don't..." Utsuki added, despondent.
From her position propped up in her sister's arms, she could see the twin Jizos adorned with two small flowers.
At some point, as she'd watched the rain pouring down on the garden, Utsuki had apparently drifted off to sleep.
"Just when will this dreary rain let up?"
Kureha smiled at her. The sight of her sister's smile, the same as always, pained her.
"After that, I... All because of me, Sister..." Utsuki cursed herself, recalling the continuation of her dream.
Kureha reached out her hand curiously. "Come, Utsuki. The rain has eased off a little. By the time we reach the manor, it will surely have stopped."
Utsuki looked up at her sister and nodded. There was a large wound on the pale, slender arm she extended, and stuck to the wound were fruits, a vibrant vermilion in colour, that threatened to spill forth at any moment.
(Fin)