The Month of No Gods

Chikako

Chapter Thirty: Chikako:

-Chikako-

I have seen ghosts and demons since I was a child. I have seen things that I wished I hadn’t.

When I was eleven, I had dream that I was walking down this yellow road. There were no buildings or cars in sight. I didn’t know where I was. I tried to scream out, but my voice got lost in the wind. Suddenly, a sea of postcards rained down from the empty gray sky. I caught one of them. This postcard had two images on it back to back. The front had the picture of a little boy. He looked about four years old with fat, rosy cheeks. A held a big stuffed lion to his chest. This boy was really cute. But then, I saw the other image. His little body was lying in a ditch covered in blood.

I would’ve chalked up to a weird dream if I hadn’t seen a missing poster on my way to school the next day. Yes, it was the same little boy from dream. The police didn’t even know that he was dead. I ran to school after that. The only person I told was my homeroom teacher. I didn’t know why I did that. I guess because I couldn’t keep it to myself. To my surprise, he believed me.

“And you are sure you saw him in the ditch?” my homeroom teacher asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said. Two weeks later, they found that boy’s body. His case is still unsolved.

When I was fourteen, I had another dream. I was walking through halls of my school with a girl that I had never seen before. Her long black hair covered her face. She kept her eyes to the floor.

“I’m going to kill myself,” this girl said. I stopped with big eyes.

“What?!” I asked. She looked up at me.

“I have tried before and they stopped me,” this girl said. “This time, I’m not going to tell anyone. That way that can’t stop me.” But she was telling someone. She was telling me.

I had hoped it was just another strange dream. But then, I saw her face on the news months later. I told my homeroom teacher before, but he could never find her in time. He spent nights trying to look for a girl matching her description. Her words still haunt even now. I have always had dreams like that when I was growing up.

Then, there is my father.

When I was eight, I saw him walking around with a woman on his shoulders. She looked so pale and always wore red. She was always soaking wet and sitting on his shoulders. Another thing about her I remembered well was the red handprints around her throat. Because of her, my father is serving life in prison.

He killed her.

And now, my visions are starting to come back again. This time, they have become much stronger.

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