Chapter Text
It really did exist.
Ivy and weeds buried the crypt, the cracked building shaded under a thick canopy of dying leaves. Rin had gotten a decent idea of its location on Google Maps, but the possibility of it being a mere nineteenth century ghost tale had lingered, and he had steeled himself to find nothing but a pile of dirt in the woods. Hour-long treks through forests in the middle of the night were part of his job. More often than not, these trips yielded no results. It wouldn’t have been the first time a lead on a conspiracy forum had come to nothing.
But it was here. It was real.
Unless one were to stand in front of the building, it was impossible to see. Not even a drone shot would confirm its existence with certainty. It sat low in the ground, covered in earth and fallen trees, withered away by time and the elements, and the only sign of its origin was a chipped, weathered crest carved above the entrance arch — a stylised sheep and a snowflake, the emblem of the Hiori clan.
With a flashlight in hand and the cover of darkness to hide him, he adjusted a heavy backpack on his shoulder and stepped up to the entrance. A reek of decomposing foliage poisoned his sinuses as soon as he approached. Shining a beam of light around the first interior chamber, grime crept along the walls, tendrils of rot, and debris cluttered the floor from a caved-in roof. This room was falling apart. It should have been a haunting, beautiful place, an amateur imitation of nineteenth century European gothic architecture, but it was a mere shell of that past prestige, destroyed. The facade had long since crumbled away with every howl of the wind and battering from the rain.
Still, if the stories are correct, he thought, something is still lingering around here.
The lead was a tenuous one, pieced together from several dispersed sources. A forum post theorised about the location of the crypt. An early 2000s local history website compiled a genealogy of local clans. A ghost stories message board mentioned that the last heir to the Hiori clan had died of tuberculosis, but his body had never decayed. Some public church records noted the dispatch of two priests to the Hiori residence around the same time as the death.
After scouring the internet for weeks, the story looked something like this:
In the late Meiji period, Hiori Yo, the last heir to the Hiori clan, suddenly and mysteriously passed away from tuberculosis at the age of twenty-three. Two priests were urgently called to the house, and the body was very quickly buried in the clan’s newly built crypt on the mountainside, undergoing no funeral rites. No one else ever used the crypt, not even his own parents, and it was swiftly abandoned. Forgotten. Disappeared from general consensus as the Hiori clan died out in the early 20th century. Some say the body of the dead Hiori Yo still lies in its final resting place, not having decayed even after a century, and if you find it, you will find a spirit forever tormented by what happened to him.
Some things weren’t adding up. Why call two priests to the house of a Buddhist family? Why refuse to use the crypt to bury the parents years later? Why was there a pervasive myth that the dead body hadn’t decayed?
It’s because Hiori Yo isn’t really dead, Rin thought as he stepped inside, covering his nose against the stench. No, he just transformed. He’s not buried, he’s locked away. And if I’m right, the thing he transformed into is a…
Vampire.
A flight of stairs led down into pitch black darkness, a tree trunk laying over the first few steps. He clambered over it, careful not to slip, and continued his descent into the shadowy belly of the building.
This was the sort of place that should have had a ‘DO NOT ENTER’ sign plastered outside. Water dripped down from the ceiling and ran in rivulets along the walls that had been cut into the hillside, ragged and unclean. It was a miracle that the area’s earthquakes hadn’t collapsed the roof yet. It was like a mineshaft without support pillars.
The narrow passage groaned as drafts of wind funnelled through. A chill snaked down his spine. All the more reason to keep going, he thought.
There was a certain tension in the air, curling around his entire being, a perfect feeling. After all, what use was it doing this much for his work if only boredom and monotonous routine awaited him? For a paranormal researcher, the unease was part of the job description. For himself in particular, it was part of the appeal.
Ghost hunting equipment weighed down his backpack, heavier with every step, and a silver crucifix pressed against his thigh from deep inside his pocket. It was all expensive, the crucifix in particular — a real, solid piece of silver, crafted by Catholic exorcists in Italy and shipped to Japan in a box stamped with bible verses. Fanfare and superstition were rife among those who believed in vampires. From what research Rin had done, religious symbols did nothing to harm such creatures, rather it was the silver itself that mattered. Even a lump of ore would do something against them, and it would have been a far cheaper investment.
Alas, aesthetic went towards a ghost hunter’s believability. For many, satisfying the myths of the general public came before spouting true facts. It was a lukewarm hassle but a necessary one, at least if this job was to have a sliver of credibility.
I’m not crazy, Nii-chan. Everything I research really does exist. He would uphold these silly superstitions if it meant convincing people, convincing Itoshi Sae, of true reality.
The craggy tunnel opened up further ahead, sprawling out into the main room of the crypt. It was large and spacious, with a high ceiling that had caved in on the far side. A crack of moonlight filtered in above the destruction, a taste of the outside world in this chthonic, liminal place, illuminating the walls and floor with a cold, pale glow as a low groan of wind echoed around the hollow walls. Not an ounce of decoration remained, wasted away, stripped as bare as the entrance room far behind him.
That was except for the sarcophagus.
His breath hitched. He swallowed.
It sat on a raised plinth in the centre of the room, imposing and domineering, placed with purpose. Although abrasions in the stonework had dug into it over time, it was as steadfast as a golem, a megalith among the chipped plasterwork and patches of moss on the floor. And, as if it weren’t attention-grabbing enough as-is, thick, silver chains bound the lid to the body, wrapped like a constricted serpent, glistening in the light of the moon.
Blood pumped in his ears, his pulse quickening. It’s true, he hurried closer. I’ve found it. Hiori Yo’s resting place. He fumbled with his backpack, pulling out a small hacksaw. Nii-chan, I have it! You can’t deny me any longer. I’ll prove everything to you.
The hacksaw and his adrenaline-spiked strength made quick work of the pure silver, each cut clattering a ream of chains to the ground with a metallic clang. In all his years of ghost hunting, of chasing the supernatural, following the slimmest of leads in an attempt to prove their existence, this was the first time something so concrete had appeared before him. Compared to holing himself up in abandoned buildings, staring at radio wave monitors for six hours in hopes that a slight jitter would grace his presence, this had the potential to be a jackpot of evidence. If this night ended fruitfully, it would be undeniable proof that this entire time, he had been right. His interests weren’t pointless. Sae was wrong.
He would go so far as destroy himself for a taste of vindication. He had spent years pushing himself to his limit, all for this.
He lowered his hands to the now-unbound lid, fingers pressing firm against the rough stone. With his flashlight between his teeth, taking a deep breath and squeezing his eyes shut, he applied as much pressure as his body allowed. He shoved. He strained until his muscles ached, until an exerting pain coursed up his arms and down his legs, until the sounds of his struggle bounced off the walls with every gulp of air.
Show me what’s inside. I’ll kill you if you refuse.
Stubbornness was the enemy of insistence. A chaotic string pulled evermore taught inside him, flooding his burning muscles with destructive desire. The weight of the lid meant nothing. All that mattered was the treasure, the creature, that it could be shielding. He would tear back the layers of mystery, ripping the ‘theories’ and ‘fables’ to shreds.
And inch by inch, second by second, the stone gave way. Over and over, shove after shove, it scraped off its long-standing plateau.
Just a little more—
CRACK!
With one last determined push, the lid toppled from the edge of the sarcophagus, smashing against the floor. The thud reverberated around the room, near-deafening, but the cacophony was an applause of achievement. A sign of domination. Proof of utter destruction.
He pulled the flashlight from his teeth and let out a deep, heaving breath. His limbs were as sore as if they had dragged him through a military-grade obstacle course.
I’ve won, he thought.
He could have been pragmatic and opened his eyes there and then, but there was no victory in that. And so, he felt for the switch on his flashlight and switched it off. Within a few seconds, his eyes adjusted to the gloom. He peeled them open to be met with moonlight streaming down though the crack I the ceiling onto the now-open sarcophagus… and it’s prized interior.
Hiori Yo…
Despite his conviction, a simmering, logical side of his brain had nevertheless braced to find only a hollow, empty depression in the stonework. If not nothing, then a mere pile of bones, perhaps a few scraps of fabric that had not yet decomposed…
But he was staring at a person. Not a skeleton. Not even a half-rotten corpse. This young man was skin and flesh, pale as sheet in the light of the moon, unblemished, without a suggestion of decay. His clothing was that of eighteen-nineties Europe, formal — a shirt and waistcoat, fitted pants, black shoes still shining as if they had been polished only a day ago. His eyes were shut, his mouth slightly open, and he might as well have been lost in slumber, as alive as Rin himself.
It really is him. The stories were true. A flicker of prideful ego clutched at his heart. Nii-chan, what could you ever say to me now?
The outfit and the unusual circumstances of the body’s preservation were one thing, but it was the cyan hair that gave away the truth. This was Hiori Yo. He could be nobody else.
About an hour’s walk away from this forest, there was an old, European-style manor house. It was a public building nowadays, part museum and part guided tour, showing visitors around the old wings that had stood since the Meiji Restoration. It had once been the residence of the Hiori clan, however after the death of the last living member in the early twentieth century, the Japanese government had seized it for their own purposes.
Rin was thorough in his research. As part of this hunt, he had taken a guided tour of the old house earlier that afternoon. Atop the east wing staircase, welcoming guests to the upper floors of the manor, there was a painting. It was a portrait, oil on canvas, depicting a young man with cyan hair cropped into a neat, tasteful cut. He was Japanese, yet he wore formal European attire. His name, emblazoned on the golden frame, was Hiori Yo.
This young man lying before Rin was therefore, without a shred of doubt, the same Hiori Yo, their appearances identical down to the cyan ahoge sticking out from the hair. This man should have died from tuberculosis over a hundred years ago, and yet here he was, not a day older than when he had ‘passed away’.
But he hadn’t passed away, because a closer glance revealed the damning truth — he was moving. He was alive.
No, Rin thought, not alive. Neither dead nor alive.
The lashes of the young man, so long and thick, dark against his pale skin and hair, shuddered. His eyes fluttered open, round pools of azure, staring up into Rin’s own teal gaze with the thousand-mile stare of someone half-asleep, not quite awake, still coming to.
I have to be right, Rin bit the inside of his cheek, unable to look away. His heart hammered against his ribs, blood rushing through his veins. He has to be a…
Hiori’s mouth fell agape like a starving dog’s, a desperate breath escaping him. Sharp, white fangs glinted in the moonlight. Those deep, blue eyes flashed crimson, as if hypnotised. “Thirsty.”
He lunged.
Rin lurched backwards just in time. It was his neck. The vampire was going for his neck! He clamped his jaw shut and drew his jacket over his exposed skin.
This was life or death. One wrong move would kill him. He could die, rendered a bloodless corpse sucked dry, his body left to rot in this undiscovered crypt, decaying into nothingness, maggots consuming his flesh and bones. No one on the internet had talked of fighting a starving vampire before. If survivorship bias had anything to say about it, that was because all those who encountered such a creature ended up dead.
And yet, as he distanced himself from the sarcophagus, only one thought repeated like a mantra in his mind:
I was right! Nii-chan, I was fucking right!
“Thirsty…” Hiori repeated, his voice hoarse and his eyes still glowing red. “Feed me. Please. I’m so thirsty.”
He moved like a spider, or a marionette, clambering out of his stone prison only to crumple into a heap on the floor. Given he had spent the past century trapped, his muscles probably needed waking up again, even though they hadn’t atrophied at all. The setback did little to detain him. Like a starving dog, he bounded forwards, clawing across the ground, reaching out for Rin with desperate, outstretched palms.
One hand seized Rin’s wrist. The other swiped once more at his neck. The freezing, damp floor collided with Rin’s back and he was lying prone, tackled into submission, the force holding him down stronger than anything he had ever experienced before.
What the—
Hiori’s mouth hung open, fangs bared.
Fuck, Rin’s mind reeled.
He was in actual danger. He was going to die, all alone, having proven nothing to Sae, remembered as little more than a stupid, crazy, mentally ill idiot who had disappeared in the fruitless pursuit of fairy tales…
Terror mixed with thrill. I’m not a weak, lukewarm bastard!
He jammed his knee upwards.
It struck Hiori in the gut. He keeled backwards, standing and stumbling away, his grip loosening. A guttural shriek erupted from his lips, deafening as it bounced around all the walls.
Grasping the precious milliseconds of distraction, Rin scrambled to his knees and pulled the crucifix from his pocket. His hands trembled — half-baked — and his bangs fell in a dark mop over his eyes. He pressed on regardless, closing in on the vampire, shoving the silver cross against Hiori’s exposed face in a flurry of ragged breaths and reeling adrenaline.
And Hiori screamed. He howled as if he were burning, his limbs seizing up, those crimson irises darting about as if possessed. Laboured breaths escaped him. After a few seconds, all motion in his body froze. His eyes faded from red back to blue, then drooped shut. His legs bowed.
He collapsed like a rag-doll, his side hitting the ground with a thud. His fingers twitched one last time, then he was still.
Rin’s breaths were deep and heavy. He gripped the crucifix as if it were a lifeline. In a way, it was. It had worked its magic and put Hiori back to sleep… for now. Considering how most of the research about vampires was hearsay at best, apocryphal at worst, there was no telling how long its affects would last once removed. The silver chains had worked for over a hundred years, but they were thick and plentiful, their power much stronger than a mere piece of jewellery.
He knelt down, fiddling with the chain on the necklace, and fastened it around Hiori’s neck. With any luck, it would keep him asleep for a little while longer.
Still breathing? he then realised as a soft rush of air brushed against his fingers. As it turned out, vampires could breathe.
That was as far as ‘living bodily functions’ went though. A check of the neck, wrist and chest revealed no discernible pulse, and his skin was ice-cold.
This thing could have killed me…
His heart raced at the thought alone. The strength. The power. The need to overcome it and live, just to prove a point to Sae. He had stared death in the eyes and fought back. After an encounter like that, he wasn’t letting this find go to waste. It was his own fault the sarcophagus was broken, the chains no longer usable to contain the beast they had held for so long, and there was no way he could lift the lid back on by himself.
He grabbed his flashlight and packed away his hacksaw, slipping his backpack over his shoulders once again. The room was a lot colder now, with the surprise finding actual evidence of the supernatural settling into the background of his mind. With hands aching from the cold and the strain of removing the sarcophagus’s lid, he scooped up Hiori’s limp form into his arms.
The vampire weighed very little, considering his strength and initial dominance in his blood-crazed attack. He wasn’t short either; at an estimate he was at least six feet tall, and yet it was more like carrying a cat than a person.
Rin’s fingers clutched at Hiori, almost possessive. “Nii-chan can’t deny it any longer,” he muttered, looking down at the young man’s peaceful face. “You’re real. You’ll prove it to him.”
Hiori didn’t move, he only let out long, sleep-filled breaths, his head resting against Rin’s shoulder.
The climb back to the outside world was easy enough. It was the trek back through the forest that posed a challenge. Tree roots, rocks, foliage, briars, and other woodland underbrush blocked the way at every turn. He had to stop to rest several times. Whenever he halted, the darkness crept in the corners of his vision and the sounds of the night rang in his ears. Wind whistled through tree branches above, clattering them together like bones in a box, and every so often the low cawing of a crow sounded, close but invisible in the pitch black.
Crows are awake at this time of night? Rin wondered.
The crypt’s entrance was so far away from the main road that there would be plenty of other supernatural entities wandering around. Yokai, mushi, yuurei, oni… not-so-supernatural creatures too, like bears. Japanese black bears were generally shy creatures though. In the event that one did attack, at least he had a trusty vampire he could wake up and throw at it. Did vampires drink animal blood?
It was that morbid curiosity that he pondered all the way back to the main road.
His car was nothing fancy, a grey, second-hand Suzuki Wagon R parked on the hard shoulder right next to the forest, nowhere near any hiking trails. It was the only vehicle around, nothing else passing by on such a rural, mountainous stretch. Scrambling out of the woods, it took a while to wheedle his car keys out of his pocket while carrying someone.
But the discomfort barely registered. The young man in his arms was all that mattered. This vampire was more important than any other piece of ghost hunting evidence Rin had ever found. This was more than a blip in some sound waves, more than a hazy photograph, and more than any heaps of written accounts about the supernatural could prove. Words were only graphemes on a page or a screen. A body, breathing and moving, was golden treasure.
Ghost hunting equipment overran the car’s back seats. Shoving it around with his foot, he carved out just enough space to lay Hiori down and seatbelt him in, lowering some hand-installed blinds over the windows and draping a canvas over his figure.
Gotta get back before sunrise, he thought, slipping into the driver’s seat. While according to his research it was possible for vampires who drank blood regularly to walk in sunlight, a vampire without a regular source of sustenance would burn like the movies and gothic novels said they would. You can’t die on me yet, vampire. Nii-chan needs to see you.
Under the cover of night, he pulled out of the hard shoulder. Tokyo was a long way away.