Tokyo Exorcism Diary

The moonlight cast a silvery glow across Tokyo Bay, its gentle waves shimmering like dreamlike scales.

In a tranquil village, a few faint lights flickered amidst the darkness. The symphony of frogs and cicadas intertwined with the sea breeze, which rustled the grassy fields, creating ripples in the emerald green.

White sneakers crunched across the grass, heading toward the beach.

The echoes of the day’s clamor seemed to linger faintly in the air. One could almost imagine the laughing crowds still wandering here. But then, a cold, briny breeze swept past, carrying grains of sand with it, and the remnants of the day’s warmth dissipated, leaving the artificial beach in utter silence.

A middle-aged man with short, graying hair sat alone by the shore, fishing with a tranquil, contented expression.

It wasn’t until Hoshino Gen approached that the man turned his head with a warm smile.
“Hey there, young man. Interested in fishing? Full gear available, 2,000 yen per hour.”

A rank stench wafted into Hoshino Gen’s nose, making his head spin and his thoughts blur.

Just as he reached for a talisman to clear his mind, a sudden, piercing chill shot through his right arm, shattering the illusion that seemed to drag him into a trance.

He paused momentarily, then chose to remain still. When a trace of puzzlement appeared on the man’s face, Hoshino Gen gave a faint, dazed smile.
“Sure, set me up with some gear.”

The man’s doubts faded as he chuckled.
“Coming right up!”

Supporting himself on his knees, the man stood up and ambled toward a small wooden hut on the edge of the beach.
“Business is slow at night, so the gear’s all inside. Come with me, and I’ll grab it for you.” 

Hoshino Gen stayed put. The man turned and waved him over with a grin.
“Come on, don’t be shy. I’ll get you a fishing rod.”

Hoshino Gen followed him.

Creak—

The wooden door of the hut creaked open, releasing a putrid stench that hit like a solid wall.

“I’ve handled a lot of fish in here. I’m a bit lazy, so I haven’t cleaned much. Don’t mind the smell,” the man explained, chuckling.

Peering through the open door, Hoshino Gen saw the interior: large, dried bloodstains spattered the floor and walls. Inside were a chair, an unfolded cot draped with a white sheet, and a woman’s pale, bloated corpse, clearly the victim of drowning.

A young woman dressed in red, hauntingly beautiful in death.

If Hoshino Gen had to guess, she probably had a lovely name too—something like… Marika.

Hoshino Gen stepped into the wooden hut, the door shutting behind him.

The man gestured warmly for him to sit down, as if hosting an honored guest.

Hoshino Gen, his eyes vacant like a puppet’s, seated himself on the chair.

The man settled by the cot, turning to stroke the woman’s face with a smile.
“Beautiful, isn’t she? I spent a long time finding the perfect bride for my son. She was an idol, you know. Tomorrow, just past midnight, they’ll be married.”

The room reeked of decay, the bloodstains on the walls and floor grotesque. Yet, amidst the horror, the white-haired man’s demeanor radiated a bizarre harmony.

“My son was a handful,” the man began wistfully. “Years ago, during summer, he went fishing with me. It was hot, and he insisted on swimming.

“I knew he was a strong swimmer, so I didn’t stop him. Who would’ve thought he’d go under and not come up? I watched him struggle, and I panicked—I couldn’t swim, so I ran for help.”

The man’s tone turned bitter.
“That’s why they say people in modern society are so restless and indifferent. When I called for help, a crowd came running as soon as they heard someone had fallen into the water. But none of them helped me! They were all too busy taking photos and recording videos with their phones.”

“I even got down on my knees, begging them to save my son. But! Not a single person stepped forward.”

“I watched helplessly as my son went still in the water and sank. The police arrived with a rescue team and searched for two days, but they found nothing. They just told me to give up—Tokyo Bay is too vast, they said, and we might never find him. He could’ve been swept out into the Pacific.”

The man’s desire to talk was strong, perhaps because these feelings had been buried for so many years, and he couldn’t keep them in any longer.

He chuckled awkwardly and continued, “They can give up, but I can’t. That’s my son. The water was so cold—no matter how hot the summer was, he couldn’t have stayed in the water like that. So I just sat by the shore, waiting. I waited until… my son crawled back up. He’s just like me, tough! Others didn’t save him, but that’s fine—he crawled up on his own!”

“He crawled right up to me and told me he was hungry… well, who wouldn’t be after soaking in the water for so many days?” The man grimaced. “I brought him his favorite beef, but he wouldn’t eat it. I got him a cake, but he wouldn’t eat that either. I asked him what he wanted to eat, and he told me he wanted to eat people.”

 “Good, I thought. Those who just watched my son fall into the water and did nothing deserve to be eaten!” The man’s smile turned twisted, but he seemed pleased with himself. “Over the years, I’ve learned a lot. I’ve found ways to… well, kill a lot of people.”

“My son has grown up now. I often think—if he hadn’t fallen into the water and become a water ghost, he should be getting married and having kids by now. If I could see that happen, I’d die content.” The man shook his head with a smile. “Luckily, someone told me that even if someone’s dead, they can still get married. They even said there’s a thing called ‘ghost marriage’.”

“They said if I found someone compatible with my son, I could make her a water ghost too, and maybe they’d even have children together!” The man’s face lit up with delight as he turned to look at the female corpse on the bed. “Since then, I’ve been choosing carefully… Marika-chan is perfect. She’s beautiful, kind, and she’d make a great wife. The best part? Her birthday is exactly the same as my son’s. It’s just… so fitting.”

“As for making sure Marika-chan becomes a ghost, I put in a lot of effort!” He looked around the room, admiring his work. “I even got red clothes and a comb from the tomb!”

“She begged me to spare her as I tortured her. But only when she was at death’s door did I see the hint of resentment in her eyes. What a kind child she was. When I threw her into the water, she didn’t struggle much. She died so peacefully. What a relief.”

He sighed with satisfaction, his eyes full of contentment. “Tomorrow, after midnight, we’ll finally be a family. We’ll be happy, and everything will be perfect.”

After saying this, he sighed deeply, stood up, and walked toward Hoshino Gen. “Sorry to trouble you by making you listen to my ramblings.”

“My son is probably starving by now. I’ll make sure you die quickly and painlessly.” He pulled out a fish-killing knife and aimed it at Hoshino Gen’s neck.

But then, a hand suddenly gripped his wrist, stopping him from stabbing.

Hoshino Gen tilted his head slightly, his handsome face showing no sign of being affected by the hallucinations. He smiled faintly, his heterochromatic eyes holding no warmth.

“Quite the chatterbox. I thought I’d hear something interesting, but instead, I’m almost falling asleep,” the young man with the mismatched eyes said, standing up, still gripping the man’s wrist. He spoke with a soft smile. “You said your son likes to eat people, and that he’s hungry, right?”

The man was still stunned, unable to understand why the person before him hadn’t been affected by the “ghost scent.” After all, he had made the “magic tool” using his son’s hair under that person’s guidance! Normally, anyone who even caught a whiff of it would fall into a hallucination and become his puppet, controlled like a marionette!

But before he could react, he was pulled from his shock and confusion—Hoshino Gen kicked him to the ground, stepped on his chest, and with a flash of black light, his sword sliced upward. The man’s right hand was severed in a spray of blood.

In the man’s desperate scream, Hoshino Gen caught the severed hand midair.

Hoshino Gen looked down indifferently at the man, who was writhing in pain, then sneered. He stomped on the man’s left chest, and with a dull thud, the screaming abruptly stopped.

The demonic sword in Hoshino Gen’s hand turned into a flash of light and wrapped around his arm. He picked up a fishing rod leaning against the wooden wall and tied the still-warm hand to it with fishing line.

Carrying the rod, he left the cabin and walked to the shore.

He cast the rod, and with a “plop,” the hand sank into the water.