“There are things that shouldn’t be seen.”
Often said my late grandmother, and that was quite true.
I was drawn to the occult from childhood, and upon entering university, I learned the truth of those words by stepping many times into the edges of the netherworld. Ghosts — beings which no one can decisively determine whether they exist or not. The story that begins here revolves around stories brought forth by them.
And this story, it can also be said to be the story of it and I.
As its eyes glimmer in front of strangeness, as it breathes out words with a bedazzled expression, it warped the world that I always believed in. It made me anxious of whether the ground I stood on would shake. I would want to look over my shoulder just by listening, and I grew to fear whether someone were peeking from the dark shadow of the door.
Maybe it was because the words it spoke included truths about the other side. It included truths that only applied to the scant, grotesque, waning, dead ones.
Now, after it has disappeared, do I finally know that.
As grandmother said, it was a world that I should not have seen. It was a story that was not for the living person.
However, I intend to speak of that.
I intend to speak about all of that.
Because if I don’t — it wouldn’t be able to rest in peace.
Because it, having lived on the edge of darkness, having struggled through the threshold of darkness, would not be able to live in peace.
Yes — I’ll say it once more.
From here on, is a story that shouldn’t be known.