Short story: The Burden of Remembering

I don’t know if you want to believe that this is a true story or not, but I just feel the need to write this down before I forget it. Well, I am saying that I can forget it because bits and pieces of this memory feel like a dream rather than an actual event that took place, but I am sure, in my heart, that what I felt and experienced was true. I know it was true. I believed in what I saw. I believed in what I felt and experienced. I want it to be true because it confirms to me that I am not some madman or hallucinating. People say that I am hallucinating a lot for some reason. They called me mad. They called me names. Bad names. Words that hurt me deep in the heart like a stab that you cannot heal from. Why am I saying this? Because nobody remembers the incident except me, and I know this sounds cliché, but I can swear to you that this is not from a movie script or anything like that. I mean... As a writer and film director, that credibility seems to be in question all the time if I keep sharing this story to others because they would say that I just have an imaginative mind. A wild imagination. If I insist that my story is true, constantly, repeatedly, always... People would think I have become a nuthead. The world is a cruel place and if they don't see what I saw with their own eyes, they will find it hard to believe. I am growing old now. My mind is not as it was. All the memories are fading. Names can be easily forgotten. Happy times as well as sad ones disappear and locked away in a chest, tuck into a corner of the aging mind. I guess that's what growing old is all about but I feel that it is more than just that. I feel that that thing is making me want to forget and no matter how many sleepless nights I have to endure, I just have to bear with it and eventually I will fall because of that thing. That damnation. That pure evil. I always thought that there was no such thing as ghost, demons and spirits but I feel that this is far worst than what those labels are capable of. It is like an ancient dark god, rising and moving in secret; let out into our world to cause chaos and I have seen the chaos. Us humans have gone mad. We have started to hate each other and now, we are slowly destroying each other. That damnation is responsible for our fall.

So, this incident took place in Japan when I was part of a pilgrimage to visit Mas Oyama’s memorial at Mitsumine Shrine because I was one of the karate members of IKO-1. We went there for the pilgrimage as well as to train nearby. I must say that this was the first time I had ever visited such a place because I am not a religious person, and life brought me here unexpectedly. I didn’t actually want to take up karate as a sport, but I was already a depressed delinquent until a school counsellor attached me to this sport, and things started to improve from there. I must admit that life was not very kind to me. I was struggling a lot and I feel, when compared with others, others were doing better than me. I was just in such a pathetic state that I don't know what I was doing with my young life. I had no direction. I had no life. I had nobody loving me. I guess I wanted to build something for myself and I did, but, in the end, everything fall apart like my life is made up of wood. I tried to do the best with what I have. I tried to move forward and reach for the stars. I did try. I repeatedly fall back because there are others that pulled me down and when I try to rise again, they keep doing the same thing. I took karate as a way to build myself up, but that too failed. However, I want to think that I developed something out of it like some good experience and values that I can use in my life. I guess you can say that joining this karate group was both a blessing and a damnation for me because what happened on my visit makes me utterly confused as to how the world seems to just ignore the most horrifying thing that has happened to a person. I guess I should not be confused. That's the work of evil and evil works in mysterious ways. I guess I am just confused at how the soul of someone can be sacrificed and forgotten as if that person meant nothing in the world... As if that person simply does not belong to the world and to be forgotten seems to just be depressing.

On the first day, we had to pay our respects at the shrine, but there was this odd custom that I noticed when we arrived there. Everything up to that point was simply standard. We went through the torii gate; we saw the guardian statues and the lanterns hanging from one tree to another. All standard stuff, but the mood changed when we entered the worship hall. One of the karateka members, someone who was in a leadership position, brought us into the main worship hall of the shrine. Close to the wall, far from the main entrance, there was this large statue, and underneath that statue there was a cabinet, but it seemed that the cabinet was attached to the wall. Everything seems old and it was expected although there were some renovation works done to some parts of the shrine, it was nothing expensive or modern. I guess you can say that they just patch up old wounds that are rotting or falling apart. The funding for the shrine was not good I guess and the Japanese government have other shrines to look after or maybe this was mainly funded by those that went there. My father always told me that a place of worship is in a valued state only if there's some source of funding either from the local government or from the patrons of the shrine themselves.

We were told that we had to pay our respects to this statue, the deity of this shrine, but we had to go into the worship hall in groups of five, including a senior karateka member. I think there were about five groups, and mine was the second last. We entered the worship hall, and it was cold. The elder monk there had already given us the instructions on what to do, and we brought our offering before he left the worship hall, closing the paper gate behind us. We had to place a cup of sake into the cabinet. We were seated in a seiza position with our senior at the front, and she opened the cabinet to place the offering inside, which allowed us to witness a large tunnel that could fit the size of a crouching man. It was a long and dark tunnel, and the air from it was cold, which already gave us chills when the worship hall was already icy cold. I naturally did not pray, but merely observed. I don't believe in such things and I just came out of respect. To be honest, I don't really want to do such a ritual because it makes me uncomfortable, knowing that I am of a different faith. I mean I guess it was justified as a mark of respect for the people that manage the shrine and our teachers, but I have experienced episodes in which others would often force their beliefs onto me and that has left me in an uneasy state. So, to be there was just me trying to be cautious but I guess I was lucky that nobody was forcing me to do anything. I was in fact just at the back watching without judgement. I think that's the best way for me and for the rest.

Our senior specifically told us that nobody should open this cabinet at all. This was a strict rule that she kept emphasising and wanting us to repeat what she said over and over again, but she was specifically referring to opening the cabinet at three in the morning, which she said would bring bad luck to those who did so. Well, that only got a lot of us curious, but most of us just listened to what the seniors told us out of respect, since they had been through this pilgrimage before. I mean for children I think they would be really curious but I guess we as teens were curious as well. I don't think we showed a good example to the young ones, but luckily they were situated a bit further from the shrine and they only came here on the first day because the trek up the hill. An be dangerous for them as well as tiring which saved us from hearing their potential whining. I wish we were more well-behaved. I guess back then we didn't spare a second thought. I mean if the children can do what they are instructed, holding their eagerness in their hearts, why cannot we do the same? The words of my senior will forever be ingrained in my head because of our stubbornness. We were dumb. We were stupid. There's no other way of saying it nicely and frankly, I feel that there's no need to say it nicely because someone is gone. Possibly died. Destroyed and forgotten forever until the day I die with me being the only one that remembers that person. Gosh... I don't even remember the person's gender or maybe I am just losing my mind slowly. Maybe, I am losing my mind slowly. Here I am sitting in my dark room as an old man, praying and hoping that the world will remember that individual. There's a need to. I feel it is necessary. I feel that we should not be forgotten. I guess in a way that people that don't contribute significantly to society will someday be forgotten. That's how it is but this just feels wrong because that person is forgotten immediately as if that person never existed. I feel responsible for that. I don't deserve any respect whatsoever. I don't. I guess I am just the one that feels all this weight on my shoulders. I mean people don't respect me and yet, they can carry on with their lives so I guess it reflects the kind of person I am. I will someday be forgotten as well. That is inevitable. That is the truth. Someday, everything that I have done will be crumbling to dust and be part of history. I guess we all fear of being forgotten. We all have that fear, but we just don't think about it.

The rest of the day was alright for us. We had training—intense training—but nothing I could not handle, since I was used to such pain for nine years already. We had lunch, more training, and dinner as well, which was wonderful. There were some tents that we put up close to the shrine, around five or six meters away from it, and we rested there for the evening. Did I mention that I hate camping? I remember one time when I was camping for school, I forgotten my towel. That sucks so I had to use the toilet rolls to dry myself and it was not the best solution. Yes, we were camping in school back then but it was held outdoors at the football field and the rained poured heavily which requires us to be escorted into our tents with a single umbrella, but the rain ended quickly. I guess I can remember a lot about my childhood even as an old man. I don't want to forget my childhood. I feel that to forget it means to feel that I did not live those memories. Maybe, I am not making any sense whatsoever or maybe, I am going senile. Everyone thinks that when you are older, your memory weakens and you become useless to society. In a way, I feel useless. I have felt useless for a long time because of what I navigated my life. I guess I just have a lot of regrets now.

Despite the intense training in the afternoon, we could not sleep. Well, I am going to introduce to you some of my classmates and whatnot. So, in our tent, mainly boys, there were A and B. Both were from the same school as me. We could not sleep, and so we began talking about girls and whatnot before we decided to go out to stretch and smell the fresh air of the mountainside. When we did that, we saw C and D, our female classmates, coming back from the restroom. We approached them and told them that we could not sleep, and so we began to chat and whatnot far from our tents so that the seniors wouldn’t spot us. Funny how we began to tell ghost stories that sounded cliché and outlandish, but we had fun telling them, although I can tell you that all of us didn’t believe in ghosts. I guess when you are younger, you believe that you are invincible. You believe that you are strong and you can conquer the world, but when you faced the harsh reality of life, you slowly crumble and I see that in their eyes. For me, I accepted the fact that I was weak. I am, after all, an easy target of bullying and abuse. People used me as a punching bag for some reason. I was used to the idea that the world is harsh and cruel. I want to believe that I am not invincible or strong and I told myself that accepting the truth is just to set me free from having unrealistic expectations.

C told us all that we should participate in a test of courage, and most of us were like, “No way!” but she said that it was a good opportunity to make some memories. Ironic. She said that we should take a peek at the cabinet at the worship hall since it was around fifteen minutes past three. I thought to myself at that time that fifteen minutes past three meant that it was alright for us to take a peek and not get cursed or something, so we headed to the shrine. By the time we reached the entrance, it was already around three-thirty in the morning. The forest was silent. The early morning air was cooling. You can feel at ease just by walking outside. You feel different than when you were in the day. There is just something unusual about the early hours of the morning that you usually don't get to experience, but they say that that time is reserved for the ghouls and ghosts. That's why we sleep and they roam. I heard that they sleep in the day or something and that is why we rarely see ghosts in the day. I mean I know some people claim that they saw ghosts in the day, but I feel that that type of ghosts are the ones that are mimicking their everyday life without realising that they are already dead.

D, B, and A were already hesitant to go inside, but C was calling them chickens, especially the boys, which was rather unpleasant, and we didn’t want to be seen as chickens in front of the girls. I was hesitant myself, and C kept urging me to follow her, but after some time, and since nobody wanted to pursue such a daring action, C barked at us and decided that she would head into the shrine herself and complete the test of courage. She had the courage to do such a thing but, she courage is unfounded in this situation. I feel that she was just misplacing that courage in a way that led to her demise. I don't know. Maybe, I am remembering things wrongly here. Maybe, I am in the wrong all these years and that there never had been a person called C. My mind is old and the facts are fuzzy. I feel dizzy thinking about the past and I began to wonder if what I am writing down, based on my memories are true. I don't know. I want to believe the past is the truth that I know all along, but I just feel uncertain. I feel uncomfortable contemplating this way because of how life has been for me. I have been in arguments and broken friendships because of what I feel is the truth. I have went out of my way to find her, pasted posters all around and even distributed flyers near the train station, hoping that someone can find her but without a clear photo of her, without proof that she ever existed and with everyone calling me mad, I am starting to question the past. What if the past is not real after all? I don't know. I feel that I can be in the wrong. I have been wrong before. I have made the wrong choices in life. I don't want to be wrong again. I hate being wrong. I hate being at fault. It just feels cruel to always be in the wrong, but sometimes I feel that I am in the right. I know I am right about her. That person. That individual. Someone that has feelings and people they love, people that love them and care for them.

We waited outside for some time after she entered. It felt like an eternity, as if time itself had slowed down. Then there was a scream—loud and piercing—coming from the shrine, and we were all shocked. We turned to see the paper door ajar and some sort of black figure looking at us from inside the shrine. That black figure was like something slimy, with dripping sounds like water dripping from a tap. There was this weird white mask like something used in a theatre that resembles its face. It was a smiling mask. A creepy smile. A weird white masks that allows for the protruding if a black tongue that is of a different shade to it's slimy body. That was the only thing louder than my heartbeat, and my heartbeat raced when we took off. We fled the scene and rushed back to our encampment. I was worried about C and kept asking if we should go back to find her, but the rest were simply dismissive, fearing their own safety, which I understand, and I was afraid as well. I did not look for C and stayed hidden in my tent.

Here’s the weird part. In the morning, when we woke up, C was nowhere to be found. I asked B, A, and D if we should inform the seniors about C, but they were confused. They looked at me with confusion in their eyes. “Who’s C?” I was baffled. They clearly did not remember anyone called C. I told them that C stayed in the tent with D, but D said that she stayed in the tent with E and F, and not somebody named C. I asked the seniors, and they too said that there was nobody by the name of C throughout the entire pilgrimage.

After the trip, I went to investigate C by going to her home, which was not far from where I stayed. I went there and saw her parents. When they opened the door, they were crying, but it seemed that they were not crying for their missing daughter. It seemed that they were crying for some dead cat that they had buried early in the morning. I asked them about C, and they told me that they didn’t have a child named C. I asked for her elder sister, G, and she came down as well, telling me that there was nobody named C. I pestered them so much that they told me to leave before they called the police, and so I did. I just don’t understand how nobody could remember C at all. It feels like I am the only one that's daydreaming. It feels like I'm the only one that is hallucinating or maybe I am hallucinating. I don't know. There's this heavy feeling in my heart. There's this uneasiness that just won't go away. As an old man now, that uneasiness sticks with me. It clings to me just like how I keep having nightmares about that being, constantly haunting me always. What does that being want? A sacrifice? Maybe, I am next. Maybe, it is waiting to consume me now when I am going to die soon. I am going to die. Alone. Forgotten. That's what it wants and I am next. I don't mind actually. I guess that monster is the only thing that will remember me. What I feel is that I might be the only one that can take it to the grave. It feeds on memories and souls. It cannot survive without those two. That's my hypothesis. I can be wrong. I have been wrong before. I don't know. I am worried. I am worried for myself mainly and I guess I am just a selfish bastard for thinking that way. However, I am able to live my life. I am able to live it to the best of my abilities unlike her. She is gone, I don't remember her face even. I try to find her every time but I just cannot find traces of her. I keep wasting time on that. I keep trying to do things repeatedly and hoping for a different result. I guess I am just desperate. I am desperate for an answer or something. Anything that can break me free and help me understand what I saw, my situation and even my life.

At home, I asked my mom, and she too did not remember any C in my karate class. I tried everything, even old photos of her and our friends, but she was not there. It’s like she never existed in the first place.

I am writing this down now because, as the years go by, I am slowly forgetting the details of my experience, but I am sure that what we saw that night was something we could not easily forget. Funnily enough, I wrote it on an online forum, but the forum was deleted afterwards. An anonymous message sent to me afterwards said: “Nobody should mention that incident. If you know the truth, you will die.”

Time flies so fast. It never waits for you. I keep writing down as much as I can. I keep trying to remember C but now, my memories are failing me. I am degrading. I am weakened. I see the first letter of that person's name and I wonder if that person was a girl or a boy or maybe it is just a made up character in my mind, trying to be some form of affirmation to the madness that I have surrounded myself with. I can hear the wet sound of dripping. The slime figure. The evil being. It is coming closer to me. It is coming for me. I realised that once he has taken me, the future is unknown. My timeline on this world ends and the afterlife begins. Frankly, I am afraid of what comes after life. I guess I am being erased myself and maybe they will just find nothing in my room or that there will be small specs of my life that they will not notice. If you know the truth, you will die. I guess I am going to die. I know the truth. I know...