"Do Not Play the Game" - delightingintherain (RHSOTD #2)

A scary story about a japanese student.

"I’ve been studying Japanese at school. I’ve always been intrigued by the language and Japanese culture, so when my school added it as a foreign language I jumped at the opportunity. As part of an extra credit project (now halfway through my fourth year of learning Japanese), our teacher encouraged us to change the language for our browser, temporarily, to Japanese as a practical application of our learning and good practice. While browsing, we look up stuff interesting to us, read stories, browse Tumblr, whatever, then screencap pages here and there and write up a translation of each page. For every page of translations (our teacher says she has “ways” of making sure it's actually our work and not Google or something), we can earn 15 points of extra credit, up to 225 points, or 15 pages. Of course, if you’re translating a recipe or short poem or something, you’ve gotta have at least a page’s worth of translations to count, otherwise we’d get off easy by translating short song lyrics or something – trust me, we checked.

Anyways, the point is, I was browsing the internet one night with my browser set to Japanese, looking up scary stories and enjoying the challenge of trying to read it – it makes scary stories hilarious whenever I mess up a word or phrase or something in my head. It’s fun to do and I occasionally write up the stories with the mistranslated parts included (in English) and put them up on my blog for a laugh. I’ve kind of gotten a following of people who enjoy the scary and the hilarious that comes from the messed up translations – my Japanese teacher included. So this particular night, I was scrolling through Sixpenceee’s Tumblr tag looking for a new one to read and possibly write up for my blog or class.

I came across a post called, “ひとり かくれんぼ” or “Hitori Kakurenbo,” which translates to, “Hide and seek alone.” Intrigued, I clicked on the post to see all the details. It was a longer post with small writing and I’d had a long day. Deciding to be super lazy, I turned Google’s translate function on. The post was about a super scary game to play when you’re home alone, where you invite a spirit or demon into the body of a doll and play hide and seek with it – and a knife. The rules and directions looked simple enough and I’d have the house to myself tonight because it was the bimonthly “Special Saturday Date Night” for my dads, who usually spent it at a nice hotel as a treat. I decided to give it a try, planning to write up my experiences playing the game for my blog. Couldn’t really hurt, right? It’s just a game, albeit a super creepy one, the warnings of danger simply added to the creep-factor.

I started to set it all up. I got an old doll of mine from a box in the garage and a bag of uncooked rice from the kitchen – it was brand new, so I just really hoped that either my dads wouldn’t notice, or wouldn’t mind too much. Following the instructions, I carefully tore out all the stuffing from the doll and replaced it with uncooked rice and my freshly clipped fingernail clippings – apparently, the rice is supposed to attract the spirit and the clippings would bind me to the doll. I sewed it back up with some crimson thread I found in the sewing kit my dads had gotten for me in preparation of going off to college. Using the rest of the red thread, I tied the doll up, supposedly binding the spirit to the doll. I filled the bathtub with water and placed a cup of salt water (made with non-iodized sea salt since the directions said it needed to be “natural” and my dads like to make homemade cheese and pickles so they keep a lot on hand) in the smallish walk-in closet in my parents’ room which I had chosen to be my hiding spot.

The instructions said that I had to choose a name for the doll to make the spirit more powerful, so I chose the stupidest name I could think of for it: Bob. While I waited for 3 AM to roll around, I went to the living room and flipped through channels until I found a good static channel, then turned the TV off. This way, later, I could simply turn on the TV to it and turn up the volume and it would be set, rather than spend a bunch of time trying to find the static channels while playing the game.

I returned to the bathroom with a sharp kitchen knife (as instructed) and the doll at two minutes to 3 o’clock. Once my phone indicated it was time, I picked up the doll and read from the script, “Jillian is the first it! Jillian is the first it! Jillian is the first it!” My name is Jillian, by the way. I placed the doll in the filled bathtub, took the knife with me and went around the house turning off every single light, even going so far as unplugging the hallway nightlight. I turned on the TV and turned up the volume so that static was loud enough it could be heard, at least a little, throughout the house. I then went to my hiding place, closed my eyes tightly, and counted to ten. All of this, I did without once glancing behind me. I know it said not to once the doll is “it,” but I just wanted to take precautions all the same. I was a bit freaked out, carrying a knife around one’s blackened house a little after 3 in the morning with a creepy doll submerged in one’s bathtub would make anyone unsettled, okay?

Counting done, I returned to the bathroom. Feeling a little silly and a little frightened, I said to the doll, “I have found you, Bob!” and picked up the doll and stabbed it with my knife. Not just a poke, I actually stabbed it. It was a little cool since I’ve never just stabbed anything before, but also creepy. I pulled the knife from the doll’s body, straightened up, and said aloud, “Now, Bob is it!” three times. I placed the doll and the knife back in the bathtub and ran like wild dogs were snapping at my heels back to my hiding spot in my dads’ closet. Running, I did not look back, I just ran and felt this terror in the pit of my stomach It reminded me of when I was really little returning to bed after getting up to pee. I’d be so terrified something was following in the dark behind me that I’d take a flying leap across my room and dive under my covers to safety. Only difference was that I was playing a supposedly dangerous game with a possessed doll and a knife and this time the feeling was amplified ten-fold.

In the dark, I waited, holding my breath. The directions said that this is the time when people tend to experience weird and scary stuff. It said to be careful of how much time goes by while playing this game, as the spirit can become too powerful if allowed to stay in the doll for longer than a couple hours. I held the cup of salt water tightly in my now shaking hands and waited, listening. I could hear the static from the TV in the living room and the occasional creaks of the old house settling as it always does at night or in odd weather – it used to scare me when I was little. I felt a little silly, and a little stupid, for hiding silently and scared in the closet from a doll, and for playing this game in the first place.

After a little while of crouching in the dark, I started hearing things. I’m not joking. I know this is going to sound crazy, and maybe in the dark I became a little crazy, but I swear this happened. I heard a soft, squelchie pitter-patter from the hallway, as though small, wet, cloth feet were running fast and lightly through the hall. I thought I was imagining it at first, but then I heard a high, child’s laugh. I held my breath, too afraid to inhale. The static from the living room, a soft buzz before, grew louder incrementally.

I thought about ending the game then and there, but as scared as I was, I was also curious about what would happen. I knew I still had some time left, so I held still, took as silent a breath as I could, and waited some more.

It was then that I heard it. A child’s high-pitched sing-song voice, drawn out slow and a bit off-pitch. The words chilled the air, sending shivers down my back, and my hand to my throat.

“It’s raining…

“It’s pouring…”

The voice wavered a bit, as though the source were running here and there, in and out of rooms and halls through the house.

“Your hiding place is boring…”

Again I heard small footfalls in the hallway, easily heard from wooden floorboards. It seemed closer now.

“I’ll bump your head…”

I held my breath, absolutely terrified. I thought this was just a fun mind-fuck, just a way to mess with people’s adrenaline levels.

“And stab your throat…”

The door to my dads’ bedroom creaked further open as though something was peering in. I think I peed myself then, just a little. I felt frozen, rooted to the spot. It felt as though my blood was slowly freezing solid from the capillaries slowly to the arteries, heading for my heart.

“And you won’t get up in the morning…”

The sound of footsteps retreated from the doorway. I felt suddenly like I was released, if only for the moment. Still absolutely, heart poundingly petrified, I knew that I had a small window of opportunity now to end the game. It was time. I had to.

I took a large mouthful of the salty water. Careful not to swallow, I levered my stiff body first into kneeling and finally into a standing position. According to the directions, this begins the end of the game and allows one to safely go looking for the doll to finish the game.

Utterly terrified, mouth still full of salt water, and holding the cup of salt water resolutely, I left the safety of my hiding spot to find the doll. I knew not to turn on any lights or use a torch before the game was done, so I looked around the room in darkness. It wasn’t there. I went out into the hallway and slowly made my way back through the house, checking each room for the doll. I was so afraid it (or something) would jump out at my in the dark and stab me in the throat or face (or, really, anywhere). I kept reminding myself of the steps to end the game so I wouldn’t mess them up: find the doll, pour the rest of the water on it, spit out mouthful on it, say “I win” three times, cut off crimson thread from doll, the game is done, dry and then burn the doll. I repeated these steps to myself over and over like a mantra as I made my way through the house in search of Bob. When I reached the bathroom, I hoped as hard as I knew how that I would find the doll and knife still in the tub, or at least in the bathroom.

It wasn’t there.

It wasn’t until I reached the kitchen that I found it. The doll, still wrapped in crimson thread, was lying as though innocent and lifeless on the wooden floor, with the knife lying next to it. Glad to be done with it, I performed the steps to finish the game exactly as I had rehearsed them, anxious to do any of them out of order. Once the crimson thread was cut, the spirit should have been released and the game done. I slumped against the fridge, relieved more than words could express.

After a moment to breathe and relax a little, finally, I knew I had to end the darkness. I got up, grabbing the doll and some kitchen towels from the rod to start drying it off. I flipped the kitchen light on and blinked against the brightness. I really wished in that moment that my dads had put in the work to put dimmers on all the lights. I went around the house turning on every single light possible, resolving to leave the lights on all night till the sun could chase away the last of my terror. It was done, though. I drained the tub, turned the TV to a kid’s oriented channel, plugged in the night light, changed into soft pajamas, even lit some candles and used sage to cleanse the house. While watching Baby Looney Tunes, I burned the now dry doll in the fireplace. It was done. Officially, finally, truly done.

I swore off doing anything so stupid ever again and did my best to laugh it off. I didn’t let myself go to sleep until my dads got home from their date night. It was really good to see them, especially as happy and relaxed as they were after having some time to themselves. Safe and certain that it was all over, I curled up and fell asleep on the couch, cartoons still playing on the TV, my parents around to watch over me as I slept.

I decided not to make a blog post about my experiences for fear of goading someone into giving the game a try. Or becoming a laughingstock. I took a break on reading and translating scary stories for a while. Everything went back to normal, really, like nothing ever happened. The only things left of what happened were the memories and the occasional nightmares.

A few weeks went by. School was stressful and exhausting, as usual. Homework piled up and I slowly fought through it all. I’d hit the limit of the possible extra credit in my Japanese class, so translating stories (not scary ones for now, just other fun or weird or science-y or whatever stories) was just for fun now. My followers were a little disappointed at the lack of scary-turned-hilarious stories, but they seemed to accept it for the time being.

It was around the month mark that I first started to notice it. Whenever I left a room and then returned, it seemed like the figurines, stuffed animals, even the couple of old dolls I kept around out of nostalgia, all appeared to be staring intently at the doorway, as though waiting for me to return. I knew it was stupid and just my imagination, so I shrugged it off. I’ve taken AP Intro to Psychology, I knew the drill. Although it looked like they were looking at me, it was just my brain attributing living, animal traits to the faces around me. It didn’t even start to occur to me that it might be related to the game until a second month had gone by. I just couldn’t shake -the feeling that dolls and statues, anything inanimate with a face, really, were watching me and waiting for me whenever I left the room. And not just my room. Mr. Snoot’s class mascot/teddy-bear, Mr. Twinkles, always seemed to be facing me, watching me. When I visited friends’ houses, it seemed to happen, even with their younger siblings’ barbies.

The dread built. I removed everything inanimate with a face from my room and from the house, when I could. Or I’d turn them away from, facing a wall. Yet somehow, I knew that wasn’t enough. And perhaps it was one of my dads, or friends, or something, but the ones I turned to face away from me inevitably faced the other way round by the next day or the next time I saw it. I started feeling like it was more than just watching me. I swear, I started hearing children laughing. And singing. Oh god, the singing.

It started out as indistinct whispers. A soft laugh on a breeze. A hummed tune, slow and chilling. As time went on, it grew. Now, it’s like a wave, ebbing and flowing, sometimes achingly loud, and other times almost indecipherable. And the song? The song I can never seem to escape no matter what I do?

“It’s raining…

“It’s pouring…

“Your hiding place is boring…

“I’ll bump your head…

“And stab your throat…”

Here, it used to always seem to fade off before the end of the song. It never ended, never. I looked up as much as I could about the game. I searched translations. I searched in English. I wrote to bloggers and authors. I even wrote to an old penpal of mine, from my third year of Japanese class. I actually just got his response in the mail today. That’s why I’m writing this. To warn you, all of you, dear readers, don’t make my mistake. Don’t play the game. Don’t do what I did. Even if you do everything right, don’t do it. Don’t even try. Don’t even think of it. I was so stupid. So very stupid.

Takeshi pointed something out in his letter that hadn’t even occurred to me. I didn’t even think when I did it. It seems so small, even now. And yet so important, so vital. Why did I do that? Why? Why did I hit translate and rely on a machine for something so important as the instructions for how to safely play a life-and-death game with a demon? If only I had switched the browser to English and found a translation by expert humans? Or even translate it myself? I’ve gotten good enough. I even went back to that page in Japanese and translated it myself. And you know what? It’s different when you translate it yourself or read the human-done translations available all over the net.

And do you know what is the worst thing of all? The absolute worst?

I can hear it now. The giggles. And the song, slow and haunting, spiking my nerves, raising each arm hair on end. But now, this time, over and over and over:

“…And you won’t get up in the morning…”"