I view the last video. At first,
there’s nothing but black, and I wonder if someone forgot to take off the lens
cap.
But then a man moves into view. I
assume it’s the man who’s been holding the camcorder all this time. His face is
pale, and streaks of blood run across his face, though I can’t tell if it’s his
own or someone else’s. He’s wheezing, as if he’s having difficulty breathing. I
don’t know where he is. The camera seems to have a hard time focusing on his
surroundings. The frame looks grayed out and blurred.
“If anyone can . . . suh-see this,
puh-puh-please help,” he gasps, struggling with the words, “don’t let her . . .
don’t let hhhher take me. The shrine is the kkuuuh-key. The shri . . .”
He stops, eyes wide. Something has
slithered up behind him.
Pale hands wrap around his face. A
dead girl’s face rises on screen before the man loses his grip on the camera,
and it crashes to the ground.
In the distance, there is an odd,
gargling sound. The camera continues to record.
I wait with bated breath, torn
between my horror for the man and fear that there is nothing I can do. I know
I’m too late to help this man. The next best thing I can do is to avenge him or
put a stop to whatever spirit got him.
I regret the thought almost immediately.
The girl comes back into view, her face so close to the screen that I reel away
from the camera, hitting the wall with the back of my head. It’s not the same
ghost who’d been tailing the crew or the one behind Kagura or even the one I’d
seen crawling outside. Much to my shock, the ghost has the same teardrop brows,
the same black, distended smile, but it’s a different girl.
“He is not the one,” the ghost
whispers into the camera and then reaches out for me.
