A Ghost in the Bamboo Forest

Kyoto’s streets were different at night. The neon signs lost their sharp edges, their colors bleeding into the mist that curled along the stone-paved alleys. The laughter of bar-goers faded into the distance, replaced by the whisper of unseen footsteps and the occasional rustle of wind through narrow corridors.

Jessica moved in silence, her breath steady, her mind racing.

The teahouse had been a disaster. The broker was dead. The businessman had vanished. And the mask—the thing they had come to find—had been left behind in the chaos.

She wasn’t sure what unsettled her more—the clean precision of the hit, or the choice not to kill the buyer. That kind of discretion meant design. It meant intent. They had killed Sasaki and walked away. Which meant he had known something.

---

Yuki’s safe house was tucked away in the Higashiyama district, a narrow two-story building nestled between an abandoned bookstore and a small Shinto shrine. It had the look of something meant to be forgotten, its wooden panels darkened with age, its windows obscured by heavy paper screens.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of ink and old parchment. Records, documents, pieces of a puzzle waiting to be arranged.

Jessica stood by the window, watching the alley below. Leanna paced, arms crossed. Olivia sat at the low table, sorting through notes, her brow furrowed in thought. Yuki remained standing near the door, her posture unreadable.

“This wasn’t a robbery,” Yuki said finally. “It was a correction.”

Leanna looked up. “What do you mean?”

Yuki exhaled. “Sasaki had information he wasn’t supposed to have. He was silenced.” She paused. “The mask wasn’t the target. He was.”

Jessica turned, her grip tightening on the edge of the windowsill. “Then we need to find out what he knew.”

Yuki nodded. “I might have something.”

She moved to the bookshelf, pulling out a thin, leather-bound volume. The edges were worn, the kanji on the cover almost faded beyond recognition.

“This is an old police file,” Yuki said, setting the book on the table. “About a shrine in the Arashiyama Bamboo Forest.”

Olivia frowned. “What does that have to do with the masks?”

Yuki tapped the spine of the book. “The shrine was abandoned decades ago. Officially, it was due to structural instability.” She paused. “Unofficially, people started disappearing.”

Jessica exchanged a glance with Leanna.

Yuki continued. “The last recorded disappearance? 1968. A researcher. His name never made it into the final report.”

Jessica exhaled slowly. The same year Vanguard’s original project had gone dark. The year the reports they collected had stopped. Her chest tightened. This was not a coincidence. It was a pattern.

Silence settled between them.

“We leave in an hour,” Jessica said.

---

The road to Arashiyama was empty, the city fading behind them as they drove into the darkness. The forest loomed ahead, a sea of swaying green, the bamboo bending with the wind but never breaking. Somewhere deep within, a wind chime clinked once. It was too distant, too eerie to be natural. She glanced back once. There was nothing but bamboo, rustling like ghosts in the dark.

Jessica stepped out of the car, the damp earth soft beneath her boots. Something about this place felt heavy.

She adjusted the straps of her jacket, scanning the entrance to the overgrown path. Yuki was already moving ahead, her flashlight casting long, thin shadows across the stone steps leading into the forest.

Leanna fell in beside Jessica. “This place is giving me bad vibes.”

Jessica smirked. “It’s earned them.”

They moved deeper into the bamboo. The air grew colder, the wind dying down until the only sound was their own footsteps against moss-covered stone.

Then they saw it. The torii gate. Half-collapsed, its wood dark with age, it stood at the entrance to what had once been a temple courtyard. Beyond it, the ruins of a shrine lay in waiting.

Jessica stepped forward, her heartbeat steady. But as she crossed beneath the gate, a wave of something hit her.

Jessica saw in her mind a flash of paper walls flickering in candlelight. Chanting, rhythmic and inhuman, folded over the scent of smoke and blood. Something burned. Something metallic, sharp on the tongue.

She stumbled.

Leanna caught her elbow. “Jess?”

Jessica inhaled sharply. The vision was gone.

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

She wasn’t.

---

Inside the ruined shrine, the air was thick with decay. Torn fabric clung to wooden beams, incense burners lay cold and forgotten. The remnants of a ritual left unfinished.

Olivia knelt, brushing aside debris. “Over here.”

Jessica turned, moving to where Olivia held up a small wooden tag, its surface marked with an unfamiliar sigil.

Yuki took it carefully, studying the symbol. “This isn’t Shinto,” she murmured, tracing the lines. “Or Buddhist. It’s older. Pre-diaspora, maybe. Something buried.”

Leanna narrowed her eyes. “Then what is it?”

Yuki looked up. “Something older.”

“The Latin phrase,” Jessica said. Her voice was steady, but her knuckles had gone white. “From the teahouse. It wasn't a metaphor. It was a warning.”

Leanna’s expression darkened. “You think this is connected?”

Jessica exhaled, looking around the ruined shrine. The weight in her chest deepened.

She didn’t just think it was connected. She knew it was.

---

They were leaving when Jessica felt it.

A shift in the air. The awareness of being watched. She turned, her hand instinctively moving toward her sidearm.

At the edge of the lantern glow, a figure waited in the shadows. Old. Thin. A monk in tattered robes, face half-obscured beneath a heavy hood.

He stepped forward, his movement slow but deliberate. He didn’t speak at first, only studied Jessica as if searching for something.

Then, in a voice hoarse with time, he said:

“Welcome home.” The words hung in the mist. Jessica didn’t move. She couldn’t. Because part of her believed him.