[Short Fiction] Chadako’s Summer

By Manager

“Oh, I’ve been waiting for this.”

Chadako was fired up.

Deep in the woods, at the bottom of an old well some distance from a campground popular with rowdy young people as an “Instagrammable spot,” Chadako had spent the past year amplifying the grudge she had carried for so long that she had actually forgotten what she was angry about in the first place, all while patiently waiting for summer to arrive.

With practiced ease, she dropped onto all fours and scuttled up the inner wall of the well like a spider. The moment her head emerged above ground, Chadako had one thought.

Hot.

It’s hot out here.

What the hell is this?

She tossed back her ominously long black hair and peered at the sky through the curtain of bangs hanging over her face. The sun blazed overhead with such ferocity that it looked as though a supernova had just gone off.

Chadako faltered.

She had noticed summers getting hotter every year, but this was on another level entirely. The heat was somehow crossing dimensional boundaries and roasting Chadako’s bodiless spirit directly.

She had been outside for only a few seconds. And yet the grudge she had spent an entire year carefully cultivating had already been almost completely overwritten by one single thought:

Hot.

Her desire to curse humans, her passion for vengeance—both were evaporating at terrifying speed.

Maybe I should just go back down the well this year and play some Switch.

But what little remained of her instincts as a vengeful spirit protested.

You waited a whole year for this.

Come on.

Let’s do this.

Let’s curse somebody.

Just one person, at least.

Chadako snapped back to herself.

That’s right. She had to curse people. She had to bear grudges. That was the entire point of her existence.

Still, this heat was unbearable. So Chadako decided that the first order of business was to cut her suffocatingly long hair.

Her raven-black locks were both a source of pride and a trademark of her profession as a vengeful spirit. But if she intended to continue cursing humans for another few decades—or perhaps another few centuries—then she would need to update her style in accordance with the changing climate. Just as she once had when she stopped wearing that white triangular cloth on her forehead.

Survival of the fittest applied to ghosts too.

Although “survival” was perhaps an odd word for someone already dead.

It pains me, but first things first. I’m cutting my hair.

Chadako concentrated on the words hair salon and converted her spiritual body into digital data. Riding the airwaves, she warped into a television somewhere inside a hair salon in Japan.

Unfortunately, the instant she appeared on the screen, years of habit took over.

“Kakakakakaka...”

The eerie sound escaped her automatically.

Oh no.

By the time she realized what she had done, it was too late.

A woman who appeared to be a hairstylist heard the strange noise and turned around. The moment she saw Chadako inside the television, she screamed and fell backward onto the floor.

No, no, no! I’m cursing her!

That wasn’t why Chadako had come here. She wanted a haircut. Frightening the staff defeated the entire purpose.

Worse still, the television she had warped into was mounted high near the ceiling.

Normally, she would have crawled slowly out of the screen, made her way down the wall, and reached the floor without incident. But in her panic, Chadako flailed both hands through empty air, lost her grip on the frame, and tumbled straight out.

Thud.

She landed awkwardly on the floor like a cat with absolutely no athletic ability.

I have to apologize!

I have to clear this up!

Chadako immediately raised her head. Through her tangled curtain of jet-black hair, two bloodshot eyes rolled into view.

“AAAAAAAAAAAH!”

The hairstylist screamed.

Tears streamed from her wide-open eyes. Her nose ran. Her legs gave out completely, leaving her unable even to stand.

Chadako was baffled.

Oh, come on! Why are you so scared?

I just want a haircut!

She had to communicate somehow that she meant no harm. But when she opened her mouth, all that emerged was a subterranean moan.

“Aah... uh... aaagh... eghhh...”

The woman began trembling even more violently.

Eventually, she wet herself.

This is bad.

At this rate, I’m actually going to curse her to death.

Chadako snatched a pen and notepad from the counter and desperately scribbled a message with her shaking hand. Then she held it up in front of the woman.

“PLEASE GIVE ME A BOB CAAAAAAAAAUT!”

The instant the hairstylist read it, she began foaming at the mouth and died on the spot.

Chadako’s summer had only just begun.

—The End