Koji Suzuki - The Complete Ring Trilogy - Ring, Spiral, Loop

Just as before, there was no sign of the manager at the counter, only the sound of the television coming from the back room. The guy had retired from his job in the city and decided to live out his years surrounded by Mother Nature, so he’d taken a job as a manager at a resort, but the work turned out to be utterly boring, and now all he did every day was watch videos. That’s how Asakawa interpreted the manager’s situation. Before he had a chance to call the guy, though, he crawled to the doorway and stuck his head out. Asakawa spoke somewhat apologetically.

“I thought I’d maybe borrow a video after all.”

The manager grinned happily. “Go right ahead, whichever you’d like. They’re three hundred yen each.”

Asakawa scanned the titles for scary-looking movies. The Legend of Hell House , The Exorcist, The Omen . He had seen them all in his student days. Nothing else? There had to be some he hadn’t seen. He searched from one end of the shelves to the other, and saw nothing that looked likely. He started over, reading the titles of every one of the two hundred or so videos. And then, on the very bottom shelf, way over in the corner, he noticed a video without a case, fallen over on its side. All the other tapes were encased in jackets with photos and imposing logos, but this one lacked even a label.

“What’s that there?” After he’d asked the question, Asakawa realized that he’d used a pronoun, that , as he pointed to the tape. If it didn’t have a name, what else was he supposed to call it?

The manager gave a bothered frown and replied, none too brightly, “Huh?” Then he picked up the tape. “This? This isn’t anything.”

… Hey, I wonder if this guy even knows what’s on that tape.

“Have you seen it? That one,” asked Asakawa.

“Let me see.” The manager cocked his head repeatedly, as if he couldn’t figure out what something like this was doing here.

“If you don’t mind, could I borrow that tape?”

Instead of replying, the manager slapped his knee. “Ah, I remember now. It was kicking around in one of the rooms. I just figured it was one of ours and brought it here, but …”

“This wouldn’t have happened to be in B-4, I don’t suppose?” Asakawa asked slowly, pressing the point home. The manager laughed and shook his head.

“I haven’t the foggiest. It was a couple of months ago.”

Asakawa asked once more, “Have you … seen … this video?”

The manager just shook his head. The smile disappeared from his face. “No.”

“Well, let me rent it.”

“You going to record something on the TV?”

“Yeah, well, I, ah …”

The manager glanced at the video. “The tab is broken. See? You can’t record on it.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, but Asakawa was getting irritated. I’m telling you to rent it to me, you idiot, just hand it over , he griped to himself. But no matter how drunk he was, Asakawa was never able to come on very strong with other people.

“Please. I’ll bring it right back.”

He bowed. The manager couldn’t figure out why his guest was showing so much interest in this old thing. Maybe there was something interesting on it, something somebody had forgotten to erase … Now he wished he’d watched it when he found it. He felt the sudden temptation to watch it right now, but he couldn’t very well refuse a guest who had asked for it. The manager handed over the tape. Asakawa reached for his wallet, but the manager stopped him with his hand.

“That’s alright, you don’t need to pay. I can’t charge you for this, now, can I?”

“Thanks a lot. I’ll bring it right back.”

“If it turns out to be interesting, then please do!” The manager’s curiosity had been piqued. He’d already seen every video here at least once, and most of them had ceased to interest him. How did I miss that one anyway? It would have killed a few hours. Aw, but it probably only has some stupid TV show recorded on it anyway .

The manager was sure the video would come back right away.

The tape had been rewound. It was an ordinary 120-minute tape, the sort you could get anywhere, and, as the manager had pointed out, the anti-erasure tabs had been broken off. Asakawa turned on the VCR and pushed the tape into the slot. He sat down cross-legged right in front of the screen and pressed play. He heard the capstans start to turn. He had high hopes that the key to unlock the riddle of four people’s deaths was hidden on this tape. He’d pushed play fully intending to be satisfied with just a clue, any clue. There can’t be any danger, he was thinking. What harm could come from just watching a videotape?

Random sounds and distorted images flickered on the screen, but once he had selected the right channel, the picture steadied. Then the screen went black as ink. This was the video’s first scene. There was no sound. Wondering if it had broken, he brought his face close to the screen. Consider yourself warned: you’d better not see it. You’ll be sorry you did . Shuichi Iwata’s words came back to him. Why should he be sorry? Asakawa was used to things like this. He’d covered the local news. No matter what sort of horrific images he might be shown, he felt confident he wouldn’t regret watching.

In the middle of the black screen he thought he saw a pinpoint of light begin to flicker. It gradually expanded, jumping around to the left and right, before finally coming to rest on the left-hand side. Then it branched out, becoming a frayed bundle of lights, crawling around like worms, which finally formed themselves into words. Not the kind of captions one normally saw on film, though. These were poorly-written, as if scrawled by a white brush on jet-black paper. Somehow, though, he managed to make out what they said: WATCH UNTIL THE END . A command. These words disappeared, and the next floated up into view. YOU WILL BE EATEN BY THE LOST … The last word didn’t make much sense, but being eaten didn’t sound too pleasant. It seemed that there must have been an “or else” implied there. Don’t turn off the video halfway through, or else something awful will happen: it was a threat.

YOU WILL BE EATEN BY THE LOST … The words grew larger and chased all the black from the screen. It was a flat change, from black to milk-white. It was a patchy, unnatural color, and it began to resemble a series of concepts painted on a canvas, one over another. The unconscious, squirming, worrying, finding an exit, spurting out—or maybe it was the throb of life. Thought had energy, bestially satiating itself on darkness. Strangely, he felt no desire to push stop. Not because he was unafraid of whatever wanted to eat him, but because this intense outpouring of energy felt good.

Something red burst onto the monochrome screen. At the same time he heard the ground rumble, from an indefinable direction. The sound seemed to come from everywhere, such that he began to imagine that the whole cabin was shaking. It didn’t feel like the sound was coming from those little speakers. The sluggish red fluid exploded and flew about, sometimes occupying the whole screen. From black to white, and now red … It was nothing but a violent succession of colors, he hadn’t seen any natural scenery yet. Just concepts in the abstract, etched vividly into his brain by the brilliantly shifting colors. It was tiring, actually. And then, as if it had read the viewer’s mind, the red retreated from the screen, and a mountain vista stretched out. At one glance he could tell it was a volcano, with a gentle peak. The volcano was sending up white puffs of smoke against a clear blue sky. The camera seemed to be situated somewhere at the foot of the mountain, where the ground was covered with rugged blackish-brown lava.