Mountain Shrine

255 ／ Part 1 of 7 (2012-05-03 01:44:34 ID: HPNJqzKn0)
This is something that happened to me when I was a second-year high-schooler.

One day during summer break, my friends A, B, C and I suddenly decided to go camping.
C, who loves stream fishing, had once heard from a relative about the perfect riverside spot deep in the mountains, so we headed there.

Somewhere along the way we must have taken a wrong turn, because we ended up at a different riverbank than the one C’s relative had described.
Even so, it looked ideal for camping: on our side the ground was open, strewn with pebbles and almost no weeds—dry, comfortable, and spacious, while the far bank was forest.

By evening we’d set up camp. While wandering around, A and C came back saying,
“Hey, a little upstream on the opposite bank there’s some weird shrine or something.”

B and I followed them and saw it too: a small stone shrine across the water—but something was off.
Normally you’d expect a torii gate in front, yet there was none.
And a typical hokora shrine is rectangular with a gabled roof, but this one was a cylinder topped by a rounded cap—so odd that up close it hardly looked like a shrine at all.

Stranger still, at its base fresh flowers—not wilted—had been offered, as if someone had visited recently, even though the stone was moss-covered and clearly ancient, with no sign of cleaning.
Puzzled, but not especially interested, we went back to prepare dinner.

256 ／ Part 2 of 7 (2012-05-03 01:45:19 ID: HPNJqzKn0)
After we’d eaten and dusk was creeping in, we were cleaning up when a faint voice drifted over—“tee …”.

I asked A, who was next to me, “Did you say something?”
“Eh? I didn’t say a thing,” he answered.
B and C, who were a bit farther off, said the same.

Weird. Maybe I imagined it? Then again—“tee …”.

This time A, B, and C heard it too. Right after B asked, “What was that?”, C pointed to our side of the river, near the strange shrine.

A figure stood there—looked like a girl of ten or twelve in a kimono, hands covering her face, muttering “tee …” now and then.

A muttered, “Creepy… where are her parents?” and walked toward her.
“Hey, what are you doing out here? It’s getting dark, you’d better head home,” he said.

Still hiding her face, the girl giggled and asked, “Wanna see? Wanna see?”

Maybe annoyed, A snapped back, “Quit fooling around and go find your folks!” He grabbed her wrists to pull her hands away—

B, C, and I couldn’t see her face from where we stood behind A, but the moment he saw it he shrieked, collapsed, and began convulsing.

The girl covered her face again and started walking toward us, still giggling, repeating, “Wanna see? Wanna see?”

Panic hit. A looked bad; we rushed to him.

“A! Can you hear me?” we shouted, but he didn’t respond, only twitching slightly.

257 ／ Part 3 of 7
C, panicking, shouted, “A’s in serious trouble—and what’s with that kid?! I don’t get any of this!” and made to grab the girl.
After what had happened to A I pictured C ending up the same; I pulled him back.

“Leave her—A comes first. We’ve gotta get him into the tent,” I insisted.

The three of us hauled the still-unconscious A inside. All the while the girl stood outside, facing us, giggling, “Wanna see? Wanna see?”

Inside the tent A had stopped convulsing but still wouldn’t wake or respond.
We tried to figure out what to do. It was already nearly dark; carrying A down a mountain trail at night was dangerous, so we decided to call the police.

While we fumbled for phones the girl came right up beside the tent and went back to her earlier croon—“teee …”.

The kid was terrifying, but A’s condition scared us more. We pulled out our mobiles—only to find No Service. An hour earlier they’d had signal. B’s and C’s screens were the same; even A’s phone showed no bars.

Now we were in real trouble: we couldn’t move A, the thing outside was creepy as hell, and we had no way to call for help.
Her faint “teee …” drifted from just beyond the canvas; clearly she wasn’t giving up.

258 ／ Part 4 of 7
Then B, remarkably calm, called out through the fabric:
“Who are you? What did you do to A? Did we upset you somehow? If so, we’re sorry—please leave us alone.”

The girl didn’t care; she only giggled, “Wanna see? Wanna see?”

Getting nowhere, I spoke up:
“You guys know I’m a decent runner, right? Sitting here solves nothing. From the paved road to the turn-off was about thirty minutes on foot—call it under two kilometers. Even in the dark I can sprint that in eight, ten minutes tops. Once I reach the road I’ll get cell reception—or flag down a car. I’m going.”

B and C objected—too dangerous—but A might die, and it was already after 8 p.m.; sunrise was seven, eight hours away. Holing up under a thin sheet of nylon with some unknown entity inches away would break our nerves. They knew it too.

We agreed: if I didn’t return within an hour, C and B would come looking.

Outside: “teee …”.

My legs shook, but I forced myself out. Immediately beside me, a whisper: “Wanna see? Wanna see?” I swung the flashlight—she was less than a meter away, illuminated in the beam, hands starting to peel from her face as she laughed.

I yanked my gaze aside and bolted, following the beam down the rough track.
It was an unpaved forestry road but firm enough for cars—rutted yet packed—so easier to run than I’d feared. Maybe I’d hit asphalt sooner than expected.

That thought had barely formed when a figure appeared up ahead in the beam.

259 ／ Part 5 of 7

“Eh—?” I swung the flashlight—
It was that same girl.

Impossible. I’d sprinted at least five hundred meters; there’s no way she could have kept up. Yet there she was, right in front of me, giggling again, asking, “Wanna see? Wanna see?” while starting to peel her hands from her face.

I tore my gaze away and dodged around her, running on.
Let her follow if she could—once I reached the paved road, I’d be safe.

I don’t know how long I ran.
Up ahead I caught a glimpse of passing headlights—almost to the main road.

Relief had barely flickered when something grabbed my ankle and yanked me down.
What the—? I looked: nothing there. Absolutely nothing, yet I could feel a tight, solid grip around my leg.
And it was strong—no matter how I kicked, I couldn’t break free.

As I thrashed, that familiar voice drifted from a little way off: “teee …”
No—if she reaches me now, I’m finished.

I lashed out blindly, but the unseen hand wasn’t just invisible; I couldn’t even feel it to strike it. Every kick hit empty air.

While I struggled, the girl had already come right up behind me. Over my shoulder:
“Wanna see? Wanna see?”

Desperate, I forced myself upright and started staggering forward, dragging whatever held my leg.
I fell again and again, inching ahead—
Then I glanced up—and for a split second I saw her pull her hands away and reveal her face.

260 ／ Part 6 of 7

The instant I glimpsed her face, a wave of hopeless terror unlike anything I’d felt before nearly snuffed my consciousness.
But because it was only a split-second glance—and I jerked my eyes away—I barely clung to awareness. I crawled the last few metres, staggered onto the paved road, and lurched upright.

I couldn’t take another step.

How to explain it—dizziness spun my head like a carnival ride, while an irrational dread shook my body. I was trembling so hard just staying on my feet was a miracle; I simply could not move forward.
If I tried I’d topple, especially with that unseen grip still locked on my leg—and I knew if I fell I might never stand again.

Just then, pure luck: a truck came rumbling toward me.

Fighting the dark that kept closing in, I waved frantically. The driver braked and stopped a little past me.

From right behind my back came the girl’s voice: “Too bad, too bad.”

The vertigo overwhelmed me; I crumpled to my knees. I managed to tell the driver that my friends were farther up the track and needed help—then everything went black.

I don’t know what happened next. When I woke, I was in a hospital bed.

Later I heard the trucker had called police and an ambulance. A, B, and C were all rescued; unconscious A was brought to the same hospital and woke up around the same time I did.
The driver visited after work, but said he hadn’t seen anyone on the road except me.

Since only we four witnessed anything, the police didn’t believe a word of our story, and our parents chewed us out.
Can’t blame them—if someone told me that tale, I’d think it was made up too…

261 ／ Part 7 of 7

That’s everything we experienced during that summer break.

A few weeks later I asked A what he’d seen when he looked at the girl’s face.
He said he was certain he saw it clearly, yet the image had vanished from his mind. The instant he tried to recall it he felt the same dizziness and blank terror I’d described, and then blacked out.

It was the same for me: I know I caught a glimpse, but that fragment of memory is a perfect blank—like a piece neatly cut from a film reel. I remember seeing—but cannot remember what I saw. It’s disturbingly strange.

All four of us spent the rest of the vacation digging for clues about the cylindrical shrine and the girl in the kimono, but we turned up nothing. Even locals had no idea a shrine stood there at all.

Which leaves one more riddle: if no one knows the shrine exists, who left the fresh flowers at its base?

Additional note: the girl’s repeated murmur “tee …” does not correspond to any ordinary Japanese word or chant; its meaning remains unknown.