Thomas Randall - Spirits of the Noh

“Do you believe us?” Ren asked.

Mr. Yamato took a deep breath. It didn’t seem possible to Kara, but he actually sat up a bit straighter in his chair.

“As a younger man, I would have dismissed such stories without a moment’s thought. My grandmother loved to tell us tales of gods and demons, of spirits wearing the faces of men, and especially of tricksters who could appear to be animals. Kitsune was her favorite. I remember so many of those stories. I never believed them, but I knew my grandmother did. My father used to say the woman was crazy, and though I loved her stories, I agreed.

“As I have grown older, I have thought of my grandmother often. In my memories, she does not seem at all insane. In all other ways, she conducted her life normally-a sweet, doting woman who made fish soup better than any I’ve ever had, and always kept a bit of candy hidden for me in a drawer in her kitchen. The light of faith in her eyes was ordinary belief, not madness. Many old women still tell such stories as though they really happened. Who am I to say they did not?

“Even so, I would not believe you if not for the murders in April. Jiro and Chouku had their blood taken from their bodies. The police could not explain it. No one could explain it. They came up with their ridiculous stories, lies to tell the public, and I went along with them to protect our school. We could not afford to have people thinking the students were still in danger… and I truly thought the danger had passed. But I knew the police were mystified, and that made me wonder. And then Mai came to me with the tale of the ketsuki, and Kyuketsuki, and a curse.

“I tried to tell myself it was impossible. But every time I did, I remembered the spark of belief in my grandmother’s eyes. And now here you are, telling me a Hannya has come to Monju-no-Chie school, and I remember the story my grandmother told me of a girl named Kiyohime and the monk Anchin.”

Kara felt relief washing over her. Mr. Yamato believed her. He would help! But this was all taking too long. Where was Miss Aritomo now? With her father still? And where was Miho?

“Anchin is the name of the monk in Dojoji,” Sakura said. “Yasu was supposed to play that part.”

“But who was Kiyohime?” Hachiro asked, glancing at Kara. “Is that from the play, too?”

Mr. Yamato leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and Kara could not help but lean in a bit herself. She saw the others doing the same. It had the feeling of a secret about to be shared, or a story told around the fireplace.

“The story has been told in many ways. The Noh play, Dojoji, is only one of them. It has been performed in Kabuki theater, written as folklore, and told in songs. But my grandmother told the story of Kiyohime as something true and real, as a warning to the young boy I was that I must never mislead a girl or take advantage of affection I did not feel in return.”

Hachiro and Ren shifted uncomfortably, while Mai looked confused. Sakura glanced at Kara, seeming to share her impatience, but Kara wanted to hear the rest.

“Please go on, sensei,” Kara said. “Anything you can tell us about the story might help.”

“Anchin lived in a temple on the banks of the Hidaka river. Once a year he visited a small village far away-I don’t remember the names now-and always stayed at the same inn during his travels. The innkeeper’s young daughter, Kiyohime, fussed over Anchin and during each visit he would bring her small gifts. He thought of her as a child, and never imagined that her fondness for him would turn to love. When, after several years, she confessed her passion to him, Anchin was shocked. He explained that he had taken vows of chastity and could never love her, and he returned to the temple.”

Kara thought back on the play she’d read and some of the reading she’d done. “That isn’t how the play goes.”

Mr. Yamato shook his head. “No. It’s not. Some versions of the tale claim that Anchin took advantage of the girl and then spurned her. But my grandmother’s story was always that Anchin was simply blind to her growing obsession, or enjoyed it but thought it innocent enough. Kiyohime pursued the monk, and her desire for him led her to make obscene propositions. Finally, resentment turned her love to hate. By then she had begun to seek to summon spirits to help force Anchin to be her lover. Demons. She became a Hannya-a blood-drinking, flesh-eating serpent woman-and snuck into the temple.”

The principal waved a hand. “The rest is much like what you’ve no doubt read.”

Hachiro, Ren, Mai, and Sakura all looked to Kara. She nodded.

“The monks hid Anchin inside a huge bronze bell in the temple. When she discovered him, the bell came loose and fell, trapping Anchin inside. The Hannya couldn’t move the bell to get to him, but it breathed fire, like a dragon, and wrapped itself around the bell, burning it with such heat that it melted the bell and Anchin inside, and incinerating itself in the process.”

“No,” Mr. Yamato said.

Kara looked up at him. “What?”

They were all staring at him now. The principal sat up again in his chair, fidgeting, his back obviously paining him.

“I was mistaken. If that is how the play ends, it isn’t the way my grandmother told the story. In her version, there was no fire from the Hannya. It wasn’t a dragon, after all. Fire makes no sense. Kiyohime tried to get to Anchin, who had hidden inside the bell. He began to beat on the iron-iron, not bronze-from within and the other monks brought out small bells hidden in their robes and began to ring them. Japanese legends are full of tales of evil being warded off by bells. The sound paralyzed Kiyohime long enough for them to burn her.”

“Do you think this Hannya is actually Kiyohime?” Mai asked. “Or a different one?”

Ren glanced at her. “Does it matter?”

Sakura rose up on her knees, staring at Kara. “Aritomo-sensei’s version of Dojoji has no bells. The monks chant…”

Kara’s mind raced. “That can’t be coincidence. The Hannya’s hiding inside her, we know that, but it’s obviously controlling her actions, too. At least some of the time.”

“Yes, but is it just influencing her,” Ren asked, “or does it take over in there? When we’re talking to Aritomo-sensei, is she answering, or is the Hannya?”

“That’s crazy,” Mai said.

“Also the creepiest thing I’ve ever heard,” Hachiro said. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

“But how did it possess her in the first place, and why her?” Sakura asked.

“The story is about jealousy,” Mai said. “Who is Aritomo-sensei jealous of?”

Hachiro and Sakura looked at Kara, who immediately understood their suspicion. It made sense, in a bizarre sort of way. Miss Aritomo had taken an interest in her father, maybe wanted to get closer to him, but his first love and loyalty belonged to his daughter. It would be natural for the woman to be a little jealous of their closeness. Envious.

Would it have been enough to give the Hannya a way in? An invitation? Maybe. And they would probably never know.

Kara threw up her hands. “Look, there’s no point in debating this. How it got inside her isn’t nearly as important as finding a way to get it out.”

“Agreed,” Ren said.

Hachiro reached out and touched Kara’s shoulder. She turned to see a gleam of epiphany in his eyes.

“Bells,” he said.

Kara got it instantly. There were bells everywhere in the school and the dorm. Japanese culture was full of them. Students hung them on backpacks and key chains and doorknobs, though most were tiny, what they called pocket bells.

“I don’t know if little ones would be enough,” Sakura said.

But Kara had begun to nod. She felt the smile before it touched her lips. “Kaneda-sensei looks after the old Shinto shrine beside the school. In June she did that re-creation of an old prayer ritual, remember?”