The Silent Oiwa

The dirt was putrid below my bare feet as it slipped through the gaps separating my toes. Sliding my feet across the sludge, I reached for the crumbling wall glowing in the night. The Silent Oiwa. Cautiously, I waited. Watching the entrance, watching the people inside, watching the movements they made. It was here that she told me to visit, her words were so defined, so specific. What are you waiting for? It was time to go in.

Shaking, I trod softly, keeping the noise I made at a minimum to ensure I remained unheard and unseen. Purposelessly I glanced at the changing ground, shifting as I move through from the outside to the inner building, revealing a softer floor, covered in bristles of woollen fabric, feathered to the touch.

Inside, the building was lined with a burgundy wallpaper, decorated with butterflies, swarming over white chrysanthemums. She told me about the wallpaper of this place, hiding secrets in plain sight. But what secrets?

In the corner of the room there was a small trinket box, tucked into the furthest crease of the wall. Engraved into it was a drawing, curved in shape, a rugged line making its way towards more lines that carved back down past the start of the image, almost like a face. But missing from this almost-face were the chilling eyes I was expecting to be greeted with. I opened the little box and was surprised to find it had a large jade encrusted into a medallion, with swirling inscription in a language I didn't fully understand. Put it on. Round your neck.

Spiralling round the room I began to feel movements in my body I had never considered possible before, my legs twisted round and the bone of my arms bent and cracked – surely this couldn't be possible? But they didn't hurt, and they didn't break. A new lease of life had engulfed me and I was clinging to the edge, just about hanging on. My body whisked me into the next room, feet sliding in all the wrong directions, in the way they would hang if the bone had been smashed up, like a lance from a losing jouster.

Eyes blinked at me from a dark sheet, angry and questioning. What was I doing here? One working class guy who eats beans on toast for dinner most nights, so what was I doing creeping through The Silent Oiwa stalking these beastly figures. What was I doing? It wasn't my idea of fun, what was she after? What did she want me to do?

It wasn't long before I felt my hand reach out, legs moving closer to the silhouettes, grabbing them by the throats and pinning two of them against the wall, the other two unmoving beside me.

“I hope you know why I am here, Tamiya Iemon?” That was not my voice that worked its way out from my lips and entwined its whispering tone in the sockets of one man's eyes. “Do you know why I am here?”

Confusion bled from his eyes as his pupil stretched into his dark iris and he began to scream for help, glancing at one of his untouched friends. My grip around his neck tightened as I began to feel the blood pulsing through his veins begin to struggle, his breathing became short and I could see his face turning the colour of nausea. He was drowning in his own pain. Why was I doing this? What had he done wrong?

Don't worry, he deserves it. They all do.

Relief swarmed over me as I heard her voice once again. She would never lie to me and so I continued to hold him high above my head, watching as my grip grew tighter and tighter, even though I had passed my point of strength – adrenaline? Whatever it was, it was working and that made things easier for me. Easier for her too.

Turning to the other man, I asked a very similar question, with a very different meaning… “Do you know who I am, Yuta Yamada?” It was almost spat at him. I don't quite know what I hoped to achieve with that question, but even without wanting to ask it, I would have anyway, it was already in motion to leave my mouth before it had fully processed in my mind – unusual how that can happen. But without even acknowledging the question, the man began to squirm, reaching out to my face, beginning to claw at it, but pain was absent from my body. I squeezed tighter and tighter and tighter until I could feel each and every vain of his burst. Oozing blood leaked out of his nose and erupted out of his mouth as he violently choked, my grip only tightening, trapping his life force and urging it out.

Overcome with complete and utter terror, the other man, the first man, started grasping at the hand I had clenched around his muscular throat. Ripping away the skin on my hand, he knew that this spelt bad news, but still he struggled. Still he reached for help. The fly trying to hide from the swatter.

“I don't know who you are, you're insane!” he choked up the words, shaking as he did so.

“I am surprised you don't recognise me… But then again, after what they did to me… I don't recognise myself sometimes.” That voice definitely didn't come from me, and I'm not quite sure where it came from. Soft and echoing, like a feather that was designed specifically with the purpose of tickling the tender skin left open to it. Not my voice.

The confusion that had plastered itself all over the man's face slowly began to fade and merged into a blank, almost concussed look – shock maybe? His squirming became much more intense, to the point where I nearly lost my grip. Nearly.

“So you do recognise me then? Nice to know I haven't been erased completely from that dull head of yours,” Resisting the urge to look round and try and work out who it was talking, I fixated on the man's eyes, only to find his eyes too were glued to mine.

“What is it you want? You-you can't be here,” what he was saying was beyond my comprehension of the events that were unfolding, yet the question was directed at me. I realised in that instant that I didn't want to be here, it may have been what she wanted, but why was I even listening to her – who even was she. She said she knew me, but why would she know me, how would she know me? I couldn't work it out and that was tearing me apart. She was so familiar, yet I didn't know who she was. I had never met her. Ah but you have. I am you and you are me. I couldn't get her out of my head. What the hell is that even supposed to mean? I don't know what she is doing and I don't know what she wants.

In trying to loosen my grip on the man who I had never met before, I felt my fingers strain as the grip grew tighter, almost too tight for them. I tried to walk away but only found myself closer. I was no longer in control of where I was, or what I was doing. Could it be her? Could she be twisting my bones and stretching my muscles? My grip was not loosening and I could feel the fear dripping off the man, and he could see the fear within my eyes.

“She… got you… too, huh?” he wheezed out. I didn't know what he meant by it, but I also knew it wouldn't be long before those could be his last words. Although, as far as last words go, they could have been a lot worse. Fighting with myself was not something I ever imagined I would do, but this man's life wasn't over yet and I don't think he had done enough to deserve the same fate as his friend. The same one now crumpled on the floor next to us. He couldn't be revealed to be the antagonist here – I was the one ruthlessly killing these men for no apparent reason, it wouldn't hold up in court, so why should it hold up as a morally acceptable thing to do? Just because she said so?

Forcing my hand loose from the sweating, pulsing neck of the man was no easy feat and every time I tried to force my hand one way, it just did the opposite – tightening with every move I made, but I wasn't going to give up. If I could perhaps lose balance or cause myself enough pain that my body would no longer be able to support his weight, then maybe we would topple over in a pile and he could leave, without getting hurt. Shuffling, I focussed on moving my feet closer together, if they got close enough together I could start twisting them in weird directions. Sliding my left foot behind my right and then shuffling the balance onto my left, entwined foot, I felt the ground reaching out to me and my grasp on the man wavered slightly as I plummeted down into the dark abyss of nothingness.

Light did not dazzle me when I awoke, instead I was blinded by a throbbing pain in the back of my head, could it be where my head plummeted into the ground? And after trying to lift my arm, being consumed with excruciating pain, witnessing my heavy limb just drop, I discovered most of the important bones in my body were… damaged. Every movement sent some excruciating level of pain searing through my body, although an absence within the comfort of my mind relaxed me, at least I could seek refuge there. Away from the chill I kept feeling, the numbness in my leg and the sickness in my stomach. A chill that should probably resemble pain, but was just cold. Maybe it was blood. Could I have been stabbed? What did the men do to me whilst I was sleeping? Did any of them survive? There were so many questions running through my mind but all I could really do was realise I was probably losing blood fairly quickly… Probably getting relatively… Tired… But no matter what… I could not… Drift… Away… Sleep was… A sign of the end… of… death… and I… couldn't… not…