This is a story I heard from my Shisho.
It was the autumn of my first year in university. While enrolled in graduate school, my Shisho worked a strange part-time job as a detective at an agency, relentlessly pursued the occult path, and even belonged to the local volunteer fire brigade. She was truly a busy person.
Unlike the typical image of a firefighter stationed at a firehouse, her fire brigade was apparently a functional unit—a sort of backup crew that only mobilized in times of emergency. Even when she was lounging around the house, the moment the muster siren sounded, she would bolt out the door and sprint to the nearby fire station.
I don’t know why she was so actively dedicated to local disaster prevention. She would skip routine training drills and competitions for handling pumper trucks, yet whenever the real thing happened, she participated with an abnormal, vibrant enthusiasm. Perhaps she simply loved fire.
Once, when turnout among the brigade members was low during a daytime blaze, I was dragged along against my will. I wasn’t a member, I wasn’t covered by insurance, and it was probably a terrible idea, but since she was basically the neighborhood bully, I had no choice. Because of that incident, I ended up learning quite a bit about how fire brigades operate.
When a fire breaks out, the most crucial element in firefighting is water supply. No matter how many pumper trucks gather at the scene, without water, there is no way to put out the fire. In residential areas, fire hydrants are usually installed at regular intervals, allowing water to be drawn from underground pipes. As a side note, drawing water from these hydrants apparently muddies the local water supply, sometimes drawing the ire of residents. One has to wonder if they believe tap water for daily life is more important than a fire—unless, of course, the burning house happens to be their own.
If hydrants aren't available, they use nearby rivers or irrigation ponds. Portable water-absorption pumps are carried to the site, and the water they draw is piped all the way to the source of the fire. When the distance is too great, multiple pumps are set up along the way to maintain water pressure and push the water over long distances.
In areas where there are no rivers nearby and no fire hydrants, facilities known as "fire cisterns" are installed. Since there are no usable water sources, water for firefighting is stored in advance out of sheer necessity. These are common in mountain settlements and the like. Since enough water is needed to put out a typical house fire, large underground cisterns with capacities of 40 or 60 tons are usually installed. I had seen those red signs reading "Fire Cistern" deep in the mountains myself.
Now, regarding these fire cisterns that sustain the local water supply during fires, I heard a strange story about one of them one day.
"A ground-clearing ritual?" "Yeah, that's right."
According to Shisho, the fire cistern under the jurisdiction of a certain fire brigade unit was experiencing a mysterious phenomenon: the water kept disappearing.
"That particular cistern isn't the underground type; it's made of concrete above ground. It looks like a huge, square stone box. Apparently, it's quite old. Recently, when they opened the lid for an inspection, the water was completely gone. They figured it must have cracked somewhere and leaked, but when they checked, they couldn't find any major cracks. So they filled it back up to the brim and went to check on it a week later, only to find it nearly empty again."
"So it must be leaking from somewhere." "It's old, so sure, it probably has hairline cracks. But water shouldn't drain out that fast. Yet, with the water actually vanishing, the cistern becomes useless if a fire breaks out. So the district head made a direct appeal to the city's disaster management division, demanding they fix it or rebuild it. The city apparently balked, claiming they had no budget for it this year, but they decided to at least implement a quick fix and hired a contractor called Furuta Tent."
"Instead of a construction company?" "They didn't have the budget to hire one. Apparently, this Furuta Tent company specializes in using tent fabric to repair or reinforce tanks like that. For a fire cistern, lining the entire interior with durable tent fabric and filling it with water prevents leaks. It's much cheaper than full-scale repair work, and they had a track record of doing it, so they hired them right away."
"And what happened?" "It held up a little longer this time, but after another week, half the water was gone again."
"If there's a hole in the bottom, would the water pressure just tear through the tent fabric?" "I don't know, but that's when people started whispering that it might be cursed. Apparently, decades ago, when they built the fire cistern, they removed a small shrine or a Jizo statue to put it up. Now the old folks in the neighborhood are bringing that up and making a fuss."
"Hence the ground-clearing ritual?" "Right. In the end, the city apparently used reserve funds to hire a construction company. It's just work to fill the internal cracks, plus re-installing the tent fabric. A combination approach. And they're holding a ground-clearing ritual before the work starts. Sounds interesting, so I'm thinking of going to check it out."
The following week after hearing that story, Shisho dragged me along to the Takanawa district, the northernmost part of the city. We parked her mini-car at the site of a closed-down local elementary school and walked to our destination. Being a mountainous area, the surroundings were lush with greenery, and the roads were narrow.
There was a small community center where a considerable crowd had gathered. A short walk past it brought us to a red sign on the roadside reading "Fire Cistern."
On the right side of the road, houses were clustered tightly together in a narrow space, and nestled among them was an empty, overgrown vacant lot. The cistern in question sat heavily right in the middle of it. The left side of the road was a mountain slope.
Indeed, seeing it in person, it gave the strong impression of a massive stone box. It must have been close to three meters high. A simple iron ladder was attached to the outside, allowing people to climb up.
People involved in the project had gathered around the cistern. A Shinto priest was setting up an altar, which was cordoned off with sacred straw ropes (*shimenawa*). Several elderly men and a few people in fire brigade uniforms stood nearby with solemn expressions. There were also people wearing work clothes with a construction company logo, and others in orange overalls bearing the name "Furuta Tent."
A large crowd watched from a distance. Most seemed to be locals, but there were also many people in fire brigade uniforms.
Having apparently spotted an acquaintance, Shisho walked over to the firefighters and chatted with them for a while. Just as preparations were complete and the ground-clearing ritual was about to begin, Shisho returned.
"You see that black hose over there?" she asked, pointing. Following her finger, I saw a black hose extending from the mountain slope on the left, feeding directly into the top of the cistern. There must have been an opening there.
"There's a valley higher up, and mountain water flows down from it automatically. So even if water is used or evaporates and the level drops, it gets automatically replenished." "So that water supply was stopped?" "No, sometimes leaves and debris clog the intake side and stop the flow, but they clear it regularly, so that's not an issue. Water is still flowing right now, they say. It varies depending on the rain, of course. The real problem is still the cistern where the water collects."
When the priest’s greeting began, the murmuring crowd naturally fell silent. Soon, the resounding cadence of the purification prayer (*harae-kotoba*) echoed through the air.
As the ritual progressed, Shisho kept shifting uncomfortably beside me, repeatedly flapping her jacket to fan her chest. "Man, I'm getting thirsty."
Even though it was early autumn, it was undeniably muggy today. Hearing her say that made me feel thirsty too, and the sensation gradually became unbearable.
Under the watchful eyes of everyone, the ritual proceeded without a hitch and concluded safely. The post-ritual feast (*naorai*) began immediately, with everyone pouring sacred sake from the altar into paper cups and passing them around. Soon, women in traditional cooking aprons came over one after another from the community center, treating the attendees to barley tea and freshly made rice cakes.
There was plenty of food, so even outsiders like us took some with straight faces. The barley tea, in particular, sold out almost instantly, and a refill was requested right away.
While we were observing our surroundings, a young man wearing the Furuta Tent logo stood alone looking awkward in the distance, and Shisho casually walked over to him. The older man, presumably the president of Furuta Tent, had attended the ritual and was still smoothly greeting the people involved. However, this young employee seemed ill-suited for such events and looked eager to leave.
"Ah, hello. I'm actually a firefighter," Shisho said to strike up a conversation. Well, she wasn't lying. "Ah, sorry about this time," the young man muttered, bowing his head.
"Oh~, no, no, it's been tough for you. But you installed the tent fabric properly, right? It can't be helped. If it tore, the cracks must have been huge after all." At Shisho's words, the young man scowled, rolling something like "No, but..." around in his mouth.
"Is something wrong?" "...It didn't tear," he said, lifting his acne-scarred face and speaking in a sullen tone. "I checked the fabric properly after we took it down. But none of it was torn anywhere. So it's not our fault. But the president... told me to just shut up and apologize..."
His voice trailed off to a whisper at the end. Realizing he might have said too much, the young man added, "I'm going back to the car," and hurried away.
Watching him go, Shisho made an amused "Ah-ha" sound and wore a intrigued expression.
***
Three nights later. Shisho and I were back in the Takanawa district. Naturally, our target was the fire cistern. As pale moonlight filtered through thin clouds, constantly shifting the brightness of our surroundings, we walked with muffled footsteps.
If anyone called this incident a curse, it was guaranteed to stoke Shisho's enthusiasm. I knew this would happen, so accompanying her, I felt thoroughly resigned.
2:00 AM. Being a mountainous area without even a convenience store, the surroundings were dark and deathly quiet. We advanced down the narrow road dotted with sleeping houses and arrived at the spot where the ground-clearing ritual had been held three days ago.
"...Look, that's the district head's house," Shisho whispered, pointing. Across a narrow lane from the vacant lot with the fire cistern, the silhouette of a relatively large two-story house was visible. Indeed, it was right under our noses. "And this fire cistern land is also owned by the district head's family for generations, so the city pays land rent." Shisho clearly dug up even more information from the local firefighters.
At the edge of the property ran a drainage ditch bordering the road. "Look, it's dried up." "So it is." There was no water in the ditch.
"Usually, mountain spring water flows into this ditch, but about a month ago, it suddenly dried up." "Right around the time the water disappeared from the fire cistern." "That's the issue. If water had been leaking from cracks in the cistern, it would seep underground. A considerable amount of water. The district head and the others are worried that water washed away the soil and caused a subsidence underground." "I see." "They think cavities formed in the soil somewhere unseen underground, and that caused the flow of spring water to drop even deeper."
We had brought flashlights, but turning them on would draw attention, so we relied solely on the moonlight to reach the fire cistern. "Wait a minute. Doesn't that mean this place could collapse at any moment?" Saying it out loud made me genuinely terrified. I imagined the massive black mass in front of me suddenly sinking heavily into the ground, dragging us down with it. The image of hell's lid opening flashed in my mind, making me shiver.
"Well, the repair work finished safely yesterday, so a little weight from the two of us shouldn't be a problem," Shisho said, reaching out to the iron wedge-like ladder attached to the outside of the cistern. "Up we go." She smoothly climbed up. Left with no choice, I followed her nervously. The ladder had been rusted red when we saw it at the ritual, but it looked freshly polished, likely fixed during the construction.
Standing on top of the fire cistern gave us an expanded field of view. In the narrow mountainous terrain, the surrounding houses appeared huddled together under the faint moonlight.
"The hose from the valley is still connected." Peering down from the mountain-facing edge of the cistern, I saw the black hose sagging slightly as it fed into the top of the cistern, about several tens of centimeters down. Shisho reached out and touched the hose. "Oh, it's cold. Water's flowing, it's flowing."
Right around the exact center of the roof where we stood was an iron lid, resembling a manhole. "Now, has this mysterious case of the vanishing fire cistern water been solved? Or..."
The moment Shisho squatted down and reached for the lid, a chill suddenly crawled up my spine. Staying in that crouching position, Shisho lifted her head and our eyes met.
"Hey, this is..." "Yeah."
I clutched my throat. It felt as though someone was choking me. But the real reason was that the moisture in the back of my mouth had vanished, and the root of my tongue had stuck to the wall of my throat.
An abnormal thirst. It steadily intensified.
"Give me a hand," Shisho said in a hoarse, clipped voice. I stepped closer and grabbed the handle of the manhole-like lid. "On three."
With a heavy metallic clank, the lid came loose. We slid it horizontally and set it by our feet. I held my breath and peered through the open hatch into the interior. Tense, I wanted to swallow my saliva, but my throat was bone-dry; not a single drop could be produced.
There was water. Ripples and bubbles were visible on the surface. Large air bubbles were rising from the depths of the water with a dull, gurgling sound.
The thin clouds over the moon cleared away, bathing us and the water in a pale light. The water swaying beneath the round lid was pitch black, its bottom unfathomable. Yet, from the depths of that dark water, I felt as though something was thrashing, reaching up thin hands toward us.
My throat burned with thirst. Beneath the water's surface, sunken black eyes stared back at me. Gaunt hands clawed at the water. Terror gripped my heart, yet I couldn't look away. What was that? There were countless hands. Bubbles kept welling up. The water level felt like it was dropping. Countless eerie faces wavered below.
And the thirst...
*Clang.*
That sharp sound snapped me back to reality. Looking over, I saw Shisho single-handedly slamming the iron lid shut as she collapsed backward onto the roof. "Let's go."
Instantly springing to her feet, Shisho lightly slapped my cheek, and the two of us grabbed onto the ladder and scrambled down the cistern.
I expected us to leave immediately, but instead, Shisho pressed her ear flush against the exterior wall of the cistern we had just climbed down from. "What on earth are you doing?" I croaked in a hoarse voice. Speaking made the back of my tongue stick to my throat, almost making me gag.
With her ear pressed to the wall, Shisho wore a faint smile. "Before they built this fire cistern, there used to be a shrine here. Long ago, a severe drought hit, causing a famine so bad the villagers here nearly died out. This is the exact place where they buried the dead whose bodies were dried up just like the mountain springs. They built a shrine on top to appease them. But that shrine wasn't comforting the lingering, thirsty resentment of the dead."
"Stop it..." I pleaded, unable to move closer. Shisho seemed to be listening to the voice of something terrifying trapped in the water on the other side of the wall. "It's the groundwater. The underground water veins flowing beneath this land were quenching the thirst of the dead. But that water dried up. The talk of ground subsidence might have been another warning sign. In reality, that's what's happening underground. The flow of groundwater shifted, and the water dried up. It was the other way around."
"The other way around? What do you mean?" "Water didn't leak from the cistern, cause subsidence, and dry up the spring. Subsidence happened, the spring dried up, and the thirst of the dead drained the water from the fire cistern."
Such an unscientific notion... That thought didn't even cross my mind. Because I had seen it too. In that pitch-black water, I had witnessed a hellish spectacle where no amount of drinking could ever quench the thirst.
"A ground-clearing ritual in place of a shrine won't do a thing. It's water. Water. If it's not water..." Shisho's eyes were gleaming.
"What on earth are we supposed to do then?" In response to my question, Shisho blinked blankly and finally stepped away from the cistern. "That's none of our business as outsiders. My throat's dry, so let's head home."
Having reached the truth of the mystery, Shisho seemed completely satisfied by that alone. She casually spoke those words and patted my shoulder.
That winter, in a corner of the vacant lot with the fire cistern in the Takanawa district, a small Jizo statue was placed. Next to it, a branch of the water flowing from the mountain valley was diverted—split away from the cistern's supply—so that it flowed down into the drainage ditch. Specifically positioned so that the water trickled right over the top of the Jizo's head...
***
"In the end, isn't that just a story about a good person?" I asked after finishing Shisho's tale. The night rain was still falling, and we remained trapped under the shrine's eaves.
"No, that's not it," he replied. "In the end, even after repairing the cracks and applying the tent fabric, the water in the fire cistern didn't stop disappearing. So the locals started whispering more and more about a curse. That's when my Shisho used old lady Nishina's connections to make the district hire the Ogawa Investigation Agency."
"Woah, you guys went there." "Yep, got paid, and handled it." "How sly."
Shisho gave a wry smile, then let out a sigh. "Well, that's the kind of person she was."
For a moment, silence hung between us as we watched the quiet rain. The distinct smell of damp, old wooden architecture enveloped the surroundings.
"Shall I tell you another one?" Shisho said quietly. "This is also a story about an exorcism." "Up until now, it's just been stories about exorcisms not working," I pointed out.
Shisho chuckled. "Fair enough. Then let's make the next one a story where the exorcism actually worked."
And with that, he began to speak.
*Continues to Exorcism Story 3: "Amulet"*
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