What exactly are Dharāṇī?
Dharāṇī, also known as Parittas, are Buddhist chants, mnemonic codes, incantations, or recitations, usually the mantras consisting of Sanskrit or Pāli phrases. Believed to be protective and with powers to generate merit for the Buddhist devotee, they constitute a major part of historic Buddhist literature. Many of these chants are in Sanskrit and Pāli, written in scripts such as Siddhaṃ, as well as transliterated into Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Vietnamese, Sinhala, Thai and other regional scripts. Dharāṇī are found in the ancient texts of all major traditions of Buddhism. They are a major part of the Pāli canon preserved by the Theravāda tradition. Mahāyāna Sūtras such as the Lotus Sūtra and the Heart Sūtra include or conclude with Dharāṇī. Dharāṇī are a part of the regular ritual prayers as well as considered to be an amulet and charm in themselves, whose recitation believed to allay bad luck, diseases or other calamity. In some Buddhist regions, they served as texts upon which the Buddhist witness would swear to tell the truth. Dharāṇī recitation for the purposes of healing and protection is referred to as Paritta in some Buddhist regions, such as Laos, Thailand, Burma, Cambodia, and Sri Lanka. Paritta is generally translated as ‘Safeguard’ or ‘Protection’ in the Pāli language.
Historical Context:
The word Dharāṇī derives from a Sanskrit root √dhṛ meaning "to hold or maintain". Some Buddhist communities outside India sometimes refer to Dharāṇī with alternate terms such as "Mantra, Hṛdaya (Hridiya), Paritrana (Paritta), Raksha (Pali: Rakkha), Gutti, or Vidyā" though these terms also have other contextual meanings in Buddhism. The Buddhist Dharāṇī invocations are the earliest mass printed texts that have survived. The earliest extant example of printing on paper is a fragment of a Dhāraṇī miniature scroll in Sanskrit unearthed in a tomb in Xi'an, called the Great spell of unsullied pure light (Wúgòu jìng guāngdà tuóluóní jīng; 無垢淨光大陀羅尼經). It was printed using woodblock during the Tang dynasty, c. 650–670 AD. The Hyakumantō Darani found as charms in wooden pagodas of Japan were broadly accepted as having been printed between 764 and 770 CE. In 1966, similarly printed Dharāṇī were discovered in stone pagoda of Pulguksa temple in Gyeongju, Korea. These are dated to the first half of the 8th century.
How to start the practice:
As stated, Dharāṇī, are used as a sort of mnemonic code, specifically curated to help a practitioner remember the text in which the teaching and incantation comes from, such a practice is a good starting point in exploring the genre of Buddhist text that have the ability to generate positive karma, and dedication of merit to other sentient beings. Remembering and reciting a Dharāṇī is useful, and is a good recommendation for beginners, linked here is also a guide on how to pronounce Sanskrit if you happen to have some linguistic difficulties:
https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLnFLN_eBOBMVEWX7pGJMGJNr_HK75VL_9&si=wSLN1Pz95q9bTcNA
Please note as some Dharāṇī/Paritta are esoteric and passed down by lineage of teacher to student, it is highly recommended for beginners to receive oral transmissions of such text. However, in this short list, all listed text are Sūtric and are free to recite without need of oral transmission.
Here is a good beginners list:
(Sanskrit works) Saddharma Puṇḍarīka Sūtraṁ (White Lotus Sūtra, used for praising the White Lotus Sūtra, and its benefits.)
Nīlakaṇṭha Dharāṇī (Blue-Necked One Dharāṇī, used for honoring, venerating, and requesting Avalokiteśvara protection, and clearance of obstacles.)
Śūraṅgama Mantraḥ/Sitātapatroṣṇīṣa Dhāraṇī* (Śūraṅgama Sūtra Mantraḥ, and the Dharāṇī associated in the Śūraṅgama Sūtra; White Parosal Dharāṇī of Sitātapatra Dharmapāla. Used for honoring, and venerating, the Śūraṅgama Sūtra, as well as requesting the help of Sitātapatra Dharmapāla to combat negative spiritual forces, magic, and beings.)
Bhaiṣajya-Guru-Vaiḍūrya-Prabhā-Rāja Dharāṇī (Used for honoring, and venerating, the Medicine Buddha Sūtra, as well as requesting his spiritual powers to heal and help sentient beings.)
Prajñāpāramitā-Hṛdaya (Sūtra) (Used for honoring, and venerating, the essence of Mahāyāna teachings on Śūnyatā, beneficial at warding off ill calamities, and dispelling negative forces.)
Munīndra-Hṛdaya-Mantraḥ (Shakyamuni Heart Mantraḥ, used for honoring, venerating, and establishing a connection to the Buddha Dharma.)
Śyāmatārā-Mantraḥ (Green Tārā Mantraḥ, used for requesting assistance from Green Tārā Bodhisattva.)
Amitāyus Dharāṇī (Amitāyus Buddha Dharāṇī used for honoring, venerating, and establishing a connection to the Amitabha Buddha Dharma, and for requesting longevity.)
Sarva-Tathāgatāyur-Vajra-Hṛdaya-Dharāṇī (All Thus Come One Life Diamond Heart Dharāṇī, used as an aspiration prayer towards Sukhāvatī, as well as praising, and venerating Amitābha Buddha.)
*Disclaimer, although this is an open mantraḥ, it is highly recommended to follow a teachers instructions on the usage of such a powerful mantraḥ. The Śuraṅgama Mantraḥ request the help of Vajrapaṇi Dharmapāla and is an extremely wrathful mantraḥ, often used at the most extreme of cases. Repeated usage is to advised by a qualified teacher.
For a more general overlook on Paritta works, which are often more peaceful in nature, and have a heavy emphasis on Mettā and merit dedication, here are a few open protective Parittas:
(Pāli linguistic works) Mettā Sutta/Karaṇīyamettā Sutta (The Discourse on Goodwill, used for spreading Mettā Pāramī to other sentient beings.)
Uddissanādhiṭṭhāna Gāthā (Verses for dedication of merit, used for dedicating merit to sentient beings, as well as multitudes of spiritual beings.)
Tiro-kuḍḍa-kaṇḍa-sutta Gāthā (Hungry Shades outside the walls verses, used for dedicating merit and food for ancestors and Pretā spiritual beings.)
Āmantana-Devatā Gāthā (Invitation to the Devās, used to invite the Buddhist and local deities protect those listening and preaching the Dhamma.)
Namakāra-siddhi Gāthā (Verses on success through homage, used as the beginning Paritta of ceremonies to venerate Buddhas and to bring success to rituals.)
Cha Ratana Paritta Gāthā (The Six Protective Verses from the Discourse on Treasures, derived from the larger Ratana Sutta, used for dispelling evil and negative forces, and proclaiming the truth [Saccakiriyā] of the triple gems.)
Khandha Paritta (The Group Protection, used for calming down and venerating the Nāga families, as well as dispelling harmful two footed, four footed, poisonous, and crawling creatures.)
Dhajagga Paritta (Top of the banner staff Protection, used for dispelling fear, and negative forces.)
Buddha-jaya-maṅgala Gāthā (The Verses of the Buddha’s Victory Blessings, used for proclaiming the eight auspicious victories of Shakyamuni Buddha in his life.)
It is recommended before the start of any Dharāṇī or Paritta chanting that one is to take refuge in the triple gems, and make aspiration prayers towards one’s goal, an example, as seen in the Theravāda Nikāya:
Namo tassa bhagavato arahato sammā-sambuddhassa. (Recite three times.)
Homage to the Blessed One, the Worthy One, the Rightly Self-awakened One.
Tisaraṇa (Triple Gem Refuge.)
Buddhaṁ saraṇaṁ gacchāmi. Dhammaṁ saraṇaṁ gacchāmi. Saṅghaṁ saraṇaṁ gacchāmi.
I go to the Buddha for refuge. I go to the Dhamma for refuge. I go to the Saṅgha for refuge.
Dutiyampi Buddhaṁ saraṇaṁ gacchāmi. Dutiyampi Dhammaṁ saraṇaṁ gacchāmi. Dutiyampi Saṅghaṁ saraṇaṁ gacchāmi.
Twice, I go to the Buddha for refuge. Twice, I go to the Dhamma for refuge. Twice, I go to the Saṅgha for refuge.
Tatiyampi Buddhaṁ saraṇaṁ gacchāmi. Tatiyampi Dhammaṁ saraṇaṁ gacchāmi. Tatiyampi Saṅghaṁ saraṇaṁ gacchāmi.
Thrice, I go to the Buddha for refuge. Thrice, I go to the Dhamma for refuge. Thrice, I go to the Saṅgha for refuge.
[Āmantana-Devatā Gāthā is said here.]
[Namakāra-siddhi Gāthā Paritta Chant, and so on…..]
Please feel free to ask questions, I don’t even know if you’re still reading, but…. Feel free to add suggestions too I guess. Have a nice day, and thank you for coming to my Ted-talk.

Apologies if this seems a bit messy, this is my first time writing out a FromSoft lore theory and I copied and pasted this from a google doc that I had this all written in. I wasn't sure if I was going to post the theory on here, or make a YouTube video. In the end, I decided to post it here since this would be the first, and probably only video that I would have made.
As a point of note, throughout this theory you will hear me refer to the DLC area as both the Land of Shadow and the Realm of Shadow. To clarify, what I mean by this is that we know that the DLC area once existed alongside the Lands Between, until something happened that separated it from the mainland. A character in the trailer calls the DLC area the ‘Realm of Shadow’. Simply put, I believe the Land of Shadow became the Realm of Shadow once it was veiled and obscured by Marika.
The Haligtree in Elden Ring, is an optional area within the game, created by the Empyrean Miquella. Miquella seemed pretty keen on the successful growth of this tree, going as far as watering it with his own blood when it was a sapling and even placing his own body inside it, only for Mohg to steal him away. However, something that is never explained is exactly why Miquella decided to grow the Haligtree in the first place. I mean, Miquella’s main goal has been to cure Malenia of her Rot. He even abandon’s Fundamentalism, something he was deeply involved with along with his father, all because it could do nothing to cure Malenia of her rot. I believe I have figured out why Miquella grew the tree and it all starts on ‘The Night of the Black Knives’.
The Night of the Black Knives
The night of the black knives is a major event in the history of Elden Ring, where the black knife assassin’s stole a piece of the rune of death, and used it to slay the demigod Godwyn the Golden. Making him ‘the first of the demigods to die’. However, Godwyn did not die a ‘true death’. He was slain in soul alone, while his body remained intact. Due to Godwyn’s condition, deathroot started to spread and any who came in contact with it was cursed to live in death. This is because, at the same time Godwyn was slain with the rune of death, Ranni (Godwyn's half sister) was also slain. However, Ranni’s body was slain, but her soul remained intact, later being housed in the four-armed puppet that we meet her in in the game.
Miquella was clearly affected by what happened to Godwyn. We know that Miquella helped in the creation of the Golden Epitaph sword as it was he that spoke the prayer ‘O brother, Lord brother, please die a true death’. We can also see a statue in Loretta’s arena of the twin empyreans being embraced by a third, older figure. This individual is believed to be Godwyn, which would make sense given Miquella’s involvement in aiding those of the Golden Order that hunt those that live in death.
Ranni tells us that she orchestrated the whole thing, in order to free herself from the control of the two fingers. She says the following:
“I was once an Empyrean.
Of the demigods, only I, Miquella, and Malenia could claim that title.”
“I stole the Rune of Death,
slew mine own Empyrean flesh,
casting it away.
I would not be controlled by that thing.”
These lines of dialogue tells us that Empyreans are, somehow, controlled by the two fingers and the only way to free oneself from their control is to rid yourself of your ‘Empyrean Flesh’.
Ranni also calls it a ‘fearsome rite’, I think we can infer from this that everything that happened during the night of the Black Knives had to happen the way it did in order for fulfil some kind of ritual that allowed Ranni to cast away her empyrean flesh.
Divesting of Flesh
So Ranni learned of this ‘fearsome rite’ to rid herself of her Empyrean flesh and it was necessary for her to do so in order to chase her own goals, that of the dark path. The Two Fingers obviously would not have allowed her to do this and thus, Ranni went ahead with this ‘fearsome rite’.
Miquella, as we learned from the interview with Miyazaki after the trailer dropped, has ‘divested himself of his flesh’ in order to travel to the realm of shadow. We know that the Land of Shadow is the first place the Goddess Marika stepped. I think it’s a safe assumption to make that Miquella is trying to learn what Marika did here in the Land of Shadow. We know that Miquella is a scholar at heart. He devoted so much of his time to research and study many things. Gowry calls his golden needle a “work of a true artisan”, Miquella also created two incantations, Discus and triple rings of light, Miquella founded the Unalloyed Gold ideology and even managed to find a way to stave off the presence of outer gods. It could also be argued that Miquella created the pulley weapons which, if true, further adds to the point of him being scholarly.
I believe that, through Miquella’s research of trying to cure Melania’s scarlet rot, learned of the Land of Shadow, learned that that is where Marika became a Goddess and that she ultimately hid something deep within the Realm of Shadow. We know that Marika was hiding the Rune of Death in Faram Azula, so it stands to reason that the Realm of Shadow is hiding yet another one of Marika’s secrets.
However, I don’t think that Miquella’s Two Fingers would have allowed him to travel to the Land of Shadow. As for why, it’s unclear, perhaps that reason could be the very secret Marika is trying to keep secret.
Melina is ‘burned and bodiless’ and is still seemingly able to retrieve Torrent from Miquella, phase in and out from the Lands Between and also take us to the Roundtable Hold, which I believe lies in the Land of Shadow. That would explain the existence of two Roundtable Holds (the one with the Two Fingers and the Fortified Manor in Leyndell). Considering all this, I believe the Realm of Shadow is a place that only spirits can access freely. This would makes sense since when a spirit, or soul, passes into the afterlife, they are said to have ‘passed through the veil’. We know that veils are used to hide things in Elden Ring. The Mimic’s veil transforms us into something else and the Black Knife Assassins use veils to become invisible. I believe that the Realm of Shadow is also being obscured by a large veil.
I think that, because the Two Fingers wouldn’t allow for Miquella to travel there, Miquella sought the need to divest himself of his flesh as well, similarly to Ranni, but didn’t want to perform the same rite as Ranni as Miquella was very clearly upset about what happened to Godwyn. Afterall, we can see a prayer that he spoke on the Golden Epitaph, which reads ‘O brother, Lord brother, please die a true death’. This would lead Miquella to seek out another way to ‘divest himself of his flesh’ and, being the genius scholar that he is, I think he found it.
Planting the Haligtree
I believe that Miquella discovered another rite. I believe that this rite involves the planting of a Haligtree seed, watering it with the blood of the one who wishes to divest themselves of their flesh and then, finally, placing their body inside it once it has grown large enough. I don’t think that the cocoon would develop around anyone else if they placed themselves in the Haligtree, only Miquella. As it was with his blood that the Haligtree ‘was raised on’ and so it would need his blood to fully mature. That would explain why the Haligtree started to die when Mohg ripped his cocoon from the Haligtree.
While it’s unclear where exactly Miquella got the Haligtree seed from, I do think that we can make some good estimations based on some clues given to us in the game.
The first clue is that Erdtree Avatars have emerged to defend the Haligtree, along with Ulcerated Tree Spirits. We know that Erdtree Avatars emerge to protect the offspring of the Erdtree, the minor Erdtrees, as we fight them at most, if not every, Minor Erdtree that we visit.. This suggests that the Haligtree is a form of offspring to the Erdtree, however it’s likely a different kind of offspring to the Minor Erdtrees. The reason I think this is because the Haligtree was planted before the shattering. The symbol of the Haligtree appears when using the Golden Epitaph’s weapon skill, which implies that Miquella helped craft weapons that would aid the Golden Order in the hunt of those that live in death. The only way this could be possible is if the Haligtree was planted before the Golden Epitaph weapon was created. At this time, it was considered impossible for the Erdtree to produce seeds or offspring, as it was thought that the Erdtree was eternal.
The second clue we get regarding the origin of the Haligtree is a voice line from Gowry:
“The work of a true artisan…a meticulous, bold craftsman who grasps the essence of life.”
From this, we learn that Miquella is not only a ‘true artisan’ but also was able to ‘grasp the essence of life’, and I think this is important. I think that, because Miquella ‘grasped the essence of life’ he was able to procure the Haligtree seed from the Erdtree, even when everyone else thought it impossible.
The Plan
I think Miquella wanted to go into the Realm of Shadow to mainly learn how Marika became a Goddess. Afterall it did once exist alongside the Lands Between before ‘something’ separated it. I think it’s pretty clear that Marika obscured the Realm of Shadow, and if Marika obscured it, then it must contain something that Marika wants to keep a secret. I believe Miquella came to the same conclusion and decided to travel there. However, due to how it exists, only spirits can ‘pass through the veil’ that obscures it from the Lands Between. So, Miquella sought to ‘divest himself of his flesh’ so that he could exist in soul alone to travel through the veil and investigate the Realm of Shadow.
The reason I think Mesmer is sealed within the Realm of Shadow, but is still fiercely loyal to Marika is because he was either chosen, or volunteered himself to protect whatever secret Marika is trying to keep hidden. Just like how Maliketh was protecting the Rune of Death, I believe Marika had Mesmer protect Marika’s secret. Afterall, nobody who would be following the grace of gold would be lead to the Realm of Shadow to begin with, so all who enter would be fair game for Mesmer to ‘impale’ or ‘embrace Mesmer’s flame’
Additional Thoughts/Theories
Perhaps the reason Miquella needs his ‘promised lord’ is so that he could fuse with them. Afterall, we don’t know exactly how Marika and Radagon became one individual. Perhaps Radagon was a native to the Land of Shadow and, once it had become veiled, he and Marika were able to fuse and form a ‘two souls-one body’ situation. Thus, Miquella might need to do the same, where an individual with an intact body might be offered to Miquella to house his soul. This individual, I believe, is his ‘promised lord’ that he is waiting for in the Realm of Shadow. Perhaps Miquella’s original plan was to wait for the eclipse, in which the residents of Castle Sol would be able to send Miquella his ‘comrade’, making Miquella the living soul to the comrade’s soulless body. This would explain why the residents of Castle Sol lament at how Miquella’s ‘comrade remains soulless’. Perhaps this line was never referencing Godwyn. Afterall, we do know that Miquella wanted Godwyn to ‘die a true death’ and, the line ‘your comrade remains soulless’ almost implies a resurrection of some sort. This sounds almost too hypercritical if Miquella wants Godwyn to ‘die a true death’ but also wants to revive him.
It also never sat quite right with me how, Miquella was taken from the Haligtree and Malenia is doing… nothing about it. I know she was wounded in her fight with Radahn, but I don’t think that her waking up for her boss fight is the first time she awoke since being carried back to the Haligtree by Finlay. It would make sense, however, if the reason Malenia isn’t looking for Miquella is because she knows that the body that was taken is no longer important. Yes Miquella will fulfil his promise and return, but he won’t return to his previous body.
Conclusion
In conclusion, I believe that the reason Miquella planted the Haligtree was specifically to divest himself of his flesh in order to escape the control of his Two Fingers. Then, travel to the Realm of Shadow in order to learn what Marika did to become a God, where he would then await his promised lord that would be delivered to him during the eclipse. Then, together, they would follow Marika’s footsteps and ascend to Godhood where they could then bring an end to Malenia’s rot (and potentially give Godwyn a true death?).

Hello, fellows Tarnisheds and soon-to-be Lords and Queens! Honestly, I've been lurking on this subreddit for a while, and decided to make an account to share with you all my pride and happiness, as I finally got the chance to sat down on the Throne.
Elden Ring is my first From Software game. A lot of my friends tried to get me into Dark Souls and all, but... I never even tried them, too scared to be demoralized by the difficulty, as I ain't a hardcore, mechanical type of player. But a few months ago... They convinced me to give Elden Ring a try. And that's how I ended traveling through the Lands Between, without any kind of guide or wiki. Fully blind, until the end.
I'll be honest... The first dozen of hours were... Terrifying. I began with the Prophet class, and noticing that my flame spell was... Really close ranged didn't really put me at ease. A loooooot of death happened. I faced Margit way too early, got smacked over and over again... And decided to explore a little before coming back to him.
Noticing how huge the map was scared me too. I felt so... Powerless. Just watching how huge the Liurna area was nearly made me drop the game for good. But my friends convinced me to continue.
I kept going with a Faith build, not really knowing what I was really doing. Until... I've killed Agheel, and learned about the Dragon Communion spells. Fell in love with the Idea of being a Dragon Slayer, eating their hearts to get new incantations. So... I went with that for the rest of the game. A more... Arcane/Faith build. To be fair... At first, it was horrible. The spells cost a lot of FP, and I pretty much kept using more traditional spells. But I was having fun. Just making a huge Dragon head appear, and spitting a large breath of pure and burning flames... Was kind of satisfying.
I might have gone with some kind of weird path to reach the end. Never really went to Caelid, as I was to scared of the huge dogs. To be honest, I didn't find the last piece of the lift medallions, as I got into Altus Plateau by a weird dungeon I've discovered purely by luck (which was HORRIBLE, I hated it).
On the other side... I've gone to the Helig-Tree, and faced that horrible rotten lady. My friends heard me crying multiple times over discord calls, as I spent multiple nights trying to beat her. But when I finally got her, I... Just felt so good and proud of myself.
I ended up reaching the end of the game a few days later. And I felt... Kinda empty, for a few hours. I spent so much time to get to that credit scene... It sure was quite something.
Elden Ring was an incredible experience. It was hard. Real hard. But... It gave me such a feeling of freedom. Riding Torrent around the whole map, discovering small dungeon, NPCs, loot... I know that I've missed a lot of bosses, NPCs, Quests... And yet the game still allowed me to reach the end.
I might try to go through New Game +, with a wiki this time, to learn about those quests and bosses I've missed, and maybe find some new way to build my character. Any thing I should try first? Fun builds, fun spells, fun weapons? After that... Maybe I should play the Souls games, or Sekiro. Or Bloodborne. What would you all suggest? I don't know where to start, hahahaha.
Anyway, I know I've written some kind of novella-long post, but... I just wanted to share you my love for the game. And how, despite being terrified by the roughness, and the immensity of the world... I kept pushing forward. I guess I'll wait for the DLC too.

On the Origin of the Buddhist Arthakathás Cambridge University Press (1871)

"—the commentary, I say, upon this Scripture was
at the first Council rehearsed by five hundred holy elders
and in later times rehearsed again and yet again."

L. Comrilla Vijasinha, Government Interpreter to the Ratnapura Court Ceylon:
It must be admitted that the point raised by Mr. Childers is one of grave importance as affecting the credibility of Buddhaghosa and the authenticity of all the commentaries on the Tipitaka. From a missionary point of view, the astounding statement that a commentary on Buddha's discourses existed during his lifetime, and was rehearsed along with those discourses at the First Great Council, appears so improbable and unnatural as at once to justify one in discrediting the testimony; and I doubt not that missionary orientalists will hail the discovery as a valuable addition to their stock of arguments against the genuineness and authenticity of the Buddhist Scriptures.
Indeed I found it difficult at first to obtain the opinions of some of my learned friends of the Buddhist priesthood on this point, as they seemed to regard it as another thunderbolt intended to be levelled against their religion by some enthusiastic missionary ; and it was only after explaining to them the object of the inquiry, and the literary character of the gentleman who started the apparent difficulty, that I could induce them to look the question fairly in the face.
I am glad to say that most of my clerical Buddhist friends with whom I have consulted on this subject agree with me on the necessity of giving a wider and more extended signification than is generally allowed to the word Atthakathá as applied by Buddhaghosa in the passage cited. The word, as is well known, is compounded of two terms, attha, " meaning, " and katha , " a statement, explanation, or narrative," the dental t being changed to the cerebral by a latitude in the rules of permutation.1 The literal meaning of the compound term would thus amount to simply " an ex- planation of meaning. " Taking this wider sense of the word as a basis for the solution of the problem, I think the statement of Buddhaghosa in his preface to the commentary on the Dígha Nikáya is not so hopelessly irreconcilable with probable and presumable facts as would at first sight appear.
On a careful perusal of the two accounts given by Buddhaghosa of the proceedings of the three famous Councils in the Sumańgala Vilásiní and the Samanta Pásádiká, this view will, I think, be found to be very reasonable. It must be admitted that no actual commentary, in the sense that the westerns attach to that term, and like that which has been handed down to us by Buddhaghosa, existed either in the lifetime of Buddha or immediately after his death. The reasons adduced by Mr. Childers, apart from others that can easily be added, against such a supposition, are overwhelmingly convincing. But if we suppose that by the word Atthakathá in his preface Buddhaghosa only meant to convey the idea that at the various Councils held for the purpose of collocating the discourses and sayings of Buddha, the meanings to be attached to different terms were discussed and properly defined, then the difficulty of conceiving the contemporaneous existence pf the commentaries and the Pitakas would be entirely removed.
This view of the subject will appear still further borne out if we briefly glance over the history of the First Convocation, as narrated by Buddhaghosa himself. The first proposal to hold an assembly of priests for the purpose of collocating Buddha's discourses was made by Mahá Kassapa, the chief of the seven hundred thousand priests who assembled at Kusinára to celebrate the obsequies of the departed saint. Seven days had hardly elapsed after that mournful occurrence, when signs of discontent at monastic restraint manifested themselves, and a disaffected disciple of Buddha named Subhadda openly proclaimed that now their master was no more the ties of discipline should be relaxed, if not broken. The words of consolation offered by this old monk to his brethren in distress are certainly remarkable, as it would be difficult to say whether they betoken more the callousness of his feelings or the depravity of his heart: " Brethren, enough of this sorrow, weep not, lament not. We are well rid of that Arch-priest, having been in constant dread of his declarations, This befits you, this befits you not. Now, there- fore, what we desire we shall do; what we do not desire that shall we not do." To a sagacious mind like that of Mahá Kassapa it was not difficult to perceive what language like this foreshadowed, and he instantly formed the resolve to congregate the priesthood, and to collect and arrange the laws and doctrines proclaimed by his Master. Hardly two months had elapsed before this active mind brought about what it had contemplated, and the result was the Council of the Five Hundred, convoked at Kájagaha, under the auspices of King Ajátasattu, for the purpose of collecting and arrang- ing the doctrines and discourses of Buddha.
The proceedings of this Council appear to have been con- ducted in a very orderly and systematic manner, which is the more surprising when we consider that monastic autocracy was about to give place to a form of church government prescribed by the great Founder himself, but which was now to be established and tested for the first time. Mahá Kassapa, whom Buddha indirectly indicated as his equal in point of superhuman mental acquirements, assumed the office of Moderator, and by the unanimous consent of the synod Upáli was elected as the best qualified of their order to repeat the Yinaya, and Ānanda the Dhamma ; the Council having previously decided that the Yinaya was the most material for the permanence of Buddhism.
Now it is important to observe that the catechetical form was used in the collocation of both the Laws and Doctrines. "Afterwards Mahá Kassapa, having seated himself in the presidential chair, questioned the venerable Upáli respecting the Yinaya in this wise. Brother Upáli, where was the first Párájika promulgated? My lord, at Vesáli. On whose account? On account of Sudinna, the son of Kalanda. With regard to what offence? To fornication. Then did the venerable Mahá Kassapa question the venerable Upáli on the offence, the cause, the offender, the primary law, the secondary law, the transgression and the non-transgression, relating to the first law enacted against mortal sin. And the venerable Upáli explained as he was questioned." Such was also the method employed in the synod in the collocation of the Dhamma : - " Brother Ananda, where was the Brahmajála delivered ? My lord, between Rájagaha and Nálanda," and so on. Though it is subsequently added that " at the conclusion of the questions and answers the five hundred Arhats repeated the texts together in the order in which they had been collocated,"- it is difficult to believe that all' the five hundred rehearsed the long narratives prefixed to some of Buddha's discourses in the same words and style that they are now clothed in. Buddhaghosa's account of the synod is gathered from tradition, which was very probably embodied in the Simhalese atthakathás, and there can be little doubt that the main facts are correct ; but that he drew largely from tradition, written and oral, and possibly in some instances from imagination, will I think appear clear to any careful reader of the commentaries. Witness for instance his relation of Ananda's mysterious entrance into the assembly : pathaviyam nimujjitvá ottano árnne y em attánam dassesi , ákásena gantvá nisïdîti pi eke , " He plunged into the earth and showed himself in his seat, and also some say he went through the air and sat down." He does not say which version is correct, but is quite satisfied with both accounts, and is evidently quite willing to let his readers choose whichever they like.
Buddhaghosa throughout all his writings appears to have set one great object prominently in view, namely to inspire reverence for what he considered as supreme authority. When he came to Ceylon for the purpose of translating the Simhalese commentaries, he found a great many extant at that time, and out of these commentaries, embracing no doubt various shades of opinion, and representing different schools of thought, he had to expunge, abridge, enlarge, and make a new commentary. Now how could he do all this, and at the same time preserve undiminished among future generations the same reverence and authority in which the older commentaries were held by the Buddhists of that age? The thought struck him, as no doubt it would strike any careful reader of the Buddhist Scriptures, that a large portion of the writings contained in that canon appear to be explanations and definitions of terms used by Buddha, and also that a great many discourses said to have been delivered by Buddha to certain individuals have not been recorded.
Now what more easy to conceive, or what more probable, than that they formed the nucleus of matter for the formation of a commentary, and that at the First General Council, which lasted seven months, the elders, who had all seen and heard Buddha, should have dis- cussed them, and decided on the method of interpreting and teaching the more recondite portions of Buddhist philosophy ? and what therefore if he should say in somewhat exaggerated language, " the commentary on the Digha Nikáya was at the beginning discussed (or composed, or merged into the body of the Scriptures) by five hundred holy elders" ? - for the original words may admit of such a construction. If or will this opinion appear merely hypothetical if we carefully peruse the account given by Buddhaghosa of the commentaries in his Samanta Pásádiká. In his metrical introduction to that work, after the usual doxology, he explains the necessity of having a proper Pali Commentary on the Vinaya, and then proceeds to set forth what he is about to do : -
"In commencing this commentary, I shall, having embodied therein the Mahá Atthakathá, without excluding any proper meaning from the decisions contained in the Mahá Paccarí, as also in the famous Kurundi and other com- mentaries, and including the opinions of the Elders, - perform my task well. Let the young, the middle-aged, and the elderly priests, who entertain a proper regard for the doctrines of the Tathágata, the luminary of truth, listen to my words with pleasure. The Dhamma, as well as the Yinaya, was declared by Buddha, his (sacerdotal) sons understood it in the same sense as it was delivered ; and inasmuch as in former times they (the Simhalese commentators) composed the com- mentaries without disregarding their (the sacerdotal sons') opinions, therefore, barring any erro* of transcription, every- thing contained therein is an authority to the learned in this priesthood who respect ecclesiastical discipline. From these (Simhalese) commentaries, after casting off the language, condensing detailed accounts, including authoritative deci- sions, and without overstepping any Pàli idiom (I shall pro- ceed to compose). And as this commentary will moreover be explanatory of the meaning of words belonging. to the Suttas in conformity with the sense attached to them therein, therefore ought it the more diligently to be studied."
....continued...
On the Origin of the Buddhist Arthakathás Cambridge University Press (1871)

https://libriincogniti.wordpress.com/2021/02/25/kommunistisches-programm-national-revolution-and-downfall-of-cambodia/

The Events after the Fall of Phnom Penh and the Programme of Khieu Samphan, the Peasantry and the Enablers of Capital
With the end of the Indochina war in 1975, not much remained of Cambodia’s economy either. More than half of the rice fields lay fallow, and the few industrial enterprises, the port facilities in Kampong Som, the railway lines and the bridges had been destroyed by US bombs. Although the figures are not unambiguous, their magnitude alone shows what heavy blood sacrifice imperialism also demanded of this people: In the five years of war, around 800,000 people were killed, more than 40,000 were maimed, almost 200,000 were wounded.
The constant flow of refugees inflated the capital from its original population of around 600,000 to over 3 million, meaning that by the end of the war almost half of the Khmer people were crammed into their metropolis. As is well known, the imperialist world press howled in horror and disgust when it learned of the forced exodus of this human aggregation. The US bombardment drove people from the countryside into the cities – the revolutionary nationalists had to force them back. Both actions were cruel and devastating for those affected, because both times they happened under terrible conditions, the first time under the imperialist hail of bombs and the coercion of its local police, the second time under the pressure of hunger and the state coercion of the newly installed revolutionary patriotic power. But for the imperialist propaganda machine there were no connections here. Of course, it only saw the terror of the Khmer Rouge, so supposedly of Communism. Here again was a wonderful opportunity to play out the bourgeois farce of humanism and love of one’s neighbour to the full. No mention of the mass murders in the imperialist war against the Southeast Asian peoples, no mention of the unspeakable destruction of these only weakly industrialised agrarian societies. These sacrifices were noticed at most when the insane war spending of the USA threatened to drag the entire imperialist West into the vortex of economic problems as a result of the currency crises caused by it. After all, to this day, these gentlemen are consistently proud of their efforts to preserve “freedom”.
Cambodia became the main object of these friends of mankind over the next few years. Here, indeed, all cherished values and conceptions were thrown overboard. A state without money, without postal services, without cars and motorbikes, without public transport, without telephones, television, books and the cities extinct. Only “communists” could have committed this crime; as is well known, they can be trusted with anything inhumane and in Cambodia they truly acted as the incarnation of “darkness” and “evil”. What was perpetrated before in the name of the heroes of “light” and “reason” – not a word about that, of course. It was a central organ of the imperialist offensive on the human intellect – Reader’s Digest – that first announced in 1977 that at least 1.2 million people had been murdered in the two years since the fall of Phnom Penh. Ever new figures were quickly added, which journalists claimed to have learned from the numerous refugees. It is not necessary to assume that all these reports were forgeries, because in fact the Khmer Rouge set an extremely radical course from the beginning, which certainly brought much horror, misery and also deaths. But today’s sated imperialists should perhaps sometimes look at the history books: What misery, what terror, what torment against the population is archived there – and that over centuries. The French Revolution also produced at least 100,000 deaths in the most important four years – and it did so with a machine specially designed for the purpose. It was not by chance that it was the steam engine and the guillotine that inaugurated the industrial age in a revolutionary way. But do the distinguished British gentlemen, who even then scoffed at these butchers in Paris, have fewer lives on their consciences? Those who still don’t know have to have it written on their cheat sheets all the time: The establishment of bourgeois rule has always been brutal and extremely bloody. The destruction of the traditional smallholder form of economy, the annihilation of small-scale trade and crafts always passed over those affected like a merciless steamroller. And under unspeakable tortures, the majority of these people who were expropriated without compensation were pressed into the factories and, if necessary, forced by brutal violence to slave as many hours of their day as possible for the lowest possible wages. All that was not so long ago. But it is always amusing how hastily today’s representatives of capital pretend that these are youthful sins of foreign predecessors. And this process of constant dressing for factory labour, of the destruction of both man and nature, continues both in depth and in breadth. It will only come to an end when this capitalist basis has been revolutionarily annihilated because of the contradictions it constantly produces.
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However, if one wants to understand the “mysterious” processes in Cambodia, one has to be clear above all about the material and social conditions. A devastated country that was still largely worked by small peasants; a chaotically bloated capital city to which the majority of these same peasants had fled. The terror of the bombs had charged this population, once peaceful and living in the eternal grind of farm labour, with fear, but above all with unbridled rage and blind hatred. Hatred against the city in which they had to take refuge, anger against the American bombers which destroyed their existence, but particularly anger against their own corrupt aristocracy, the military as well as the city dwellers in general who sought to prolong their raison d’être by making a pact with imperialism. Now the old mixture of foreignness, subservient spirit and unease found its general discharge in a primal hatred of the rural population for their oppressors in the cities. A frenzy of revenge arose, which certainly accounted for most of the brutalities in the first year of liberation.
In order to understand this social side of this revolution in Cambodia, which gave it the ferocious expression of blood, revenge and chaos that one encounters in practically every revolution carried out mainly by peasants, one must always bear in mind the social structure already described. The strong urban-rural divide was not between agriculture and industry – the latter was practically non-existent – but it was the extreme contrast between agriculture and all the ominous trades that bourgeois statistics usually classify under the heading of “services”. Here, actually “unproductive” administration and trade – moreover, predominantly created and nourished in the service of imperialism – and “productive” agriculture faced each other. Of the “peace population” in Phnom Penh of about 600,000, this included about 200,000 Vietnamese and over 100,000 Chinese, out of a total of about 800,000. So the Cambodians did not even make up the majority of the population in their capital. Aristocracy and officials on one side, poor peasants on the other, too poor to make a living in the countryside, coming to the city because they hoped for a job, or later bombed into it. Cambodians were almost completely excluded from the trade and merchant sectors. These sectors were mainly in the hands of the Chinese and Vietnamese.
In this approaching whirlwind of social unrest on the part of the peasants, which is growing in strength, another social force tries for its survival. Young intellectuals, most of them educated in Paris, the educational centre of the former colonial ruler, want to break the corrupt tangle of local aristocracy and foreign power by force. Without any reservoir in the own ranks of the urban bourgeoisie, for the latter is practically non-existent and if it is, then hardly to be enthused for nationalist accumulation programmes with a more rigorous cut; without a proper bourgeois class, these petty-bourgeois radicals lead a practically hopeless struggle for change. Forced very soon into the rural underground by Sihanouk’s authoritarian regime, they try to implement their programme of industrialisation based on agriculture with the help of the only social class that counts – namely the rural population, the small peasants and farm workers.
...
One simply has to quote these illuminating passages of the Khmer Rouge’s “chief ideologist” at length, because after all the imperialist wailing, one probably does not think it possible that these “monsters” can think at all. (A Trotskyist group, persistent in its obtuseness, even opined that these “monsters” were the embodiment of… a return to feudalism!) One thing is immediately quite clear: these petty-bourgeois intellectuals, widely referred to as Marxists, communists, etc., are never ever in the tradition of the “German” Karl Marx, but of the German Friedrich List, who, under the slogan “Freedom is the goal, limitation is the necessity”, set his protectionist credo against the imperialist ideology of the free traders in the last century. The Khmer Rouge leaders are thus spiritual sons of the ancestors of today’s imperialists, those imperialists who now see in them the personified devil of communism, although they only wanted to be flesh of their flesh.
These views of Samphan and thus the leaders of the Khmer Rouge were also quoted at length because they are so popular today. In the face of the growing exploitation of the countries of the so-called Third World by Western imperialism, theories are emerging everywhere that vehemently propose the same position of “cutting off” the “underdeveloped” countries from the dominance of the world market ruled by Western capital as a panacea. And it is certainly no coincidence that one of the main representatives of these academic “revolutionaries”, the Egyptian Samir Amin, raves about the radicalism of the Khmer Rouge even after their expulsion and predicts a chain of new “Kampucheas” for the African future. Against the massive reality of the increasing internationalisation of capital and the growing global control of Western and increasingly Eastern imperialism, such “progressive” petty-bourgeois theorists place their faith in autarky, national accumulation and so-called autocentric development. Against the capitalist propaganda of progress and prosperity through freedom of trade and capital investment, which in reality in fact produces nothing but growing pauperisation and exploitation, the Good News on the other side says: Only if one can free oneself from imperialism at least for as long as it takes to be able to develop one’s productive forces independently, only then will one achieve prosperity and security for humanity.
In this respect, both sides represent only two sides of the same coin. Both claim to be able to achieve “the greatest happiness for the greatest number” within the framework of and through capitalism – as the forefather of these bourgeois tendencies, Adam Smith, already formulated this elementary lie of capital.
...
The utopians of capital have to acknowledge time and again that, contrary to their proclamations, the social antagonisms both within the “developed” and “underdeveloped” countries and between these countries are becoming increasingly acute. And while capitalism is pushing the development of the productive forces ever more sharply in order to satisfy its insatiable hunger for surplus value, it is precisely because of this highly productive technology that it is less and less able to transform the pauperised masses into active proletarians, i.e. to force them to the machines or into the office. While the imperialists, in their frenzied mania for surplus value, are at least throwing the whole world into growing unrest and undermining ancestral immobile relations ever more thoroughly, the heralds of an apparently radical autarky are causing nothing but confusion in the ranks of the pauperising masses. They talk of economic independence, stable economic cycles and adapted technology – all concepts that really bring out their illusionist anachronism.
And to see Cambodia of all places as a concrete approach or even an example for the feasibility of such utopias seems almost tragicomic in view of the results that are now available. But it is also a total misreading of the factual development under the Pol Pot government. Demonisation and idealisation of the Khmer Rouge have the same basis. They assume that the measures taken after the conquest of power in Cambodia were deliberate and planned. One side sees only the terror and coercive measures with which the leaders, supported by relatively small armed forces, tried to get a grip on a witch’s cauldron of panic and violence and to escape the total catastrophe of starvation – and the chaos that would ensue in turn. They see this terror and these coercive measures as completely detached from the economic and social emergency. The others confuse the factual state of extreme social backwardness in Cambodia and the emergency measures taken with an economic and social programme.
...
We have outlined the devastating situation in Cambodia shortly before the moment of liberation. However broad and deep the peasant unrest in the countryside may have been at the time, it must be remembered that a large proportion of these peasants stayed in the capital out of necessity during the main phase of the fighting. In any case, the Khmer Rouge, hardly more than 70,000 men anyway, fought for a long time mainly in the sparsely populated outskirts of Cambodia.
When the Khmer Rouge troops approached the capital in 1975 – likely with only about 20,000 men – it soon became clear that it was imperative to deal radically with this hopelessly bloated big head. Estimates vary, but it can be assumed that of the 7-8 million Cambodians, at least 2.5, but probably over 3 million were crammed into the capital (“peace population” as mentioned 600,000). With the severing of the umbilical cord to imperialism, Phnom Penh was up in the air as its former bridgehead. There was no possibility whatsoever to control or even feed this veritable hell of collaborators and starving refugee masses. The general shortage of rice had driven prices to dizzying heights: from 10 riel per kilo in December 1971 to 125 riel in December 1973 and on to 300 riel in early 1975, reaching a record 340 riel in mid-February. The retreat of the imperialists and the advance of the Khmer Rouge must have acted as a double signal: On the one hand, to storm against the hated parasites and the urbanites in general, on the other hand, to return to the countryside in chaos. The Khmer Rouge had to evacuate the city and channel the returning flow to avoid a total catastrophe. The fact that the displaced people left a wide trail of blood behind them on their way out of the city (for the time of the Khmer Rouge government, there is consistent talk of at least 1 million deaths) was unavoidable under the given conditions. It is significant that the majority of the massacres affected the urban population and certain national minorities: precisely intellectuals, military officers of the old Lon Nol regime, Sihanoukists, capitalists, merchants etc., and apart from the Cham (Muslims) almost exclusively the Vietnamese and Chinese minorities, whose social situation we have already pointed out.
Whether it was spontaneous peasant terror or executions organised by the Khmer Rouge, it was partly revolutionary violence against the supporters of the old regime, which as such does not speak against but for the Khmer Rouge, and partly pogroms, which the leaders at most accepted and tried to direct in the interests of the state monopoly on the use of force. But it is not so important whether the Khmer Rouge leaders had to accept or order these massacres. What is decisive is that they were forced by material development to eliminate or to have eliminated precisely those strata on which they wanted to rely. This, together with the evacuation of the cities, deprived them of any social support other than the peasantry. Thus they were at the mercy of this peasantry, which had to be disciplined for the actualisation of their “programme”. The conflict with it was therefore programmed for the time after the famine had been averted.
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After the worst of the chaos had been overcome, it was attempted to use these structures, which had prevailed in a rather primitive way during the hunger phase, for one’s “industrialisation programme” by maintaining and further intensifying collectivisation. Necessity was to become a capitalist virtue. The complete lack of such “civilisational” achievements as the intercourse of money and commodities was supposed to make for an ideal, indeed classic, “truck system”, i.e. payment in kind alone. The peasants were forced into ever new production battles, because now surpluses were to be produced for export – i.e. for exchange with foreign means of production – which indeed happened and animated the leaders even further. The general command was under the iron slogan: “Work hard and try to achieve maximum results with a minimum of investment”, and the focus was on absolute labour effort.
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Once a sufficient level of production had been restored, however, the whole construction was bound to collapse completely sooner rather than later. Anyone who has even a pale inkling of the travails of the infamous Stalinist collectivisation in Russia – and the Russian state was on an incomparably higher social level and had quite different means of power at its disposal – can easily imagine how the intellectual would-be enablers of capitalism in Cambodia, then practically hanging in the air, would have to perish in an orgy of violence – unless, with the help of a foreign power, they could get a grip on the chaos and create more stable conditions through a series of concessions to the peasantry. Most likely, however, they would be finished even then, like a man trying to hold on as long as possible to a wildly thrashing bull and then falling to the ground exhausted. In any case, the arena crowd was already eagerly awaiting the outcome of the tragedy.
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Sovereignty, neutrality, non-alignment – this credo runs through all declarations as a complement to “autarky”. But already in the face of the first offensive by the Vietnamese, it must have slowly become clear to the Khmer Rouge leaders that these fine words could only have one meaning in our unpleasant world, namely to place themselves under the protection of the People’s Republic of China. In Pol Pot’s interview, which we have just quoted, a strange acronym appears: CPK. This means “Communist Party of Kampuchea”. And yet, to the boundless amazement of bourgeois commentators, the Khmer Rouge had never tried to dress up their declarations or their constitution with Marxist or pseudo-Marxist vocabulary – which is certainly very sympathetic to us. On the contrary, they have displayed an obvious and pedantic aversion to these concepts. Neither “vanguard of the proletariat” or “communist party” nor “proletarian internationalism”, neither “classless society” nor “dictatorship of the proletariat”, but also not “new democratic revolution”, “mass line”, “creation of a new man”, “peaceful coexistence” etc. etc. had ever been spoken of. If similar contents had to be expressed, they were paraphrased with other words. But this did not happen because the Pol Pot folks would have been particularly honest and wanted to do us Marxists a favour. This happened because in their dogged nationalism they wanted to distance themselves clearly from their neighbours Vietnam, but also China, who professed to be “socialist”. The national character of all these revolutions and states, the national character of their confrontations and of their whole politics is expressed even in the fact that the weakest link feels compelled by the instinct of self-preservation to dispense with the “Marxist” or “socialist” cloak for the capitalist programme! This is what “socialism in one country” has come to! And the adoption of the “Marxist” “vocabulary” here is a sign of the surrender of the so sacred national sovereignty. If, as already mentioned, no announcement had ever mentioned a party or revolutionary phases (there was always talk of a “revolutionary organisation” and even of “Angkor traditions”), Pol Pot told his astonished people and all those who wanted to know the following story on 27 September 1977: the CPK had already existed in Cambodia since 30 September 1960 and had achieved this miracle of a national-democratic revolution. He told it the day before he left for Beijing, on which, fighting a losing battle against the Vietnamese, he has been completely dependent ever since.
As a “plaything of foreign powers”, the nationalist intellectuals of Cambodia perished. The peasantry, largely decimated under the pressure of the imperialist frenzy and its consequences, as now under the pressure of Vietnam’s national expansion, is an example of the fate that capitalist society reserves for small and weak peoples in its emergence and development. To such peoples the proletariat alone would and will secure the right of self-determination, because unlike the bourgeoisie it does not seek national privileges but wants to abolish them, because unlike the bourgeoisie it can create voluntary union, because unlike the bourgeoisie it liberates itself not by exploiting others but by abolishing all exploitation.

YŪREI CHRONICLES [ 幽霊クロニクルズ ]
Tales of Japanese Horror [ 日本のホラーの物語 ]
By: Seph Cruz [ 投稿者: セフ・クルーズ ]
CONTENTS [ コンテンツ ]
Preface [ はじめに ]
Chapter 1: The Cursed Scroll [ 第 1 章: 呪われた巻物 ]
Chapter 2: The Shrine in the Shadows [ 第 2 章: 影の神殿 ]
Chapter 3: The Haunting of the Geisha [ 第 3 章: 芸者の幽霊 ]
Chapter 4: The Onryo's Revenge [ 第 4 章: 怨霊の復讐 ]
Chapter 5: The Dollmaker's Curse [ 第 5 章: 人形師の呪い ]
Chapter 6: The Shadow in the Forest [ 第 6 章: 森の影 ] Chapter 7: The Haunting of the Yūrei Inn [ 第 7 章: 幽霊旅館の幽霊 ]
Chapter 8: The Curse of the Haunted Kimono [ 第 8 章: 幽霊着物の呪い ]
Chapter 9: The Mirror's Malevolence [ 第 9 章: 鏡の悪意 ]
Chapter 10: The Bridge to the Beyond [ 第 10 章: 彼方への架け橋 ]

 "Yūrei Chronicles: Tales of Japanese Horror" 

Chapter 1: "The Cursed Scroll"
In the heart of Kyoto, where history whispered through the ancient streets, there existed an antique bookstore known only to those who sought the rarest of tomes. Nestled among centuries-old texts and dusty manuscripts, a forbidden scroll lay hidden, waiting for an unwitting soul to stumble upon its chilling secrets.
Chapter 1: "The Cursed Scroll"
The quaint, dimly lit bookstore was a treasure trove of the past. Intricate calligraphy adorned scrolls, while faded ink whispered stories of long-forgotten samurai and mystical creatures. Among these relics of history, one scroll remained elusive, concealed behind a glass case. Its dark, ornate cover bore no title, and its presence seemed to beckon.
Haruki, a young scholar with a fascination for the occult, visited the bookstore one rainy afternoon. His curiosity led him to inquire about the enigmatic scroll. The elderly shopkeeper, Mr. Tanaka, peered at him with a knowing look, cautioning him about the scroll's malevolent reputation.
"Many have sought to uncover its secrets," Mr. Tanaka said, his voice trembling with age, "but few have lived to tell the tale."
Haruki, undeterred by the ominous warning, insisted on examining the scroll. Mr. Tanaka, sensing the scholar's determination, reluctantly unlocked the glass case. As Haruki unrolled the ancient parchment, he saw that it was filled with intricate symbols and incantations, written in a language he could barely comprehend.
For days, Haruki delved into the scroll's mysteries. His sleepless nights were filled with whispers from unseen forces, and chilling drafts seemed to haunt his small apartment. Yet, he pressed on, believing that the scroll held untold knowledge and power.
One fateful night, as a full moon cast eerie shadows across his cluttered study, Haruki recited an incantation from the scroll. The room grew icy cold, and an otherworldly presence enveloped him. A mournful wail echoed through the room, and Haruki's heart raced as he beheld the apparition before him.
A yūrei, its long, disheveled hair obscuring its gaunt face, hovered in the air, its eyes filled with anguish and rage. It reached out bony, pale fingers toward Haruki, its spectral form translucent yet undeniably real.
In that moment, Haruki realized the scroll's true nature – a curse that summoned vengeful spirits to torment the living. He had unwittingly invited the yūrei into his world, and now, it sought retribution for its suffering.
The scholar's life turned into a nightmare as the vengeful spirit haunted his every waking moment. His research became an obsession to find a way to pacify the yūrei and lift the curse. With each passing day, Haruki's health deteriorated, his body and mind succumbing to the relentless torment.
Desperate, he sought the guidance of a renowned exorcist, who revealed a grim truth. The only way to break the curse was to discover the scroll's origins and offer the yūrei the peace it so desperately sought.
As Haruki ventured deeper into the scroll's history, he uncovered a tale of betrayal and tragedy that spanned centuries. With newfound knowledge and a heavy heart, he prepared to confront the vengeful yūrei and set things right.
In a chilling confrontation between the living and the dead, Haruki faced the spirit, offering it the closure it craved. As the yūrei dissipated into the ether, its mournful wail echoed one last time, fading into the night.
Haruki emerged from the ordeal forever changed, carrying the weight of the scroll's curse as a cautionary tale. The forbidden knowledge he had sought had come at a great cost, a reminder that some mysteries should remain hidden, and some curses should never be invoked.
As the sun rose over Kyoto, the antique bookstore remained shrouded in an eerie silence, and the cursed scroll returned to its cryptic slumber, waiting for the next unwitting soul to unlock its dreadful secrets.
End of Chapter 1: "The Cursed Scroll"
Chapter 2: "The Shrine in the Shadows"
In the heart of a tranquil Japanese village, nestled among ancient forests, stood a centuries-old Shinto shrine, known to few but revered by all. This sacred place held an eerie secret, hidden in the shadows of its past.
Chapter 2: "The Shrine in the Shadows"
The village of Mizuki was picturesque, surrounded by dense woods and the whispers of rustling leaves. Its most treasured gem was the Shōrin Shrine, a sanctuary dedicated to the worship of the kami, where the villagers paid homage with heartfelt prayers and offerings.
On a bright spring morning, the Hayashi family moved into a charming house near the shrine. Yuko, a spirited young girl with inquisitive eyes, was enchanted by the quaint beauty of Mizuki and the mystique of the Shōrin Shrine. Her parents, Masato and Yuki, hoped the peaceful village would offer respite from the bustling city.
Their first evening in Mizuki was serene, and the family felt blessed to live in such an idyllic place. As night descended, they heard a faint melody echoing through the forest—a haunting tune played on a traditional shamisen. Yuko, drawn by curiosity, followed the eerie melody to the shrine.
At the shrine's entrance, she saw a flicker of movement among the trees and bushes. As her eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight, she gasped in awe and terror. There, bathed in an ethereal glow, stood a beautiful woman dressed in a white kimono, her long hair cascading like an ebony waterfall.
The woman's face bore an expression of immense sorrow, and her eyes seemed to pierce Yuko's very soul. In her delicate, spectral hands, she held a shamisen, its strings plucked by fingers that had long since turned to mist.
"Who are you?" Yuko asked, her voice quivering.
The apparition gazed at Yuko with an inscrutable sadness and whispered, "My name is Hana. I have been bound to this shrine for centuries, waiting for someone to hear my song."
Hana's story unraveled like a tragic tapestry before Yuko. She had once been a young woman in love with a humble fisherman from Mizuki. Their love was forbidden, and when their secret was discovered, they met a tragic end at the hands of the villagers.
As she spoke, the melody of her shamisen became more mournful, and the trees seemed to weep in sympathy. Hana's spirit, bound to the shrine, could only find solace by sharing her story with the living.
Yuko, moved by Hana's tale, felt a deep connection to the ghostly figure. She promised to help Hana find peace and bring her story to light. Together, they would uncover the truth behind the tragic love story that had ensnared the shrine for centuries.
As Yuko delved into the village's history, she uncovered hidden documents and ancient scrolls that confirmed Hana's story. The injustice done to Hana and her beloved was a blot on the village's past, a truth that had been concealed for generations.
With newfound determination, Yuko rallied the villagers to acknowledge the village's dark history and to seek forgiveness for the sins of the past. In a moving ceremony at the Shōrin Shrine, the villagers offered their prayers, and Hana's spirit was finally set free.
As the first rays of dawn bathed Mizuki in golden light, Hana's ethereal form dissolved into a wisp of gratitude and serenity. The shrine, once shadowed by sorrow, now radiated with newfound peace.
"The Shrine in the Shadows" became a tale passed down through generations, a reminder that love and forgiveness could transcend even the darkest of curses. Mizuki continued to flourish, its shrine standing as a testament to the enduring power of redemption.
End of Chapter 2: "The Shrine in the Shadows"
Chapter 3: "The Haunting of the Geisha"
In the vibrant streets of 19th-century Tokyo, beneath the shimmering lanterns and behind the delicate allure of geisha, a haunting presence lurked—a presence that would forever change the life of a celebrated geisha named Kaede.
Chapter 3: "The Haunting of the Geisha"
In the heart of Tokyo's historic Yoshiwara district, Kaede was renowned as one of the most captivating and skilled geisha. Her beauty was ethereal, her dances mesmerizing, and her laughter like the tinkling of wind chimes. But beneath her porcelain makeup and the grace of her performances lay a heart heavy with secrets.
One cool autumn evening, as the lanterns cast their warm glow on the district, a newcomer arrived at the teahouse where Kaede performed. His name was Kaito, a handsome and enigmatic man with piercing eyes that seemed to see beyond the facade of the geisha. Kaede's heart quickened as their eyes met, and she felt a connection she had never experienced before.
As weeks turned into months, Kaede and Kaito's bond deepened, their love blossoming like the cherry blossoms in spring. But their love was a forbidden one, as Kaito was a samurai, and their worlds were as different as night and day.
One fateful night, Kaito revealed a dangerous secret to Kaede—he was involved in a plot against a powerful daimyo who ruled with cruelty and oppression. Kaito believed that by exposing the daimyo's corruption, he could bring justice to the people. He asked for Kaede's assistance in gathering information from the teahouse's influential patrons.
Reluctantly, Kaede agreed, and together, they embarked on a treacherous path filled with deceit and danger. As the days passed, they uncovered dark secrets that could expose the daimyo's crimes. However, their actions did not go unnoticed.
One evening, as Kaede performed for a gathering of influential men, a sinister figure appeared in the shadows. It was the vengeful spirit of a geisha named Akiko, who had perished in Yoshiwara under tragic circumstances. Her ghostly form was veiled in a blood-red kimono, and her eyes burned with malevolence.
Akiko's haunting began subtly—a chill in the air, whispers of despair, and a feeling of dread that hung over the teahouse like a shroud. Kaede, sensing the supernatural presence, knew that they had awakened a vengeful spirit.
Desperate to protect Kaede, Kaito sought the guidance of a local exorcist, who revealed the tragic story of Akiko. She had been a geisha in love with a samurai, but their forbidden love had led to betrayal and death. Her restless spirit sought vengeance on those who dared to love across societal boundaries.
With the exorcist's help, Kaito and Kaede embarked on a perilous journey to confront Akiko's spirit and offer her the peace she so desperately sought. In a climactic showdown, they faced the vengeful geisha, revealing the truth behind her betrayal and death.
As the first light of dawn bathed the Yoshiwara district, Akiko's spirit dissipated, her eyes filled with sorrow and resignation. The curse she had cast upon the teahouse lifted, and peace returned to the district.
Kaede and Kaito's love story continued, forever marked by the supernatural forces they had encountered. The teahouse thrived once more, its lanterns casting their warm glow over the enchanting district, where love knew no boundaries and forgiveness transcended even death.
"The Haunting of the Geisha" became a legend whispered among geisha in Yoshiwara, a testament to the enduring power of love and the consequences of forbidden desires in the mysterious world of Edo-era Tokyo.
End of Chapter 3: "The Haunting of the Geisha"
Chapter 4: "The Onryo's Revenge"
In the heart of a decaying city, where abandoned buildings stood as silent witnesses to forgotten tragedies, a group of urban explorers would stumble upon a place where the restless dead held their sinister dominion.
Chapter 4: "The Onryo's Revenge"
The city of Kurayami had fallen into disrepair, its once-thriving industries crumbling, and its streets echoing with the memories of better days. Among its many derelict structures was the forsaken Kurayami Hospital, a place whispered about only in fearful tales.
Rumors spoke of a curse that had befallen the hospital after a gruesome series of medical experiments in the early 20th century. Patients had been subjected to horrific procedures, and their agonized cries still seemed to reverberate through the corridors.
A group of urban explorers, lured by the thrill of the forbidden and the allure of the macabre, set their sights on Kurayami Hospital. Among them was Hiroshi, the group's leader, and Yumi, a budding photographer with an affinity for capturing the eerie beauty of abandoned places.
As the explorers entered the hospital's crumbling entrance, they were greeted by the musty scent of decay and the eerie silence of long-abandoned hallways. Shadows danced in the dim light as they ventured deeper into the forsaken building, their footsteps echoing like distant whispers.
The group's excitement turned to unease as they encountered signs of the hospital's dark past—rusty surgical instruments, bloodstained gurneys, and cryptic medical notes. Yumi's camera captured it all, each photograph revealing more about the hospital's gruesome history.
As night fell, the explorers gathered in the hospital's decrepit lobby, their flashlights casting trembling beams into the darkness. It was then that they heard it—a faint, mournful wail, like the keening of a soul in torment.
Hiroshi, the group's fearless leader, brushed off their concerns, attributing the sound to the wind or their imagination. But the cries grew louder and more anguished, echoing through the halls.
The group became separated as they navigated the labyrinthine corridors. Yumi, camera in hand, wandered into the hospital's disused psychiatric ward. There, in a shadowed corner, she saw her camera's flash reveal a horrifying apparition—an onryo, a vengeful spirit with long, disheveled hair and eyes filled with hatred.
The onryo's spectral form contorted with rage as it approached Yumi. Its icy fingers reached out, and she felt an otherworldly coldness pierce her very soul. She knew that this was the spirit of a patient who had suffered unimaginable horrors in the hospital.
As Yumi's companions searched for her, they stumbled upon the onryo's lair and witnessed the terrifying encounter. In a desperate bid to save Yumi, they searched for a way to pacify the vengeful spirit.
Through a combination of research and communication with a local historian, they learned the full extent of the hospital's atrocities. Armed with this knowledge, they returned to the onryo's domain to confront the spirit and offer it the peace it had been denied for so long.
In a climactic showdown, the group faced the onryo, revealing the hospital's dark secrets and acknowledging the suffering of the tormented souls within. With profound remorse, they begged for forgiveness on behalf of those who had perpetrated the atrocities.
As the first rays of dawn broke over Kurayami, the onryo's anguished wails transformed into a mournful sigh. The spirit, its wrath finally quelled, dissipated into the ether, leaving behind a sense of profound sadness and closure.
The group of urban explorers emerged from Kurayami Hospital, forever changed by their encounter with the supernatural. They had confronted the past and offered redemption to the restless dead, leaving the decaying city with a newfound sense of hope.
"The Onryo's Revenge" became a cautionary tale among urban explorers, a reminder that some places are best left undisturbed, and that the past, no matter how dark, can be confronted and reconciled.
End of Chapter 4: "The Onryo's Revenge"
Chapter 5: "The Dollmaker's Curse"
In a remote mountain village, nestled among mist-shrouded peaks, a master dollmaker crafted exquisite creations that captured the hearts of collectors worldwide. Yet, within her secluded workshop, a malevolent force lurked—one that would ensnare a curious journalist in a nightmarish world of living dolls and dark secrets.
Chapter 5: "The Dollmaker's Curse"
Hidden away in the secluded village of Ichiban, known only to those who ventured deep into the mountains, lived a master dollmaker named Ai. Her dolls were celebrated for their lifelike beauty and craftsmanship, with collectors from distant lands coveting her creations.
One brisk autumn morning, a journalist named Keiko received a cryptic letter from a source in Ichiban, hinting at a sinister mystery surrounding Ai's dolls. Intrigued by the enigmatic message, Keiko embarked on a journey to the remote village, determined to uncover the truth.
Ichiban was a place untouched by time, its cobblestone streets winding through dense forests and past centuries-old homes. The village exuded an eerie tranquility, and the locals spoke in hushed tones about Ai's dolls, rumored to be infused with a piece of the human soul.
Upon reaching Ai's workshop, Keiko was greeted by the dollmaker herself, a woman of grace and poise. The workshop was a treasure trove of exquisite dolls, their eyes seeming to follow Keiko's every move. Among them, a particular doll known as Hikari stood out—a hauntingly beautiful creation with ebony hair and obsidian eyes.
As Keiko delved deeper into the village's mysteries, she discovered that Hikari was believed to house the soul of a deceased child, a belief held by both Ai and the villagers. The doll's unsettling presence and the uncanny resemblance it bore to a girl named Mei, who had died tragically years ago, sent shivers down Keiko's spine.
Keiko's nights in Ichiban were filled with restless dreams of porcelain dolls that came to life. In these dreams, Hikari beckoned her to uncover the truth behind the dollmaker's creations. Guided by an inexplicable compulsion, Keiko embarked on a quest to unearth the dark secrets hidden within Ai's workshop.
As Keiko investigated further, she uncovered Ai's own tragic past—a story of unrequited love, loss, and a desperate desire to capture the essence of the human soul in her dolls. With each revelation, the line between the living and the lifeless blurred, and Keiko felt herself becoming entangled in a nightmarish world.
The dolls that had once been works of art now seemed to harbor malevolence. They moved of their own accord, their eyes filled with an eerie, lifelike intensity. Keiko realized that Ai's obsession had bound her to a sinister force, and her creations hungered for more than just existence.
In a chilling climax, Keiko confronted Ai and the curse that had gripped her creations. Together, they sought to break the curse's hold and release the trapped souls within the dolls.
As the moon hung low in the night sky, Ai performed a solemn ritual, guided by the spirit of Mei, whose essence had been captured in Hikari. The dolls, imbued with a restless energy, gathered around, their haunting eyes watching as the curse was lifted.
With a mournful sigh, the dolls' porcelain features softened, and their malevolence dissipated. The spirit of Mei was set free, and the dolls became lifeless once more, their beauty preserved in eternal stillness.
Ichiban returned to its peaceful slumber, and Keiko departed with a newfound appreciation for the power of art and the depths of human longing. The village's haunting tale of the dollmaker's curse served as a reminder that some obsessions could lead to the creation of something far more sinister than art itself.
End of Chapter 5: "The Dollmaker's Curse"
Chapter 6: "The Shadow in the Forest"
In a land steeped in history and tradition, the Aokigahara Forest, known as the "Suicide Forest," concealed a dark secret. Within its dense, ancient foliage, a group of hikers would embark on a journey that would lead them into the heart of a malevolent force.
Chapter 6: "The Shadow in the Forest"
Deep within the prefecture of Yamanashi, shrouded in a perpetual mist, lay the infamous Aokigahara Forest—an expanse of ancient woodland that held a dark reputation. Known as the "Suicide Forest," it had been a site of countless tragic deaths throughout the centuries.
A group of adventurous hikers, seeking to conquer the wilderness and challenge the forest's ominous legends, gathered on a chilly autumn morning. Among them was Akira, an experienced guide with a deep respect for the forest's history, and Yumi, a young woman in search of adventure and solace from her own troubled past.
The hikers ventured deep into the forest, their footsteps muffled by the thick blanket of moss and fallen leaves. The dense canopy above cast eerie shadows, and the trees seemed to whisper secrets of sorrow and despair.
As they trekked further into the woods, they began to notice strange occurrences—a disconcerting sense of being watched, distant whispers on the wind, and ghostly apparitions that flickered at the edge of their vision. Akira, the guide, attributed these phenomena to the forest's ominous reputation and urged the group to press on.
Yet, the forest's grip on their minds and senses tightened. Yumi, in particular, felt a strange connection to the haunting forces that seemed to lurk behind every tree. Inexplicable visions of tragedy and despair flashed before her eyes, and a sense of overwhelming dread enveloped her.
Night descended on the forest, and the hikers set up camp, their flickering campfire offering the only semblance of comfort in the oppressive darkness. It was then that Yumi encountered a spectral figure—a yūrei, her kimono tattered and her eyes empty voids.
The yūrei beckoned to Yumi, her voice a mournful echo. Unable to resist, Yumi followed the apparition into the depths of the forest, her companions unaware of her disappearance. The yūrei led her to a clearing where an ancient tree stood, its gnarled roots forming a grotesque face.
As Yumi approached the tree, she felt a malevolent presence—an ancient spirit of the forest itself. It spoke to her, revealing the tragic history of Aokigahara—the place where those who had lost hope sought refuge in death.
Yumi learned of the forest's vengeful guardian, a yūrei born of countless lost souls, whose suffering fueled its malevolence. It was the embodiment of the forest's sorrow, forever bound to torment those who ventured within.
Realizing that Yumi was now connected to the yūrei, her companions embarked on a desperate search to rescue her from the forest's clutches. With the guidance of Akira's knowledge and determination, they confronted the vengeful spirit, revealing the pain of their own pasts and the impact of their actions on the world around them.
As the first rays of dawn bathed Aokigahara in a pale light, the yūrei's malevolence waned, and its grip on Yumi loosened. With a final sigh, it dissipated into the morning mist, its haunting presence released from the forest.
Yumi was reunited with her companions, forever changed by her encounter with the malevolent spirit of Aokigahara. The forest's ominous reputation remained, a reminder of the darkness that could consume those who dared to venture too close to its heart.
"The Shadow in the Forest" served as a chilling testament to the mysteries of Aokigahara, where the past and the present intertwined, and the boundaries between life and death blurred beneath the ancient canopy.
End of Chapter 6: "The Shadow in the Forest"
Chapter 7: "The Haunting of the Yurei Inn"
In a remote village nestled among mist-covered mountains, a centuries-old inn held a sinister secret. When a weary traveler seeks refuge within its ancient walls, she becomes entangled in a web of supernatural mysteries that threaten to consume her soul.
Chapter 7: "The Haunting of the Yurei Inn"
The village of Okuyama was a hidden gem, nestled among towering peaks and blanketed in mist. Within this secluded haven stood the Yurei Inn, a centuries-old establishment steeped in history and whispered legends. Its age-old charm masked a sinister truth—a haunting presence that had plagued the inn for generations.
Amidst a dense fog, a lone traveler named Rei arrived in Okuyama, weary and seeking shelter from the elements. The Yurei Inn, with its rustic charm and flickering lanterns, seemed like the perfect refuge. Little did Rei know that her stay at the inn would unravel the mysteries hidden within its ancient walls.
Upon her arrival, Rei was greeted by the inn's elderly proprietress, Eiko, a woman whose weathered features and deep knowledge of the village's history hinted at a deeper connection to the inn's haunting past.
As Rei settled into her room, the oppressive atmosphere within the inn became palpable. Shadows seemed to dance in the corners of her vision, and strange, ghostly whispers echoed in the corridors. Unbeknownst to her, Rei had become a pawn in a centuries-old battle between the inn and the vengeful spirits that resided within.
In the dead of night, Rei awoke to a chilling presence at her bedside—an ethereal yurei, her white burial kimono flowing like a spectral river. The vengeful spirit's eyes held an insatiable hunger, and she reached out to Rei, her fingers icy and skeletal.
Rei's nights became torment as she encountered more yurei within the inn, each with their own tragic stories of betrayal, injustice, and unfulfilled desires. The spirits sought vengeance, and Rei's presence within the inn had awakened their malevolence.
Desperate to uncover the inn's secrets and free herself from the spirits' relentless pursuit, Rei sought the guidance of Eiko. The elderly proprietress revealed the tragic history of the inn—an establishment built on the suffering of countless souls who had met their demise within its walls.
Eiko's own family had been entangled in the inn's dark legacy, and she bore the weight of their deeds. Together, Rei and Eiko embarked on a journey to confront the yurei and offer them redemption, hoping to break the cycle of suffering that had plagued the inn for centuries.
In a harrowing confrontation with the vengeful spirits, Rei and Eiko unveiled the truth behind the inn's cursed history and acknowledged the pain of the souls that had been wronged. With heartfelt apologies and rituals of atonement, they sought to release the spirits from their torment.
As the first rays of dawn bathed Okuyama in a golden light, the yurei's spectral forms dissolved into the ether, their eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and gratitude. The Yurei Inn, once a place of darkness, now held the promise of redemption.
Rei departed from Okuyama, forever marked by her encounter with the supernatural. The Yurei Inn, now cleansed of its malevolent spirits, stood as a testament to the power of reconciliation and the hope of breaking the chains of the past.
"The Haunting of the Yurei Inn" became a cautionary tale among villagers, a reminder that the sins of the past could be confronted and forgiven, even in the face of vengeful spirits.
End of Chapter 7: "The Haunting of the Yurei Inn"
Chapter 8: "The Curse of the Haunted Kimono"
In the heart of Kyoto, where tradition and modernity intertwined, a family heirloom, an ancient kimono, carried a chilling curse that had plagued generations. A woman must delve into her family's history to uncover the origins of the curse and find a way to break it before it consumes her and her loved ones.
Chapter 8: "The Curse of the Haunted Kimono"
Kyoto, the city of a thousand temples, was a place where time seemed to stand still. Among the historic districts, the Nakamura family had passed down a treasured heirloom for generations—an exquisite silk kimono adorned with intricate embroidery, a relic of a bygone era.
The kimono had always been a source of fascination and reverence within the Nakamura family. It was said to be imbued with mystical powers, protecting its wearer from harm and misfortune. But beneath its ornate beauty lay a dark secret—a curse that had haunted the family for centuries.
Emi, the youngest of the Nakamura family, had grown up hearing stories of the kimono's mystical properties and the curse that clung to it. When her grandmother passed away, leaving the kimono in her care, Emi became the latest custodian of this fabled garment.
As the years passed, strange occurrences began to plague Emi and her family. The kimono seemed to have a malevolent presence, causing nightmares, unexplained accidents, and a growing sense of dread. Emi's husband, Toshiro, and their young daughter, Yuki, bore the brunt of the curse's effects.
Desperate to protect her loved ones, Emi embarked on a quest to uncover the origins of the curse and find a way to break it. She delved into her family's history, poring over ancient scrolls and consulting with local priests and scholars.
Through her research, Emi learned of a tragic love story that had been concealed for generations—a forbidden romance between a Nakamura ancestor and a woman from a rival clan. The lovers had been torn apart by a vengeful spirit, and their love had been sealed within the cursed kimono.
With newfound determination, Emi sought out the help of a renowned exorcist, who revealed that the curse could only be broken by reconciling the spirits of the star-crossed lovers and offering them a chance at eternal peace.
Emi, Toshiro, and Yuki embarked on a journey to the ancestral shrine of the Nakamura family, where they conducted a solemn ritual to appease the vengeful spirits. As they offered their prayers and made heartfelt apologies on behalf of their ancestors, a profound sense of forgiveness washed over them.
In a climactic moment, the cursed kimono transformed, its once malevolent aura dissipating into the ether. The spirits of the star-crossed lovers, now free from their torment, appeared before Emi and her family, their eyes filled with gratitude.
As the cherry blossoms rained down upon Kyoto, Emi, Toshiro, and Yuki returned home with a newfound sense of peace and closure. The kimono, no longer cursed, became a symbol of their family's resilience and the enduring power of love and forgiveness.
"The Curse of the Haunted Kimono" served as a reminder that the sins of the past could be atoned for and that the bonds of love and family could transcend even the darkest of curses.
End of Chapter 8: "The Curse of the Haunted Kimono"
Chapter 9: "The Mirror's Malevolence"
In a quiet suburban neighborhood, an antique mirror with a sinister past found its way into the home of a young couple. As they unwittingly unleashed the malevolent spirit trapped within, they must confront the mirror's dark history to save themselves and their family.
Chapter 9: "The Mirror's Malevolence"
In a serene suburban neighborhood, where cherry blossoms bloomed with each passing spring, lived a young couple, Hiroshi and Aiko, who were enamored with the charm of their new home. They had recently moved into a quaint, old-fashioned house that came with a peculiar antique mirror.
The mirror was ornate and beautiful, its frame adorned with delicate carvings of cherry blossoms. It had been left behind by the previous owner, a recluse who had passed away under mysterious circumstances. Little did Hiroshi and Aiko know that this mirror carried a malevolent secret.
As they settled into their new home, strange occurrences began to unfold. Reflections in the mirror seemed to distort, showing glimpses of eerie, shadowy figures lurking in the background. At night, whispers filled the room as if unseen voices murmured from within the glass.
Aiko, with her fascination for the occult, was the first to sense the mirror's sinister aura. She delved into research, uncovering tales of a cursed mirror that had plagued the previous owner's family for generations.
The mirror had once belonged to a vengeful spirit, a yūrei who had perished in despair. Its malevolence was bound to the glass, and those who possessed it were tormented by the spirit's relentless anger and sorrow.
Desperate to free themselves from the mirror's curse, Hiroshi and Aiko sought the guidance of a spiritual medium. Through a series of rituals and séances, they made contact with the vengeful spirit trapped within the mirror.
The spirit's story unfolded like a tragic drama—the yūrei had been a young woman in love with a man from a rival clan. Their love was forbidden, and when their secret was discovered, they had both met a grisly end. Her spirit had been bound to the mirror as punishment for her defiance of societal norms.
With the medium's help, Hiroshi and Aiko offered prayers and apologies on behalf of the mirror's original owner, seeking forgiveness for the wrongs committed against the vengeful spirit. They vowed to help the spirit find peace and redemption.
In a chilling climax, they conducted a final ritual, allowing the yūrei to pass on and find the solace she had been denied for centuries. As they gazed into the mirror one last time, they saw the spirit's reflection fade into the distance, her eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and farewell.
The mirror, now cleansed of its malevolence, became a symbol of hope and renewal for Hiroshi and Aiko. Their family flourished, and the cherry blossoms in their garden bloomed with newfound vibrancy, a testament to the enduring power of love and forgiveness.
"The Mirror's Malevolence" served as a chilling reminder that even the most innocuous objects could carry dark secrets, and that confronting the past and seeking redemption could break the bonds of even the most malevolent curses.
End of Chapter 9: "The Mirror's Malevolence"
Chapter 10: "The Bridge to the Beyond"
In a remote mountain village, isolated from the modern world, a historic bridge served as a link between the living and the dead. When a group of travelers crossed its ancient planks, they would discover the chilling truth behind the bridge's supernatural origins.
Chapter 10: "The Bridge to the Beyond"
Deep within the heart of the Japanese mountains, nestled among ancient forests and shrouded in mist, lay the village of Yamanokawa. It was a place where tradition and superstition still held sway, and the bridge that spanned the river was both a lifeline and a gateway to the unknown.
A group of adventurous travelers, drawn by the allure of Yamanokawa's untouched beauty, embarked on a journey to explore the village's remote reaches. Among them were Kaito, a historian with an insatiable curiosity, and Mia, a photographer who sought to capture the essence of this secluded world.
The village's centerpiece was the Akane Bridge, a weathered structure made of ancient wood and adorned with centuries-old lanterns. Its planks creaked with the weight of history, and the river below whispered tales of lives long gone.
As the travelers ventured deeper into Yamanokawa, they discovered that the villagers held a profound reverence for the bridge. It was said to be a link between the living and the dead, a place where offerings were made to appease the spirits that dwelled in the surrounding forest.
As night descended, the travelers set up camp near the Akane Bridge, its lanterns casting an eerie, flickering glow on the river's surface. It was then that they heard the sound—a mournful melody that seemed to emanate from the bridge itself.
Mia, driven by curiosity, followed the haunting tune to the bridge's edge. There, bathed in an otherworldly light, she saw a figure—a woman in a white kimono, her long hair flowing like an ebony waterfall.
The woman, whose name was Hikari, revealed herself to be a yūrei, a spirit bound to the Akane Bridge for centuries. She had once been a young bride whose love had been torn apart by a tragic accident on her wedding day. Her spirit was eternally linked to the bridge, where she waited for her beloved to return.
Kaito, the historian, delved into the village's archives and uncovered the tragic story of Hikari's past. It was a tale of love and loss, of a bride whose life had been cut short, and a groom whose heart had been forever scarred by grief.
With newfound determination, the travelers sought to reunite the spirits of Hikari and her beloved. They embarked on a journey deep into the forest, following a path laden with offerings and prayers.
At the heart of the forest, they discovered an ancient shrine dedicated to love and reconciliation. There, in a poignant ceremony, they offered heartfelt prayers and apologies on behalf of the villagers and the groom who had never returned.
As the first light of dawn broke over Yamanokawa, a sense of serenity washed over the Akane Bridge. Hikari's spectral form dissolved into the river's mist, her eyes filled with a mix of longing and gratitude.
The travelers departed from Yamanokawa, forever changed by their encounter with the supernatural. The Akane Bridge, now freed from its haunting past, stood as a testament to the enduring power of love and the hope of reuniting even in the afterlife.
"The Bridge to the Beyond" became a legend whispered among villagers, a reminder that some bonds could transcend time and that the spirit of love endured even in the face of eternity.
End of Chapter 10: "The Bridge to the Beyond"

A year ago, I shared insights on manifestation that seemed to resonate deeply within this community. The discussions that followed were truly remarkable.
Today, I want to offer further guidance on using the principles of Neville Goddard to realize your goals.
Manifestation Isn't Magic: it’s working with a law of nature, in harmony with the universe.
It’s not a magic trick. It’s not saying magic words that make things happen.
True manifestation transcends mere words or magical incantations. It demands genuine emotional investment. Feeling is the key.
Conflicting emotions or negativity will obstruct your efforts, making it essential to cultivate a clear and positive mindset.
Never complain: Complaining is inadvertently creative.
Many posts here unwittingly set negative intentions by focusing on what's unwanted.
In fact, reading the headlines of the posts here sometimes feels like the opposite of affirmations.
A complaint is a creation. When you complain out loud you are creating a state of what you don’t want.
True manifestation is about embodying the reality you desire, not complaining about the one you're in.
Respect Your Aspirations: You cannot achieve what you despise.
Many of you want to be rich but hate rich people. Think about that. You can’t become who you hate.
Money has no morality of its own. It’s not evil to own money. You infuse the morality into it by your beliefs and actions.
If you want to be wealthy respect and bless wealthy people and set an intention to do positive things with your wealth someday.
Align Your Desires: Failure to manifest often stems from unresolved feelings toward your goals. It’s crucial to resolve any ambivalence and align your desires with your true intentions.
Each time I failed to manifest what I have wanted I’ve searched my feelings and discovered I have ambivalence about obtaining those desires.
Think carefully about what you want to manifest and make sure it’s what you truly want. Be crystal clear.
SATS (State Akin to Sleep) isn’t mysterious or difficult: Often over-complicated, SATS is merely a state of pre-sleep that allows closer communication with your subconscious.
Many people talk about SATS as if it is some sort of magical thing that’s hard to do. It’s simply a state in which you are drifting to sleep and have better access to your subconscious. You can convince your subconscious of your desires and also program your subconscious to believe your desires are achievable during this state.
Use this time to affirm your goals and nurture belief in their attainment. Try using all five senses in the scenes you envision!
Use Affirmations correctly: The goal of affirmations is to synchronize your conscious and subconscious beliefs, enhancing your confidence in achieving your desires.
Affirmations convince your subconscious that what you want is believable and achievable.
My life is a testament that manifestation works. I’ve achieved so many manifestations I haven’t written about in this subreddit. I’ve met amazing people (some famous), been to exotic places, have had incredible adventures, and achieved great wealth. You can too.
May you all manifest your wildest dreams!

By popular demand, I guess...
I was kinda just being a smart-ass, but some of you wanted more so here it is: epilogues for every NPC as if they didn't continue to travel with Gorion's Ward and instead just decided to live their own life. Obviously, there are some implied alignment changes here.
This turned out to be longer than I expected and I kinda just threw it all together while I was working. Please excuse any typos or sloppy writing.
I want to apologize for one thing, though. Viconia's epilogue really only works if GW is a male, so I had to make that assumption for the sake of her story. If it matters any, I easily play just as many female GWs as I do male GWs. In fact, I probably play more female GWs because I don't care for the romances, frequently play the canon party, and want to nip the lame Jah romance in the bud.
But, to have them all in one place, I included my original smart-ass epilogues with the additional ones I created. Now, every character from BG1 and BG2 has an epilogue. I don't have the EE characters, though, because I play the original games and don't really know them.
So, just for funsies, which one is your favorite and why?
"Anomen continued to wait at the Copper Coronet for a party of adventurers willing to travel with him. Maybe it was the grating sound of his voice, or perhaps the way he leered at women, but he continued to remain alone. Eventually, he needed to find work to make ends meet. With Gorion's Ward having disbanded the slave traders and pit fights, Hendak had to find a new form of entertainment for the patrons. As such, he invented an all male review ladies night, and Anomen found work as a 'dancer'. He left the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart to join the less noble order of the pole. He also renounced his faith to Helm and instead allied himself with Waukeen because if you wanna see some groin, you gotta have some coin."
"Despite Gorion's Ward clearing the trolls from her keep, Nalia was not able to reclaim her lands and instead lost her estate to Lord Roenall. The lord offered to let her retain residence in her family's ancestral home, but only in exchange for her hand in marriage. Nalia found the proposition to be repugnant. Instead, she salvaged whatever wealth she could from her family's keep and moved to Athkatla to start a new life. She no longer helped the less fortunate, as she was now among their numbers and had her own problems. Nalia's lack of any practical skills combined with her sense of entitlement sent her into a life of failure followed by drinking and debauchery. She now spends more time back at the Copper Coronet than anywhere else. It is hard to say where she squanders her wealth more, the alcohol, or on the dancers during Ladies Night."
"After the incident with the Planar Sphere, Valygar was finally free of his past, could retire to his cabin, and pursue his true passion: writing. Ironically, the only inspiration he found ended up stemming from his family's checkered past. Valygar's only works that even had middling success were 'Tuesdays with Lavok' and 'Dude, Where's My Planar Sphere', with the latter being made into a production at the Five Flagoons Theater."
"Haer'Dalis continued to work as a performer at the Five Flagoons Theater. Unfortunately, it struggled due to poor management. It might have turned out better if an outside agent with fresh ideas had stepped in, but Gorion's Ward had better things to do than be a bard. While the work was generally steady, the returns were not great and the material was a little low-brow for Haer'Dalis' liking. The tiefling realized he reached rock bottom when he was cast as the lead in a play about a buffoon who apparently lost a plane-shifting apparatus the size of a small castle and had to find it before his parents returned from Neverwinter. After the opening night, he took his own life in his dressing room. His body was found the next morning with a note saying, 'Art is dead and I am art, so I shall join art in death.' Biff the Understudy stepped in for Haer'Dalis despite never having an opportunity to read the script. Nevertheless, the production was a resounding success and launched Biff's career to new heights."
“A heartbroken Garrick found work as a character actor at the Five Flagoons Theater, but eventually gained more success as a writer and director. He found it to be a mostly agreeable situation, aside from a tiefling primadonna who would constantly belittle his work and call it ”trite" and “drivel”. Fortunately, that situation worked itself out in time and Garrick found Biff to be much easier to direct. With the tiefling gone, his ideas had room to grow. He invented a new kind of love story, one where the protagonist doesn't always get the girl at the end but the journey to that ending would be quite amusing. He labeled this genre “the Comedy of Romance” and the works were mostly based on his own life. His plays were quite popular among the commoners, with his top selling shows being 'Sleepless in Saradush', 'Silverymoon Linings Playbook', and 'Crazy Rich Aasimars'. He eventually fully transitioned off the stage into the director's chair. By the peak of his fame, he was married to none other than Queen Ellesime."
“Aerie continued to work at the circus and WOULD NOT SHUT UP ABOUT HER DAMN WINGS. Even Quayle eventually grew sick of hearing about it. This put strain on their relationship. Things took a turn for the better when Ribald Barterman acquired a new curiosity for his shop. It was a magical ring which he sold to Quayle at a reduced rate out of sympathy. This ”treasure" was actually a cursed Ring of Deafness, which Quayle found to be anything but a curse and wore it for the rest of his days."
“Xzar and Montaron were both slain at the hands of the Athkatla Harpers, but this is actually where their story begins. Xzar, as he had done so many times before, had a backup plan of an arcane nature should death befall either he or the halfling. Their mortal essences were pulled to a pocket plane he created. There they could be channeled into restored bodies cloned at his estate. With this particular round of ritual, Xzar had incidentally made a slight error in the incantation and the two found themselves in a time suspended state in Xzar's pocket plane. It was only five minutes for the rest of the world, but it was fifty years for them. This turned out to be a pivot point in their relationship. Having only each other's company in this shadowy void, they were finally able to work out their feelings for each other. When they had returned to the prime material plane, they discovered their mutual animosity was replaced with love. Rather than pick up their life where they left off with the Zhentarim, they decided to pack it all in, moved to Bryn Shander, and start a bed and breakfast. Montaron rediscovered his halfling roots and love for the culinary arts while Xzar would perform seances to connect guests with their late loved ones. Scones and Bones became an overnight success and was consistently listed as a “must see” in Volo's travel guides. In their golden years, the couple co-wrote a memoir of their journey, ‘Brokeback Montaron’, which is sold in bookstores everywhere."
“After briefly crossing paths with Gorion's Ward, Mazzy Fentan continued her crusade as a de facto halfling paladin. She eventually found herself petitioning for membership at the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart in Athkatla after she had singlehandedly saved a village from an ancient dracolich. Despite the extent of her virtue and accomplishment, her petition was denied on the basis that halflings could not possibly be real paladins. This inspired her next crusade, one to break down vocational barriers for all demihuman races. Why couldn't halflings be paladins or dwarves be wizards? And why did gnomes always have to be illusionists? It simply made no goddamn sense. She began to get traction with her quest when she attended lectures by the wizards of the (sword) coast in Candlekeep. With their help, she ushered Faerun into a new edition era where there would be no vocational barriers for adventurers based on their race. Soon, the world began to see roguish halflings that also venerated Helm, while tending to the wilds as a druid. Half-orc bards also studied as wizards while manifesting natural arcane abilities as sorcerers. Tiefling paladins took their crusades to the wilderness and served as rangers, while sidelining as clergy to Mystra. The world was now a liberated place, free to not make any goddamn sense in a myriad of new ways. At one point, Lady Mazzy Fentan of Trademeet (now formally a paladin) crossed paths with a dwarven shadowdancebard and in that moment she regretted everything. Seriously, just take a moment and picture that. It would look fucking ridiculous.”
“Yeslick's clanhome was flooded once again. Despondent and without options, he took work at a smithy in Baldur's Gate but never stopped dreaming of finding both a clan and a home. He found a way to bring this dream to life after a courageous halfling paladin broke down the barriers for, among other things, dwarves to be wizards. Yeslick had an idea. He studied magic diligently until he was able to cast two spells of great importance: Water Breathing and Permanence. He then searched the lands for other clanless dwarves who would be willing to try something new. With the new clan he formed, Yeslick permanently gave all his fellow clansman the ability to breath underwater. They then moved into the flooded Cloakwood Mines and built the first underwater dwarven stronghold. Using his arcane powers, Yeslick also developed the ability to speak with the marine life that shared this stronghold. And, with that, the clan Aquadwarf was born. At one point, Valygar visited and wrote a play based on Yeslick's story. However, he couldn't even get it to stage at the Five Flagoons Theater. The illustrious director Garrick was quoted as saying, “A hero that can breath underwater and talk to fish? Nobody would go for that!"
“Keldorn finally retired from the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart and looked forward to a much simpler life. He rekindled his marriage with Lady Maria and life seemed to improve. It was rather early on when the couple discovered that Maria had become pregnant again. It was also not long after that when Peony, the housekeeper, also became pregnant. Maria started to ask Keldorn about this, but Keldorn started to get defensive and asked, ”Hey, who's the Inquisitor here?" Then Keldorn started to do the math with her to track the conception of Maria's pregnancy. She certainly did not want him to get to the end of that equation, so she quickly changed the subject. She suggested getting a new maid, but Keldorn chastised her for abandoning someone in their time of need who had been like family for years. He forbade Peony's departure claiming that his god, Torm, would not stand for it. Maria then made a passive aggressive comment about Torm being the god of loyalty, but she was mostly just muttering under her breath to get the last word in. Eventually, both children were born and had probably the most awkward upbringing of anyone in Faerun."
“After Gorion's Ward helped Coran take down a wyvern, the rogue brought the beast's head back to the mayor of Beregost for the reward and accolades. He thought this put him in a position to be a hero of great renown and perhaps, just maybe, people would stop mocking him for his flashy attire and completely superfluous eye mask. They didn't. He only gained acceptance when he crossed paths with a ranger who seemed indifferent towards Coran's keen fashion sense. Coran traveled the Sword Coast with his ranger sidekick, righting the wrongs against the ‘little guy’ and taking the law into their own hands when needed. This partnership dissolved when he discovered that the ranger thought Coran was the sidekick. As if! Coran tried to correct the ranger, whose argument was, 'Really, man, if that outfit doesn't scream sidekick then I'm Elminster's twin brother.' The ranger was not related to Elminster and shared no resemblance.
“Kivan never was able to get his revenge on Tazok. Unbeknownst to him, that honor was taken by Gorion's Ward. His thirst for vengeance continued to eat away at him until he found himself in a bat infested cave in the wilderness. It was then he snapped. He turned the cave into his secret hideaway, put together a disguise and started wandering the sword coast looking for evil-doers to punish. He would leave his calling card wherever he saved the day, a token of a bat with longer ears like an elf. And bats already had rather long ears so these bat ears were almost comically obtrusive. Nevertheless, his deeds were generally appreciated and the people stared calling him Bat-elf. For a short spell, another elf tagged along with him and tried to help, but he was so flamboyantly dressed that one could pick his sidekick out of the shadows blindfolded. Kivan eventually had to send him on his way. Unfortunately, his vigilante crusade abruptly ended after receiving a cease and decist order from DC Comics. Kivan could fight both monster and marauder all day, but his 14 Constitution wouldn't hold up against a lawsuit for trademark infringement.”
“Skie was deeply affected by both the death of her brother and the assassination of her father. And yes, her father was actually murdered and didn't lol-jk back to life in some crappy DLC. In any event, through these traumas, she came to realize the puerility of what she thought was her brilliant criminal masterminding. Instead, she decided to settle down and live a more responsible life as an upstanding citizen of Baldur's Gate. She took the reins of her father's estate after his death and rose to prominence as one of the Grand Dukes of the city. She maintained her relationship with Eldoth for quite some time, inexplicably, as he refused to get a job because he didn't want to take attention from his band which he swore was going to make it. However, the bard spent most of the day either lounging at Skie’s estate or gambling away his allowance with games of three-dragon-ante at the Helm and Cloak. Eventually, inspired by the book “Men Are From Menzoberranzan, Women Are From Immilmar," she decided to call it quits with Eldoth and sent him packing. Shortly thereafter, she met a man who was nothing like Eldoth and they settled down together to start a family."
“Eldoth's dreams of being a world-famous musician fronting the greatest band in Faerun never reached fruition. This was partly because he didn't actually have a band and partly because he didn't have the talent to write music. Instead, he just had a lute he purchased at Lucky Aello's Discount Store that only had one A-string and was missing the E-string. Also, Eldoth could only play power chords and he couldn't really sing and play at the same time. Most of the time he would just strum a chord or two and then talk about what the song would do next, often describing a solo and half playing it on an ”air lute" (while he was still holding an actual lute, mind you) to give people the idea as to how the song would sound when it was finally written. Yeah, he was one of those guys. After Skie kicked him to the curb, he bounced between various barmaids who clearly had low self-esteem, but not low enough to keep him around for long. Eventually, he got one of them pregnant and was forced into a shotgun wedding by the barmaid's father. He now works in the kitchen at the same inn as his barmaid wife. She helps the customers up front and he cooks eggs in the back. Eldoth continues to tell himself that this experience will just provide inspiration for his music and that someday he was going to get the band back together."
“After being rescued by Gorion's Ward, Xan made his way to Baldur's Gate to regroup. He spent an inordinate amount of time beating himself up over his failures and trying to muster the gumption to continue his quest to unravel the political turmoil of the region. However, it took him months to get to this point, and by that time, Gorion's Ward already sorted out the problems in the region. Discovering this, he deemed himself a failure yet again and sunk into a deeper depression. He pulled himself out of it when he met a woman who lost most of her family to violent deaths during the iron crisis, yet she still kept herself together and became a local success in a few short years. Xan immediately fell in love with the recently single Skie Silvershield and began to court her. They eventually married and started a family. At Xan's insistence, and inspired by his wife's name, their two daughters were named Sunshine and Rainbow. Xan was a staunch supporter of his wife's career and stayed home to raise the kids. When they were older and needed less attending, he followed a new dream and became a motivational speaker.”
“Korgan had his revenge against his backstabbing crew and employer, but he felt...empty. It was done, but he felt no satisfaction. Disgruntled and disappointed, he decided to lose himself in his cups at the Copper Coronet. Even this did nothing to alleviate his malaise. One night, having passed out drunk in a peasant room at the Copper Coronet, he dreamt of that final fight but something was different. In the background of the battle, there was a glow coming from the door of a shack and he heard the whispering of a language that sounded like it was from Kara-Tur. When he woke the next morning, Korgan returned to the rooftop and found the shack from his dream. He knocked and was greeted by a priest of Illmater. Korgan told the priest of his dream and he was led into the backroom where he found a man from Kara-Tur infirm and huddled over a cup of tea. The priest explained that he had just reincarnated this man of the faith using a heart delivered by a passing adventurer. Korgan took this as a sign, converted to the faith, and the two paired up to help those in suffering as a result of the schemes of others. The tales of Korgan and Yoshimo were not only told in many of a tavern by the bards, but also collected in graphic serials that were popular among the children of Athkatla.”
“Ajantis' death sent him into an afterlife at Everwatch, the realm of Helm. For his honor and diligence, the devout knight was granted an audience with his patron. Ajantis then told Helm what utter bullshit the god was. I mean, c'mon, he's the god of protection, the Vigilant One, and he couldn't protect a group of knights from a dragon's cheap illusion spell that a mage even tried to dispel with True Sight? It was like Helm wasn't even trying. Helm was stunned by the confrontation but also had no valid defense. Ajantis called Helm to a trial that was mediated by Tyr. After careful deliberation, Tyr determined that Helm was sleeping on the job and the judgment was to demote him to a lesser deity. Now, Helm was the patron of guards, but not actual guards that ever see action, just the ceremonial ones whose weapons and armor are super shiny and probably not even real. Ajantis was then granted Helm's old portfolio and became a god that truly protected his followers.”
“Viconia left Athkatla's government district perplexed. She was rescued from burning at the stake by Gorion's Ward and then immediately dismissed. She found this to be unusual behavior for a male. She was accustomed to men either trying to bed her or kill her, but this casual indifference was completely new. Viconia came to be obsessed with Gorion's Ward from a distance. She spiraled into a fantasy where the two of them had a future together. It was pretty bad. There were some extremely embarrassing vision boards involved and that wasn't even the worst of it. When her mania reached critical mass, her obsession actually collapsed and she had an epiphany. She came to realize that she did not need this man, or any for that matter. She started on a journey of self discovery and took a moral inventory of her past relationships. She wrote about it in the book, “Men Are From Menzoberranzan, Women Are From Immilmar”. She then used the revenue from the book sales to open Athkatla's first feminist bookstore. In Her Words became a mecca for women, particularly those who felt trapped in bad relationships. The community that emerged here created the group, Friends of Galia, which strove to free women from abusive relationships. Eventually, the bookstore expanded to include an apartment block above that became a shelter for such women. Occasionally, the partners of these victims would come around to In Her Words in an attempt to drag their partners back home. You can probably guess how a confrontation between a drunken 0-level commoner and a Drow priestess of Shar ends."
“Faldorn was defeated by Jaheira in Trademeet and lost her title of Arch-Druid. In truth, she was relieved to be relieved of the position. Years of pushing forward the Shadow Druid agenda led Faldorn to realize that she had lost touch with the real Faldorn along the way. After some soul-searching, she reinvented herself as a lifestyle guru and developed an entire line of organic health and beauty products under the name, She-Wolf. Both her products and seminars were all the rage in Athkatla, specifically among noblewomen who clearly had too much free time. Faldorn eventually gave up her residence in natural environs for a lavish estate in Athkatla's government district. Her following soon pressured her to petition to join the Council of Six after the fall of the Cowled Wizards left the position open (aside from a short-term replacement). Her petition was a success and she soon found herself on the Council of Six. Under her leadership, she created created the FDAA, the Food and Drink Association of Athkatla. Now, instead of draconian rules governing magic in the city, equally restrictive rules and standards were applied to the food and drink that the people consumed.”
“Barely surviving being gravely wounded by Irenicus, Tiax left Spellhold for Athkatla where he intended to do what he did best: rule. Learning from his past campaign mistakes in Baldur's Gate, he changed his slogan from ”Tiax Rules!" to “Make Athkatla Great Again”. Of course, what he thought would make Athkatla great was putting himself in charge as a despotic leader. But, he toned down that aspect of his platform and instead focused on the history of scheming and backroom dealing of the Cowled Wizards (as if he was any less evil or scheming) and promised the people he would be different than all the other corrupt politicians. Miraculously, despite his obviously apparent character flaws, he succeeded in replacing the Cowled Wizards' representative on the Council of Six. He decided to take their stance on restrictive magic to the next level and banned magic entirely. Since he didn't study the arcane himself, it was no skin of his nose. This move undermined his support base leaving him with only the most backwards and ignorant followers. He was ultimately removed from his position when he insisted the city build a wall around the planar sphere and was expecting that the city's wizards would be the ones to pay for it. After his removal, his few remaining extreme supporters organized an invasion of the main government building under the guise of freedom of assembly. All nine of these “rebels” were rounded up, tried, and sent to prison. Tiax was convicted of treason and reincarnated in Spellhold, which was now just a common prison. After his eventual release, he was prohibited from seeking any position of power in Amn."
"Edwin Odesseiron continued to lay low with the Shadow Thieves for a while. The Cowled Wizards suffered a crippling blow as a side effect of the conflict between Gorion's Ward and Irenicus. Edwin decided to step in and finish the job. His thought was that he could wipe out the Cowled Wizard remnants and then take credit for their defeat, thereby gaining him more clout among the Red Wizards of Thay. After many conspicuous mage battles in the streets of Athkatla, he succeeded. However, the people who noticed his efforts the most were actually the people of Athkatla. They were tired of living under the Cowled Wizards' iron fist and Edwin was lauded as a liberator and hero. He even had a statue in his image raised in Waukeen's Promenade. Edwin was initially nonplussed over people finally giving him the credit he always felt he so rightfully deserved. But, he quickly came to accept their praise and bought in to being a champion for the people. Edwin continued his agenda of liberation when a clearly insane gnome who found his way on the Council of Six tried to ban magic entirely in the city. Edwin and his followers were primarily responsible for having the madman removed from his seat.
“Shar-Teel, Safana, Branwen, and Alora all happened to cross paths with each other at Elfsong one evening. Shar-Teel was looking to fight a man, Safana was looking to shag a man, Branwen was recently petrified by a man, and Alora was just excited to be somewhere new. The four got to talking with each other and, despite having wildly different personalities, seemed to hit it off. Shar-Teel was sarcastic and aggressive, Safana was self-absorbed and man-hungry, Alora was kind and sweet, and Branwen was the matriarch of the group. You wouldn't think this lot would get along, but they actually did, and their differences merely become the fuel for innocuous hi-jinks week after week.”
"With Gorion's Ward's help, Cernd was able to rescue his child that he then abandoned again at the druid grove near Trademeet. He promised that he would return to raise the child, he just needed to run to the general shop in Trademeet for some pipeweed. He never returned, but that was pretty obvious since he didn’t even smoke. Cernd continued to wander Faerun. It came to light in Cormyr that Cernd had actually married, and had children, with numerous women in Cormyr, Amn, the Sword Coast, Tethyr, Calimshan, Turmish, Halruaa, Icewind Dale, Chondath, Sembia, Impiltur, the Silver Marches, and even the Troll Hills (don't ask). Furthermore, it was discovered that Cernd was not actually a druid, just a werewolf that had a Ring of Goodberries. The druid con was so that he could have a reason to abandon his wives and children and move on to a new situation. You would be surprised at how many women could fall for a guy that can conjure an impromptu picnic in the park. Unfortunately for Cernd, Cormyr was not the kind of place to run afoul of the legal system. For the crime of bigamy, he was sentenced to life in prison. He never set foot near a druid grove again, but he was allowed to participate in a work-release program tending to the gardens of nobles.
“Kagain returned to his shop and grew even more bitter, but not over what the death of Entar Silvershield's son had done to his reputation and business. Instead, he resented that even the Enhanced Edition of the game didn't give him a remotely decent companion quest. By Moradin's hammer, Cernd even had a pretty involved companion quest and the story there both starts and ends with a deadbeat dad! Also, Kagain can regenerate! Korgan can't even do that. And another thing! He was sick of people confusing the two of them as if all dwarves look alike or something. Ok, granted, they're both old dwarves with greying beards, but Korgan's beard is tied while Kagain's beard is brushed out. Of course, none of this made sense to anyone, even to Kagain who never actually crossed paths with Cernd or Korgan. However, the dwarf had nothing to do with his time except stand in his shop, isolated and alone, until he was done in by insanity and plantar fasciitis.”
“The death of Khalid shook Jaheira to the core. She convinced herself that she could never love again, certainly not so soon after his death nor with anyone that would be a child in her eyes. That would be absurd and rather tacky. After her escape from Irenicus' prison and deposing Faldorn from the druid grove, she took over as Arch-Druid. Being a Harper just wouldn't be the same without Khalid. However, the grove would allow her to explore a new, but comfortingly familiar, phase of life. She had barely been installed as the Arch-Druid when Cernd dropped off his child and disappeared again. He did not even stay long enough to tell Jaheira the child's name. Knowing he would likely not return, she named the child Khalid after her lost love. Realizing there were other children our there without families to care for them, Jahaeira would send her subordinates to wander nearby lands and bring them to the grove for a better life. Perhaps not surprisingly, many of these children happened to be Cernd's. She eventually renamed the grove to Kinder Garden in honor of the grove's new purpose of giving these children a kinder upbringing. Jaheira's headstrong personality served her well with these lost children, who all loved her as they would any mother. The Kinder Garden became the most thriving druid grove in all of Faerun. Jaheira eventually died in 1547 DR, with hundreds of children haven been rescued in her lifetime, and a memorial was erected in her honor at the grove. The inscription read, 'Nature's Servant Awaits.'"
“After being freed from Irenicus' dungeon, Minsc put his boots on the ground at the Copper Coronet. Being the simple man that he was, he found himself unwittingly recruited into fighting in the gladiator pits (before Gorion's Ward was able to free the slaves). Yet again, Minsc took a blow to the head. But this time, its effects were something completely new. No longer was he the slow-witted evil-slaying ranger, armed to the teeth and packing a hamster. Instead, his intelligence and wisdom started to blossom and he explored, through dissertation, the impact of modern civilization on the overall ecosystem of Faerun. Indeed, before Minsc started his work, the people of Faerun didn't even have the concept of an ”ecosystem". He left Athkatla to pursue a residency at Jaheira's grove where he could study and work in peace. He published works like, “The Intersection of Geopolitics and Biodiversity: Living More but Dying Sooner”, “The Essential Symbiosis Between the Savage and Civilization”, and “Moral Urbanization: Seeking a More Comprehensive Prosperity”. Minsc continued his studies and writing and ultimately produced enough groundbreaking works to have his own annex in Candlekeep. It was shortly after the dedication of this annex that Minsc disappeared from Faerun, never to be seen again."
“Jan Jansen's fate was the most impressive of all as his endeavors shaped the very fabric of Faerun for centuries to come. His story truly serves as a moral lesson for everyone and we should heed its virtue quite seriously. Helping Lissa and Jaella planted a seed of regret in Lissa with regards to her marriage to Vaelag. Speaking of seeds, this reminds Jan of a time when he was helping his Uncle Scratchy with his turnip farm. However, Uncle Scratchy was hoodwinked and the seeds he received were actually purple carrot seeds. You can imagine Uncle Scratchy's surprise when they sprouted and he suddenly had a field of purple carrots. Well, as you probably know, you can't make turnip stew, or turnip casserole, or turnip pie with purple carrots. But it just so happened there was a mage tower nearby and the resident mage needed a vast number of carrots. Apparently, her plan was to animate them as a kind of vegetable army to combat a myconid infestation in cave system rather close to her tower. Of course, animated carrots are quite self-assured and were immune to myconoid's confusion spores. Anyway, Jan had a once-removed cousin, Bobil, that was lost in those caves when he was a young gnome. He had wandered so deep that he found himself in the den of a solitary xvart who was obsessed with a magic ring. Bobil happened to purloin that ring but it turned out to not be magic at all. However, it was still worth enough for Bobil to buy himself a nice cottage in Trademeet. He then started his own turnip farm and had better luck than Uncle Scratchy. Wait, what were we talking about, again?”
“Boo continued his mission to study the sentient life forms of Faerun and determine their potential impact on the metaverse. He preferred the continued company of Minsc due to the ranger's kindness and protectiveness. Boo found this to be quite valuable in his current miniaturized state. Even after Minsc's accident, where his intellect began to expand, Minsc never lost his good heart and inherent kindness and the two remained the best of friends. It was a number of years later that the term of Boo's mission was complete. A team of his fellow people arrived on a spelljammer to collect the giant miniaturized space hamster. Minsc (and Boo) were on a retreat in a remote part of the Neverwinter Wood when a vessel shaped like a giant acorn landed in a nearby clearing. A number of human-sized anthropomorphic hamster-like beings, who called themselves the Ysoki, emerged and met with Boo. One had a strange crystalline device which it used to restore Boo to his proper size. Minsc naturally remained composed while all this was happening. He and Boo talked often and he knew this day would be coming. Boo returned to the spelljammer with his brethren to debrief on the mission. The Ysoki wanted to bring a sample back to their homeworld for further learning and study. Boo offered Minsc for the task, as the exemplar human would fit in nicely with the Ysoki's advanced culture and society. Everyone was in agreement and made the offer to the ranger. Minsc felt like he had made every contribution he could to the people of Faerun, so he accepted and boarded the ship. Boo, excited to finally be on a spelljammer again, took the helm and plotted a course for his homeworld. At his side sat his friend and faithful companion, Minsc.”

Reflecting on 2021, truly marked the zenith of my young career. The pandemic was coming to an end, I was fresh from the hallowed halls of a prestigious but unheralded college, thrust into the corporate labyrinth where, as a mere sidekick to the big shots, I contributed to a deal of record-breaking magnitude. My modest corporate minion life was exaggerated into legend by my professors during an alumni reunion, leading to a rather embarrassing episode where I was paraded around as the poster child of their education career’s success. My parents, not ones to shy away from a bit of pomp, lauded my achievements to anyone within earshot.
But as 2022 unfurled its chaos with the epidemic, my professional life spiralled downwards as swiftly as it had risen. I was laid off, and replaced by a nepotistic hire—my boss's new mistress's nephew. During my dismal final days, my colleagues, once comrades became corporate sharks, whispers of them scheming to claim my last efforts as their own filled the empty office spaces.
Compelled by financial duress to abandon my central city dwelling, I relocated to the outskirts with two college mates, Jaz and Kath, who had similarly found themselves victims of the economic downturn. We settled into apartment 606, a unit with dubious charm, suspiciously affordable on the 13th floor of a dreary building, its corridor haunted by a flickering sensor light that was only designed to function on rare occasions. Yet, the apartment itself was surprisingly very well furnished, almost like something that jumped out from a design mag, out beating sample rooms in Ikea, boasting a spacious balcony, a living room ready for an impromptu soirée, a dining table that’s good enough to hold a banquet(became our co-working space) and a kitchen isle that became our sanctuary and curse.
When we first settled into our new abode, we discovered a trove of fine kitchen utensils, perfect for whipping up sophisticated cuisine and crafting cocktails worthy of a swanky soirée. Tucked away in the fridge, among the remnants of the previous tenants' life, was a quaint note: “The three of us really enjoyed our stay here, especially our meals and nights spent by the kitchen island. We hope you find as much joy in it as we did. Use it well.” With a casual flick of my wrist, I dismissed the note into the garbage can, oblivious to the depth of its seemingly innocuous message. Little did I know, that piece of paper was more a passing of the torch than a simple goodbye.
Our initial days in apartment 606 brimmed with camaraderie and impromptu celebrations: movie nights sprawled on the living room sofas, barbeque dinners under the stars on our balcony, and co-working sessions at the dining table, peppered with resume tweaks and contemplative conversations over cocktails. We even scored a second-hand karaoke machine, allowing me to channel my inner diva—a throwback to my musical theatre days in college and my stint as the voice of corporate presentations and negotiations at my previous job, where I was known for my resonant yet finely tuned voice.
Yet, as the months wore on and the job market remained unyielding, our early merriment slowly surrendered to a creeping anxiety. The kitchen island, once the heart of our home where laughter and shared meals flowed freely, gradually morphed into the epicenter of our collective unease, bearing silent witness to the quiet desperation settling over us.
One evening, in the suspiciously affordable yet stylish apartment, I sank into the sofa, my spirits dampened by my favorite team's disheartening loss. The mood was grim, mirroring my fears of my beloved player's potential retirement at season's end. Later, as we congregated around the kitchen island for dinner, I transformed into an impromptu sports commentator, passionately preaching about the game’s disappointing details that led to failure and my favorite player’s fine qualities. Meanwhile, Jaz updated us on a friend's melodramatic breakup, with guesses that something ugly must have happened behind the scenes. Kath, ever the culinary enthusiast, not only served up her delicious pasta but also dished out the latest celebrity gossip, each tidbit as spicy as her sauce.
The next day, during a late breakfast at the same kitchen island—our unwitting oracle—we were hit by a triple whammy of reality checks. The news of my favorite player's retirement broke, echoing my gloomy predictions from the night before. Jaz chimed in with an update that our friend had uncovered a cheating scandal worthy of its own reality TV special. And Kath, never one to be left out of the drama: her favorite celebrity was now the star of a scandal.
By the third morning, as we sipped our coffee, the newspaper slapped me with another bizarre twist. I was going through the devastating economics and politics sections, then I saw the sports section——featured an irate coach, hell-bent on convincing my favorite player to dismiss retirement plans and keep his jersey on a little longer. Meanwhile, Jaz had good news for a change: it turned out our friend's love story might have a second act after all, as misunderstandings were being cleared up. Amidst these revelations, Kath, who had been grumbling about the nearby supermarket’s inability to stock anything remotely gourmet, and hadn’t had a taste of her favorite Blue Mountain coffee since the beginning of that year, triumphantly found a can of Blue Mountain coffee, and it was on sale and therefore affordable—proof that miracles happen, and sometimes they even go on discount.
As I sat there, absorbing the serendipity of our discussions manifesting into real-world events, I couldn't help but marvel at the mysterious knack of our kitchen island. Was it merely a coincidence, or had this stylish piece of decor become the unlikely conductor of our lives symphony? One thing was certain: life in apartment 606 was never dull, and our kitchen island seemed to be more than just a place to eat—it was a place where, apparently, you could stir the pot of fate.
I decided to conduct a whimsical experiment with our now seemingly magical kitchen island. Clearing my throat theatrically, I declared, "I should be interviewed for a director position." To my sheer astonishment, the next day a headhunter rang me up, claiming I was the ideal candidate for a directorial role at a prestigious corporation in my field. Despite the other candidates possessing decades more experience which defeated me with no effort, and my own lingering self-doubt from months of unemployment, I sailed to the final interview round with the company's executives.
Upon returning to our apartment, I found Kath flaunting a chic dress from a designer brand brand she’d snagged on clearance—a little luxury courtesy of our wish-granting island. Inspired, I approached the island and cheekily requested, "Get us jobs. Something fun." Lo and behold, the following day was spent lounging and binge-watching Netflix, only to be interrupted by a call from a former bigwig at my old job. He was venturing into a more illustrious company and wanted me onboard. The informal chat that followed was a breeze, and just like that, I was back in the game with a fancier title and a fatter paycheck.
The subsequent week was a flurry of celebrations. Jaz secured a senior-level position, and Kath landed her dream job at an influencer management agency. Feeling triumphant, we decided to indulge in a night of fine dining—our first in months. That Friday evening when I went from office to restaurant, on a whim, stopped at a convenience store to grab snacks and cigarettes for our post-dinner revelry. Outside, I encountered a homeless person. After offering him a sandwich (which he traded for a cigarette instead), he took a drag, peered into my eyes, and ominously muttered, “Look, young lady, this isn’t my business, but be wary of what you wish for; everything comes with a price. Good luck and god bless you.”
His words barely registered until later that evening when a mishap occurred that seemed to underline his warning. As we enjoyed syphon coffee post-dinner, a barista accidentally tripped over Kath’s flowing dress. The resulting spill left her with first-degree burns, abruptly ending our night as we rushed to the emergency room. Though it was "just" a first-degree burn, the pain was significant enough to require several days off for Kath’s recovery. Amid the drama, I couldn't help but wonder about the cryptic caution from the man outside the store—had our fortunate streak come with a hidden cost?
We chalked up the coffee calamity to bad luck. The next month flowed smoothly: Kath's fingers healed, she returned to work, and I quickly found my groove at the new job. With all of us gainfully employed, our communal meals at the kitchen island became rare. My mornings were a whirlwind of grabbing breakfast and coffee on the go, followed by an hour's commute to a job that had me scarfing down instant noodles by nightfall, just in time for a quick shower.
As the busy season kicked in, my workload ballooned—not just from the seasonal uptick, but because I was hell-bent on proving my mettle. I quickly outshone most of my peers, and my employer, recognizing a budding overachiever, piled on major tasks, which I eagerly accepted. What started as the occasional hour of overtime soon devoured my weekends. Unpaid overtime, as the fine print in my contract gleefully noted, became my new norm. Driven by a mix of ambition and expectation, I had become the go-to young hotshot, the erstwhile record-breaker now expected to continually outdo myself.
Mentally, I was too swamped to entertain thoughts of anything beyond work, which, in a twisted way, felt like a break. Physically, however, the strain began to show. A bout of flu caught on a business trip escalated into a fever. Sick as I was, deadlines waited for no one, and I soldiered on medicated and miserable. By the time I made it home, my voice had abandoned me. Unable to utter a word the next morning, I resorted to emailing my manager about my sorry state.
That week, robbed of my voice, I mused that it was perhaps a well-deserved hiatus for my overworked vocal cords—a silent retreat if you will. But when my voice did return, it was as a raspy whisper, a shadow of its former crisp and melodious timbre. My doctor offered a grim prognosis: slight improvement might come, but the golden tones were gone for good—scarred by the relentless grind. Ah, the price of ambition—a scratchy throat as a permanent reminder of my corporate conquests.
It seemed I had unwittingly exchanged the clarity of my voice for the tumult of career success. In the midst of our domestic enchantment with the possibly mystical kitchen island, Kath unearthed the contact of a reputed psychic, hailed as the finest in the land. However, the consultation fee was nothing short of princely, and with Jaz vehemently dismissing anything that couldn't be explained by cold, hard science, she promptly opted out of splitting the bill. Kath and I, unwilling to drain our wallets on what could be mere phantasmagoria, reluctantly let the opportunity pass.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t help but notice a curious change in Jaz’s routine. She had ceased dining at the kitchen island, avoiding it as if it were cursed—or perhaps, in her view, simply out of style. The Saturday morning brought a particularly harsh twist: a murder of crows took to spiralling above our balcony, their cries as sharp as the plot of a Poe novel. We found ourselves drawn to the infamous kitchen island, lined up like the cast of a macabre play, silently praying for the birds to disperse. Kath, ever trying to restore some semblance of normalcy, offered up cups of Blue Mountain coffee. She absentmindedly inquired if I wanted cream or sugar in mine—a blunder that made me realize just how long it had been since our last coffee klatch at this very spot. My inner monologue couldn't resist a dark wish for the crows to scatter, perhaps too dark, for they began to dive bomb our balcony in a feathery kamikaze. The spectacle was enough to knock Jaz off her feet—literally—as her mug met its end on the floor. Kath, meanwhile, made a hasty retreat to worship the porcelain god, and I sat frozen, my brain offline, pondering the twisted power of our kitchen island's apparent wish-granting.
After the unnerving spectacle of crows turning our balcony into a scene straight out of a Hitchcock film, our first rational step—post-collective fainting, of course—was to summon cleaners to manage the feathery carnage. Then, still rattled but increasingly curious, we visited a psychic, who, contrary to the crystal-ball-gazer image, operated out of a posh boutique in a high-end mall and dressed more like she was headed to a fashion show than a séance. We laid bare our saga of the seemingly cursed kitchen island, complete with photographic evidence of where domestic bliss meets eerie phenomena.
The psychic introduced a term that chilled the air around us: “limbo,” the threshold between our world and the otherworldly, and she dubbed our kitchen island the "Devil’s Bargain Counter." According to her, our wishes came with a heavy and unpredictable price, because we have accidentally started trades with beings from the netherworld. Her advice was disarmingly simple: cease all trades on the island. To address the repercussions of past wishes, she advised us the first line of defence, which was an eclectic mix of offerings laid out on our cursed countertop: raw meat(rooster works the best), a cocktail of spices(coca and cinnamon preferably), liberal splashes of spirits(whiskey and rum ideally), and an eerie bouquet of black flowers(luckily I found some black roses at a flower shop of the mall). In a grander gesture of appeasement, Kath relinquished her shiny new diamond bracelet, Jaz her absurdly expensive headphones, and I parted with cash—— a hefty slice of my bonus in hopes of placating whatever capricious spirits we'd angered.
Our return to normalcy was brief but sweet, prompting us to plan a getaway, eager to forget about our nefarious kitchen island. Yet, the respite was merely a tease. Jaz, in a stroke of spectacular misfortune, narrowly dodged disaster twice in one day—first nearly becoming subway track fodder on her way back after work, and then almost getting knocked out by a rogue plant at our apartment building’s doorstep. Clearly, our previous offerings were mere appetizers to whatever forces we'd stirred. The psychic, summoned once again to our now-dubious sanctuary, decreed that the spirits had developed rather expensive tastes, unsatisfied by our initial gestures.
In a desperate bid for closure, we had the psychic over for a nighttime ritual, timed perfectly with Earth's closest approach to the netherworld, according to her. Our living room turned into a ritual chamber, with windows blacked out for days, to keep the otherworldly dealings strictly nocturnal. That night, we arranged ourselves around the island, now less a kitchen fixture and more an altar of last resort.
The psychic, amidst a chorus of Latin incantations, directed us through a chilling séance that included a mirror that reflected nothing but darkness and a burning black candle, the three of us sat in a row, joined hands, eyes closed. When the black candle was flickering at its last, the first eerie scratches heard prompted our eyes to open prematurely, we saw a command appear on the island, written by invisible hand and pen, in blood-red script, urging us to find the next "succeeder" before our lease on otherworldly disturbances could be terminated.
With bated breath, we agreed, and as if by magic, our signatures materialized on the countertop, then faded as the candle sputtered out. We tore off the black cardboard taped on the windows at dawn, the sunrise revealed a final message etched into the surface: "Debt cleared." As the daylight grew, the ominous inscription dissolved into nothingness, signalling the end of our spectral saga.
The ordeal, now officially behind us, left us enjoying a semblance of normalcy: life in 606 returned to its mundane rhythm, with dinners and movie nights back on our social calendar. Though not without its scars—literal and figurative.
It’s been two years since then, Jaz, in the throes of romantic bliss, is now gearing up for a new chapter waiting to be written alongside her soon-to-be spouse; Kath, her career finally taking a lucrative turn, was poised to upgrade her living situation, she secured a lease on a lavish serviced apartment in the city center—a place that matched her newfound financial swagger.
I’m not without my own leaps forward. With a modest boost from my parents, I took the plunge into homeownership, snagging a property within the city’s vibrant confines. The process was a whirlwind of paperwork and decorating decisions, culminating in a space I could truly call my own.
As we are packing up now, my last act is to type out our story, at the infamous island, and of course, I left a note in the fridge for the next tenants:
"Welcome to 606. We had a wonderful time here, especially at the kitchen island, filled with joy and unforgettable moments. We hope you find as much happiness as we did. Use the isle well. Warm wishes, the previous tenants."

Disclaimer:

Despite how the title and intro may look, I am not here to dunk on feminism. If you came looking for a post that said, "Feminist Soy! Am i rite?" Sorry, got to disappoint. Conversely, this isn't a sermon about why you should convert. Believe whatever you want to believe bro. Also, Not a Christian, but I do like Wendigoon talking about it. Finally, Mods plz don't nuke my post this isn't about religion but about the mythology around the figure.

Why Post This Here:

Lilith has been involved in literary discourse for a while as well as being seen as a Feminist Icon in literature. This post is meant to debunk these claims and misreading of the Abrahamic Myths.

Intro:

This really isn't a specific work of fiction, but rather, a general fictional trope I guess., Ever since the release of Hazbin Hotel, discussion has increased on Lilith being a sympathetic/feminist icon, and this is the most laughable idea to me as a guy who is currently studying Christian Mythology for a project. Today, I am going to debunk this claim of Lilith being sympathetic or any sort of feminist girlboss or even being anyway relevant to the Abrahamic Mythos. I'll try source all my arguments, so it doesn't look like I am talk out of my ass.

In The Bible:

Ah, the Bible. It is amazing how such a small book can cause so much violence, but we are not here for a religious debate (well not really). We are here to discuss Lilith. For context, I am going to be used the New Revised Standard Version (NRSV) & English Standard Version (ESV). This is because NSRV and ESV and considered the most popular when it comes to the Bible Versions.
Let's start with NRSV, and Lilith shows up...once? Hell, she doesn't even show up. She's just mentioned.

Isaiah 34:14: "Wildcats shall meet with hyenas, goat-demons shall call to each other; there too Lilith shall repose,"

You can read the full chapter here, but the full chapter really doesn't change much. From what I could gleam (admittedly I ain't a theologian so I could be missing stuff), the dude in this chapter is talking about God's Judgment and is more focused on the natural disasters that would happen. Lilith isn't even really that important. She seems to be at best a higher demon with some power, but this same chapter says an undead apocalypse will happen. She is a footnote at best.
Okay what about ESV? It is even worse there. She doesn't even show up.

Isaiah 34:14: "And wild animals shall meet with hyenas; the wild goat shall cry to his fellow; indeed, there the night bird settles and finds for herself a resting place" (Source)

Okay, but I am clearly cherry-picking though right? What about the other versions? Well, it get even more nebulous. In certain version, it isn't even Lilith but an unnamed night-demon (Source). In others, it isn't even a demon but just a creature of the night/ animals of the night (Source). Hell one of them there are no demons instead an unnamed ogress (Source).
You'd think that Lilith, being the first woman and rebelling against Big G himself, should get more than one very sketchy mention. I mean Eve the mother of humanity is mentioned between 2,000 -2,500 times (Source), Mary the mother of Jesus Motherfucking Christ himself gets around 40 times (Source), hell Queen Sheba, whose existence I only know because a sword in KCD is name after her, is mentioned nearly 70 times (Source)(obviously this varies on which version you take as some books are just removed but the point stands). You mean to tell me a fucking side character is mentioned more than literally Female Satan. Funnily enough, Satan is only mention like 30 times in the Bible (Source).
Okay, so already the foundations of Lilith are shaky, but what do the other Abrahamic Religions say?

In The Quran/The Tanakh (IMPORTANT):

The Quran. She never shows up. Weird since both Eve and Mary get mentioned.
Okay, but what about The Tanakh? (For those who don't know the Tanakh is the "Hebrew Bible". A lot of people say that's the Torah, but the Torah is just the compilation of the first five books of the Tanakh.) Well, yes.

Otzar Midrashim, The Aleph Bet of ben Sira, The Alphabet of ben Sira, (alternative version) 34 - He said to him, "The angels appointed for healing: Sanoy, Sansanoy, Semangalof. When the Holy Blessed One created the first Adam alone, They said, (Genesis 2:18) 'It is not good for this Adam to be alone.' They created for him a wife out of the Earth like he had been, and called her Lilith. Immediately they began to challenge each other. She said, 'I will not lie below,' and he said, 'I will not lie beneath you, but only on top. For you are fit only to be in the bottom position, while I am to be the superior one…

So case closed - STOP. I ain't done cooking yet. See, I got to apologize a bit to you reader. I kind of lied, but to understand how I lied. You got to understand the Jewish Faith first, specifically their holy texts.
Okay, all Holy Jewish Texts fall under Sifrei Kodesh (aka Holy Books). . Within the Siferi Kodesh, there are two main categories texts fall into Tankah and Rabbinic. The Tankah is The Hebrew Bible. It is the considered the canonical collection of Hebrew scriptures and is comprisied of the Torah, the Nevi'im, and the Ketuvim. (Source and Source). Meanwhile, the Rabbinic is Jewish Rabbis studying and interpreting the Tankah (Source, Source, Source). The Alphabet of Ben Sira is squarely in the Rabbinic.
Most of you have already seen a problem, but for those of who didn't, let me spell it out. When you are quoting this passage, you are not quoting from the Tankah. You are quoting a Rabbi's interpretation of the Tankah. This would be equivalent to me using My Immortal to critique Harry Potter (No offense to any Jewish Rabbis. This comparison is meant to be extreme).
Ah, but ain't done yet reader, I have saved the biggest bombshell for last.
The Alphabet of Ben Sira is a shitpost. It a satire. It isn't real.
The reasoning is several. This reddit comment sums it up. And This. Also This
From The Jewish Virtual Library:

There is no reason to doubt the unity of the work as a whole, despite the fragmentary character of the different versions. All the versions share a special, satirical, and even heretical, character, and this indicates that they all were written by a single hand. They seem to reflect varying degrees of censorship on the part of editors and copyists. The complete work contains four parts. The first part is the biography of Ben Sira from his conception until the age of one year. This story, omitted in many editions, explains how Jeremiah, the prophet, was simultaneously Ben Sira's father (the numerical value of Ben Sira's name equals that of Jeremiah), and grandfather. Ben Sira's mother was Jeremiah's daughter. The old prophet was forced to an act of onanism by wicked men, and his daughter conceived from his emissions when she came to bathe. The form of this story is based on a biblical verse that tells the glories and wonders of God's deeds; thus the story satirizes not only Jeremiah, but God's deeds as well.
The second part is more sophisticated in form. It tells how Ben Sira, now one year old, meets with his teacher, who tries to teach him the alphabet. Instead of repeating each letter of the alphabet after his teacher, Ben Sira responds with an epigram beginning with that letter. The epigrams lead the teacher to tell the story of his life. It may be assumed that the original structure of this part was 22 + 12 paragraphs, each containing a letter, an epigram, and a part of the story.
The third part is the longest and contains most of the narrative material in this work. It recounts the story of Ben Sira's life and adventures in the court of Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylonia. It also includes stories told by Ben Sira himself as answers to the king's questions. These stories often include pornographic elements, as well as derogatory descriptions of biblical figures, like King Solomon or Joshua. Some of the stories in this section contain motifs from international folklore and may be based on folktales, but they were adapted to the special framework of the work and satirical elements were added to them. Examination of the various versions indicates that here, too, there were 22 stories, arranged according to the letters of the alphabet, to which 12 other stories were added.
The fourth part, which is found in most versions and gave the work its name, contains 22 alphabetically arranged epigrams attributed to Ben Sira that serve as material for discussion and interpretation by Ben Sira's son, Uzziel, and his grandson, Joseph b. Uzziel. The contents are satirical and even heretical. It may be assumed that this part was constructed in the same manner as the two previous ones – 22 + 12 sections. The work, therefore, displays elements of unity both in structure and in its ideological aims. It is all but impossible, however, to discover the background upon which such a work could have been written. Some scholars (L. Ginzberg and others) believe that it aimed at ridiculing the story of Jesus' birth; but the basis for such a conclusion may be found only in the first part, and even this is not very clear, for the irony seems to be directed more against God than against Jesus. It is hardly possible that the author was a Karaite, as some of the abusive stories are directed against biblical figures, and not only against the Talmud and Midrash. It seems likely that the author did not belong to any organized group or definable ideological movement, but was merely a writer with an anarchistic tendency who used satire to ridicule all the institutions of established religion in his day.
Another difficult problem is the relationship between this pseudepigraphal work and the original proverbs of Ben Sira. Some of the proverbs and epigrams included in the work are originally in the work of Ben Sira, but many such proverbs are found in talmudic literature, and the author probably took them from there. The author of the pseudepigraphal work did not even know Ben Sira's first name. There is only one slight connection that might be accidental: the Wisdom of *Ben Sira has a preface written by the author's grandson, who edited the work, and in the pseudepigraphal work the figure of a grandson is also present.

Buh buh But thats just a reddit comment and some random websites. Whu Whu What are you gonna do OP? Analyze the entire text to prove its a shitpost.
Yes.
Mods turn the music on.

Analysis Of Alphabet of Sirach/The Alphabet Of Ben Sira:

The text we will be using.
We are going to skip most of it and just jump straight into the section with Lilith, but if you do chose to read it, have a good time. Shit is funny as hell. Let's start of with Lillith's Birth. Many like to potray Adam and Lilith's first interaction like this.
1, 2, 3
It is often either stated or implied Adam either tried to force Lilith into a s*x position she didn't want or that he he stated that she was inferior to him and she spit back. While this nicely fits into the "yas Queen SLAYYY" interpretation, its not the truth...mostly.
Here is the actual text:

When the Holy Blessed One created the first Adam alone, They said, (Genesis 2:18) 'It is not good for this Adam to be alone.' They created for him a wife out of the Earth like he had been, and called her Lilith. Immediately they began to challenge each other. She said, 'I will not lie below,' and he said, 'I will not lie beneath you, but only on top. For you are fit only to be in the bottom position, while I am to be the superior one.' Lilith responded, 'We are equal to each other inasmuch as we were both created from the Earth.' But they would not listen to one another. When Lilith saw this, she pronounced the Ineffable Name and flew away into the world's air.

So first, no she wasn't going to be sexually assaulted. Secondly, it was just a couple arguing with each other. Yes, Adam shouldn't have said that about Lilith, but we shouldn't take a statement said by an angry man as gospel for the religion. Plus, how on earth is blaspheming your Father and then running away from an argument an appropriate reaction to the situation? God didn't do anything wrong. Why you picking a fight with him? We will discuss this more, but lets continue.

The Holy Blessed One said to Adam, 'If she agrees to come back, good. If not, she must permit one hundred of her children to die every day.' They departed and pursued her, and overtook her in the midst of the sea, in the mighty waters wherein the Egyptians would ultimately drown. They told her God's word, but she did not wish to return. The angels said, 'We shall drown you in the sea.' She said to them, 'Let me be. I was created only to cause illness to infants. I have dominion over them for eight days after birth if they are male, and if female, after birth for twenty days.' When the angels heard Lilith's words, they insisted on taking her. But she swore to them by the name of the living and eternal God, 'Whenever I see you or your names or your forms in an amulet, I will have no power over that infant.' She also agreed to have one hundred of her children die every day.

There is much to go over here. First, WHERE ARE THE HUNDRED CHILDREN COMING FROM! These are the first man and woman. THERE ARE NO CHILDREN. Who is he talking about? And don't give me that bullshit that he mad a mistake. HE IS GOD. IN THE TORAH, HE IS OMNISCIENT. This makes no sense.
"I was created only to cause illness to infants. I have dominion over them for eight days after birth if they are male, and if female, after birth for twenty days." I am sorry fucking what? Who said that? God? No. Adam? No. The Angels? Definitely not. No one told Lilith she had to cause illness. She is just being a toxic bitch and offloading her problems. What the fuck?
Finally, "She also agreed to have one hundred of her children die every day." At this point, who has sympathy for Lilith? Lets objectively look at Adam's sin. Yes, he was sexist. Yes, that was wrong. Can't Lilith convince him to change? We know it is possible for a woman to convince Adam because EVE CONVINCED HIM TO EAT THE APPLE. So, clearly the man can develop his thoughts. Instead, Lilith just runs away from her problem, knowing that a hundred innocent children (HER CHILDREN BY THE WAY- hang on does that mean she fucked Adam and Eve's Sons. Isn't she like their aunt? I am pretty sure that's still incest) will die. Yes, God is partly to blame as well, but if I had to choose between a Misandrist Wife or dead innocents, I will go with the Misandrist Wife. Nothing shows Adam as violent just a dick, and she clearly has access to powers he doesn't cuz he can't fly.

Accordingly, every day one hundred demons perish, and for the same reason, we write their names on the amulets of young children, and she sees them, she remembers her oath, and the child is healed

I guess that's nice? But does she even really heal them? She just takes away an illness she caused. This is like saying I put out the fire, but I am the arsonist who started it. There wouldn't be a problem if I didn't create one. And that's how the story ends. Seriously.
There is more, but it doesn't really matter. Ben Sira cures a girl of farting everywhere, talks about hair follicles, slanders David, explains why Donkey Urine is important, and ends with a raven cucking an eagle. Its pretty funny.

In Conclusion:

So, TL;DR: Lilith's entire existence is based on a shitpost. In said shitpost, she isn't even that great of a person and isn't even a feminist.
So yeah, that's all I got. There is more to this Rabbit Hole if you are willing to go down, but that is the gist of it. I don't see how a woman who runs away from responsibilities, blames others for her failures, and would rather kill babies than do something hard is a feminist icon, but here we are. I don't really know how to end this. Uh, were you entertained?
Addendum: If you are of the Christian, Muslim, or Jewish Faith please comment below and clear up any misconceptions I wrote in this post. I will try to edit it to make it better. Feminists please try to be respectful in the comments. Sup Mods. Uh yeah, cool.

Addendum #2 - Mesopotamian Lilith:

Some people have been saying that I should analyze Lilith from Mesopotamian Origins as this would give her a more sympathetic view. Very well. There are three main sources: Tablet XII of the Epic of Gilgamesh, a Burney Relief, Arslan Tash amulets
Tablet XII of the Epic of Gilgamesh (Text we'll use): Lilith, a snake, and a bird steal a tree from a goddess and squat in it. Gilgamesh comes around kills the snake. The Bird flees. Lilith chimps out, destroys her home, and runs. Tbf, this is Gilgamesh, so I guess Lillith W?

The dyer (?) had not dyed his leather with it (?)
At its root the serpent, 'that knew not silence (?)' had made its nest
At its top the storm-bird (Zû) had put his young
In its midst Lilith had built a house
The shrieking maid the joyful
The bright Queen of Heaven tears for them (?) wept
His lady said a word to him
'Warrior Gilgamesh, its .... will thee'
The ibbaru garment that was of 50 minas from his loins he removed
What was 50 minas 30 ... . he made
His (?) brazen axe a road (?) his ....
1 talent 50 minas his in his hand he seized
At its root the serpent ' that knew not silence (?) ' he slew
At its top the storm-bird (Zû)
took his young (and) went away to the mountain
In its midst Lilith destroys (her) house

Burney Relief (Source): Yeah no

Even so, the possibility that the Queen of the Night plaque, with its high degree of skill in craftsmanship and attention to detail would be a representation of a lilitu is highly unlikely. According to the Hebrew tradition, Lilith was the first woman made by God who refused to submit to Adam's sexual demands and flew away, thus rebelling against God and his plans for human beings. She was thought to have then occupied the wastelands and, like the lilitu, to have preyed on unsuspecting men ever since. In either tradition, the lilitu was not a popular enough figure to have been portrayed on a plaque such as the Queen of the Night. Dr. Black notes, “Evil gods and demons are only very rarely depicted in art, perhaps because it was thought that their images might endanger people” (62). The mountain range depicted at the bottom of the relief is also thought to suggest lilitu identification in representing the wilderness the spirit inhabits but the headdress, the necklace, the rod-and-ring symbols and the significance of the plaque all go to argue against Lilith as a possibility.

Arslan Tash amulet (Source):

Whispering-incantation against the Flying-one, the oath of Sasam, son of Pidrišiša, god, and against the Strangler of the lamb: “The house I enter, you shall not enter And the court I tread, you shall not tread!He has made an eternal contract with us. Assur made a pact with us, all the sons of El,, and the great council of all the holy ones,With the oath of heaven and earth With the oath of Baal, lord of the earth With the oath of Horon, whose utterance is true,His seven concubines and the eight wives of Baal Qudš”[Written around and between the images] Oh Flying one, from the dark room pass away!Now! Now, night demons! [Written on the Sphinx figure] From my house, O crushers, go away! [Written on the wolf-like figure] Oh Sasam, let it not be opened for him And let him not come down to the door-posts The sun is rising for Sasam. Disappear, and fly away home.[Written on the axe-wielding figure](modified from Cross and Saley 1970 and Berlejung 2010).

So where the fuck is Lilith? Well the text in its original language features lly- which if you add a "t" could be llyt [Lilith], but it also can be ll wyn which means "night and day." So, yeah not exactly a Lilith W. And that's it. I don't know how this makes her sympathetic, but to each their own.

Addendum #3 - Lilith R*ped Adam?

u/howhow326 said that there was a tale about Lilith raping Adam and being thrown out of Eden. This intrigued me to search for it, but unfortunately, I can't find a source for this anywhere. The closest I get is this Blogpost, but this seems to be more of a hypothetical than anything. Frankly, I don't think this should be part of the debate.
Edit 1: Originally, there was a line that said : "Hell fucking Jesus gets mentioned the prophet of the ENEMY, but not Lilith." I have since been informed that this is a gross misrepresentation of the Muslim Faith, and it has been removed.
Edit 2: Spelling and Formatting Errors Corrected
Edit 3: Mesopotamian Lilith added. Lilith's Rape Accusations.

Acharya shankar not only he was great yogi and gyani but also a very great and ardent devotee of maa Stotram written by him are full of advaita and Annanya bhakti 🙏🌸🪷
Na mantram no yantram tadapi cha na jane stutimaho Na chavhanam dhyanam tadapi cha na jane stutikathah I Na Jane mudraste tadapi cha na jane vilapanam Param jane matastvadanusaranam kleshaharanam II 1 II
O Mother ! Neither I know any incantation nor I have any mystical talisman. Why ? I don’t know any hymn either. I have no idea how to invoke you or how to meditate on you. Neither I know your story nor your glory, nor I know your various postures nor I am given to weeping in distress. But one thing I know for certain that seeking shelter under your protection, and following your order, is definitely going to end all afflictions.
Vidheragyanen dravinavirhenalasataya Vidheyashakyatvattva charanyorya chyutirbhut I Tadetat kshantavyam janani sakaloddharini shive Kuputro jayet kwachidapi kumata na bhavti II 2 II
O Loving Mother, ensuring redemption to all afflicted, I know not how to worship. Neither have I resources nor temperament-for I am callous by nature-nor the special knowledge to conduct thy worship. But in rendering service unto you if I have committed any lapses or mistake-forgive me Mother ! For there could be a bad son but never a bad mother !
Prithivyam putraste janani vahavaha santi saralah Param tesham madhye viralataraloaham tava sutah I Madi yoayam tyagah samuchitamidam no taya Shive Kuputro kwachidapi kumata na bhavati II 3 II
O Mother ! This earth is full of your many a simple hearted and even minded sons but among them I am the most fickle and of unsteady mind. Rarely there may be one like me. But still, O Shive ! Your casting me away is not proper for in this world-there could be a bad son but never a bad mother !

2.8. Saṅkhāra:

Saṅkhāra (Theravada glossary):
Formation, compound, fashioning, fabrication - the forces and factors that fashion things (physical or mental), the process of fashioning, and the fashioned things that result. Sankhara can refer to anything formed or fashioned by conditions, or, more specifically, (as one of the five khandhas) thought formations within the mind.

• Saṅkhāra: sight, sound, smell, taste, touch and mental activities
• Saṅkhāra is construct. Construct is activity.
• Sight is a construct. Sight occurs as an activity composed of looking, seeing, light/image incoming, brain and mind functioning, etc.
• Sound is a construct. Sound occurs as an activity composed of listening, hearing, sound waves incoming, brain and mind functioning, etc.
• Smell...
• Taste...
• Touch...
• Thought is a construct. Thought occurs as an acivity composed of recalling memory, composing ideas, brain and mind functioning, etc.

Paramattha & Saṅkhāra

Existence is made of paramattha (reality, real things) and saṅkhāra (activity).
Four Paramatthas are Citta, cetasika, rūpa, Nibbāna.
Saṅkhāra is either natural or intentional.

The Four Noble Truths

The Catusacca (the Four Truths or Facts) are Ariya-Sacca (the Noble Truth, the Ultimate Truth). These four truths are the true nature (sbhāva) of paramattha and saṅkhāra.
The Catusacca Daḷhī Kamma Kathā composed by the Elder Revata (2491 Sāsanā Era) is a must-read:

The Buddha had to acquire the ten perfection (pāramis) over four asankheyyas and a hundred thousand kappas; a paccekabuddha, over two asankheyyas and a hundred thousand kappas; a Chief Disciple or Mahāsāvaka, over one asankheyyas and a hundred thousand kappas. To what end? To attain to the Four Noble Truths. Why? Because it is only knowledge of the Four Noble Truths that leads to the realization of Nibbana, which makes one secure against the hazards of repeated (birth), ageing, disease and death and the natural tendency of all worldlings to fall into the four miserable states (apāya). One should therefore follow the example of those Noble Ones who have entered Nibbana and strive for the knowledge of the Truth.

Two truths:

1. The paramattha-sacca (the ultimate truth, or reality that really exists in nature);
2. The samuti-sacca (the conventional truth, or the conventions and beliefs that really exist among us);

Sacca : truth; Truth also means a statement or speech is truthful or of a noble person.

TATHĀGATĀ
the Buddha uses to address himself. He is “thus come” (tathā āgata) in the sense that he is neither an emissary of any divine being (God, etc) nor prophets, but arises as the most highly evolved being amongst us as the natural process of spiritual evolution and awakening. He is “thus gone” (tathā gata) in the sense that, just like the truth he proclaims, he dies, thus authenticating the reality that he and we commonly are. (Sacca) Tathāgatā Sutta (Piya Tan)

Nāma and Rūpa

There are five aggregates of clinging.

• Nāma is the collective term for saṅkhata dhamma: citta (viññāṇa) and cetāsika (vedanā, saññā, saṅkhāra). Thus, nāma is the four mental componets (vedanā, saññā, saṅkhāra and viññāṇa). Citta is also known as mano and viññāṇa. Citta (mind) and cetasika (mental factors) rise and fall together.
• Rūpa is the four mahābhūta (solid, liquid, gas and heat) and space. Space is the gaps between the particles (mahābhūta). Thus, rūpa is the corporeal body. Rūpa is often translated as form; i.e. the biological body.
• A being is a nāma-rūpa complex or a metaphysical being.

Saṅkhāra as the three built environments:

• Satta-loka is lifeforms and their systems/activities—Avijja-paccaya sankhara (delusion conditions/supports constructs/activities).
• Okāsa-loka is large objects like plants, rivers, mountains, seas, oceans, rocks, galaxies, stars, planets, moons, etc. and their systems/activities. Okāsa-loka houses lifeforms.
• Saṅkhāra-loka is the particals (mahābhūta) and their systems/activities. Saṅkhāra-loka is of particle physics and chemistry existing inside and outside the biological beings (Satta-loka).
• The Satta-loka is made of the five aggregates. Okāsa-loka and Saṅkhāra-loka are made of matters (rūpa or mahābhūta).
• Everything in the three worlds (Satta-loka, Okāsa-loka, Saṅkhāra-loka) is saṅkhāra or a form of sight, sound, smell, taste, touch or thought.
• See Sabba Sutta (The All are these six senses only, no more.)
• Nibbāna is thus the other shore, relief from the burden of the natural activities (birth, aging, death) and intention (kamma saṅkhāra). Nibbāna is thus relief from the nāma-rūpa complex (the natural and intentional activities).

2.8.1. Three types of saṅkhāra:

• Mano-saṅkhāra (mental construct/formation/activity)
• Vaci-saṅkhāra (verbal...): words, comversation, cry, etc.;
• Kāya-saṅkhāra (bodily...): physical action and reaction (all physical activities, which are not vaci);
• These saṅkhāra can be natural or intentional.
• Kamma saṅkhāra (intentional activities) are led by the mind (viññāṇa and mano-saṅkhāra).

Kamma Saṅkhāra (Intentional Activity)

• Intention is kamma (mano-kamma).
• A mental activity with intention is mano-kamma.
• A verbal activity with intention is vaci-kamma.
• A bodily activity with intention is kaya-kamma.
• Intention forms in the mind, so it is a mano-saṅkhāra (mental construct).
• Intention is based on wholesome and unwholesome cetasika (mental factors)

In Samyutta Nikaya Sutta 12.25 the Buddha said “With ignorance as condition, either by oneself, Ananda, one wills bodily intentions (kāya Saṅkhāra), following which arises internally pleasure and pain; or, because of others one wills bodily intentions, following which arises internally, pleasure and pain.” [CONDITIONED ARISING OF SUFFERING (Ven. Dhammavuddho Mahāthera)]

• 'Bodily intention' (kaya-saṅkhāra): intention to act bodily;
  • Kāya: body, bodily;
  • Intention: mano-saṅkhāra
• Mental pain and pleasure; as intention is inside the mind, pleasure and pain are internal (inside the mind).

One casts three types of saṅkhāra (construct/activity) all day long.

• Kamma is volition, intentional action, which can be subtle or gross.
• The Buddha said, "Kamma is intention."

Saṅkhāra Examples:

Avijjā-paccaya saṅkhāra (ignorance conditions/supports construct/activity):

• Beauty is saṅkhāra (natural and with intent). Beauty exists because it is supported by other saṅkhāra-s, including but not limited to fashion, makecup, good health, young age, exercise, nutrition, perception, culture, cleanliness, and genetic conditions. Being propped up by various suitable supports, beauty exists. When suitable things come together, they create beauty. When these supports are affected, beauty is affected.

2.8.2. Cetasikas (Mental Factors):

Cetasika is a paramattha. It exists as it is.
A being is made of rūpa (solid, liquid, gas and heat), citta (viññāṇa) and cetāsika (vedanā, saññā, saṅkhāra). However, one does not need akusala-cetasika (avijjā). By removing akusala-cetasika (avijjā), one attains kusala-cetasika (vijjā) and the binding (saṅkhāra) is unbinded.

• saṅkhārakkhandha (m.) the aggregate of mental coefficients

Sankharakkhandha (the fifty cetasikas which are not vedana or sanna) is real; it can be experienced. When there are beautiful mental factors (sobhana cetasikas) such as generosity and compassion, or when there are unwholesome mental factors such as anger and stinginess, we can experience sankharakkhandha. All these phenomena arise and fall away: sankharakkhandha is impermanent. [Nina Van Gorkom. Chapter 2 - The five khandas]

• Cetasika are vedanā, saññā and saṅkhāra (feeling, memory/perception, and construct/activity)
• 14 kusala cetasika (wholesome) and 14 akusala cetasikas (unwholesome mental factors) associate with saṅkhāra and Kamma Saṅkhāra.
• Viññāṇa (consciousness) is citta, one of the four paramatthas. Citta and cetasika occur together and stated as Aññamañña paccayo (explained below);

Aññamañña Paccayo (PAṬṬHĀNA)

Aññamañña paccayo: Paccaya RECIPROCATES WITH paccayuppanna
paccayuppanna : (adj.) arisen from a cause.
paccaya : (m.) cause; votive; requisite; means; support.

• Citta and cetasika (saṅkhāra and vedana/ayatana) arise together or mutually supportive. Details can be read in Pa-Auk Sayadaw's Sampayutta Dhammayatana.
  • Ayatana: sense
  • Vedanā: feeling
  • saṅkhāra: construct
  • Avijjā-paccaya saṅkhāra
• No matter how one is well-behaved, these Anusaya Kilesās will not die out. Either kusala or akusala cetasika (wholesome or unwholesome mental factors) will arise when consciousness (citta) comes in contact with a convenience. Our problems are the unwholesome mental factors.

[Ledi Sayadaw] Lokuttara, or supramundane consciousness, is the noble mind (ariya-citta) which has become free from the threefold desire, and has transcended the three planes, kāma, rūpa, and arūpa. It is of two kinds, thus: noble consciousness in the path (of stream-entry, etc.) and noble consciousness in the fruition (of stream-entry, etc.). [Ledi Sayādaw Mahāthera. The Manual of Insight Vipassanā Dīpanī; The Wheel Publication No: 031/032]

• By means of practicing vipassanā, one can separate citta from akusala cetasika. When akusala cetasika are eradicated from the mind, ariya-citta arises.
• Anupàdisesa-Nibbànadhàtu is the final cessation of the five aggregates of clinging (Upādānakkhandha).
• Nibbànadhàtu: Santisukha (the ultimate-peace element); Nibbàna is an element (paramattha).

Akusala Cetasikas (unwholesome mental factors)

Abhidhamma (Ashin Janakabhivamsa)

• Factor 1 - Moha (delusion)
• Factor 2 - Ahirika (moral shamelessness)
• Factor 3 - Anottappa (moral fearlessness)
• Factor 4 - Uddhacca (distraction, restlessness, wavering)
• Factor 5 - Lobha (greed)
• Factor 6 - Ditthi (wrong view)
• Factor 7 - Mana (conceit)
• Factor 8 - Dosa (hatred)

Factor 9 - Issa (envy)
Factor 10 - Macchariya (jealousy, selfishness)
Factor 11 - Kukkucca (remorse)

• Factor 12-13 - Thina and middha (sloth and torpor)
• Factor 14 - Vicikiccha (doubt, scepticism)

Among the akusala cetasikas are the ten kilesā (akusala cetasika) shown with bullet points.

Hetu paccayo

Lobha, dosa, and moha are called akusala hetus and alobha, adosa, and amoha are called kusala hetus. These latter 3 hetus if they arise with abyakata dhamma they are called abyakata hetus. Lobha is also known as tanha, upadana, samudaya and so on. Moha is sometimes called avijja. Alobha is sometimes refered to dana or offering but it is non attachment. Adosa is metta or loving kindness. Amoha is pannindriya cetasika and simply called panna and is sometimes called vijja. Htoo Naing. Patthana Dhamma: Chapter 5 - Hetu paccayo (or root condition). Htoo Naing. Patthana Dhamma (a different book): Hetu paccayo (page 15)

Kilesā occur in three levels:

1/ anusaya-kilesa: low level, latent, like sediments waiting to be stirred up. 2/ pariyuttana-kilesa: medium level arising only in the mind due to causes and conditions. 3/ vitikkakama-kilesa: coarse level, manifesting in unwolesome speech or action, breaking precepts. [Defilements (kilesā) (Thanh Huynh - Honolulu Dhamma Community)]

Anusaya Kilesas (latent tendency):

If you don’t remove or destroy [latent tendency or defilements (anusaya kilesā)] with Path Knowledge, the khandhas and samudaya (i.e., taṇhā) are always sticking together. [Buddhavada (Mogok Sayadaw); also see 4.2. ANUSAYA]

• Cetasikas are embeded in the formation of a being, including the arupa-brahmas.
• When something convenient (sight, sound, smell, taste, touch, or thought) is present to consciousness (Viññāṇa), anusaya kilesā (the latent tendency) grows like seeds.
• At the contact with the convenience, Viññāṇa and the cetasika co-arise simultaneously according to Aññamañña paccayo (Mutuality or Reciprocity Condition)
  • To think, one must be conscious; and to continue thinking, one must be conscious.
  • To see a sight, one must be conscious...
  • To smell a smell...

Comparing with Mahayanist concepts:

• Anusaya kilesās are not based on discrimination and erroneous reasoning (Lanka)
• Anusaya kilesās are not in the Ālaya-vijñāna (the Universal Mind, storehouse consciousness), nor are related to the buddha-nature (Buddha-dhàtu, Buddha-svabhāva). The Mahayanist Ālaya-vijñāna and Buddha-svabhāva are neither citta nor cetasika known to the Vibhajjavadis.

2.8.3. The Role of Saññā

Saññā is a type of cetasika. Other cetasika are vedanā and saṅkhāra. Cetasika is a reality (paramattha).
Saññā is memory (events) and perception (a form of mano-saṅkhārā). However, saññā and saṅkhārā must be different. Saññā must not be saṅkhārā (construct). Saññā must be a raw material. Although saññā and saṅkhārā are similar, saññā must not be saṅkhārā or a product of saṅkhārā.
Saññā as the past events is memory. Events are not imagined. Events occur at the present are reality (not memory).
Saññā can exist as the future events or future memory, like a plan. If a plan is possible to be carried out, then some future events are predictable. In that sense, some future events are knowable.
A Buddha can analyse an individual's mentality and potentials. Based on that knowledge, a Buddha can know and prophesies some major events about an individual or the world. However, a Buddha cannot know the potentials of all the individuals with weak mind (Iddhipāda) and faculties (indriya) who travel randomly any direction into the dark.
This is what the Buddha said about those going into the dark:

The chance for a being in a hell to be reborn as a human is less than that of a blind turtle, surfacing once a century, to happen to put its head through a ring moved by the winds across the surface of the sea. Even if a human rebirth is attained, the person will be poor, ugly and ill, and will tend to do evil actions which will send him or her back to hell (M. iii.169; Bca. iv.20)

PETER HARVEY. AN INTRODUCTION TO BUDDHIST ETHICS: Foundations, Values and Issues. Page 30 University of Sunderland
The Buddha advised the monks to go into the relief from the burden of nāma and rūpa:

“Monks, that’s how rare it is to get reborn as a human being. That’s how rare it is for a fully enlightened Buddha to be born into the world. That’s how rare it is for the Dhamma and training taught by a Buddha to shine in the world. Now, monks, you have been reborn as a human being. A fully enlightened Buddha has been born into the world. The Dhamma and training taught by a Buddha shine in the world.

Iddhipāda

iddhiyā pādo iddhipādo, i.e., root or basis of attaining completion or perfection (success or potency). [79] [The Venerable Ledi Sayādaw. The Requisites of Enlightenment (Bodhipakkhiya Dīpanī), Buddhist Publication Society, Kandy • Sri Lanka, The Wheel Publicaton No. 171/172/173/174.]
4. Iddhipāda Sutta.-The path mentioned above should be practised, accompanied by concentration and effort, compounded with desire, energy, idea and investigation. S.iv.365.

Indriya

1. Faculty of faith (saddh’- indriya) [Nyanatiloka Mahāthera. Guide through the Abhidhamma Piþaka, Page 18]

Avijjā-paccaya saṅkhāra; Saṅkhāra-paccāya vinnānam;

• Avijjā and saññā condition the saṅkhārā. Avijjā is a type of kilesā cetasika (mental defilement). Avijjā exists in two forms: Delusion or the lack of right view; Heedlessness or the lack of mindfulness. Both forms of avijjā are always present in saññā (i.e. wrong view).

Saṅkhāra is construct and construction.

Mano-saṅkhāra can also be understood as percept.

• percept. noun. : an impression of an object obtained by use of the senses : SENSE-DATUM (Merriam-Webster)
• Percept: a mental concept that is developed as a consequence of the process of perception [Google/Oxford Languages].
• [percept:] Perception usually combines several sensations into one thought or percept. The percept, of course, is a mental state corresponding with its outside object. A Percept is the product of Perception, or in other words, our idea gained through Perception

Saññā and Vipassanā

Saññā can be understood as sense-datum, outside object, perception, and memory.

The sense-datum is an object immediately present in experience. It has the qualities it appears to have.
A controversial issue is whether sense-data have real, concrete existence. Depending upon the version of the sense-data theory adopted, sense-data may or may not be identical with aspects of external physical objects; they may or may not be entities that exist privately in the subject’s mind. Usually, however, sense-data are interpreted to be distinct from the external physical objects we perceive. The leading view, in so far as the notion is appealed to in current philosophy, is that an awareness of (or acquaintance with) sense-data somehow mediates the subject’s perception of mind-independent physical objects. The sense-datum is the bearer of the phenomenal qualities that the subject is immediately aware of. [Sense-Data (Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy)]

Lifeforms (nama-rūpa complexes) and the law of life (Paticcasamuppada) have existed in the past infinity. Saññā as memory can be recalled or accessed by anyone. Some arahants can recall the past 500 lives. Some arahants recalled several eons of the past Earths. A Buddha can recall with no limit in a very short moment. The Sakyamuni Buddha said, even if He spent His entire lifetime, He would not reach the beginning (of existence), which is considered non-existent.
Inthe Western thought, the natural memory can be improved by training [Javier Vergara / Procedia (Page 3513) - Social and Behavioral Sciences 46 ( 2012 ) 3512 – 3518)]. In the Theravada teaching, a liberated mind (which attained arahantta phala) can recall at least the past 500 lives.
Saṅkhāra and saññā belong to cetasika, which is a paramattha (reality). However, they are impermanent. That begs a question: How can the impermanent saṅkhāra and saññā be accessed? They are impermanent in theory, as they will be forgotten. The physical destruction of the memory of the past events might not happen.
As though written down into books, the memories (including sense-data) seem not to have disappeared. The fact is each of us can recall the memory, which stays with us for a lifetime. We are forgetful and cannot recall our memories whever we want to; however, they are present, and our minds revisit them sometimes. Our inability to explain how memories exist should not prevent us from admitting the fact that memories exist and can be recalled. These noble ariyas can know others' minds and access the past memories and forsee the future events.
Avijja-paccaya sankhara (ignorance conditions/supports a construct; e.g. sakkāyadiṭṭhi).

• Avijjā (ignorance) is saññā (as memory, misperception or wrong view).
• Saṅkhāra (as activity) is misunderstanding/misperceiving nama-rūpa complex as an I-being, I am, he is, she is, it is, they are... Misperceiving the nama-rūpa complexes as individuals or as beings (I-beings).
• Saññā and saṅkhāra are always together as one's problems.
• Saṅkhāra-paccāya vinnānam: when saṅkhāra (e.g. idea) is present, consciousness arises. One begins to know the construct. Saññā-Saṅkhāra are the subject to know (be conscious about).
• Saṅkhāra-paccāya vinnānam: Saṅkhāra bridges between saññā and viññāṇa—perceiving is made of saññā, saṅkhāra and viññāṇa.
• Sabbe saṅkhāra anicca—all constructs are impermanence;
• Construction: Saṅkhāra as activity (intentional or unintentional):
  • sankhara-paccaya vinnanam (Dependent on reaction (conditioning), consciousness arises);
  • Mano-saṅkhāra (Citta-Saṅkhāra), vaci-saṅkhāra, kaya-saṅkhāra—mental, verbal and bodily construct/activity which a being performs intentionally or unintentionally;
  • Cetana is also intention (volition).

Saññā (memory) is like the soil and fertilizer. Sight, sound, smell, taste, touch, or thought acts like a signal (reminder).

• In vipassanā, one puts effort to block the reminder reaching the memory (saññā)—like a responsible person kills the fire before it reaches the gunpowder. Once a sense reminder (ayatana) reaches saññā, they give birth to kamma sankhāras. The sense reminder (ayatana) is too fast for the untrained minds to block. So one does not block it but avoid it. One must develop the mind to have this avoiding ability and skill through a gradual training which comprises the indriya-samvara-sila and vipassanā. Basically, it means to prevent mano-saṅkhāra (thought) because it leads vaci-saṅkhāra and kaya-saṅkhāra.
• As the kilesā are not fed or fertilised, they will become weak and suitable for jhāna development; however, they will remain as Anusaya Kilesās. Only the vipassanā-ñana can totally eradicate Anusaya Kilesās.

Indriya-samvara-sila and Vipassanā

"In seeing there is merely seeing. In hearing there is merely hearing. In sensing there is merely sensing. In cognizing there is merely cognizing. In this way you should train yourself. "Bāhiya, when there is only seeing in seeing, hearing in hearing, sensing in sensing, cognizing in cognizing, then you will not be 'with that.' When you are not 'with that,' you will not be 'in that.' When you are not 'in that,' you will be neither here nor beyond nor in between the two. Just this is the end of suffering." [The Bāhiya Sutta (Douglas C. B. Kraft)]

Four Types of Capacity for Path Attainment

It is stated in the Puggalapaññatti (the “Book of Classification of Individuals,” (p. 160) and in the Aṅguttara Nikāya (AN 4:133) that, of the beings who encounter the Sāsana, i.e., the Teaching of the Buddha, four classes can be distinguished, viz.:
A padaparama is an individual who [...] cannot obtain release from worldly ills during this lifetime. If he dies while practising samatha (tranquillity) or vipassanā (insight) and attains rebirth either as a human being or a deva in his next existence, he can attain release from worldly ills in that existence within the present Buddha Sāsana.
niyata : one who has obtained a sure prediction made by a Buddha.
aniyata : one who has not obtained a sure prediction made by a Buddha.
aniyata neyya individuals can attain release from worldly ills in this life only if they put forth sufficient effort [...] within the present Buddha Sāsana.

(The Venerable Ledi Sayādaw. The Requisites of Enlightenment (Bodhipakkhiya Dīpanī))

2.8.4. Our concern:

Our concerns are our own mental, verbal and bodily activities:
Due to delusion (avijjā), we do not know where we have been and what we should do during this lifetime. The purpose of life in general is to practice selfishness to ultimate level.
One builds a life only to lose it to the death. Nobody can reclaim his/her previous life, properties, wealth and works. Rebirth in dugati-loka does not allow rebuilding life. One must get another opportunity in sugati-loka.
Due to clinging (upādāna) to self, one cannot separate from the new life, which is now. One always clings to the new life because of sakkāyadiṭṭhi (sakkāya-diṭṭhi). The past life is like yesterday.

• Sakkāyadiṭṭhi: clinging to nāma-rūpa as I am—i.e. this body is me, mine; the major wrong view (mano-saṅkhāra)
  • Nāma: the four mental khandas (vedanā, saññā, saṅkhāra and viññāṇa).
  • Rūpa: the corporeal body or the four mahābhūta.

Remember the following:

• Sakkāyadiṭṭhi is ego, egocentric and a very heavy burden to carry and climb uphill.
• Sakkāyadiṭṭhi extends beyond one's five aggregates.
• Sakkāyadiṭṭhi extends to others' five aggregates as well. So we can hear people say, this is mine, and that is also mine.
• Sakkāyadiṭṭhi only helps one to fall downhill.
• A chance of getting relief from this burden is rare.
• A chance to know true dana, sila, bhavanā is very rare.
• One day this body will be thrown away or buried somewhere; and that body, too.
• Truth is painful as long as one is clinging to the five aggregates.
• Thus, our true concerns are our own mental, verbal and bodily activities.

The Buddha warns us to reflect the following:

"The five facts that one should reflect on often, whether one is a woman or a man, lay or ordained..."
'I am subject to aging, have not gone beyond aging.'
'I am subject to illness, have not gone beyond illness.'
'I am subject to death, have not gone beyond death.'
'I will grow different, separate from all that is dear and appealing to me.'
'I am the owner of my actions,[1] heir to my actions, born of my actions, related through my actions, and have my actions as my arbitrator. Whatever I do, for good or for evil, to that will I fall heir.'

[Upajjhatthana Sutta— AN 5.57 (Thanissaro Bhikkhu)]

Upādāna (clinging) manifests as mano-saṅkhāra (mental activity/construct):

We cling to live body and dead body. We have seen enough pain in society in good time and bad time.
Upādānakkhandha：[m．] the factors of clinging to existence．
The five upādānakkhandha: rūpakkhandha, vedanākkhandha, saññākkhandha, saṅkhārakkhandha, viññāṇakkhandha

We take the body for self; thus we cling to rupakkhandha. We take mentality for self; thus we cling to vedanakkhandha, to sannakkhandha, to sankharakkhandha and to vinnanakkhandha. If we cling to the khandhas and if we do not see them as they are, we will have sorrow.

Saṅkhārakkhandha (m.) the aggregate of mental coefficients

• Saṅkhāra among the five aggregates is mano-saṅkhāra. Saṅkhārakkhandha is also designated as upādānakkhandha as there is clinging.
• The upādānakkhandha rises from sakkāyadiṭṭhi (clinging to self and the five aggregates).
• Most beings cling to all these five. Some cling to either rūpa or nāma and are reborn in the arūpa-brahma worlds.
• Will is the intention to get a desired object. To will means to get something one desires. One wills, and as one is willing, one acts. In this process, will and dukkha (suffering) rise together spontaneously.

In Samyutta Nikaya Sutta 12.25 the Buddha said “With ignorance as condition, either by oneself, Ananda, one wills bodily intentions (kāya Saṅkhāra), following which arises internally pleasure and pain; or, because of others one wills bodily intentions, following which arises internally, pleasure and pain.” [CONDITIONED ARISING OF SUFFERING (Ven. Dhammavuddho Mahāthera)]

• 'Bodily intention' (kaya-saṅkhāra): intention to act bodily;
• Kāya: body, bodily;
• Intention: mano-saṅkhāra
• Mental pain and pleasure; as intention is inside the mind, pleasure and pain are internal (inside the mind).

Anusaya Kilesas: Bhava-Taṇhă to Bhava-Saṅkhāra

Three types of taṇhă: kama-taṇhă, bhava-taṇhă, vibhava-taṇhă.

'Wherever in the world, there are delightful and pleasurable things, there this taṇhă (craving) arises and takes root.' [...] By 'taking root' is meant that, failing to contemplate on the impermanent nature of pleasurable things, craving for them lies dormant, taking root to arise when favourable circumstances permit. This latent craving, lying dormant in sense-objects which escape being contemplated on, is known as ărammananusaya. [U Ko Lay. Discose on the Wheel of Dhamma - Part 5: Maha Satipatthăna Sutta. SukhiHotu Dhamma Publication,1998)]

The Effect of Anusaya Kilesās: Kāmataṇhā and Kāma-loka:

After the destruction of a world of beings, either by a cosmic fire, flood or storm, only darkness remains in space, completely empty and void.
After forever and an aeon, and after cosmic condensation and precipitation, at the same place another human world will be reborn as a body of liquid just like the previous ones. This water body, as big as a planet, will gradually become suitable to support life.
Some of the Brahmas, who have lived their lifespans, will be reborn as humans in that new human world. The first-ever generation of humans are sky-dwellers, with brahma-like body, brahma-like rays, brahma-like lifespan and brahma-like lifestyle. Their auras can shine like the moon and the sun.
Gradually, after passing forever and an aeon, the water mass will condense into physical nutrition. Seeing that beautiful physical food and breathing its nice smell for forever and an aeon, these beings will eventually lose control due to their anusaya kilesa stirring and rising in their minds.
One of them will taste it, eat it and persuade others to do the same—that is how eating is the first religion and politics.

1. ... It was endowed with colour, smell and taste. It was the colour of fine ghee or butter, and it was very sweet, like pure wild honey. [Aggañña Sutta (DN27 On Knowledge of Beginnings) (Pali Canon Online)]

All things must come to an end one day. This is the impermanent nature of everything, anicca. So also the world [...] During the destruction of the world, all living beings become Brahmas and dwell in Brahma which is not affected by [the destruction.] [Ashin Janakabhivamsa. Part 2 - How The World Came To An End.]

Part 1: Childhood Part 2: Oregon Part 3: Puerto Rico Part 4: Global Part 5: Iran Part 7: Retirement

Part 6: Elsewhere

The glass vial was unharmed, but now instead of transparent, there was something cloudy inside. As quick as anything I grabbed the stopper from my pocket and plugged it up.
I’d won! I’d fought a djinn and won! I had a bottle worth fourteen million dollars, and only a few scrapes and bruises as punishment! I sat down to a well-earned rest in the shade of the tent, and looked across the rocks and the red morning sky.
I’m ashamed to say it took me far too long to figure it out. Sat in the shade, I was facing west, and the sky should not have been such a deep red. And for that matter, what was I in the shade of? The tent should not exist in our world. I looked around at the craggy rock formations, where previously there had been sand dunes. And it gradually sank in.
The book! What was that last line? I quickly wrote what I’d spoken in a notebook, and then retrieved the spellbook from where it had fallen. I’d misspoke just one syllable. What was it Shamil said? “That rock exists in both worlds” - implying that other things did not.
Djinn are reputed to be almost invisible, insubstantial, like gas - but that’s only because they exist in another world, and only barely in ours when they are in their natural form. The incantation was designed to shift the djinn between worlds and trap it in a bottle. By messing up that last line, I conjectured, I had shifted myself between worlds. And now what? I was alone, trapped in another world, with only a few weeks’ food and water.
Another thought hit me then. I could barely bring myself to believe it, until I looked. The Jeep was gone. Or rather, it was still exactly where I had left it; it just wasn’t in this reality. I had only the supplies in my pack, maybe two days if I rationed myself.
Hunting in the desert is slim pickings, even for an expert. Hunting in a desert of an unknown world? Even if I found food, there was no guarantee it would be good for me to eat. I had little food, little water, no shelter, and no way back home.
Actually, I did have shelter. I carefully opened the tent, without the faintest idea what I expected to find there.
It was surprisingly ordinary. The furniture and decor was alien, but there was a bed, and even a table and chair, though all a bit big for me. A lamp hung by a string from the ceiling, emitting a constant orange light, though I could not figure out the source of its power. A bookshelf contained about thirty books, all written in a language I didn’t recognize - no human language I’ve ever seen. And there was a large chest, made of a strange gray wood with metal fastenings.
I opened the chest, and found it filled with food fit for a djinn. But djinn prefer rotting meat and bones. I quickly closed the chest as the stench threatened to overpower me. Aside from shelter, there was nothing for me here. I had a day, maybe two, to find either food or a way back. Three decades of hunting and wilderness experience might not be much use here, but it was better than nothing.
I don’t know how they found me. Perhaps they brought supplies to the outcast hermit; perhaps they have a psychic link and knew what I’d done. Whatever the reason, as I sat in the oversized chair, reading my notes and the spellbook, I heard voices. This was the first time I’d heard a djinn, but I knew instantly what they were. At the same time deep and shrill, several voices pierced the air from the slope up to the tent. They were getting closer and I had no intention of being there when they arrived.
You learn to keep things close when you’re a hunter, and everything was in my pack. I stuffed my books into a pocket, went to the back of the tent, and quickly slipped under the leather walls. With the tent between myself and the advancing djinn I crept towards the edge of the rock and began the sixty foot climb down to the desert floor.
The climb was more difficult than I’d hoped. The rock was sharper in the world of the djinn, presumably because without the desert sand of our world, it had seen less weathering. I was nearly at the bottom, with painful lacerated hands, when my foot slipped. I reached out for a handhold and grasped a sharp rock; as it dug into my flesh, I yelped like a wounded animal, let go, and fell the last ten feet onto my back.
The fall winded me, but I was more or less unharmed. The sudden cry of pain before the fall was worse. The voices above me grew louder and more excited, and as I picked myself up I saw three djinn staring down at me.
Thirty-two years as the hunter, yet I was unprepared to be the hunted. All I could think to do was run. And run I did. Humans are the best long-distance runners in our world, and I hoped that this applied in that other world too. If the djinn went down the slope, rather than climbing the cliff or turning ethereal, I would also have a good head-start.
I’ve since learned that djinn can shape-shift at will, but can only become invisible or insubstantial in our world. They also seem unable to assume the form of a flying animal, and humans are indeed better at long-distance.
The trouble is, our phenomenal distance running is because we have so many sweat glands. I covered about fifteen miles before I felt it was safe to stop and take stock of my situation. Fifteen miles running for my life, with my heavy pack, under the sweltering orange alien sun. My clothes were soaked through, and I used up a third of my water supplies just to stop feeling dizzy.
I wouldn’t say I was comfortable in the distance I’d put between us, but I was exhausted. I rested until my heart no longer felt like it was going to burst out of my chest, then explored the area. I had found myself in a canyon, cliff walls rising about thirty feet either side, and a relatively smooth floor, most likely the path of an ancient river. I found a large cave, checked that it seemed unoccupied, and took shelter there to consider my options.
The mirror was gone. Perhaps it could still have shown me our side, but the shards were back near the tent, so it simply wasn’t an option. The vial, which I’d cushioned in clothing in my pack, was intact, the captured djinn still swirling around inside. The talisman was a weapon, but a clumsy one, and not much use for finding food or water.
I had one change of clothes, which I used while waiting for my sweat-drenched clothing to dry in the sun. I had enough food for a couple of days, but water was a problem. The cave was cool so I could stretch out my water to two or even three days by staying in there, but that was hardly a long-term solution. My weapons were fine; the GPS seemed functional, but I was unsurprised that it could locate no satellites.
That left the spellbook and the pouch.
The book contained twenty-four spells. Shamil had explained only a few, as most were apparently not useful. I knew the protection spell, the bottling spell, and something he had called a “joining incantation”. He had been quite cryptic about what it was supposed to do; something about returning things that were separated but meant to be together, whatever that meant. Shamil had told me even less about the pouch of sand, only that “I hope you won’t need to use it”.
I’m an intelligent and well-read woman, but I’m no wizard, or priest, or theologian. I’d believed in magic for only a few hours at that point. Still - I could give it a go.
Sand from the desert. I was in a desert, for sure, but one with very little sand, and that little was coloured a deep reddish-brown. This was sand from our world. A spark of an idea came into my head - could the joining spell return the sand to the other side?
I opened the pouch and poured a small amount of sand onto a large flat rock. Sitting over it and holding my hand just above the sand, as the notes in the margin told me to, I read the incantation.
As I reached the last few words, the sand started to glow faintly. The moment I reached the final syllable there was a bright flash - and the sand was gone.
I had hoped, I’d really hoped, that I would return to our world. But I guess I just didn’t have the same attachment to the Iranian desert that the sand did. The spell worked perfectly - it just didn’t do what I wanted. I slumped back in despair, and started to cry.
After a while I dozed off. I think I slept for a few hours, and it was dark in the cave. Outside, however, the light of a moon shone down. I went out to look; it was not our moon, but it was bright enough. It would have to do. Now would be a good time to explore. I found a route up to the top of the cliffs and began to climb.
I made for the highest point nearby without too much trouble, and surveyed the landscape. It was alien but beautiful. Huge rocky spires shone in the moonlight like obsidian. The cloudless sky displayed the stars, and I was relieved to recognize many constellations. Same planet, different world, it seemed. And off in the distance, further along the direction I’d run, I could make out what I believed to be a city. Black rock walls rose fifty feet above the ground, parapets and minarets gleamed white or silver in the moonlight, and above it all, in the center, stood what I believe to be a palace larger than any I’ve seen in our world. Some windows were lit from the inside, and in many ways, this looked like a human city. But I knew it wasn’t.
Djinn can shift into human form, but I can’t do the reverse. The city held no sanctuary for me. I turned back the way I came, and thought I saw the village Shamil had mentioned. It was harder to make out, as there were no lights, but even from this distance I could make out shapes that looked like houses or tents. This would be my destination. I needed food and water; perhaps I could scavenge from there in the night.
So I set off, working a path across smooth rock and between crags and spikes, sometimes meandering through valleys, other times climbing cliffs, and gradually making my way back to the place I’d fled just hours earlier.
It was still night when I arrived, and there was no sign of stirring in the village. The hunting party must have come from here, less than a day earlier; they knew I didn’t belong, probably knew I was human, and hopefully knew my chances of survival were slim to none. With luck they’d given up on me, assuming I’d die alone in the wilderness. There were no lights or movement, and I scouted around. This was difficult, as the moon had already set. I had a few chemical glowsticks for emergencies, and cracked a yellow one.
In the eerie light of the glowstick I managed to find a cave. Actually the tall rocks were riddled with them, so I chose one about five hundred feet from the nearest tent that looked out onto the village. It was smaller inside than the RV, with an entrance that even I had to crawl through, and I settled as comfortably as I could on a bed of spare clothes, looking out to the camp.
Around sunrise the djinn started to move out of their tents. I have no idea what errands or duties they occupied themselves with - but, I thought to myself, they’d probably have an equally difficult time understanding the comings and goings of humans in Chicago or New Delhi. I watched for the entire day, until they went to sleep, making notes on their movements. Alien as their faces were to me, I started to recognise individuals, by their clothing at first, then by their individual features, which seemed as varied among the djinn as among humans. There were about fifty djinn in the village, including about ten children. I understand from what I’ve read that there are males and females, but I could not yet tell the difference.
In the early afternoon I saw two children - teenagers in human terms - leave the camp and head north. I lost sight of them until they returned, carrying large leather bags. They were hailed as they reached the middle of the village and emptied the bags into a large bowl. Water! Somebody rang a bell and the djinn each came up, one by one, with their own bowl and filled it, sipping some and taking the rest back to their tent. If there was any left at night, I could take some.
And so I waited. In the dark of what I estimated was about 2am, by the last light of the moon, I crawled out of the cave and slowly crept into the village, my heart pounding and my ears peeled for the slightest sound. I heard nothing, and reached the earthenware bowl.
It was empty. Of course it was. Water was a scarce resource here, and if any was left over it would surely have evaporated in the afternoon heat. I crept back to the cave and reviewed my notes. The children had headed into the hills, and taken about two hours to return. They were about my size, and walked about as fast as me. I gathered my gear and struck out in the same direction.
Out on the lifeless plains to the north, travel was a little easier. And even as the moon set I could see just enough. People generally assume that a moonless night away from a city is pitch dark, but the stars do provide enough light to make out shapes, silhouettes. I cursed myself for not bringing a compass - not that I knew whether it would have worked here. After about an hour, when I should have been nearing the children’s destination, I reached the hills.
This was a problem. I had no idea where to go, and the landscape limited my visibility even further. Having no better plan, I decided to climb a hill and try to look around. Maybe I would just have to wait for sunrise.
I got a lot luckier than that. As I reached the top of the second hill I heard something! The landscape had been so eerily quiet for two days that it took me a moment to recognize the sound. It was a stream! Elated, and feeling genuine hope for the first time since my encounter back at the rock, I followed the sound.
The stream was tiny. It came out of a crack in the rocks between the hills, ambled downwards for about twenty feet, and then settled into a small pool where I assume it drained back into the ground. I drank, filled everything that could contain water (except the glass vial of course), and even washed my hands and face.
Now, with proper rationing, I could last … I did some quick calculations. Perhaps a week. My water would last a couple of days, and I could always return for more, but food simply wasn’t available. The djinn ate rotted meat, entirely unsuitable for even short-term human survival.
A question, then an answer, came to me in rapid succession.
The question was: where did the djinn get the meat that they left to rot?
The answer came in the form of a deadly coincidence. Or perhaps it wasn’t a coincidence, I don’t know. The coincidence sounded like the shriek of a creature from hell.
I quickly turned my head this way and that. It was so pitch-dark, I couldn’t make anything out. Then I saw it. A shadow blotted out the stars overhead. Before I could react a searing pain ripped through my temple. I fell over, lying prone on the ground, as it landed and stood over me.
I could barely make out any features, but it was big. Bigger than a human. Its wingspan must have been fifteen feet, and it had a vicious beak and talons the size of kitchen knives. I could see its eyes glinting in the dim starlight, which meant they must have been large - it could see better than me. I’ve hunted plenty of beasts, and even in the dark I could tell what it was thinking. It was waiting, trying to decide if I was a threat, and working out the best way to take me out without losing too much of my flesh.
I whimpered like a fox in a trap. I held my bleeding head with my left hand, and whined. I rolled over onto my left side, wounded by the fall, crying out in pain.
The bird stepped towards me. Its head bent down, taking a close look at me. The monster raised a foot, and gently prodded my leg with what seemed like curiosity. I howled in agony. It moved its talons to my waist, and unhurried, knowing that I was helpless and too injured to fight back, clasped them around my waist.
I knew from decades of experience what a defeated animal looks like, how it sounds, how it behaves. Was I in pain? Of course I was. But I had exaggerated my injuries. I had made myself bait - and it had worked. My right hand was just where I wanted it. I drew the knife from my belt, grasped the bird’s skinny leg above the foot, and struck with all my might.
The cry of pain pierced my ears like an ice pick through the skull, leaving me almost deafened. The creature threw itself into the air and flew upwards, leaving its severed foot around my body. It circled a couple of times as I got to my feet, then made right for me, its remaining talon ready to strike with all the force it could muster.
BANG - BANG - BANG - BANG - BANG - BANG - BANG - BANG - click - click - click - THUMP. My pistol was empty. I was on the ground again, the bird’s body pinning me to the floor. It was dead.
As I gathered my breath and my wits, I found it easier to wriggle out from under the bird’s corpse than to heave it off me. I sat in silence, listening, not knowing if it had been alone. But I didn’t hear or see another that night, and come sunrise I found yet another cave-home and dragged the beast in. This was now my food for the next week. I’m adept at skinning and butchering animals, and the anatomy of the bird was similar enough. In a couple of hours I had strips of meat curing in the sun, and I spent the rest of the day turning the skin into a rather poor substitute for a bedroll.
With the food I already had, the meat would last me a couple of weeks. I couldn’t afford to hunt like that again; I had only enough spare ammo to refill the pistol once, and I had fifteen cartridges for my rifle. The knife was beginning to dull, although at least I had a spare. I did make myself an additional makeshift weapon: I cut the bird’s talons off, and strapped them into my left-hand glove. I had absolutely zero confidence in its value in a fight, but hey - what else was I going to do with my time?
“What else” was, of course, reading the one book I had with me. Most of the spells were not relevant to my situation, or so Shamil had told me. It was a mass-produced book for various purposes. Well, “mass-produced” meant a few dozen, and it was copied by hand, but Shamil had only written his notes against the three that I’d used. I tried to decipher them, but I understood only a few spoken words of Farsi, and had no chance with written Old Persian. I tried to match up words from other spells with the transliterations of those three, but remembering what happened when I simply mispronounced one syllable, thought better of trying them out loud. I did try the joining incantation a few times, but only the sand ever reacted to it.
A week came and went. I had experienced no strange otherworldly disease from eating the overgrown chicken, and decided to hunt another. With preparation perhaps I wouldn’t have to empty my gun this time.
I knew next to nothing about the birds’ habits or behavior. It had tried to carry me off, so I guessed it had a nest somewhere, and possibly young to feed. I had encountered it in the hills, so most likely I would find others high in the hilltops. Not much to go on - I already knew it was a bird (more or less), so hardly a revelation there. Still, this was all I had, and I needed to eat. I got a good night’s rest and set off at sunrise.
I spent a couple of days climbing the hills, searching the horizon, and wishing I had a pair of binoculars. On the afternoon of the second day I heard a screeching sound, and knew I was closing in. I couldn’t see it from where I was, and honed in on the sound, keeping as much as I could to the shadows between the rocks.
And soon enough, there it was. A little smaller than the first one. Good, I thought - an easier fight. I hid myself between a couple of crags, watched it circle around overhead a few times, and then it landed about fifty feet away, the other side of a small plateau. It didn’t look particularly alert, presumably not expecting trouble, though it’s hard to tell on those emotionless bird-faces.
I quietly retreated, and circled around the plateau, taking care to stay hidden. When I reached the creature’s resting spot I peered carefully over a rock. It was facing away from me.
The beast’s neck was too high to reach easily, but its heart was at my chest height. I checked my pistol, readied my knife, and crept toward my prey, about to strike, when -
Two djinn leaped from above, where they’d been hiding behind a rock. The bird, hearing their landing, turned. And for what felt like an age, but can’t have been more than a second, the four of us just stared at each other.
Then the bird squawked loudly and flapped its great wings. It rose about ten feet into the air before one of the djinn threw a spear, piercing its heart. I turned to run. I heard the bird thump to the ground behind me. And then everything went black.
I came to in a tent, I don’t know how long later. I guess the second djinn had clocked me round my head, which was pounding like the worst hangover I’ve ever had. I groaned and tried to make sense of what I saw. The furniture was a similar design to the outcast’s, but better made - a bed, a food store, lamps, a desk with what looked like writing implements. Glass and earthenware jars held items I couldn’t even guess at identifying. And three djinn sat on chairs nearby, one with black skin, and two dark gray, talking in their own language.
My moaning had attracted their attention. They turned to me and watched. Why was I alive? Why had they captured me?
I found out soon enough. The larger one spoke to me. The voice was that of a djinn, but the language was human. It was hopeless, though; my grasp of Persian was even less than the djinn’s, and I didn’t understand a word. I tried talking in English, but it was clear that it didn’t understand. It seemed to be getting frustrated, and after a short time it grabbed me, easily lifting me from the floor where I’d been lying.
It put me at a second desk, one I hadn’t seen earlier. It was covered in human artifacts - a fedora here, a can of beans there, a vinyl record, a spark plug from a car … it looked like the strangest thrift store you’ve ever seen. I guess sometimes, things fall between worlds, and this djinn collected them but had no idea what they were.
The djinn continued to bark what I now understood to be commands. It wanted me to explain the items to it.
Well, if they weren’t attacking me, I’d prefer to keep that state of affairs going as long as I could. I picked up the fedora, slowly so as to avoid any perception of threat, and placed it on my head.
The djinn looked pleased. It took the hat from my head and placed it on its own, making two holes for its horns to fit. I’m grateful that their vocalizations differ so much from ours, since the sight a seven-foot semi-naked black-skinned demon wearing a pink fedora made me sputter out a laugh before I choked it back.
I moved on quickly. The desk was large and cluttered; there were hundreds of items there. I couldn’t open the can of beans, so I held it in my hand and mimed eating it. The djinn took the can, cut a hole with a single sharp claw, and sniffed. It put the can down with a look of disgust. I shrugged, not knowing if it would understand the gesture.
I did not recognize all the objects. Many of those I did were simply impossible to explain with gestures - how do you demonstrate the operation of a spark plug, or a computer mouse, just by waving your hands? But I worked my way through a dozen or so of the items before the djinn said something to me, and I understood that we had done enough for the day. It motioned to the floor. I lay down on the uncomfortable surface, the djinn’s friends left, and my djinn - if you’ll pardon the expression - lay down on its bed. It said a single word in the djinn language and the light above us winked off.
That night was not the most restful of my life. Trying to sleep next to the person who has taken you prisoner is a task made even harder when that person is a monster from another world. I considered running, but how far would I get? And what would they do to me when they inevitably caught me? I resigned myself to staying, at least for now, and somehow I did eventually drift off.
I was woken by the loud grunts of an alien attempting to speak Persian. Derek (as I’d decided to call him, despite having no idea if it was a “him” at all) had fully opened the can of beans, and gave it to me. Cold baked beans? Well, I’ve eaten worse. And after breakfast we continued our tour of human bric-a-brac. We worked our way through various items, some more successfully than others, until I found a car key.
The key fob was a distinctive red color, and an unusual shape. I recognized it immediately. It was the key for a Gladiator Rubicon. How many can there be? What are the chances? I remembered I’d taken it with me up the rock when I battled my first djinn. It must have fallen on the ground up there. Thoughts raced through my mind, and I tried to push them down. There would be time for this later. I must give no indication that anything was amiss, not while Derek was watching over me. Pushing the key to the pile of items I couldn’t easily explain, I moved on.
In the late afternoon I heard a bell ring. Derek gave me a small clay bowl and led me outside. This was when I knew where I was - the same village I’d spied on all those weeks ago. I collected water along with all the other inhabitants of the village, had a sip, and took the bowl back to Derek’s tent.
That, apparently, was the day done. Derek spent an hour or so at his writing desk, leaving me alone to think. My pack, still unopened, was on the table with the other artifacts, along with my guns, but I knew I stood no chance against the entire village. I hadn’t seen the knives; presumably their function was obvious, so they hadn’t made it to the collection. I had no intention of showing Derek how a rifle worked unless I had no other choice. Not that he would need mechanical aid to kill me if he wanted to.
What about the key? I had seen no indication that the djinn had vehicles, and I knew the Jeep could outrun them, but I only had the key. The Jeep was in another world.
Then it hit me. The key and the car belonged together. The joining incantation! Yet again I gulped down an outward expression of excitement, and soon enough the djinn went to bed and turned the light off.
I waited, silent, for hours. In the middle of the night, when I was as certain as I could be that Derek was fast asleep, I rose and moved, silent as a mouse, to the artifact desk.
The most important thing was the key, and I quietly slipped it into my pocket. I considered taking the guns, but they would be no use on my journey, and would only slow me down. I reached for the pack, gingerly picking it up, and knocked over a jar of Marmite.
My heart raced. Derek stirred, but did not wake up. After standing silent as a statue for over a minute, I retrieved my pack and slowly, ever-so-slowly, walked out of the tent.
It wasn’t far to where I’d parked, only about a twenty minute walk. But it wasn’t close enough. With the village barely behind me, the ground in front of me lit up faintly. I turned around; the lights in the village were coming on. I heard loud voices. Four or five djinn were outside, and then one pointed in my direction and yelled.
I slung the pack on my shoulders and ran. Long-distance endurance was all well and good, but right now I simply needed speed. I sprinted through the alien night at break-neck speed, and very nearly did break my neck when I tripped in the poor light. Somehow I righted myself and kept going, not looking back, but hearing voices getting louder. They were gaining on me.
With my head-start I might make it. What then? I reached in my pocket for the spellbook, but couldn’t find it. The joining incantation was only five lines, and I’d tried it several times - could I remember it?
I pulled the key fob from my hand, holding it tightly. The key belonged to the car. I could return it to our world. What about me? I liked that car. No - I loved that car. The Jeep was basically a part of me, I tried to convince myself. We had spent weeks together. Months, I told myself. Years. I was the driver. I needed it, and it needed me, to be complete.
I was close. I imagined the look of the car, the tire tracks through the desert sand. The gear in the back. The coffee cup in the cupholder.
I chanced a look behind me. Six djinn were nearly on top of me. I said the first line of the incantation. I was at the spot now, I was sure of it. I slowed, and stopped. I said the second line.
One of the djinn barrelled into me, flinging me to the ground. With a death grip around the key, I said the third line.
Two djinn pulled up to my side, and turned me to face the sky. I said the fourth line.
Derek stared at me with eyes burning fiercer than I’d ever seen. He reached back his fist and swung it with all his strength at my face. I said the fifth line.
The djinn’s fist filled my vision. And as the outstretched claws ripped through my face, they turned to smoke. Expecting death, I felt nothing more than a gust of wind on my skin and a chill in my brain, as though something insubstantial had passed through my head.

Part 1: Childhood Part 2: Oregon Part 3: Puerto Rico Part 4: Global Part 6: Elsewhere Part 7: Retirement

Part 5: Iran

Iran was not a place I’d visited, or particularly liked the idea of visiting. Add to that the fact that the man on the other end of the phone was offering me a contract for a djinn, and you can understand why I immediately rejected the job. But before I could put the phone down, he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.
A million US dollars for taking the contract. Ten million for a successful recovery. Fifteen million for a live recovery. Fool that I am, I said yes.
I declined the Nigerian contract, and flew to England to prepare. For several weeks I researched the legends of the djinn. Islamic tradition holds that they are as real as humans, and live human-like lives; belief among modern Muslims is common. The more I read, the harder it seemed to kill, let alone capture alive, a djinn; they are generally invisible, more or less insubstantial, and shapeshifters.
This wasn’t necessarily a problem. I generally prefer cash but I do have a couple of offshore bank accounts, and by the time I got to England my benefactor - whom I’ll call Abdul - had already wired a million dollars. He had made it clear that this was an upfront fee, no strings attached, so even if I failed to find a djinn this would still be an extremely profitable job. But I would certainly try.
Americans are on their own if they ignore government advice and visit Iran, and there are no direct flights from the USA or the UK. But Abdul seemed to be high up in the government, or at least to have connections. I stayed at a boarding house in London, and he posted a package of documents and letters. I now had a special Iranian passport, with a page written in Iranian and English that declared me a “person of national importance” by authorisation of “the Office of the Supreme Leader”. There were specific instructions that I was to be let about my business without hindrance or questions, and that all Iranians were required to lend me any assistance I may require. To my untrained eye, it all looked official and legitimate, and I wondered how many other people had similar documentation.
A couple of months later I was as ready as I felt I could be. I had appropriate clothes to wear in public in Iran, including both fashionable and conservative headscarves, and I took a charter flight to a private airfield near Tehran. When I landed in the scorching heat, he was there to greet me, and showed me to a garage where he had gathered the equipment I’d requested: weapons, a Jeep Gladiator Rubicon (hey, may as well travel in style as well as comfort) with plenty of spare diesel, and all the other gear that was either too large or too difficult to bring from London.
This was all arranged. What I hadn’t expected in the garage was an imam. Shamil was not just a cleric but also a scholar, and according to Abdul knew more about djinn than any anybody else on Earth (“any other human”, Shamil corrected him). I hadn’t asked for this but it was a welcome addition. Shamil said that he would be happy to tell me anything I needed to know, and that he would travel with me as long as I wanted - except for an actual encounter. He explained that as an Islamic leader, the spiritual hazards in confronting a djinn were far higher for him than for me, and so if he felt we were closing in, he would return to his day job. And with that out of the way we made our farewells to Abdul.
I never saw Shamil without his elaborate black-and-gold robes, and it took me some time to get used to the juxtaposition of his formal wear with his vehicle. Behind the Jeep was a shiny electric dune buggy (though it would not stay shiny for long), which he plugged into a foldable solar array every time we stopped in the day. He liked to occasionally speed ahead, and the sight of his robes billowing behind him looked almost like a cartoon. And this is how we traveled for days, weeks, in the desert. We slept in our own separate two-person tents but we cooked and ate together, and at every meal he would tell me more about the djinn.
As my guide, Shamil was quite vague. He wouldn’t tell me exactly where we were going, instead just leading the way, in a meandering course. We might travel east for two hours, then suddenly turn and go southwest for no obvious reason. At breakfast on the fourth morning I asked him about it. Well, confronted might be more accurate, but Shamil was perfectly calm and civil.
“I don’t know where the djinn are.”
“What? We’re just wandering aimlessly, hoping we bump into one?”
“No. I don’t know where they are, but they leave traces. I can see where they’ve been. The more we travel, the better idea I get of where they might be right now.”
“Traces? What, like footprints? Old coke cans?”
Shamil laughed gently. “No, not like that. The djinn live in another world, sort of adjacent to ours. As they pass they leave spiritual traces that very few can see. For the first two days yes, we were wandering, but yesterday morning I saw something. Very faint; they haven’t been here for some time, but the traces are getting stronger. We’ll be there soon.”
I guess I must have given him a dirty look. “Haha! Don’t worry Carla. I’m on your side. If I were going to do anything untoward, I would have done it by now. You’re perfectly safe with me.”
He was right. He had had plenty of opportunities to kill me (or try to). Heck, just taking the Jeep and leaving me alone in the desert would probably have been a death sentence. I decided to trust him, and we continued searching.
Shamil gave me several artifacts. A gold mirror, a talisman etched in Farsi, a small glass vial, a book of spells (“No ma’am, these are no spells. Magic is forbidden. These are incantations”), a velvet pouch containing desert sand. He taught me how to use these in capturing a djinn. The spells - incantations - were Old Persian and took time for me to learn how to say, even with the phonetic English spellings written next to them, but with Shamil’s guidance I became competent.
We had been criss-crossing the desert for about three weeks when Shamil announced that we were closing in. There was a djinn settlement nearby, he told me. I expected him to leave then, but he stuck around for a few days. “You must not confront an entire village. You would never survive! We must find a lone djinn, a hunter perhaps, or a hermit. We must stay away from the settlement to the north.” We were on the top of a hill with spectacular views for miles around, and Shamil gestured across the wide expanse of desert below us. He apparently could see an entire village, where I could see only sand.
Two days later he guided us toward a rocky outcropping, tall but easy to walk up. “There. That rock exists in both worlds, and a djinn makes his home there. He is outcast, alone. Go to the top at dawn. He will be there.”
We spent the afternoon checking on my supplies, eating well, and making sure I had enough diesel and GPS charge to make my return. Then just before sunset, Shamil got into his dune buggy and sped away, leaving me alone for the night in the middle of what seemed to me an empty desert.
I still wasn’t sure I believed in djinn. But I thought back, that night, to my similar thoughts about the sasquatch. Tomorrow morning I would go to the top of that ridge; tomorrow afternoon I would drive back to Tehran, either with or without my quarry. I slept well that night.
I woke at 4am, had a good breakfast, and prepared. I could well have been the only human for fifty miles around, so I dressed in proper hunter gear rather than the conservative clothing typical of women in Iran. Aside from feeling more comfortable, this gave me plenty of pockets to hold my hunter’s tools - strange though they were on this occasion. I had no idea how useful my weapons would be but of course I took them - a handgun, a rifle, and two combat knives. I checked everything thoroughly one last time, and as soon as it was light enough to see I started the trek up to the rock.
The way was easy, the path seemingly worn smooth over the years by the passage of people. Or something. I arrived at the top without having to catch my breath, took a sip of water, and pulled out the golden mirror.
I looked normal. I angled the mirror to see the reflection of the desert, and it also looked normal. It was a few minutes before dawn, so according to Shamil, that was to be expected; djinn can only move between worlds at dawn and dusk. I waited in the desert silence until the first rays of sunlight spilled over the horizon, and looked again.
At first everything looked pretty much as before. Shimmering slightly, but I put that down to the first heat of the new sun. But the shimmering intensified, as though the whole world was wobbling. The reflection got so bad that after about twenty seconds, I couldn’t make out any details; and then it calmed down. Slowly I saw the rock’s reflection reappear - but now, there was something else.
I was staring at the real world with my right eye, and the reflection with my left. My right eye registered exactly what I would expect. But my left eye spied a tent, not fifteen feet in front of me. Leather sheets were slung and fastened over a round wooden frame, about twelve feet tall and twenty wide, a bit bigger than my RV and plenty of space for one person to live.
I read a short incantation from the book, a prayer of protection. Shamil had assured me that it would work, even though I wasn’t a Muslim. I was not convinced. It was only two lines, but that was enough to attract the attention of the tent’s occupant. As I finished the last line I saw a faint haze in the direction of the tent. I brought the mirror back up to my eyes and looked.
I don’t think I screamed. This was a hunt, and I was as prepared as I could be. But what I saw was unlike anything I’d imagined. The creature who stepped through the tent’s leather doorway was human in only the most trivial ways. All seven feet of its height was covered in pitch-black leathery hairless skin, clothed in only a loincloth and copious amounts of gold jewelry. Horns rose either side of its eyes, spiraling up to point at the sky. Four long fingers on each hand ended in short but sharp claws; I couldn’t see its feet, as they were shrouded in a sort of dark mist. It stared at me with vertical slitted eyes; at first I thought they were red, but then I saw that they were pure black with fire rising through them, like burning coals.
I may not have screamed, but I stood rooted to the spot. I felt true terror, for the first time I could remember. The djinn regarded me for several seconds, presumably assessing whether I was a threat. Then I think it realized that I could see it. It stepped towards me so quickly, ready to strike with its hand.
This pulled me out of my reverie. With instinct honed over years of practice I sidestepped its blow. It overbalanced and took a few seconds to regain its footing, during which I had pulled out the glass vial and the book. With the vial and mirror in my left hand and the book in my right, I backed away and started reading.
The incantation was twelve lines, and I had to finish them before the djinn could hurt me. I stepped backward around the tent, trying to keep it between us. I got to the second line when it caught up with me.
As the black leathery hand reached towards my face I caught the talisman, hanging from a chain around my neck, with my right thumb, and pushed it into the way. The djinn recognized what it was too late, and when its skin struck the talisman, I heard a hissing sound. Smoke rose in both worlds from where they had touched, and the djinn recoiled. The blow was still enough to send me backwards, almost falling to the ground; but it had put more distance between us. I turned to run, and read lines three … four … five …
I tried to keep the mirror steady, to look behind me, but it wasn’t easy. Its footsteps must have been heavy, but the mirror showed me light, not sound, and I hadn’t heard anything at all other than the sounds I made. To an onlooker I would have looked like a mad person in the grip of psychosis.
I’d lost sight of the djinn. I turned around, trying to keep both my momentum and my balance. I could see nothing in the mirror - but then I heard it for the first time, a hiss coming from low down. In the real world I saw a large black snake, rearing to strike.
I threw a kick with my heavy combat boots, catching it right in the head just as it lunged toward my thigh. The snake fell back, but not as far as I liked. I read lines six … seven …
I backed away again, and transferred the book to my left hand. With my right hand now free I pulled a knife from my belt. The snake was gaining on me. I read line eight … nine …
It lunged again, but I was ready. It was an inexpert fighter, and even in snake form it was telegraphing its moves to me. As it flew toward my chest I struck a solid blow, slicing its head off.
Or that’s what I expected to happen. Just before my knife made contact, the djinn … dissipated. It turned into a cloud of black smoke. I lost my footing and staggered forward, just getting my balance back in time to feel a powerful kick in my back.
I tumbled to the ground, rolling twice in the dirt. I may be getting on a bit but I can still roll with the blows, and I avoided serious injury. I kept hold of the book, but the glass vial fell to the ground, landing on the sand. The mirror was not so lucky; it landed on solid rock and shattered.
I was at risk of losing, and had to work fast before that happened. Without the mirror, and with the djinn in its usual form, I could neither see nor hear it. I read line ten as I stood up. I ran away from where I’d last seen the djinn, grabbing the vial as I passed. I read line eleven.
And suddenly I was lifted into the air. Thick invisible fingers wrapped around my neck. I felt the stride of the creature as it brought me to the edge of the cliff. It knocked the book out of my hand with ease and prepared to throw me sixty feet to the desert below.
I’d read those verses many times. I’d tried to learn them. Could I remember that last line? I had maybe three seconds. Adrenaline surged through me. Time seemed to slow. I gave it my best shot.
I finished the incantation as the djinn started to throw, and landed mere inches from the edge. There was a deafening whistling sound, as though I was in a howling gale. And then silence.

Six months ago I posted about the release of Prisoners of Class by Chan Samoeun, the English translation of the oldest and most detailed account of life in Democratic Kampuchea written in Khmer. At the time, it was only available in countries with access to distribution networks like Amazon, which does not include Cambodia. A number of you living in Cambodia expressed interest, but unfortunately it was not available... yet.
Now, as of tomorrow, Saturday May 11th, the Cambodia edition of Prisoners of Class is for sale in Monument Books on Norodom Boulevard. I think this is the nicest version available yet, with full-color maps and photographs.
Sometime next week it will also be available in the Relay travel shops in the Phnom Penh and Siem Reap airports, and soon (I'm told) it will be available in a museum in Siem Reap (I'm not sure yet exactly what museum they were referring to).
Within the next two weeks there will probably be a launch event in Phnom Penh, where both the author and I will be present to speak about the book. I'll post more about that when the details are finalized.
EDIT: book launch event to take place at 7:30pm on Th. 23 May at Meta House Phnom Penh.

YŪREI CHRONICLES [ 幽霊クロニクルズ ]
Tales of Japanese Horror [ 日本のホラーの物語 ]
By: Seph Cruz [ 投稿者: セフ・クルーズ ]
CONTENTS [ コンテンツ ]
Preface [ はじめに ]
Chapter 1: The Cursed Scroll [ 第 1 章: 呪われた巻物 ]
Chapter 2: The Shrine in the Shadows [ 第 2 章: 影の神殿 ]
Chapter 3: The Haunting of the Geisha [ 第 3 章: 芸者の幽霊 ]
Chapter 4: The Onryo's Revenge [ 第 4 章: 怨霊の復讐 ]
Chapter 5: The Dollmaker's Curse [ 第 5 章: 人形師の呪い ]
Chapter 6: The Shadow in the Forest [ 第 6 章: 森の影 ] Chapter 7: The Haunting of the Yūrei Inn [ 第 7 章: 幽霊旅館の幽霊 ]
Chapter 8: The Curse of the Haunted Kimono [ 第 8 章: 幽霊着物の呪い ]
Chapter 9: The Mirror's Malevolence [ 第 9 章: 鏡の悪意 ]
Chapter 10: The Bridge to the Beyond [ 第 10 章: 彼方への架け橋 ]

 "Yūrei Chronicles: Tales of Japanese Horror" 

Chapter 1: "The Cursed Scroll"
In the heart of Kyoto, where history whispered through the ancient streets, there existed an antique bookstore known only to those who sought the rarest of tomes. Nestled among centuries-old texts and dusty manuscripts, a forbidden scroll lay hidden, waiting for an unwitting soul to stumble upon its chilling secrets.
Chapter 1: "The Cursed Scroll"
The quaint, dimly lit bookstore was a treasure trove of the past. Intricate calligraphy adorned scrolls, while faded ink whispered stories of long-forgotten samurai and mystical creatures. Among these relics of history, one scroll remained elusive, concealed behind a glass case. Its dark, ornate cover bore no title, and its presence seemed to beckon.
Haruki, a young scholar with a fascination for the occult, visited the bookstore one rainy afternoon. His curiosity led him to inquire about the enigmatic scroll. The elderly shopkeeper, Mr. Tanaka, peered at him with a knowing look, cautioning him about the scroll's malevolent reputation.
"Many have sought to uncover its secrets," Mr. Tanaka said, his voice trembling with age, "but few have lived to tell the tale."
Haruki, undeterred by the ominous warning, insisted on examining the scroll. Mr. Tanaka, sensing the scholar's determination, reluctantly unlocked the glass case. As Haruki unrolled the ancient parchment, he saw that it was filled with intricate symbols and incantations, written in a language he could barely comprehend.
For days, Haruki delved into the scroll's mysteries. His sleepless nights were filled with whispers from unseen forces, and chilling drafts seemed to haunt his small apartment. Yet, he pressed on, believing that the scroll held untold knowledge and power.
One fateful night, as a full moon cast eerie shadows across his cluttered study, Haruki recited an incantation from the scroll. The room grew icy cold, and an otherworldly presence enveloped him. A mournful wail echoed through the room, and Haruki's heart raced as he beheld the apparition before him.
A yūrei, its long, disheveled hair obscuring its gaunt face, hovered in the air, its eyes filled with anguish and rage. It reached out bony, pale fingers toward Haruki, its spectral form translucent yet undeniably real.
In that moment, Haruki realized the scroll's true nature – a curse that summoned vengeful spirits to torment the living. He had unwittingly invited the yūrei into his world, and now, it sought retribution for its suffering.
The scholar's life turned into a nightmare as the vengeful spirit haunted his every waking moment. His research became an obsession to find a way to pacify the yūrei and lift the curse. With each passing day, Haruki's health deteriorated, his body and mind succumbing to the relentless torment.
Desperate, he sought the guidance of a renowned exorcist, who revealed a grim truth. The only way to break the curse was to discover the scroll's origins and offer the yūrei the peace it so desperately sought.
As Haruki ventured deeper into the scroll's history, he uncovered a tale of betrayal and tragedy that spanned centuries. With newfound knowledge and a heavy heart, he prepared to confront the vengeful yūrei and set things right.
In a chilling confrontation between the living and the dead, Haruki faced the spirit, offering it the closure it craved. As the yūrei dissipated into the ether, its mournful wail echoed one last time, fading into the night.
Haruki emerged from the ordeal forever changed, carrying the weight of the scroll's curse as a cautionary tale. The forbidden knowledge he had sought had come at a great cost, a reminder that some mysteries should remain hidden, and some curses should never be invoked.
As the sun rose over Kyoto, the antique bookstore remained shrouded in an eerie silence, and the cursed scroll returned to its cryptic slumber, waiting for the next unwitting soul to unlock its dreadful secrets.
End of Chapter 1: "The Cursed Scroll"
Chapter 2: "The Shrine in the Shadows"
In the heart of a tranquil Japanese village, nestled among ancient forests, stood a centuries-old Shinto shrine, known to few but revered by all. This sacred place held an eerie secret, hidden in the shadows of its past.
Chapter 2: "The Shrine in the Shadows"
The village of Mizuki was picturesque, surrounded by dense woods and the whispers of rustling leaves. Its most treasured gem was the Shōrin Shrine, a sanctuary dedicated to the worship of the kami, where the villagers paid homage with heartfelt prayers and offerings.
On a bright spring morning, the Hayashi family moved into a charming house near the shrine. Yuko, a spirited young girl with inquisitive eyes, was enchanted by the quaint beauty of Mizuki and the mystique of the Shōrin Shrine. Her parents, Masato and Yuki, hoped the peaceful village would offer respite from the bustling city.
Their first evening in Mizuki was serene, and the family felt blessed to live in such an idyllic place. As night descended, they heard a faint melody echoing through the forest—a haunting tune played on a traditional shamisen. Yuko, drawn by curiosity, followed the eerie melody to the shrine.
At the shrine's entrance, she saw a flicker of movement among the trees and bushes. As her eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight, she gasped in awe and terror. There, bathed in an ethereal glow, stood a beautiful woman dressed in a white kimono, her long hair cascading like an ebony waterfall.
The woman's face bore an expression of immense sorrow, and her eyes seemed to pierce Yuko's very soul. In her delicate, spectral hands, she held a shamisen, its strings plucked by fingers that had long since turned to mist.
"Who are you?" Yuko asked, her voice quivering.
The apparition gazed at Yuko with an inscrutable sadness and whispered, "My name is Hana. I have been bound to this shrine for centuries, waiting for someone to hear my song."
Hana's story unraveled like a tragic tapestry before Yuko. She had once been a young woman in love with a humble fisherman from Mizuki. Their love was forbidden, and when their secret was discovered, they met a tragic end at the hands of the villagers.
As she spoke, the melody of her shamisen became more mournful, and the trees seemed to weep in sympathy. Hana's spirit, bound to the shrine, could only find solace by sharing her story with the living.
Yuko, moved by Hana's tale, felt a deep connection to the ghostly figure. She promised to help Hana find peace and bring her story to light. Together, they would uncover the truth behind the tragic love story that had ensnared the shrine for centuries.
As Yuko delved into the village's history, she uncovered hidden documents and ancient scrolls that confirmed Hana's story. The injustice done to Hana and her beloved was a blot on the village's past, a truth that had been concealed for generations.
With newfound determination, Yuko rallied the villagers to acknowledge the village's dark history and to seek forgiveness for the sins of the past. In a moving ceremony at the Shōrin Shrine, the villagers offered their prayers, and Hana's spirit was finally set free.
As the first rays of dawn bathed Mizuki in golden light, Hana's ethereal form dissolved into a wisp of gratitude and serenity. The shrine, once shadowed by sorrow, now radiated with newfound peace.
"The Shrine in the Shadows" became a tale passed down through generations, a reminder that love and forgiveness could transcend even the darkest of curses. Mizuki continued to flourish, its shrine standing as a testament to the enduring power of redemption.
End of Chapter 2: "The Shrine in the Shadows"
Chapter 3: "The Haunting of the Geisha"
In the vibrant streets of 19th-century Tokyo, beneath the shimmering lanterns and behind the delicate allure of geisha, a haunting presence lurked—a presence that would forever change the life of a celebrated geisha named Kaede.
Chapter 3: "The Haunting of the Geisha"
In the heart of Tokyo's historic Yoshiwara district, Kaede was renowned as one of the most captivating and skilled geisha. Her beauty was ethereal, her dances mesmerizing, and her laughter like the tinkling of wind chimes. But beneath her porcelain makeup and the grace of her performances lay a heart heavy with secrets.
One cool autumn evening, as the lanterns cast their warm glow on the district, a newcomer arrived at the teahouse where Kaede performed. His name was Kaito, a handsome and enigmatic man with piercing eyes that seemed to see beyond the facade of the geisha. Kaede's heart quickened as their eyes met, and she felt a connection she had never experienced before.
As weeks turned into months, Kaede and Kaito's bond deepened, their love blossoming like the cherry blossoms in spring. But their love was a forbidden one, as Kaito was a samurai, and their worlds were as different as night and day.
One fateful night, Kaito revealed a dangerous secret to Kaede—he was involved in a plot against a powerful daimyo who ruled with cruelty and oppression. Kaito believed that by exposing the daimyo's corruption, he could bring justice to the people. He asked for Kaede's assistance in gathering information from the teahouse's influential patrons.
Reluctantly, Kaede agreed, and together, they embarked on a treacherous path filled with deceit and danger. As the days passed, they uncovered dark secrets that could expose the daimyo's crimes. However, their actions did not go unnoticed.
One evening, as Kaede performed for a gathering of influential men, a sinister figure appeared in the shadows. It was the vengeful spirit of a geisha named Akiko, who had perished in Yoshiwara under tragic circumstances. Her ghostly form was veiled in a blood-red kimono, and her eyes burned with malevolence.
Akiko's haunting began subtly—a chill in the air, whispers of despair, and a feeling of dread that hung over the teahouse like a shroud. Kaede, sensing the supernatural presence, knew that they had awakened a vengeful spirit.
Desperate to protect Kaede, Kaito sought the guidance of a local exorcist, who revealed the tragic story of Akiko. She had been a geisha in love with a samurai, but their forbidden love had led to betrayal and death. Her restless spirit sought vengeance on those who dared to love across societal boundaries.
With the exorcist's help, Kaito and Kaede embarked on a perilous journey to confront Akiko's spirit and offer her the peace she so desperately sought. In a climactic showdown, they faced the vengeful geisha, revealing the truth behind her betrayal and death.
As the first light of dawn bathed the Yoshiwara district, Akiko's spirit dissipated, her eyes filled with sorrow and resignation. The curse she had cast upon the teahouse lifted, and peace returned to the district.
Kaede and Kaito's love story continued, forever marked by the supernatural forces they had encountered. The teahouse thrived once more, its lanterns casting their warm glow over the enchanting district, where love knew no boundaries and forgiveness transcended even death.
"The Haunting of the Geisha" became a legend whispered among geisha in Yoshiwara, a testament to the enduring power of love and the consequences of forbidden desires in the mysterious world of Edo-era Tokyo.
End of Chapter 3: "The Haunting of the Geisha"
Chapter 4: "The Onryo's Revenge"
In the heart of a decaying city, where abandoned buildings stood as silent witnesses to forgotten tragedies, a group of urban explorers would stumble upon a place where the restless dead held their sinister dominion.
Chapter 4: "The Onryo's Revenge"
The city of Kurayami had fallen into disrepair, its once-thriving industries crumbling, and its streets echoing with the memories of better days. Among its many derelict structures was the forsaken Kurayami Hospital, a place whispered about only in fearful tales.
Rumors spoke of a curse that had befallen the hospital after a gruesome series of medical experiments in the early 20th century. Patients had been subjected to horrific procedures, and their agonized cries still seemed to reverberate through the corridors.
A group of urban explorers, lured by the thrill of the forbidden and the allure of the macabre, set their sights on Kurayami Hospital. Among them was Hiroshi, the group's leader, and Yumi, a budding photographer with an affinity for capturing the eerie beauty of abandoned places.
As the explorers entered the hospital's crumbling entrance, they were greeted by the musty scent of decay and the eerie silence of long-abandoned hallways. Shadows danced in the dim light as they ventured deeper into the forsaken building, their footsteps echoing like distant whispers.
The group's excitement turned to unease as they encountered signs of the hospital's dark past—rusty surgical instruments, bloodstained gurneys, and cryptic medical notes. Yumi's camera captured it all, each photograph revealing more about the hospital's gruesome history.
As night fell, the explorers gathered in the hospital's decrepit lobby, their flashlights casting trembling beams into the darkness. It was then that they heard it—a faint, mournful wail, like the keening of a soul in torment.
Hiroshi, the group's fearless leader, brushed off their concerns, attributing the sound to the wind or their imagination. But the cries grew louder and more anguished, echoing through the halls.
The group became separated as they navigated the labyrinthine corridors. Yumi, camera in hand, wandered into the hospital's disused psychiatric ward. There, in a shadowed corner, she saw her camera's flash reveal a horrifying apparition—an onryo, a vengeful spirit with long, disheveled hair and eyes filled with hatred.
The onryo's spectral form contorted with rage as it approached Yumi. Its icy fingers reached out, and she felt an otherworldly coldness pierce her very soul. She knew that this was the spirit of a patient who had suffered unimaginable horrors in the hospital.
As Yumi's companions searched for her, they stumbled upon the onryo's lair and witnessed the terrifying encounter. In a desperate bid to save Yumi, they searched for a way to pacify the vengeful spirit.
Through a combination of research and communication with a local historian, they learned the full extent of the hospital's atrocities. Armed with this knowledge, they returned to the onryo's domain to confront the spirit and offer it the peace it had been denied for so long.
In a climactic showdown, the group faced the onryo, revealing the hospital's dark secrets and acknowledging the suffering of the tormented souls within. With profound remorse, they begged for forgiveness on behalf of those who had perpetrated the atrocities.
As the first rays of dawn broke over Kurayami, the onryo's anguished wails transformed into a mournful sigh. The spirit, its wrath finally quelled, dissipated into the ether, leaving behind a sense of profound sadness and closure.
The group of urban explorers emerged from Kurayami Hospital, forever changed by their encounter with the supernatural. They had confronted the past and offered redemption to the restless dead, leaving the decaying city with a newfound sense of hope.
"The Onryo's Revenge" became a cautionary tale among urban explorers, a reminder that some places are best left undisturbed, and that the past, no matter how dark, can be confronted and reconciled.
End of Chapter 4: "The Onryo's Revenge"
Chapter 5: "The Dollmaker's Curse"
In a remote mountain village, nestled among mist-shrouded peaks, a master dollmaker crafted exquisite creations that captured the hearts of collectors worldwide. Yet, within her secluded workshop, a malevolent force lurked—one that would ensnare a curious journalist in a nightmarish world of living dolls and dark secrets.
Chapter 5: "The Dollmaker's Curse"
Hidden away in the secluded village of Ichiban, known only to those who ventured deep into the mountains, lived a master dollmaker named Ai. Her dolls were celebrated for their lifelike beauty and craftsmanship, with collectors from distant lands coveting her creations.
One brisk autumn morning, a journalist named Keiko received a cryptic letter from a source in Ichiban, hinting at a sinister mystery surrounding Ai's dolls. Intrigued by the enigmatic message, Keiko embarked on a journey to the remote village, determined to uncover the truth.
Ichiban was a place untouched by time, its cobblestone streets winding through dense forests and past centuries-old homes. The village exuded an eerie tranquility, and the locals spoke in hushed tones about Ai's dolls, rumored to be infused with a piece of the human soul.
Upon reaching Ai's workshop, Keiko was greeted by the dollmaker herself, a woman of grace and poise. The workshop was a treasure trove of exquisite dolls, their eyes seeming to follow Keiko's every move. Among them, a particular doll known as Hikari stood out—a hauntingly beautiful creation with ebony hair and obsidian eyes.
As Keiko delved deeper into the village's mysteries, she discovered that Hikari was believed to house the soul of a deceased child, a belief held by both Ai and the villagers. The doll's unsettling presence and the uncanny resemblance it bore to a girl named Mei, who had died tragically years ago, sent shivers down Keiko's spine.
Keiko's nights in Ichiban were filled with restless dreams of porcelain dolls that came to life. In these dreams, Hikari beckoned her to uncover the truth behind the dollmaker's creations. Guided by an inexplicable compulsion, Keiko embarked on a quest to unearth the dark secrets hidden within Ai's workshop.
As Keiko investigated further, she uncovered Ai's own tragic past—a story of unrequited love, loss, and a desperate desire to capture the essence of the human soul in her dolls. With each revelation, the line between the living and the lifeless blurred, and Keiko felt herself becoming entangled in a nightmarish world.
The dolls that had once been works of art now seemed to harbor malevolence. They moved of their own accord, their eyes filled with an eerie, lifelike intensity. Keiko realized that Ai's obsession had bound her to a sinister force, and her creations hungered for more than just existence.
In a chilling climax, Keiko confronted Ai and the curse that had gripped her creations. Together, they sought to break the curse's hold and release the trapped souls within the dolls.
As the moon hung low in the night sky, Ai performed a solemn ritual, guided by the spirit of Mei, whose essence had been captured in Hikari. The dolls, imbued with a restless energy, gathered around, their haunting eyes watching as the curse was lifted.
With a mournful sigh, the dolls' porcelain features softened, and their malevolence dissipated. The spirit of Mei was set free, and the dolls became lifeless once more, their beauty preserved in eternal stillness.
Ichiban returned to its peaceful slumber, and Keiko departed with a newfound appreciation for the power of art and the depths of human longing. The village's haunting tale of the dollmaker's curse served as a reminder that some obsessions could lead to the creation of something far more sinister than art itself.
End of Chapter 5: "The Dollmaker's Curse"
Chapter 6: "The Shadow in the Forest"
In a land steeped in history and tradition, the Aokigahara Forest, known as the "Suicide Forest," concealed a dark secret. Within its dense, ancient foliage, a group of hikers would embark on a journey that would lead them into the heart of a malevolent force.
Chapter 6: "The Shadow in the Forest"
Deep within the prefecture of Yamanashi, shrouded in a perpetual mist, lay the infamous Aokigahara Forest—an expanse of ancient woodland that held a dark reputation. Known as the "Suicide Forest," it had been a site of countless tragic deaths throughout the centuries.
A group of adventurous hikers, seeking to conquer the wilderness and challenge the forest's ominous legends, gathered on a chilly autumn morning. Among them was Akira, an experienced guide with a deep respect for the forest's history, and Yumi, a young woman in search of adventure and solace from her own troubled past.
The hikers ventured deep into the forest, their footsteps muffled by the thick blanket of moss and fallen leaves. The dense canopy above cast eerie shadows, and the trees seemed to whisper secrets of sorrow and despair.
As they trekked further into the woods, they began to notice strange occurrences—a disconcerting sense of being watched, distant whispers on the wind, and ghostly apparitions that flickered at the edge of their vision. Akira, the guide, attributed these phenomena to the forest's ominous reputation and urged the group to press on.
Yet, the forest's grip on their minds and senses tightened. Yumi, in particular, felt a strange connection to the haunting forces that seemed to lurk behind every tree. Inexplicable visions of tragedy and despair flashed before her eyes, and a sense of overwhelming dread enveloped her.
Night descended on the forest, and the hikers set up camp, their flickering campfire offering the only semblance of comfort in the oppressive darkness. It was then that Yumi encountered a spectral figure—a yūrei, her kimono tattered and her eyes empty voids.
The yūrei beckoned to Yumi, her voice a mournful echo. Unable to resist, Yumi followed the apparition into the depths of the forest, her companions unaware of her disappearance. The yūrei led her to a clearing where an ancient tree stood, its gnarled roots forming a grotesque face.
As Yumi approached the tree, she felt a malevolent presence—an ancient spirit of the forest itself. It spoke to her, revealing the tragic history of Aokigahara—the place where those who had lost hope sought refuge in death.
Yumi learned of the forest's vengeful guardian, a yūrei born of countless lost souls, whose suffering fueled its malevolence. It was the embodiment of the forest's sorrow, forever bound to torment those who ventured within.
Realizing that Yumi was now connected to the yūrei, her companions embarked on a desperate search to rescue her from the forest's clutches. With the guidance of Akira's knowledge and determination, they confronted the vengeful spirit, revealing the pain of their own pasts and the impact of their actions on the world around them.
As the first rays of dawn bathed Aokigahara in a pale light, the yūrei's malevolence waned, and its grip on Yumi loosened. With a final sigh, it dissipated into the morning mist, its haunting presence released from the forest.
Yumi was reunited with her companions, forever changed by her encounter with the malevolent spirit of Aokigahara. The forest's ominous reputation remained, a reminder of the darkness that could consume those who dared to venture too close to its heart.
"The Shadow in the Forest" served as a chilling testament to the mysteries of Aokigahara, where the past and the present intertwined, and the boundaries between life and death blurred beneath the ancient canopy.
End of Chapter 6: "The Shadow in the Forest"
Chapter 7: "The Haunting of the Yurei Inn"
In a remote village nestled among mist-covered mountains, a centuries-old inn held a sinister secret. When a weary traveler seeks refuge within its ancient walls, she becomes entangled in a web of supernatural mysteries that threaten to consume her soul.
Chapter 7: "The Haunting of the Yurei Inn"
The village of Okuyama was a hidden gem, nestled among towering peaks and blanketed in mist. Within this secluded haven stood the Yurei Inn, a centuries-old establishment steeped in history and whispered legends. Its age-old charm masked a sinister truth—a haunting presence that had plagued the inn for generations.
Amidst a dense fog, a lone traveler named Rei arrived in Okuyama, weary and seeking shelter from the elements. The Yurei Inn, with its rustic charm and flickering lanterns, seemed like the perfect refuge. Little did Rei know that her stay at the inn would unravel the mysteries hidden within its ancient walls.
Upon her arrival, Rei was greeted by the inn's elderly proprietress, Eiko, a woman whose weathered features and deep knowledge of the village's history hinted at a deeper connection to the inn's haunting past.
As Rei settled into her room, the oppressive atmosphere within the inn became palpable. Shadows seemed to dance in the corners of her vision, and strange, ghostly whispers echoed in the corridors. Unbeknownst to her, Rei had become a pawn in a centuries-old battle between the inn and the vengeful spirits that resided within.
In the dead of night, Rei awoke to a chilling presence at her bedside—an ethereal yurei, her white burial kimono flowing like a spectral river. The vengeful spirit's eyes held an insatiable hunger, and she reached out to Rei, her fingers icy and skeletal.
Rei's nights became torment as she encountered more yurei within the inn, each with their own tragic stories of betrayal, injustice, and unfulfilled desires. The spirits sought vengeance, and Rei's presence within the inn had awakened their malevolence.
Desperate to uncover the inn's secrets and free herself from the spirits' relentless pursuit, Rei sought the guidance of Eiko. The elderly proprietress revealed the tragic history of the inn—an establishment built on the suffering of countless souls who had met their demise within its walls.
Eiko's own family had been entangled in the inn's dark legacy, and she bore the weight of their deeds. Together, Rei and Eiko embarked on a journey to confront the yurei and offer them redemption, hoping to break the cycle of suffering that had plagued the inn for centuries.
In a harrowing confrontation with the vengeful spirits, Rei and Eiko unveiled the truth behind the inn's cursed history and acknowledged the pain of the souls that had been wronged. With heartfelt apologies and rituals of atonement, they sought to release the spirits from their torment.
As the first rays of dawn bathed Okuyama in a golden light, the yurei's spectral forms dissolved into the ether, their eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and gratitude. The Yurei Inn, once a place of darkness, now held the promise of redemption.
Rei departed from Okuyama, forever marked by her encounter with the supernatural. The Yurei Inn, now cleansed of its malevolent spirits, stood as a testament to the power of reconciliation and the hope of breaking the chains of the past.
"The Haunting of the Yurei Inn" became a cautionary tale among villagers, a reminder that the sins of the past could be confronted and forgiven, even in the face of vengeful spirits.
End of Chapter 7: "The Haunting of the Yurei Inn"
Chapter 8: "The Curse of the Haunted Kimono"
In the heart of Kyoto, where tradition and modernity intertwined, a family heirloom, an ancient kimono, carried a chilling curse that had plagued generations. A woman must delve into her family's history to uncover the origins of the curse and find a way to break it before it consumes her and her loved ones.
Chapter 8: "The Curse of the Haunted Kimono"
Kyoto, the city of a thousand temples, was a place where time seemed to stand still. Among the historic districts, the Nakamura family had passed down a treasured heirloom for generations—an exquisite silk kimono adorned with intricate embroidery, a relic of a bygone era.
The kimono had always been a source of fascination and reverence within the Nakamura family. It was said to be imbued with mystical powers, protecting its wearer from harm and misfortune. But beneath its ornate beauty lay a dark secret—a curse that had haunted the family for centuries.
Emi, the youngest of the Nakamura family, had grown up hearing stories of the kimono's mystical properties and the curse that clung to it. When her grandmother passed away, leaving the kimono in her care, Emi became the latest custodian of this fabled garment.
As the years passed, strange occurrences began to plague Emi and her family. The kimono seemed to have a malevolent presence, causing nightmares, unexplained accidents, and a growing sense of dread. Emi's husband, Toshiro, and their young daughter, Yuki, bore the brunt of the curse's effects.
Desperate to protect her loved ones, Emi embarked on a quest to uncover the origins of the curse and find a way to break it. She delved into her family's history, poring over ancient scrolls and consulting with local priests and scholars.
Through her research, Emi learned of a tragic love story that had been concealed for generations—a forbidden romance between a Nakamura ancestor and a woman from a rival clan. The lovers had been torn apart by a vengeful spirit, and their love had been sealed within the cursed kimono.
With newfound determination, Emi sought out the help of a renowned exorcist, who revealed that the curse could only be broken by reconciling the spirits of the star-crossed lovers and offering them a chance at eternal peace.
Emi, Toshiro, and Yuki embarked on a journey to the ancestral shrine of the Nakamura family, where they conducted a solemn ritual to appease the vengeful spirits. As they offered their prayers and made heartfelt apologies on behalf of their ancestors, a profound sense of forgiveness washed over them.
In a climactic moment, the cursed kimono transformed, its once malevolent aura dissipating into the ether. The spirits of the star-crossed lovers, now free from their torment, appeared before Emi and her family, their eyes filled with gratitude.
As the cherry blossoms rained down upon Kyoto, Emi, Toshiro, and Yuki returned home with a newfound sense of peace and closure. The kimono, no longer cursed, became a symbol of their family's resilience and the enduring power of love and forgiveness.
"The Curse of the Haunted Kimono" served as a reminder that the sins of the past could be atoned for and that the bonds of love and family could transcend even the darkest of curses.
End of Chapter 8: "The Curse of the Haunted Kimono"
Chapter 9: "The Mirror's Malevolence"
In a quiet suburban neighborhood, an antique mirror with a sinister past found its way into the home of a young couple. As they unwittingly unleashed the malevolent spirit trapped within, they must confront the mirror's dark history to save themselves and their family.
Chapter 9: "The Mirror's Malevolence"
In a serene suburban neighborhood, where cherry blossoms bloomed with each passing spring, lived a young couple, Hiroshi and Aiko, who were enamored with the charm of their new home. They had recently moved into a quaint, old-fashioned house that came with a peculiar antique mirror.
The mirror was ornate and beautiful, its frame adorned with delicate carvings of cherry blossoms. It had been left behind by the previous owner, a recluse who had passed away under mysterious circumstances. Little did Hiroshi and Aiko know that this mirror carried a malevolent secret.
As they settled into their new home, strange occurrences began to unfold. Reflections in the mirror seemed to distort, showing glimpses of eerie, shadowy figures lurking in the background. At night, whispers filled the room as if unseen voices murmured from within the glass.
Aiko, with her fascination for the occult, was the first to sense the mirror's sinister aura. She delved into research, uncovering tales of a cursed mirror that had plagued the previous owner's family for generations.
The mirror had once belonged to a vengeful spirit, a yūrei who had perished in despair. Its malevolence was bound to the glass, and those who possessed it were tormented by the spirit's relentless anger and sorrow.
Desperate to free themselves from the mirror's curse, Hiroshi and Aiko sought the guidance of a spiritual medium. Through a series of rituals and séances, they made contact with the vengeful spirit trapped within the mirror.
The spirit's story unfolded like a tragic drama—the yūrei had been a young woman in love with a man from a rival clan. Their love was forbidden, and when their secret was discovered, they had both met a grisly end. Her spirit had been bound to the mirror as punishment for her defiance of societal norms.
With the medium's help, Hiroshi and Aiko offered prayers and apologies on behalf of the mirror's original owner, seeking forgiveness for the wrongs committed against the vengeful spirit. They vowed to help the spirit find peace and redemption.
In a chilling climax, they conducted a final ritual, allowing the yūrei to pass on and find the solace she had been denied for centuries. As they gazed into the mirror one last time, they saw the spirit's reflection fade into the distance, her eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and farewell.
The mirror, now cleansed of its malevolence, became a symbol of hope and renewal for Hiroshi and Aiko. Their family flourished, and the cherry blossoms in their garden bloomed with newfound vibrancy, a testament to the enduring power of love and forgiveness.
"The Mirror's Malevolence" served as a chilling reminder that even the most innocuous objects could carry dark secrets, and that confronting the past and seeking redemption could break the bonds of even the most malevolent curses.
End of Chapter 9: "The Mirror's Malevolence"
Chapter 10: "The Bridge to the Beyond"
In a remote mountain village, isolated from the modern world, a historic bridge served as a link between the living and the dead. When a group of travelers crossed its ancient planks, they would discover the chilling truth behind the bridge's supernatural origins.
Chapter 10: "The Bridge to the Beyond"
Deep within the heart of the Japanese mountains, nestled among ancient forests and shrouded in mist, lay the village of Yamanokawa. It was a place where tradition and superstition still held sway, and the bridge that spanned the river was both a lifeline and a gateway to the unknown.
A group of adventurous travelers, drawn by the allure of Yamanokawa's untouched beauty, embarked on a journey to explore the village's remote reaches. Among them were Kaito, a historian with an insatiable curiosity, and Mia, a photographer who sought to capture the essence of this secluded world.
The village's centerpiece was the Akane Bridge, a weathered structure made of ancient wood and adorned with centuries-old lanterns. Its planks creaked with the weight of history, and the river below whispered tales of lives long gone.
As the travelers ventured deeper into Yamanokawa, they discovered that the villagers held a profound reverence for the bridge. It was said to be a link between the living and the dead, a place where offerings were made to appease the spirits that dwelled in the surrounding forest.
As night descended, the travelers set up camp near the Akane Bridge, its lanterns casting an eerie, flickering glow on the river's surface. It was then that they heard the sound—a mournful melody that seemed to emanate from the bridge itself.
Mia, driven by curiosity, followed the haunting tune to the bridge's edge. There, bathed in an otherworldly light, she saw a figure—a woman in a white kimono, her long hair flowing like an ebony waterfall.
The woman, whose name was Hikari, revealed herself to be a yūrei, a spirit bound to the Akane Bridge for centuries. She had once been a young bride whose love had been torn apart by a tragic accident on her wedding day. Her spirit was eternally linked to the bridge, where she waited for her beloved to return.
Kaito, the historian, delved into the village's archives and uncovered the tragic story of Hikari's past. It was a tale of love and loss, of a bride whose life had been cut short, and a groom whose heart had been forever scarred by grief.
With newfound determination, the travelers sought to reunite the spirits of Hikari and her beloved. They embarked on a journey deep into the forest, following a path laden with offerings and prayers.
At the heart of the forest, they discovered an ancient shrine dedicated to love and reconciliation. There, in a poignant ceremony, they offered heartfelt prayers and apologies on behalf of the villagers and the groom who had never returned.
As the first light of dawn broke over Yamanokawa, a sense of serenity washed over the Akane Bridge. Hikari's spectral form dissolved into the river's mist, her eyes filled with a mix of longing and gratitude.
The travelers departed from Yamanokawa, forever changed by their encounter with the supernatural. The Akane Bridge, now freed from its haunting past, stood as a testament to the enduring power of love and the hope of reuniting even in the afterlife.
"The Bridge to the Beyond" became a legend whispered among villagers, a reminder that some bonds could transcend time and that the spirit of love endured even in the face of eternity.
End of Chapter 10: "The Bridge to the Beyond"

Have you ever heard of 'The Mirror Game'?
Picture this, tucked away in the dark corners of online forums and whispered conversations, there’s a story that sends chills down the spines of those who hear it. It's the legend of the Mirror Game, a spine-tingling ritual that folks talk about in hushed tones, claiming they've come face-to-face with its dark mysteries.
So, here’s the problem, the Mirror Game ain’t no walk in the park. It all kicks off innocently enough with a regular ol’ mirror, but what follows is anything but ordinary. If you’re brave (or foolish) enough to give it a shot, you’ll need four sleeping pills apparently, they’re key to the weird stuff that happens next.
Once you’re all set, it’s time to dive in. You start by whispering some ancient words, the kind that make the hair on the back of your neck stand up. They say these words wake up the mirror version of you, bringing it to life in a seriously spooky way.
At first, it’s subtle a flicker here, a shadow there. But as the game goes on, things start to get real creepy. The reflection in the mirror starts acting like it’s got a mind of its own, giving you these bone-chilling smiles and gestures that feel way too real.
But hold onto a crucifix, because the Mirror Game isn’t all fun and games. The deeper you get, the scarier it gets. Some say the thing in the mirror starts getting downright nasty, like it’s trying to trap you in its world. And let me tell you, the folks who’ve been there and back? They’ve got stories that’ll make your hair stand on end.
If you’re smart, you’ll steer clear of this one. But if you’re feeling brave, just remember: once you’re in, it’s tough to get out. And even if you do manage to escape, you’ll never look at a mirror the same way again.
Here is one story of a teenager who played the mirror game, yes it's real and it's not very popular yet, but it can be proven it you play it yourself but I beg you don't do it, I'm not gonna explain all the steps for people's safety, but I'll mention a little.
In the shadows of an old church, hidden away in a forgotten storage room, a teenage boy stumbled upon an ancient tome that would change his life forever. The weathered pages were adorned with strange symbols and cryptic writings, most of which were in a language he couldn't decipher. But amidst the Latin passages, he found one page written in English - a page that would lead him down a path of darkness and despair.
It was February 20th, 1967, when the boy and his three friends gathered in his attic, drawn together by the promise of forbidden knowledge. With trembling hands, he recited the incantation from the book, each word sending shivers down his spine. As the final syllable fell from his lips, a hushed silence enveloped the room, broken only by the faint sound of his racing heart.
Following the instructions laid out in the ancient tome, they positioned two mirrors opposite each other, their reflective surfaces poised to capture the unseen. With bated breath, they waited, watching for any sign of movement in the mirrored images that surrounded them.
And then it happened a subtle shift, a barely perceptible movement that sent a chill coursing through their veins. One of the reflections moved, its head tilting ever so slightly in response to the boy's invocation. In that moment, the air grew heavy with an otherworldly presence, and the boy knew that they had awoken something beyond their understanding.
What followed was a descent into madness, a nightmare from which there was no waking. The once bright-eyed teenager became consumed by darkness, haunted by visions that tore at his sanity. His friends, too, were not spared from the horrors unleashed by their reckless curiosity.
In the end, the boy's mind could no longer bear the weight of the secrets he had unearthed. In a moment of desperation and despair, he took his own life, leaving behind only a journal detailing the horrors he had witnessed and a warning to those who dared to follow in his footsteps.
And so, the tale of the Mirror Game became a cautionary legend, whispered about in hushed tones by those who knew of its dangers. For in the shadows of the unknown, there are forces beyond our comprehension - forces that should never be disturbed.
The point of the game is to try and survive until it becomes less hostile and turn back to normal, and that's how you know you survived, sometimes it can trick you into thinking it's back to normal to get you to let your guard down it's a very dangerous game, and they do have the power to switch places with you, but I can't help but wonder how many others felt victim to this.
The only way you'll know, if you see how they are acting, you'll know, you'll know because they're not acting like themselves, perhaps if you play close attention you'll see they are imposters.
Here is some Google search results about the mirrors.
What happens when you stare at yourself in the mirror for too long?
In normal observers, gazing at one's own face in the mirror for a few minutes, at a low illumination level, produces the apparition of strange faces. Observers see distortions of their own faces, but they often see hallucinations like monsters, archetypical faces, faces of relatives and deceased, and animals.
Why shouldn't you sleep with a mirror next to you?
'Some suggest avoiding them altogether, while others recommend positioning them away from the bed. 'This advice is rooted in the notion that mirrors have the power to reflect and intensify both positive and negative energy, potentially interfering with sleep quality.
What is catoptrophobia?
Someone with catoptrophobia will have an abnormal and irrational fear of mirrors that results in fear, anxiety, panic and distress if they see a mirror or think about seeing a mirror. Negative thoughts and feelings are likely to be further exacerbated if they see their own reflection in the mirror.
there is a psychological phenomenon called "mirror movement illusion" or "mirror touch synesthesia" where individuals perceive their mirror reflection as not moving in sync with their own movements. This can occur in conditions such as mirror-touch synesthesia, where individuals experience a merging of visual and tactile sensations, leading them to feel the sensations observed in others, including their own mirror image.
All these things are what I explained in the story, they try and tell people they are crazy and have a mental disorder, but that's not the case, when you hear about strange things in the mirror, or odd mirror movements like your reflection not acting right. or recordings of it, that's the thing I'm warning you about, do not play games with it, and don't try to communicate with it, because the second you do any of that, it's all over.
And if it's too late for you, the best thing I can tell you is to stay away from anything that is reflective, do not fall asleep near anything that is reflective, cover anything reflective if you can, it could switch places with you, and you could be trapped, I don't know how to reverse it, the best thing I can tell you is to stay away from the mirror game, do not tempt the creature in the mirror.
the entity in the mirror is very self aware of you, and I promise you, you do not wanna play the mirror game, do not try to trick your reflection to make your reflection to act unnaturally in the mirror, do not try to trick your reflection to messing up it will harm you, this is my warning share this warning with everyone you love, family friends cousin's Brothers anyone, or if you feel like your loved one is in danger, or you saw your reflection not acting how it should, cover your mirrors do not sleep near any mirrors do not go anywhere that has reflections, (DO NOT) play the mirror game, at any circumstances.

Have you ever heard of 'The Mirror Game'?
Picture this, tucked away in the dark corners of online forums and whispered conversations, there’s a story that sends chills down the spines of those who hear it. It's the legend of the Mirror Game, a spine-tingling ritual that folks talk about in hushed tones, claiming they've come face-to-face with its dark mysteries.
So, here’s the problem, the Mirror Game ain’t no walk in the park. It all kicks off innocently enough with a regular ol’ mirror, but what follows is anything but ordinary. If you’re brave (or foolish) enough to give it a shot, you’ll need four sleeping pills apparently, they’re key to the weird stuff that happens next.
Once you’re all set, it’s time to dive in. You start by whispering some ancient words, the kind that make the hair on the back of your neck stand up. They say these words wake up the mirror version of you, bringing it to life in a seriously spooky way.
At first, it’s subtle a flicker here, a shadow there. But as the game goes on, things start to get real creepy. The reflection in the mirror starts acting like it’s got a mind of its own, giving you these bone-chilling smiles and gestures that feel way too real.
But hold onto a crucifix, because the Mirror Game isn’t all fun and games. The deeper you get, the scarier it gets. Some say the thing in the mirror starts getting downright nasty, like it’s trying to trap you in its world. And let me tell you, the folks who’ve been there and back? They’ve got stories that’ll make your hair stand on end.
If you’re smart, you’ll steer clear of this one. But if you’re feeling brave, just remember: once you’re in, it’s tough to get out. And even if you do manage to escape, you’ll never look at a mirror the same way again.
Here is one story of a teenager who played the mirror game, yes it's real and it's not very popular yet, but it can be proven it you play it yourself but I beg you don't do it, I'm not gonna explain all the steps for people's safety, but I'll mention a little.
In the shadows of an old church, hidden away in a forgotten storage room, a teenage boy stumbled upon an ancient tome that would change his life forever. The weathered pages were adorned with strange symbols and cryptic writings, most of which were in a language he couldn't decipher. But amidst the Latin passages, he found one page written in English - a page that would lead him down a path of darkness and despair.
It was February 20th, 1967, when the boy and his three friends gathered in his attic, drawn together by the promise of forbidden knowledge. With trembling hands, he recited the incantation from the book, each word sending shivers down his spine. As the final syllable fell from his lips, a hushed silence enveloped the room, broken only by the faint sound of his racing heart.
Following the instructions laid out in the ancient tome, they positioned two mirrors opposite each other, their reflective surfaces poised to capture the unseen. With bated breath, they waited, watching for any sign of movement in the mirrored images that surrounded them.
And then it happened a subtle shift, a barely perceptible movement that sent a chill coursing through their veins. One of the reflections moved, its head tilting ever so slightly in response to the boy's invocation. In that moment, the air grew heavy with an otherworldly presence, and the boy knew that they had awoken something beyond their understanding.
What followed was a descent into madness, a nightmare from which there was no waking. The once bright-eyed teenager became consumed by darkness, haunted by visions that tore at his sanity. His friends, too, were not spared from the horrors unleashed by their reckless curiosity.
In the end, the boy's mind could no longer bear the weight of the secrets he had unearthed. In a moment of desperation and despair, he took his own life, leaving behind only a journal detailing the horrors he had witnessed and a warning to those who dared to follow in his footsteps.
And so, the tale of the Mirror Game became a cautionary legend, whispered about in hushed tones by those who knew of its dangers. For in the shadows of the unknown, there are forces beyond our comprehension - forces that should never be disturbed.
The point of the game is to try and survive until it becomes less hostile and turn back to normal, and that's how you know you survived, sometimes it can trick you into thinking it's back to normal to get you to let your guard down it's a very dangerous game, and they do have the power to switch places with you, but I can't help but wonder how many others felt victim to this.
The only way you'll know, if you see how they are acting, you'll know, you'll know because they're not acting like themselves, perhaps if you play close attention you'll see they are imposters.
Here is some Google search results about the mirrors.
What happens when you stare at yourself in the mirror for too long?
In normal observers, gazing at one's own face in the mirror for a few minutes, at a low illumination level, produces the apparition of strange faces. Observers see distortions of their own faces, but they often see hallucinations like monsters, archetypical faces, faces of relatives and deceased, and animals.
Why shouldn't you sleep with a mirror next to you?
'Some suggest avoiding them altogether, while others recommend positioning them away from the bed. 'This advice is rooted in the notion that mirrors have the power to reflect and intensify both positive and negative energy, potentially interfering with sleep quality.
What is catoptrophobia?
Someone with catoptrophobia will have an abnormal and irrational fear of mirrors that results in fear, anxiety, panic and distress if they see a mirror or think about seeing a mirror. Negative thoughts and feelings are likely to be further exacerbated if they see their own reflection in the mirror.
there is a psychological phenomenon called "mirror movement illusion" or "mirror touch synesthesia" where individuals perceive their mirror reflection as not moving in sync with their own movements. This can occur in conditions such as mirror-touch synesthesia, where individuals experience a merging of visual and tactile sensations, leading them to feel the sensations observed in others, including their own mirror image.
All these things are what I explained in the story, they try and tell people they are crazy and have a mental disorder, but that's not the case, when you hear about strange things in the mirror, or odd mirror movements like your reflection not acting right. or recordings of it, that's the thing I'm warning you about, do not play games with it, and don't try to communicate with it, because the second you do any of that, it's all over.
And if it's too late for you, the best thing I can tell you is to stay away from anything that is reflective, do not fall asleep near anything that is reflective, cover anything reflective if you can, it could switch places with you, and you could be trapped, I don't know how to reverse it, the best thing I can tell you is to stay away from the mirror game, do not tempt the creature in the mirror.
the entity in the mirror is very self aware of you, and I promise you, you do not wanna play the mirror game, do not try to trick your reflection to make your reflection to act unnaturally in the mirror, do not try to trick your reflection to messing up it will harm you, this is my warning share this warning with everyone you love, family friends cousin's Brothers anyone, or if you feel like your loved one is in danger, or you saw your reflection not acting how it should, cover your mirrors do not sleep near any mirrors do not go anywhere that has reflections, (DO NOT) play the mirror game, at any circumstances.