Mura No Inshuu ~repack~ — Oneshota

Last night, I woke up walking backward down my apartment hallway. My neighbor’s door was open. Inside, she was sitting perfectly still, facing the wall, slowly moving her chopsticks from her mouth to the bowl.

I spent three autumns trying to find the ruins of Oneshota Mura. This is the story of what I found, and what I fear followed me home. To understand the inshuu (遺臭 / 印象 - literally "lingering scent" or "deep impression"), you must first understand the land. Oneshota Mura was a kakuresato —a hidden village. Nestled in a crease of the Hida Mountains, it was accessible only by a rope ladder that the villagers pulled up at dusk.

In the winter of 1811, a sickness came. Not of the body—of the field . The single rice paddy that gave the village its name began to weep a black tar. Any grain that touched the tar turned to ash. The village elder, a one-eyed woman known only as Obaa-kyō (Grandmother Doctrine), declared that the village had been "photographed" by the outsider. oneshota mura no inshuu

" Inshuu wa modotta, " she whispered. "The recollection has returned."

But who would volunteer?

If you go to the Hida Mountains, look for the waterfall that smells like rust. Do not climb the chains. Do not breathe at 3:17 PM.

My left hand, which touched the rusted chain, now smells of persimmons. No soap removes it. Last night, I woke up walking backward down

By: Tetsuya Kuroi | Folklore & Lost Japan