Suicide Forest (15 page)

I
noticed the hair
first. It was black, thin, combed over from the left side of the
tan skull to the right. From the brow down, the face was
unrecognizable. It almost appeared as if it had melted away. The
eyeballs were gone, likely eaten by animals, leaving behind empty
black holes, the left one larger than the right. Encircling the
orbits was a clumping gray matter that had once been skin. Where
the nose had been was a small gaping triangle. The mouth and
jawbone appeared to be missing, though it was difficult to tell for
certain because that gray matter stretched down from the cheekbones
in long strands, masking the mouth and chin and neck, collecting at
the top of the chest.

The man had chosen to wear a golf shirt on
the day he killed himself, a light color, with horizontal stripes.
This, along with his degree of dissolution, suggested he had
probably hanged himself several months ago during spring or summer.
Clipped inside the shirt’s front pocket was a ballpoint pen. The
arms poking out from the short sleeves were little more than skin
over bones. Somehow the beige pants remained in place, not slipping
off the shrunken waist.

Time seemed to have slowed down while I took
this all in, though in reality only a couple seconds had passed. I
spun away from the ghastly sight and vomited what was in my
stomach. It required three goes to get everything out.

While I was doubled over, my hands on my
thighs, my throat stinging, my eyes watering, I became aware of the
commotion around me.

“Ben!” Nina cried. “Stop!” She grabbed my
arm. “Ethan, come!”

“Where’s he—?”

“Come!”

She took off.

I didn’t move. I was confused. What was
happening? Why were they running? Then I remembered the
crucifixes—
they were swinging
—and I began floundering back
the way we’d come.

Ben
and Nina were
far ahead. I could see Ben’s flashlight beam jerking wildly as he
ran. I was charging through the dense thicket of spindly trees. An
errant branch got past my upraised arms and sliced my cheek. The
pain was hot, quick, then forgotten as I plowed forward. I tripped,
scrambled on my knees, got back to my feet, kept going.

I heard my pants and grunts of exertion. I
saw my feet appearing below me, the left then the right, one after
the other. Eventually, as the trees began to open up, I slowed to a
jog. The Israelis were too far ahead to catch. I glanced behind me,
knowing nothing would be there, but doing it all the same.

My heart was beating rabbit-fast, and I took
deep breaths to slow it down.

The bloody crucifixes had been blowing in
a non-existent wind
.

Was I sure there was no wind?

There hasn’t been any wind all
day
.

Was I sure?

Pretty damn sure
.

Then what had caused the crucifixes to blow?
Ghosts?
Yūrei
?
There had to be a wind. I was just
freaked out. I let my imagination run wild. Had to be a wind.

I looked over my shoulder again.

“Had to be a wind,” I mumbled to myself.

Light
ahead. It
blinked in and out between the trees.

“Hey!” I called.

“Ethan?” Mel.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

When we found each other, I discovered she
was with Tomo. She wrapped me in a tight hug. I thought she would
ask me about the body, but she only said, “We have to get back to
the camp. Quickly.”

“Why? What happened?”

“It’s Ben. He’s tripping out big time.”

I
had expected the
camp to be in turmoil. Maybe Ben kicking stuff around, or shouting
gibberish, or howling at the moon. But all was calm when we emerged
from the trees. Neil and John Scott were standing by the dying
fire. Farther away, in the trees, I made out the silhouettes of Ben
and Nina. Their heads were close together, indicating they were
likely speaking to one another.

On the way back Mel had given me a brief
rundown of what had happened. When Ben and Nina had returned, Nina
was okay, but Ben started pacing and saying stuff in Hebrew no one
understood. When Tomo tried to get him to calm down, he shoved Tomo
backward, knocking him over. Nina told them I was fine, I was
coming. Still, Mel enlisted Tomo’s help and came looking for
me.

“What the hell did you guys see?” John Scott
demanded when I approached the fire.

“A body,” I said.

“That’s it?”

“What do you mean ‘that’s it?’” I quipped,
annoyed at his apathy. He’d been sitting here on his ass the entire
time. He had no idea how terrifying discovering a body in
Aokigahara at night could be.

“Ben’s having a bloody meltdown,” Neil
said.

“Yeah, Mel told me.” I paused, trying to
figure out how to word what I was going to add. “There were
these...these little crucifixes hanging from the trees.”

“Crucifixes?” Mel said.

“Made from sticks.”

“So is that what set Ben off?” Neil said.
“These crucifixes?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know what
happened. We saw this paint on the tree—”

“An arrow?” John Scott asked.

“No, just…red paint. Then I saw the
crucifixes. The guy who killed himself must have made them.”

“How big?” Tomo asked.

“The crucifixes? I don’t know. A few inches
tall. Then Ben was shouting, and he took off. I mean, it was scary.
But his reaction was over the top. He was also acting a little
strange before that…”

“What do you mean?” Mel asked.

“The way he was talking. I don’t know. He
just didn’t seem like himself.”

“Because the guy eat mushrooms,” Tomo
said.

John Scott elbowed Tomo in the side.

“Mushrooms?” I said. “Magic mushrooms?”

“Just a little,” John Scott said
breezily.

I’d heard you could legally purchase
psychedelic mushrooms in mail-order shops and head shops across
Japan as recently as a few years ago (as long as you promised not
to eat them), but they were now illegal and impossible to find. So
where had Ben gotten his from? And what was he thinking eating them
in this forest at nighttime?

“How do you know he’s on mushrooms?” I
asked.

John Scott shot a Marlboro from his pack and
lit up. “I gave them to him.”

I frowned. “
You
did?”

“Sure.”

“Where did you get them from?”

“I found them.”

For a moment I imagined him finding a bag of
mushrooms on the street. Then some brain cells kicked in. “You mean
you picked them?”

“Yeah.”

“Here? In the forest?”

He exhaled smoke, nodded.

“What do you know about picking
mushrooms?”

“We do it all the time off-base.”

“Did you take them too?”

“Sure.”

I was watching him closely. “And you’re
fine?”

“Perfectly.”

“Anyone else take them?”

Neil, Tomo, and Mel all shook their heads in
the negative.

“Nina?” I asked.

“Nah,” John Scott said.

I looked in the direction of the Israelis.
Ben appeared to be rocking back and forth. Nina’s arm was around
his shoulder.

“There’s always one guy who has a bad trip,”
John Scott said indifferently. “Like I said, he just needs some
space, some time to mellow out.”

“Like eight hours,” I said.

“I can’t control how other people are going
to react.”

“Then don’t give out fucking mushrooms. What
are you, a drug dealer?”

“Dude, chill out.”

I was getting angrier by the second. I was
no saint when it came to experimenting a little with drugs, but the
idea of John Scott handing out wild mushrooms in Aokigahara Jukai
was beyond stupid.

“You still have some?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Anyone else want to do ’shrooms in this
forest?”

Nobody replied.

“What happens if he has a serious reaction?
How would we get him help?”

John Scott waved his hand. “Dude, you’re
killing my buzz.”

“I don’t give a shit about your buzz! Doing
mushrooms in a controlled environment is risky enough. But stuff
you pick? And here in the middle of nowhere? He could go into a
coma—”

“Don’t give me that shit—”

“It’s true!”

“Fuck off. I don’t want to talk about
this.”

“Ethan—” Neil began.

“No, it’s irresponsible and it’s fucking
stupid.”

“Ethan, John, stop it!” Mel shouted. “Just
stop it.”

There was a long, tense silence.

Biting back my words, I shrugged my backpack
off, dumped the wood I’d collected onto the ground, and began
building the fire.

I
got a roaring
blaze going with little trouble or help from anyone else. Neil
opened his bottle of whiskey again, this time sharing it freely. He
and Tomo and John Scott drank silently, passing the bottle back and
forth. Mel attempted small talk, trying to lighten the mood. Tomo
got drunk quickly and talked everyone except me into a game that
involved naming actors who had won an Academy Award. This helped to
alleviate the negative atmosphere that had settled over the camp.
It was still far from cheerful, but it was no longer gloomy.

For someone on mushrooms John Scott was
acting amazingly normal. He either didn’t eat as much as Ben, or he
was one of those guys who could function well on drugs. He was
playing the games Tomo kept coming up with and chatting to the
others and ignoring me, which I was more than fine with. Nina and
Ben remained off by themselves. Mel and I sat next to each other
with our feet warming by the fire, our backs against a rock. The
flames popped and jumped in front of us. I watched them in an
almost hypnotic state, trying to block everyone else out. Every so
often a tiny spark would zip away on its own into the night, then
blink out of existence. I wondered if that’s what happened to Yumi
and the comb-over guy and the others who decided to end themselves
here.

Blink out of existence.

Because what was the alternative? Ghosts and
spirits and an afterlife? I wish I could believe in all that stuff.
It was comforting to think you’re part of something bigger than
yourself, that life goes on in some form after your death. But I
simply couldn’t convince myself of this. I’ve thought about death
too much. I’ve lived with it for too long. I’ve come to know it too
well.

It was the end, and telling yourself
otherwise wasn’t going to change that fact.

My
Guns ’N Roses
ringtone snapped me out of my morbid reflection. I took my phone
out of my pocket, thinking it was Derek again. I glanced at the
display and swore to myself.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Neil
said.

“I don’t feel like talking much now.”

“Maybe it’s Honda. He might be checking up
on us.”

“It’s not Honda.”

The ringtone continued to play, Axl’s
screechy voice seeming all the louder and insistent because of my
refusal to acknowledge it.

“What the fuck?” Tomo said. “I answer.”

He reached for the phone, but I shooed him
away.

Finally, an impossibly long time later, the
goddamn thing shut up.

“Was it Derek?” Mel asked.

“No.”

“Who?”

“What does it matter?”

“Why are you getting defensive?”

“I’m not.”

“Maybe ex-girlfriend,” Tomo said.

“Well?” Mel said, looking at me
expectantly.

I blinked at her. “Well what?”

“Was it an ex?”

“Come on.”

“What’s the big deal?”

“It was just an old friend.”

“Shelly?”

“No,” I said, and instantly regretted the
lie.

Mel studied me.

I tried to ignore her.

“Let me see your phone,” she said.

“Are you kidding?”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Have you gone mad?” I was doing the
suitably outraged act, and probably coming across guilty as hell.
“So I didn’t want to answer my phone. What is this?”

“Let me see the phone.”

I considered denying her request, but that
would be as good as admitting it had been Shelly. I shrugged and
handed the phone to her.

“Mac,” she said, reading the name in the
call log. “Who’s Mac?”

I almost told her it was a guy I’d gone to
school with, but there was something in her eyes. She
knew
.
She was luring me into a trap.

“You know,” I said.

“Shelly MacDonald?”

I didn’t reply.

“Why didn’t you input ‘Shelly’ into your
phonebook? Why ‘Mac?’”

What the hell was this interrogation about?
“Because if you saw her name,” I said evenly, controlling my
temper, “I knew you would flip out, like you’re doing now.”

“I’m not flipping out.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“Because you lied to me, Ethan.”

“Give me a break.”

“If you’d simply told me it was Shelly when
I’d asked, that would have been that.”

I shook my head. “What’s this all
about?”

“Really, Ethan? I have to tell you? Okay.
Your ex-girlfriend calls—the second time in a month—someone you
once told me wanted to marry you. You don’t answer the phone and
lie about who it is. I think I deserve some answers.”

“What did you want me to do? Answer it here?
What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Shell! What’s up?’ You and I would
be doing exactly what we’re doing as soon as I hung up, which is
what I wanted to avoid.”

“I wouldn’t have gotten mad.”

That was a load of crock. Mel had been
insanely jealous of Shelly ever since she’d found provocative
photographs of Shelly on my computer. It had been on the day Mel
and I celebrated our six-month anniversary. She’d been going
through my photos, looking for a good one of us to print and make
into a card, when she came across the pictures. I had completely
forgotten I had them, and when Mel asked me to delete them, I did
so gladly. But after that she would always bristle at not only any
mention of Shelly but any mention of my college days in general,
for it represented a world to which she had not belonged and knew
little about.