The Suffering - Softcover

Chupeco, Rin

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1492629847 ISBN 13: 9781492629849

Verlag: Sourcebooks Fire, 2015

Inhaltsangabe

"Teens will savor the vivid portrayal of ghost exorcism as well as the action-packed adventure, romance, and drama of this tale… An exciting, unforgettable drama that echoes Stephen King infused with Japanese culture" ― School Library Journal
The breathtaking and haunting companion to The Girl from the Well, from the highly acclaimed author of the Bone Witch trilogy
The darkness will find you.
Seventeen-year-old Tark knows what it is to be powerless. But Okiku changed that. A restless spirit who ended life as a victim and started death as an avenger, she's groomed Tark to destroy the wicked. But when darkness pulls them deep into Aokigahara, known as Japan's suicide forest, Okiku's justice becomes blurred, and Tark is the one who will pay the price…
Suspenseful and creepy, The Suffering is perfect for readers looking for
Spooky books for young adults Japanese occult and horror novels Ghost story books for teens East Asian folklorePraise for The Girl from the Well
"There's a superior creep factor that is pervasive in every lyrical word of Chupeco's debut, and it's perfect for teens who enjoy traditional horror movies...the story is solidly scary and well worth the read." ― Booklist
"Chupeco makes a powerful debut with this unsettling ghost story...told in a marvelously disjointed fashion from Okiku's numbers-obsessed point of view, this story unfolds with creepy imagery and an intimate appreciation for Japanese horror, myth, and legend." ― Publishers Weekly STARRED review
"It hit all the right horror notes with me, and I absolutely recommend it to fans looking for a good scare. " ― The Book Smugglers

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Despite uncanny resemblances to Japanese revenants, Rin Chupeco has always maintained her sense of humor. Raised in Manila, Philippines, she keeps four pets: a dog, two birds, and a husband. She’s been a technical writer and a travel blogger but now makes things up for a living. She is the author of The Girl from the Well, The Suffering, The Bone Witch trilogy, and the A Hundred Named for Magic trilogy. Connect with Rin at rinchupeco.com.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter One

Tag

I'm no hero, believe me. I've never rescued babies from burning buildings. I've never volunteered to save humpback whales or the rain forest. I've never been to protest rallies, fed the hungry in Africa, or righted any of the eighty thousand things that are wrong with the world these days. Heroism isn't a trait commonly found in teenage boys.

Stupidity though? We've got that in spades.

Stupidity is why I'm huddled behind a large sofa bed, underneath a heavy blanket, drenched in my own sweat despite the AC humming in what is otherwise silence. The television is tuned to the least scary show I could find: a Jersey Shore rerun-horrifying in its own way, but not in the way that matters, which is the most important thing. I stare at the TV screen-and not because I'm eagerly awaiting Snooki's next freak-out. I watch the screen because I want to know when it's coming to find me.

Earlier this evening, I'd taken a raggedy-looking doll-its cotton stuffing already scooped out-and replaced it with uncooked rice and a few fingernail clippings. And I'd sewed it up with red thread. When you've done this as many times as I have, sewing becomes as good a weapon as any. Then I waited for three a.m. to roll around before filling the tub with water and dropping the doll in the bath.

"Dumbelina, you're it."

The name was not my idea, but it was what I had to work with. Using the same name that Sondheim and his girlfriend used in the ritual they started and never finished-that's how it knows you're singling it out. Just to ensure there were no misunderstandings, I said "You're it" two more times.

The doll, like most dolls, said nothing. It gazed up at me from beneath the water, a drowned, ball-jointed Ophelia with synthetic brown hair and plastic eyes in a yellow broadcloth dress made in some sweatshop in China. The doll was common enough, the kind that could have been a knockoff of a knockoff.

The air changes. Then that invisible spider crawls up my spine, tickling the hairs behind my neck. I have come to know this spider these last couple of years. It whispers there's something else in the room, breathing with you, watching you, grinning at you.

I hate that damn spider.

For one moment, the doll's stringy brown hair glitters a shiny black under the fluorescent lights. For one moment, the doll's glassy gaze takes on the faintest tinge of malicious self-awareness. For one moment, that thing's head breaks through the water's surface and looks at me.

I switch off the lights. I back out of the bathroom and close the door. I hide.

It sounds pretty idiotic, playing hide-and-seek with a doll. It's not. It's part of the rules I gotta play by.

The first rule is this: I have to finish the game. No matter what happens.

I've taken a mouthful of salt water at this point, and I begin counting in my head. One thousand and one, one thousand and two, one thousand and three, one thousand and four...

On the TV screen, an orange-skinned, heavily built Italian guy with gravity-defying hair is arguing with another orange-skinned, heavily built Italian guy with gravity-defying hair.

...one thousand and five, one thousand and six, one thousand and seven...

I briefly wonder where Ki is. She's often been quick to turn up when I've done other harebrained rituals like this one. At the moment, she's nowhere to be seen, which worries me. It's not like she's got something else to do.

I'm no hero, but I do have a superpower. Except my superpower tends to wander off when she's bored.

...one thousand and eight, one thousand and nine...

The noise of the television fizzles out. Then the sound returns, but it's warped, like an inexperienced DJ is spinning on a broken turntable and he has the song stuck on repeat. The voices drop several octaves until they're rough and scratchy and incomprehensible. Jersey Shore switches to static.

Immediately, my gaze swings back toward the bathroom door, which is standing wide open.

I'm pretty sure I closed it.

Something is moving around the room. I'm hoping it's Okiku, but I doubt it.

It sounds like something is dragging itself across the floor. Like it isn't quite sure how to use its legs properly yet.

I risk another glance over the sofa bed.

Wet tracks lead away from the bathroom, water stains seeping into the carpet. The television screen is blank, though the disturbing noises continue.

And then I see the doll lying facedown in a puddle of water several feet from where I am.

I retreat back into my blanket fortress to retrieve a plastic cup half-filled with the same saltwater mix that is in my mouth. I also pick up a small paring knife. Then I emerge from my hiding place, peering nervously up over the sofa again...

...and I come face-to-face with the doll, which is perched atop it. It has a small, peculiar, black gash across its face, which on a person would have been a mouth.

The doll in the bathtub didn't have a mouth.

It lunges.

I duck.

It sails over my head and crashes into a painting behind me. I have enough presence of mind not to swallow the salt water or spit it out. I don't waste precious seconds looking behind me-I make for the closet, my backup hiding place in case anything went wrong, which it almost always did.

I slip in and slide the door shut behind me, wriggling in among the clothes and shoes, trying to make as little sound as I can. You don't need to find the most complicated hiding spot when a ghost is hunting you. The instant you trap them inside a vessel, like a doll's body, their perception of the world becomes limited.

I wait for several long seconds. Everything's quiet, but I'm not buying it. If you move when they're there to see, they'll find you. They'll find you fast.

Through the small slits of light coming in through the slatted closet door, I make out a movement. Then I catch a glimpse of yellow as something small and decidedly doll-shaped shuffles into view.

It's crawling on its hands and knees.

Its every movement sounds like crunching bone.

It's searching for me.

I hold my breath and wait until it twitches away.

The second rule of the game: it gets to look for me first. Then it's my turn. We swap roles every few minutes until someone succeeds. First one to stab three times doesn't get to die.

Time's up.

I count another ten seconds, because starting my turn late is better than starting it too early, while it's still on the hunt. Then I step out, curbing the desire to take the coward's route and hide 'til morning. Or better yet, to race out of the apartment screaming like a little kid.

The doll lies flat on its back, its midnight-black eyes boring through the ceiling. It isn't moving.

I run toward it, knife raised and ready, because the rules say I have two minutes, but experience says these bastards cheat. When it comes to dealing with ghosts, the general consensus is to hit first and hit hard, because chances are you'll be dead before you can get off a second attempt.

I strike. My knife finds its mark, plunging into the doll's chest. I spit the salt water that's in my mouth onto the doll, soaking its cotton dress. "I win!" I sputter and then rip the knife free so I can stab it again.

The television chooses that moment to flicker back on. Momentarily distracted, I glance at the screen. The two guys are still arguing. When I look back down, the doll is nowhere to be seen.

Crap.

Trying not to panic, I search the room as quickly and as thoroughly as I can. I check under the couch, the bed, even take another quick look inside the bathroom. Nothing.

A drop of water landing on the carpet in front of me is the only warning I get. I have just enough time to...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Sourcebooks Fire
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2015
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1492629847
• ISBN 13: 9781492629849
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 320
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: gpsr@libri.de; gpsr@libri.de; ; Europaallee 1; Bad Hersfeld; 36244; Deutschland