London
January 17, 2019
Yana reached her hand out, patting about blindly until she found the frigid handle on the uneven surface of something. She shuffled aside the mountain of clothes strewn across the wardrobe floor, maneuvering further into the closet and shining her flashlight on a tiny door to which the handle was attached.
The door was rusted, with numerous yellow talismans plastered to its edges, some peeling off the frame. In the center of the door lay a keyhole far too small for any normal house key she had seen her father carry. A small, faded engraving adorned the top right corner of the door, but she couldn't distinguish its meaning, only seeing the vague outlines of numbers. Yana shone her flashlight around the small space but to no avail. Eventually, she crawled back out of the wardrobe, just barely avoiding the edge of the shelf on her way out.
Yana huffed triumphantly when she successfully disentanglement from the closet. Her small hands hurriedly patted off the dust from her clothes before she dashed off in search of her father within the labyrinthine of their home. Strolling through the halls, with only her footsteps for company, she wandered through hidden passageways and peered at every nearly identical door until she found the right one: polished black walnut with silver adornments, a door knocker, and a matching door handle.
Chk. Chk. Chk.
She knocked three times and waited, but no response came. She tried again before calling out, "Baba, I'm coming in!" Slowly, she cracked the door open. Normally she'd see her father's comically tall and lanky figure, clad in his long purple and black robes, hunched over slightly to fit into the room, but he was nowhere to be seen. Flicking on the light switch, she searched behind the curtains, the sofas, and even the tables. "Baba, where are you?"
Eventually, she walked over to her father's office table, riffling through the neatly organized drawers filled with sketchbooks, calligraphy brushes, sewing needles, and threads. Looking further in, behind a hollowed part of the drawer she found a raggedy old book: faded royal blue, leather-bound, with her father's usual silver ornaments adorning it. The pages were slightly worn, and a tiny key was lodged into the lock holding the book shut.
Curiously, she opened the book to the first page:
10/28/1931
I'm sorry,
I have many things I wish to deny
Many of which was merely a lie
If I could, I would take back all that I've said
And all that I have done.
For all the hurtful words spoken out of turn,
For all the actions done without concern
The fear I once held of the monster that haunts me
Her scathing voice ringing perpetually.
I never meant to blame you for you were never in the wrong
You who glowed far more radiantly than the sun, with a smile that infectious plastered on your face
You could look me in the eyes and see that I was wrong
I think of myself as wise,
yet I foolishly pursue a sense of happiness I know I can't find
wondering what would have happened if I made a different choice.
There are many things I wish I had said
many things I wish to tell you now,
but I know I can never tell you,
not even now
Not when it was I who wished you forgot about me,
and not when it was I who recalled every memory
I pray you find new love, new dreams, and new happiness
in a life I could never give.
I pray you find happiness in my absence
and for you to live knowing only joy and prosperity.
Flipping through the diary, Yana found the remaining pages were also blank, she reached the very back of the diary and found a small red envelope in the book's cover pocket, inside was a bundle of curly platinum blonde hair.
Yana tried to think of who the lock of hair might belong to, but no one came to mind, no one she knew. It certainly wasn't hers nor her father's, as both of them had black hair—hers was more of a dark brown compared to her father's, a richer and more pigmented shade of ivory black.
Another mystery for another day she supposed. In the meantime, she headed back to the wardrobe with the diary key, curious to see if it would work.
Navigating through the twists and turns of the hallways, she returned to her room and shuffled back under the lowest shelf of her wardrobe, turning slightly to face the tiny door. It was a bit cramped with her trying to hold up her flashlight and all, but she managed to unlock it. Pushing the door open, she crawled through to the other side, rows of books and scrolls lined the walls, leading further and further up into the ceiling before disappearing. The smell of ink mixed with the smoky scent of incense filled the room, accompanied by a faint hint of plum blossoms added in too.
"Hello, little one," a cheerful voice said, appearing in front of her and floating upside down. Startled, she jumped back slightly, looking at the floating man: he stood tall wearing royal blue robes and a monocle on his right eye. When he descended, his posture strengthened in a way that was all too reminiscent of her father's when he wasn't cramped up In a room far too small for him—but perhaps it was the man's long, silky black hair and similar style of robes that made her think that way
"Um, hello?" she greeted, having to crane her neck up to look at his face. His wavy hair was styled into a high ponytail, with a few strands framing his face. She guessed that the man was in his late thirties to early forties, with slight wrinkles around his eyes. When he smiled pleasantly at her, she felt a strange mix of emotions.
"Are you a 餓鬼 (hungry ghost) or a 冤鬼 (vengeful ghost)?" she asked, looking him up and down. He had the same kind of energy her father did, although his wasn't as turbulent and unstable.
"Oh no, young one, I'm a slightly different spirit. I'm what you would call a 吊死鬼 (hanged ghost), you see." He pulled down the bandages wrapped around his neck to reveal searing red rope burns engraved into his skin.
"You can usually tell the difference between the two by how gaunt they are and how long their sharp nails are. Vengeful ghosts seek out those who wronged them and are usually erratic in their behavior, while hungry ghosts remain due to some past regrets before their demise," he explained, hesitating slightly on how to present it in a way that wouldn't be too tragic for the child.
"Anyways, how did you find this place?" he asked curiously, glancing at the tiny key in her hand. "Out of all the many secrets your father keeps, the one he wishes to reveal?"
Yana looked at the ghost strangely. "How would you know?"
He laughed softly. "Of course I know; I am his ancestor after all," he said, kneeling to her eye level. "Surely you notice some of our similarities." Yana examined the strange ghost; he did share some characteristics with her father, though he was, ironically, more lively personality-wise. Whether or not their facial features were similar was beyond her; she could only recall her father with a veil covering most of his face and eyes.
"Tell me, child, would you mind lending me your assistance with something?" he asked, looking into her eyes, his smile fading into a straight line, replaced with sincerity.
"That depends on what you're asking for, mister...?" Her voice softened as she regarded him warily.
"You can call me... Hongjun Laozu. Your father did the same when he was younger. May I call you little Fu Lu Shou?"
"Sure, but why?" Yana scrunched her brows in confusion. "The living are generally advised not to interact with the spirit world, and if they do, they can't lie. You shouldn't give spirits your name because that would allow them to gain control. Names hold a lot of power in a way, they reveal bits of ourselves, from our backgrounds to our parents' hopes for us. By sharing your name, you open yourself up to their spiritual influences." he explained seriously, his voice no longer holding the carefree attitude he had moments ago.
"Is that why Baba never calls me by my name?" Yana asked the ghost.
"Yes, if he did, you would become a living puppet."
"As for the favor I ask of you, I need you to guide him a little. He may be as sly as a fox, but he is not all-knowing. He is lost and aware of it, but he can't find his way back if he doesn't unlock the chains binding him. One must learn not to cower from an enemy they deem undefeatable when they have yet to gain the conviction to fight."
"Who is he?" She asked in wonder.
"It is someone you know,
Someone you trust,
You'll know when you see him,
But you mustn't tell of us." Hongjun Laozu replied cryptically as he smiled handing her an embroidered crossbody bag.
Yana wanted to protest but the ghost had already pushed her out of the room and sent her tumbling out on the other side.
The soft fluff of the carpet broke her fall but still couldn't quite elevate the impact completely.
She felt her vision spinning when she attempted to stand.
Soft footsteps walked closer and closer followed by the sound of a cane clicking against the wooden floors until they reached the end of the rug.
A pair of well-polished black leather dress shoes came into her view…