In Search of Freedom

As Ranpo makes his way out of the school grounds the sun is already setting, the night looking like its duelling with the day for its spot in the limelight. It was split through the middle; half of it, with the moon as its leader, was painted a calming purple whereas the other half was a burning, passionate orange. They meet behind the falling sun, tainting the clouds with a plethora of different colours ranging from soft blues, pinks and yellows to harsh greys, reds and purples. It seemed like there was a battle of some sort going on up there, but the sun must set no matter what wars rage because of it.

He walks along the eerie and desolate rocky path that leads to the main road, head thrown back to observe the sky for a few moments. He always does his best to not stick around the school so late into the afternoon, but time eluded him more often than not. He gets so absorbed in reading – in becoming part of the endless amount of fascinating, new worlds – that the last of his concerns is making it home at an appropriate hour.

He’s lost count of how many times he’s been reprimanded and forcibly dragged out of the library once it got late and they found him lurking in between bookshelves and hiding in any nooks and crannies that he could fit into while still being able to see the print on the pages as he hides from their sharp glares. It annoyed him to no end, but reading at home just wasn’t an option to him. The library had a soothing aura that the atmosphere of his own home couldn’t replicate, too full of memories for him to ever reach the point of relaxation he did in the school grounds.

He wonders how many times they’re going to yell at him for reading in peace before they gave up and left him to his own devices. It was supposed to be open late so people can use that time to study or catch up on their work, but since he’s the only one who actually takes advantage of that they seemed to have forgotten that simple fact. It didn’t seem like they were going to relent, but neither was he. He would continue to read there until it was supposed to close or they forcibly remove him as they have been doing.

Lowering his head to pout at the cobblestone ground beneath him, he kicks his shoe against the ground and kicks up the dust around it, letting out a cough as the tiny grains float up high enough to collide with his face. He splutters and wipes at his face furiously, regret simmering at the back of his mind as he makes a note not to do that again anytime soon. He was just so annoyed. The book he was reading was getting right to a part he was interested in… he knew what was going to happen but wanted to see how the author would orchestrate it exactly.

Letting out a soft sigh, he takes a look at the various winding trees encasing the path and wonders what lies beyond them. Do the trees stretch out as far as the eye can see? Are there secrets within, hidden amongst the many trees that hide away its contents from wandering, curious eyes that try their best to see beyond them but cannot? It was surely filled with wildlife and all kinds of interesting flora. Perhaps, he thinks, he should take a detour today while nobody was around to stop him.

Looking down the lonely path in front of him, he becomes acutely aware of the refreshing cool breeze gently caressing his skin, the peacefulness that the lack of life brought making him want to take advantage of this feeling for as long as he could. It was nothing like how it was during the day when it was filled with endless amounts of students rushing to escape, screaming and running about in their newfound freedom like crazed animals that had been let out of their pens for the first time.

He wasn’t one who was very fond of the commotion – he liked being the cause of it, but that didn’t happen very often anymore – because when he wasn’t at the root of the problem, the sea of voices formed a melody most unpleasant to the ears. As they bumped into each other and ran rogue when all he wanted to do was relax after a long day of unneeded basic education, it was difficult to enjoy the drama of it all.

He’s not interested in their childish conversations and bouts, though he likes the betting pools they form because he always has a guaranteed win. He’d much rather scam people out of their candy, read or find someone who he could have an intelligent conversation with than deal with all the noise. Unfortunately, the latter of them all seemed next to impossible no matter how long and hard he searched for someone who fit the bill.

Adjusting his hat to sit back on his head properly, he decides that yes, today is as good a day as any for some adventure. It would appease the side of him that pleaded for something exciting, something new and fascinating that wasn’t dull like school always turned out to be. It’s hard to feel like he has any reason to be there when he’s already memorised the curriculum in its entirety when they’re not even halfway through their first semester yet… How is he supposed to feel like it wasn’t wasting his time when he wasn’t learning a single thing?

Taking a step off the path and towards the trees, it immediately feels like he’s been sucked into an alternate universe of some sort. The rocky and dirt-filled path that dug into even the thick leather layer of his shoes was replaced by soft, fresh grass and slightly crunchy leaves. The humming of wildlife – the chirping of birds, the wind causing the branches on the trees to sway and rustle lightly, the occasional shuffle of small creatures roaming through the grass – it all filled him with a sense of complete tranquillity. The atmosphere had completely changed with just those few simple steps and he was grateful for it.

Perhaps it was because he’s never seen the likes of the other students here. They had no opportunities to taint this place with their antics, to mark it as their own personal private playground and leave bits and pieces of themselves scattered amongst the leaves and in the bark of the trees; or perhaps it was his fascination and love for nature that allowed him to feel infinitely more comfortable in its midst than on that old path.

Whatever the reason, he was thankful for the rare opportunity to be in such a harmonious environment. It had been far too long since he was able to take a step back to relax and truly admire life and its many beauties. Even though stress did not plague him as it would most common high school boys, he still found it difficult to truly be at peace.

As he goes in further, a new sound accompanies all the rest that he singles out because it’s not one he expected to hear at all. It was water. It was the calm, gentle flow of a river or stream of some sort and it was nearby. Raising his hand and cupping it around his ear to enhance his hearing, he locates the direction it should be coming from and begins to follow it as though it were calling him, beckoning him towards it and coaxing him deeper and deeper into the unknown depths of the forest.

He didn’t exactly have much to go home to, anyways. His father was out on a business trip as he always was – Fukuzawa is a very busy and important man – so the house is empty. It holds nobody eagerly awaiting his return with the intent to give him a nice hot meal to satiate the hunger he’s been suppressing all day or anything like that. He’d rather stay out even longer and enjoy whatever he can before rotting from boredom at home, so he pays no mind to the setting sun as his feet do their best to lead him to the water source.

Doing his very best to tread carefully and not disturb the peace around him, he focuses on the sound and the places that his feet are going to land on the grass beneath his feet. It felt like a single misstep; one little crack of a twig or the overbearing crackling of leaves as he treads through them would be more than enough to break the spell that had been cast over him and this place. He didn’t want it to end, especially because of him, and he didn’t want to allow the realities that came with life to hang over his shoulders in such an unreal, magical feeling place.

The river still beckoning him with its call, he slows down as it grows so loud that he’s close enough to see the blueness of it sparkling in the distance before coming to a standstill. There was a person crouching beside the river near a bed of flowers, a raccoon at their feet putting its tiny paws into the water.

It’s a startling sight to say the least, but he quickly swallows down his surprise and throws away all the questions he so desperately wanted to ask them as he stares at their figure. It was unexpected and threw him off, but life always seemed to have its way of stunning even the most well-prepared of people into silence.

It felt like he was intruding on something sacred, keeping his mouth effectively shut before he shakes it off. It’s just another person and it’s been a long time since he’s talked to someone that wasn’t his father or a client, so why not start with the mysterious figure in the middle of a forest that they were both trespassing into?

“Hello?” He calls out, trying to be at least a little considerate by lowering his volume. Apparently he doesn’t do it well enough, the person practically jumping half a foot in the air at the sound of his voice. “Are you okay?”

The person gives the general vicinity a quick once over, seemingly looking for someone else that was around for Ranpo to be talking to. There’s clear confusion and distrust written all over him by the way he moves and huddles in on himself, looking at the raccoon for guidance.

After deducing and coming to accept the fact that they were the only two people there, he inhales sharply and gives the raccoon a despairing look. Raising a long, slender finger to point towards himself in question, he starts to shake under the weight of the glare Ranpo sends him.

Then, in a small voice he says, “Are you speaking to me?”

Ranpo’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, a scowl working its way onto his face. He needs to give those words time to sink in, the reason behind the question unknown to him. He supposes it might just be the shock of being approached by someone random so suddenly in such a far out place. Even though it was right in front of and around a school, none of the students were permitted to enter the area and faced serious consequences if they ever chose to.

This person, whoever it was, didn’t look like he was a student and was definitely foreign. He didn’t look like he was up to anything suspicious though, so after a few silent seconds of thought, he decides how to proceed.

Trying to keep the air light and casual he replies with, “Who else would I be talking to, the raccoon?”

He expects a smile, chuckle, snort, or any reaction at all, but all he gets is strained silence and the same nervous posture and turned down lips that have been plastered there since the moment they noticed each other. The person hums softly, placing his hands on his knees as he contemplates the best way to respond without letting his emotions get the better of him.

“…That seems infinitely more plausible than you talking to me, if I’m to be quite frank with you,” he says as he pushes back on the balls of his feet to rise up timidly, towering over Ranpo with the amount of height he has.

He’s tall, lanky and looks awkward as he tries to take up as little space as possible, hands clasped tightly in front of him as his fingers play with each other nervously. His clothes appear to be tattered and worn but not so bad as to raise any kind of concern as he clutches his coat that seemed to have broken buttons shut over his chest. Ranpo tilts his head back in order to look up at his face, but his attention is drawn away from it as he notices the taller man’s figure flash as though he had left and then come back to existence, alerting him of the reality of the situation.

Oh.

Oh.

He was talking to a ghost.

For as long as he could remember, he’s been able to see into the world of spirits and communicate with things that other people had stubbornly classified as myths. He was never particularly surprised at their appearances – as a child, he was wondrous and believed in fairies and pixies and monsters just as most children do – so he never went through the phase that other people did where they go from believing one moment to denying the next.

There was no journey to acceptance or fear of the unknown. It simply was. Growing up, he’d come to realise that he was one of the only people with this sixth sense, but there had always been a fine line between the two worlds that helped him distinguish the difference between a flesh and blood human and the apparition of a human that once was.

This mysterious man happened to be the most realistic ghosts he’d ever laid eyes on in the entirety of his life thus fair. He was finding it quite difficult to think of him as anything other than a lost foreigner, but the facts had been shown to him. If it weren’t for that small flicker, he might not have been able to tell the difference at all.

Intrigue picks up as the man’s finger movements become more frantic as though he were playing an invisible instrument that only he could see. Who exactly is this person and what brought him here, to this forest?

“You’re a ghost,” he says matter-of-factly, pointing at him as the taller man quickly nods his head in affirmation, “You’re a very realistic ghost!”

“I am?” He flinches slightly and asks as he tilts his head, his hair falling to the side and revealing part of what looked to be a bright red eye underneath.

Ranpo briefly wonders if red if his real eye colour or if it turned that way after his spiritual body was made. It wasn’t uncommon for ghost’s eyes to change colours based on how they died, but usually it would affect their entire form instead of singling out one location like this. Then again, this ghost doesn’t appear to be very average at all. He was unique, unlike any other he had seen. There was no way to tell why things were the way they were, but it was real and happening and the proof was standing tall right in front of him.

“Usually when I see ghosts, you can tell that that’s exactly what they are. They can be floaty, surrounded by colourful auras, constantly flicker in and out of sight; point is, they all have at least one thing instantly recognisable about them that just screams, ‘I’m a ghost!’” his eyes travel over the ghost as he pauses, resting his hand on his face, “You, however, threw me for a loop since you have none of those things. You’re just – you look like you’re really alive – like if I touched you I would be able to feel your pulse, feel that you have blood coursing through your veins to keep you alive, like I’d be able to feel a warmth emanating from you…”

“I – well, that is to say…” he’s clearly flustered as he stumbles over his words and strings them together to form unintelligible babbling, fiddling with his thumbs all the while, “I don’t know what to say to you. I’ve never seen another ghost before and nobody has seen me before, either, well not that I know of, so I…”

Growing tired of his rant that was going nowhere, he interrupts, “If you’re going to talk, think about what you’re saying first! I know this is weird for you but it’s weird for me, too! Don’t stand there spluttering like a fish!”

“I’m sorry!”

The shouted apology is so soft that it tugs at Ranpo’s heart strings. Normally he would be annoyed by someone acting like this, but for the first time it felt like he didn’t really mind very much at all. He reminds himself that this entire ordeal is most likely very difficult for the ghost without him being insensitive.

Heaving a great sigh, he decides to observe the ghost and the way his eyebrows furrow in concentration as he obviously tries to piece together his thoughts and decide exactly what he should say.

His eyes are hidden behind a mysterious mop of hair that looked soft and fluffy to the touch, the style wavy and messy. For a moment he entertains the thought of what it must’ve been like living with such a difficult hairstyle, especially since it was thick and looked like it blanketed his vision completely. Did people make fun of him? Did he have trouble getting around? He wouldn’t have let it grow out this long if he couldn’t see, right? He must have been able to.

He’s wearing a long black coat over a basic shirt and jeans that were also black, a glaringly obvious gunshot wound noticeable right where his heart would have been now that he’s not paying enough attention to cover it up. That was undoubtedly the way his life must have been ended. What could a boy like this have been doing to get killed in such a brutal way? Whoever did it managed to get him in the heart, likely resulting in an instantaneous death.

His height is intimidating, but nothing else about him really is. He has soft, gentle features and looks to be around the same age as Ranpo – seventeen. He didn’t look, nor did he sound like the type of person who got involved with shady or dangerous people, so why? Who took one look at this anxious puddle and decided that he was better off dead?

“Are you really alive?” The ghost speaks up all of a sudden, his voice sounding so very far away. It was almost as if he was afraid of the answer that he would get, his mind already taking him to some far-off plane where the response cannot hurt him.

“I am,” he replies instantly, moving forward and closing the gap between them, “If you want solid proof, then you can try to touch me.”

He shakes his head sharply, his hair bouncing wildly as he does. There’s such an abundance of anxiety radiating off of him that it was concerning, almost making Ranpo ask him straight up what kind of life he’d lived to make him like this pathetic mess. The withdrawn, scared way he was acting made him inexplicably angry; his blood boiled and his nails dug into his hip in irritation. He needs to constantly be on alert in order to stop himself from yelling in an outrage and scaring the poor guy away.

“I believe you,” he says, the words sounding firm even though it’s not believable in the slightest, “I’m just… still trying to figure out whether or not I’m imagining this because I’m lonely or something. Are there other people like you, do you know?”

His nails stop stabbing him as his demeanour softens at the mention of loneliness; of course he would be lonely out here, in the middle of nowhere. The sounds of the school children probably terrified him, so it’s no wonder he’s so deep in the forest.

“It’s not in your imagination, for what that’s worth,” he starts, lifting one shoulder up to shrug half-heartedly, “Maybe? If there are though, I’ve never met them.”

“Oh…”

As they stand there, both suddenly enraptured by their own thoughts, the raccoon seems to also take pity on the ghost as it stops paying attention to the water to sniff at his foot. Somehow, it seemed like the two of them shared some kind of unseen bond or connection that kept them bound together even though they were from two separate planes of existence. The raccoon paying attention to him seems to calm him down a lot judging by the way his shoulders lax and his breathing evens out.

Ranpo wonders if the boy had a knack for animal handling. It wasn’t unusual for animals to share this sixth sense with him, but to see one act as though it were concerned reminded him of a dog doing its best to cheer up its owner, best friend and lifelong companion. There was an underlying sense of loyalty that couldn’t and wouldn’t be broken.

The ghost has a small smile on his face as he gives the raccoon attention in return. It’s subtle and only visible for a fraction of a second, but he had seen it and the sight of it would probably be etched into his memory for a long time. It looked so broken and yet so utterly genuine that it confused him and made him want to see it again so he can inspect it properly and pick it apart to figure out exactly what it was comprised of and what it actually was. Once the raccoon is satisfied with his improved mood, the ghost turns back to him and he can feel those eyes boring into him like lasers; it made him nervous, for some reason, even though he can’t quite pinpoint why exactly.

On instinct, he maps out the area quickly for an escape route if things went awry. He wants to give the ghost the benefit of the doubt, but he’s been in too many situations where he has been too trusting and almost didn’t live to tell the tale. They were ghosts, after all, and all ghosts were able to possess human bodies no matter how strong willed or minded the person is. No matter how this ghosts appears to act, he needs to be prepared for the worst because there was no way he wanted to deal with any messy situations like the last time something similar to this had happened…

After what felt like far too long, the ghost eventually drops his head and turns around to move even closer to the river. The raccoon has its paws in it again, the ghost watching it wistfully with an unreadable expression on his face as he kneels beside it. He tries to put his hand in as well, attempting to touch and be a part of a world that he was no longer a part of. Needless to say, he can’t. When he remembers this too, he looks so lost and downtrodden that it makes Ranpo drop his guard and take him straight back where he started – infinitely curious and pitying. His display is such a pathetic sight, his movements so perfectly mimicking the behaviour of a living human being that he can’t help but find it fascinating.

“What’s your name?” He asks the ghost, all of his previous wariness that was building up being swept away with the current of the river as though the ghost himself had taken it from him and set it adrift, “I’m wondering if your death was in the news or had been reported in. I’ve got a pretty good memory,” he taps his index finger to his temple to add more weight to his words, “so I’m sure I’d recognise it if I’ve ever heard it.”

The ghosts fingers slide into his unruly locks with ease after his question, clenching chunks of his hair and tugging at it in distress, “I… I don’t know. I can’t remember anything from when I was alive…”

It’s starting to look like he’s panicking way too much, so he tries to back off a bit to give the other space to calm down. The last thing he needed was a ghost going on a rampage just because he happens to have horrible luck and is asking all the wrong questions. How was he supposed to know that ghosts could be amnesiacs? He’s never been able to have a proper conversation like this with one before. All of the previous encounters he’s had have been with ghosts who knew exactly why they were stuck in this world, unable to move on. Not all of them were bad, of course, but a lot of them had been driven by extremely horrific things that haunted them even in death, making them next to impossible to communicate with.

“Hey, it… it’s okay,” he tries to reassure awkwardly, not at all used to this as he goes to place a hand on his shoulder only to retract it as though he’d been burned once he realises that’s a horrible idea, “It’s not your fault that you don’t remember. I’m sure that you’re probably better off not knowing anyway… or you know, you could remember if you really want to…”

“Why…? Why can’t I remember?” he mutters as though Ranpo’s words went through one ear and straight out the other, unaffected by even the raccoon’s concerned gaze and frantic attempts to tap him with its paws, “Was it that horrible? Was I traumatised? What happened to me…?”

Since he was clearly too absorbed in his meltdown to pay any heed to what he was saying, he tries his best to think of a sure-fire way to capture his undivided attention and pull him out of whatever dark places he’s currently in without making things any worse. He tugs at and contemplates any ideas that come into his head while also trying to keep in mind just what kind of person he was. How is he supposed to deal with this? Well, the best idea that came to mind is…

“Hey raccoon boy,” he shouts, snapping the other out of his trance like state, “calm down already! You’re going to turn my hair grey at this rate and I really don’t appreciate it!”

His grip loosening, he lets out a small chuckle that sounded mostly like air trying to escape his mouth from not breathing properly for so long. Those fingers massage his scalp apologetically before falling limp at his sides, his chest rising and dropping as he focuses on his breathing.

“Raccoon boy…?” He questions after a few seconds, tilting his head in confusion. “Um…”

Ranpo is secretly relieved that it worked, starting to calm down himself, “Yes, raccoon boy! I have to refer to you as something now, don’t I? It’ll be weird if I don’t.”

“Calling me ‘raccoon boy’ is even weirder.”

“Well, do you have any better suggestions? If you do, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“…”

“That’s what I thought, racoon boy!”

Racoon boy lets out a small laugh, making him smile. He crosses his arms over his chest, glad that his plan had worked and everyone was calm once again. The other seems to already be lost in thought once again though, the one part of his face that’s visible falling down into a great frown once again. He hates to do it, but he checks the time on his phone and tuts as he realises that he should probably get home before it gets super late and someone tries to mug him again. It was already really dark out, the forest now being illuminated only by the moon shining brightly amongst the sea of glimmering stars already littering the sky.

“I’m going to have to get going really soon,” he informs as he puts away his phone, “It was interesting to talk with a ghost for so long without anything horrible happening, though! It was a first for me, too.”

He’s curious about him to the point where he doesn’t want to leave, but there’s not much he can do for a ghost; especially a ghost that doesn’t remember a single thing about their life. He’s not even sure if raccoon boy can even leave the river… was he killed somewhere nearby, bound to this location by his past? Did it happen right under the nosy noses of the students and watchful eyes of the teachers? Surely if it happened here, someone would have noticed and intervened, right? It’s so close to an area with a lot of people, so someone somewhere must have heard the gun shot.

As much as he’d like to figure out the answers to all these questions, he has his own responsibilities to tend to and a life to live so he has to prioritise himself first and foremost. It was sad, but also the undeniable truth.

“Oh…” Raccoon boy mutters as he hangs his head, disappointment washing over him, “I understand. You – you’re alive, so you need to… It’s not like you can just stick around here forever or anything and it’s really dark out here. You should go now.”

“Hey…” he says, but he’s right and there’s no point in beating around the bush, “Yeah, I’m sorry.”

“Um, don’t apologise. It was nice to be able to talk to someone even if it was just for a short while, so thank you…”

He nods in agreement but also decides to linger for a little longer, watching raccoon boy like a hawk circling its prey and absorbing any information he can about him. He really did seem just like an ambivalent recluse, moving with caution even alone as though he would face the wrath of God himself if he didn’t. He seemed like a feather, drifting through the breeze silently and simply going wherever it took him, unconcerned about where he would land. He is unconfident but still graceful, looking extremely picturesque with the calm waters and raccoon beside him. If Ranpo had gotten here right at this moment instead of later, his earlier feeling of walking in on something sacred would have been increased tenfold. If it weren’t for that gunshot wound, he would have simply stared upon it with awe and admiration like it was the most stunning, fascinating piece of art to ever grace a gallery with its existence.

Then, of course, the fated moment of his departure creeps up on him quickly and it reaches the moment where he simply cannot risk loitering around for a single moment longer. He bids his final farewell, turning around and retracing his steps so he can reach familiar territory once again. Despite his bottomless amount of interest, it’s not difficult or challenging in any way for him to turn tail and leave even though there seemed to be something wanting to keep him there.

He doesn’t look back.