Chapter 1: The Journal of a Mad Man

This whole maelstrom of horror started about one year ago.

I was moving from my apartment in Tokyo to a small house just outside of Hiroshima. It was an old, ancient style house, nothing like the modern apartment that I had in Tokyo. It was a nice change of pace, and I was happy to be out on my own. It was strange being in a smaller city, especially since Hiroshima only has about one-eighth the population of Tokyo. However, as I said, it was a nice experience.

The first time I walked into the house, I felt strange, though I couldn't figure out why. It was a beautiful house, and a cheap one, as well, so I could easily ignore the uneasiness. It had some down sides, of course, but they were easy fixes. Little things that I could take care of myself. In the back of my mind, I wondered why it had been so cheap.

When I got settled, things seemed peaceful. It didn't last for long.

I decided to go into the attic to put away some things that I wouldn't need for a while. I felt awkward as I approached the closet that lead up into the attic. My chest was tight, and the air around me seemed cold. The house creaked above me, but I convinced myself that it was an old house and kept going.

My mind strayed to the horror movies I watched all too much. To the scene in which the main character wandered where he shouldn't. I laughed out loud at my childishness. I willed the chill and the strange fear away, and approached the closet.

When I tried to slide it open, the door seemed jammed for a moment. I tried one more time, and it opened without any problem. I found this odd, but I put it out of mind. I sat the box down and opened the area that lead into the closet. I picked up the box beside me and realized that one of the books in it had somehow fallen out. I got a chill again as I realized that the book was a couple feet away from the box.

How was that possible? I hadn't heard it fall out. Even if I had, it shouldn't have fallen that far from the box, should it?

“Stop scaring yourself, Rei,” I said aloud, just to hear something other than the sounds of the old house.

The attic was dark, and I had to feel around for a minute for the light's pull string. There were a few cracks letting light through, and I thought, for a moment, that I saw a figure. When I clicked on the light, there was nothing there. I shook my head, wondering why I was so easily jarred today.

I tossed the box down, and some dust stirred in the room. I noticed another book next to the box. However, this time, it was different. This wasn't one of my books. It's surface was layered with dust, and it's cover aged and worn. I picked it up and dusted it off, removing what seemed to be a solid inch of dust.

I clicked off the light, and took the book back downstairs with me. I felt like someone was watching me as I climbed back down into the closet and into my bedroom. As hard as it is to explain, the book seemed to be teeming with a energy. My hands were tingling as I held it. I can't explain it even now.

I opened it and flipped through the pages, noticing that the writing was old, and the pages were fragile. I could hear my heart pounding in my head. My temples ached. I closed the book, sitting it on my nightstand and going to get ready for bed.

I sighed heavily as I toweled my hair dry, looking at myself in the mirror. My long, black hair fell down to my shoulders, as it does now. My eyes had dark circles. I hadn't slept as well as usual since I had moved in. I attributed it to a new environment, that I didn't have the street noise of Tokyo to help me fall asleep.

My sleep was restless that night as well. Though I couldn't recall my dreams, I woke up in a panic. Bits and pieces from my slumber flashed before my eyes as I bolted up and looked around my room. I closed my eyes, trying to will them away, but the pale faces of hundreds of women seemed to swarm my vision.

Moaning, screaming and sobbing they came, filling every space of darkness behind my closed lids. Even if I opened my eyes, they remained. Among them, a woman whose mouth had been cut wide, countless women with long, black hair that nearly hid their eyes, and many faces blurred or bleeding. One by one, they began to fade, and the echoing screams that filled my ears quieted. Finally, there was silence.

I sat in my bed, a cold sweat covering my body. It felt as though my heart was beating against my ribs, to come flying out at any moment. My head was throbbing in pain and breathing was shaky and labored. After a few moments, I finally calmed myself down, and sighed heavily.

I looked around my room, and everything seemed normal. I noticed that the closet door had been slid open a little bit. I found this to be curious, so I stood to close it. I was a little cautious, still being startled from what I, at the time, called a dream.

Now, I know that in most forms of media, people say that they would never investigate something after a scare. They say that they would never be as stupid as the protagonist and investigate the noise heard behind a door. I was one of those people. I called the hero out on idiocy, saying that I wouldn't ever be caught doing something like that. Let me say, from experience, adrenaline can do interesting things to the cognitive processes. I pressed forward.

I heard a distinct creak from behind the closet door, though I had become accustomed to the noises the old house made. I reached for the handle to slid it back shut, keeping my curiosity in check. As my hand touched the cold metal, I heard a sickening thud. I jerked my hand back from the closet handle, and leaned over to peek into it from the crack. I gasped something caught my eye.

A pale face seemed to glow in the darkness, as though someone was laying on the bottom of the step in the closet. Blood streamed down it, though I was too shaken to look where. I heard ragged breathing emanating from the person. It was loud, and echoed throughout the entire room. The face's eyes shot open wide, strangely luminescent in the black of the closet. I stumbled backward, falling to the ground.

I looked up to the closet again, and the door was shut. The breathing had stopped. My stomach felt twisted and knotted as I stood. My head spun, and my heart was pumping blood faster than it had when I'd woken from my nightmare. I slowly climbed back into my bed, shaking and thoroughly terrified.

It felt to me as though morning would never come as I lay there in bed. After what seemed like an eternity, a saw the golden light of the sun shining through my windows. My limbs felt of lead as I tried to get up. Finally, however, I managed to drag myself from the bed.

After my usual daily routines, I decided to look at the book I had found in the attic the day before. I'd done nothing with it since I sat it on the nightstand the day before. I picked it up and opened it.

“7^th of June, year 1901,” the first page read.

With that line, my life began to deteriorate into hell. After I found that accursed journal, unbelievable things began to happen all around me. However, I digress. Let me continue with what happened after that.