Shadows in the Sticks
As we stepped out of the outhouse, our eyes met those of the two men, who immediately dropped their gazes and turned away. Even if it was the same make of car, there was no way guys like that would be hanging around in a backwater like this. They had that look—like they'd rev up on motorcycles and tear down the road any second—so brushing off the eye contact as coincidence was the kind of thought only someone with senses dulled to hell would have. Tanaka scratched at his side, his mind on the pistol tucked in his waistband. They piled into their car and peeled out first, but his gut screamed that the real action was just getting started.
"Tsk..."
"Know them?"
"No clue. If they'd come up from near Osaka, I'd have seen their faces at least once."
"Locals, then."
"Seems like it. Which makes them even more dangerous. Let's head back to Osaka."
"That's over three hours from here."
"It's fine. Back in the day, I drove a truck year-round chasing local festivals."
He was suggesting a return to his turf in Osaka, probably because wrangling three women solo felt like a burden. Sure, we'd cram back into the car tomorrow for a leisurely drive down anyway—a trip he might not be used to, but one that would leave the girls behind me wrecked. Drooping footsteps meant lost work hours.
"Six hours a day bouncing around in a car would flatten those two for sure. Better to hole up in a hotel in the nearest big city."
"Not a bad idea."
Judging it too risky to stick around, we bundled up the kids and bailed. We'd snapped all the photos needed, grabbed handouts from hotel prowls, so no one griped as we checked into our rooms earlier than usual. If I'd been solo, I'd have tracked them down quick and scoped out whoever was pulling their strings. But Hyeon-a was glued to her laptop editing our footage into something slick, and Na-eun—worn out from communing with the lingering ghost—washed up and crashed early. It wasn't bedtime yet, and hell, we're in Japan—gotta try some sake and sushi, right?
"Be right back."
"Alone, boss?"
"Yeah. Grabbing snacks from the convenience store up the street. What do you want?"
"Pudding and cod roe onigiri. Salty-sweet combo hits different."
"Got it."
I slipped out alone, ears perked for sounds from the next room over. Sounded like a phone convo—no sign they were onto us.
"Hmm... they say red bean buns are killer too."
Once I hit the elevator down to the first floor, sake took a backseat to beer cravings. Ice-cold brew with some well-grilled yakitori? Pure bliss. Humming a little tune, I stepped outside into a cool sea breeze ruffling my hair. Nice—weather's on my side tonight.
After crossing a small bridge from the hotel, the eerie emptiness hit—no souls around. Then it clicked: a car pulling up right in front. Guess two grown men are plenty for a fragile woman like me. They hopped out, tongues lolling like predators closing in.
"Been waiting."
"Huh?"
I strode right up instead, tapping their bodies lightly. Their souls drained out in a flash, leaving the two bruisers standing there dazed like zombies.
"Hey! Get her in before someone sees—hngh!"
Even in the sticks, eyes could be watching, so they tried hustling me off quick. But they just froze. The driver rolled down his window mid-sentence, words dying as my face rose into view from below.
I locked eyes, pressed my thumb to his forehead, and delved into his memories. His brow caved inward as recollections unspooled in reverse—recent stuff from that share house, brief hotel stops as the car backtracked. Pushing further to see who issued the orders, a hat-wearing guy in the memories suddenly glared wide-eyed, blocking my view with a talisman.
"Well, well."
I could force it, but that'd blow the driver's brain from the inside. This was a nation of laws and rules—I didn't want to dirty my hands. Besides, they'd locked eyes with me; curiosity would draw more goons or the boss himself.
"Get in the damn car, idiots."
"Ugh..."
Once the tattooed hunks meekly boarded, I leaned into the driver's ear.
"Follow the coastal road till you're alone, then slam into the sea. Got it?"
"Y... yeah."
His eyes glazed, half his brain offline like a vegetable, he mumbled agreement and eased the car forward. They'd race into the dark, hit a deserted stretch by the shore, accelerate—and vanish. No brake lights, just swallowed by night. I watched till they were gone, then turned toward that convenience store after all.
"Thought they were some big outfit. Just joyriders. Lame."
I couldn't tell what trick blocked the memory peek, but their goal was clear: snatch me for fun. If a real syndicate was involved, I'd have yanked a boss's strings for my own crew. Owning a crime ring? No downside.
Plastic bag stuffed with snacks and beer, I headed back light-footed.
—
Day three in Japan already. Time to properly harness the ghost and pinpoint the trail. Nothing fancy: Na-eun bathed ritually, I stripped her top, and drew a more intricate pattern than the one on the dog across her smooth belly. The design was just window dressing—the real juice was the incantation words inside. No one knew the origin, but dragon tongue outdid human script a hundredfold, so it became standard.
"Boss."
"Yeah."
"Viewer question: talismans have specific symbols or words for purposes, right? Never seen this—what's it mean?"
"Nothing special. Spell to yank a nearby memory and cram it into the body."
"Could a normie copy it and get the same effect?"
"Dunno. If they can read the words and have spiritual chops, maybe?"
Reading dragon tongue marked you no normie anyway—a non-issue in a world treating dragons as fairy-tale fanfic. Answering straight would just get laughs.
"Might sting at first—brace yourself."
"Got it. Hng...!"
I snagged the long, wriggling thread of clearest memory from the corner and stabbed it into her belly where the incantation sat. Dogs were corpses, so easy mode; live humans? Dumping alien memories into a healthy brain hits like a dictionary to the skull—pure agony.
"Haaauuugh!"
She clutched her gut and collapsed, thrashing like a leech on salt. I remembered rolling on the floor just like her my first time—solid empathy. To folks used to possession as eye-rolling theatrics, this raw writhe looked off.
"Boss, she okay?"
"Totally. Normal for round one. Like kidney stones ripping through."
"Ugh... never make me do that."
"If anyone could get possessed, why bother with shamans? Even wanting to, most can't."
"Phew—."
Common sense said so, but truth? Anyone could if pushed—dragon words made it possible. Emergency backup for her, but keep that secret.
"Nngh..."
After wild flailing, she blinked aware, propped up her torso. Sweat beading her brow and face from pain. Tougher than hours of ritual dances and knife-jumping for possession.
"How's it? Second time—manageable?"
"Ugh—nope. Guts twisting, feels like death's door still."
Foreign memories flooding in? No adaptation yet. She smacked her complex skull, stood, scanned around.
"Kinda know where... but the body's gone forever."
"Tsk, that's a problem. Proof item?"
"Gotta check in person."
Buried deep, dumped in remote woods for beasts to gnaw to bones—we could find those. Invisible? Straight-up ocean fodder, swept to Pacific depths. Even I couldn't scour Japan's coastal waters. No corpse meant snag an item for the client's peace. Killer? Untouchable anyway.