My name is Yamigahara Sachiho.

I am fourteen years old. My birthday is on the 23rd of October and my blood type is O negative. I attend Kamikichou Municipal Junior High in the third grade, class 3-C. My grades are slightly above average. I live in a small detached house on a hill fifteen minutes’ walk away from school with my mother; my father is dead. I’m an only child. My hair is a muddy, desaturated brown and my eyes are a dull hazel. I’m nearsighted and have to wear glasses. I enjoy reading books both fiction and nonfiction and watching birds and taking walks in the forest and my favorite food is mild curry rice with softboiled eggs.

And I am haunted.

To be clear, I don’t mean this in a metaphorical sense. I am saying that a malevolent spirit has taken up residence within me, and is exacting a cruel torment upon my mind and soul.

This has been true since I was born, but I only came to recognize it about a year ago. The signs have been there for as long as I can remember. The sudden fits of violent shivering and overwhelming terror, the fog clouding my thoughts, the unsettling disconnect between my mind and my body. In the past seven years my mother and I have seen so many doctors that I’ve started to lose count. I’ve been diagnosed with several conditions and disorders, both physical and mental. I take four different pills every morning before I step into the shower. But I’m not convinced any of them work. I’ve abandoned any hope that modern medicine might cure me of this ailment.

In a particularly terrible fit of desperation last summer, I took to the library to search for an answer. I spent six hours there, poring over every book that seemed even slightly relevant. By the end of it, spectral possession seemed to be the only satisfying explanation. I’ve only become more convinced of it in the time since.

I do not resent the ghost inside me. If anything, I’ve grown attached to it. I know, through my research, that it is a mere accident of fate that I was chosen as its vessel. I know that it does not wish to stay here any more than I want it to, that it is bound to the mortal plane by some lingering attachment or unfulfilled promise. I have tried to communicate, to find out what it wants, but every attempt I’ve made so far has failed.

But that ends tonight. Tonight, I will make contact.

I took Mom’s coat off the rack at the entryway, whispering an apology to her as I did. Autumn had not yet settled in, and the weather outside was mild, but I needed to hide my silhouette. The chances I ran into anyone were low, but I couldn’t risk getting caught. I doubted anyone would see a middle school girl sneaking around at three in the morning and decide it’s none of their business.

After making sure I had my keys and my backpack, I carefully opened the front door and slipped out.

I had recently been made aware of a site of heightened spectral activity: an abandoned house at the edge of our residential district, by the coast. A grisly murder had taken place there decades ago, and since then it sat empty, legally condemned but never demolished. I never thought that such a place might exist in my remote town. I couldn’t believe my luck.

A jolt of adrenaline traveled up my spine as I walked down our hill. My pace quickened.

As I neared the house, I heard the cries of an eastern barn owl in the distance. A breeze unsettled the trees lining the street, and to the east, the sounds of the Hoyo strait grew louder and louder. It was a beautiful night.

I arrived, and checked the address on the front wall against the notes I’d taken. The gate was unlocked, as I’d hoped. I steeled myself and walked past the overgrown front yard and through the entrance, where a door once stood.

I froze solid.

In front of me, a girl sat on an empty windowframe, blowing a pink gum bubble. She turned to look at me; it took all my strength to stop myself from screaming.

“Oh,” she said. “Hey.”