You can read part one of this story Here
Okurimono woke thinking she heard whispering. The house was silent, except for the wind creeping through crevices and cracks. In the dim light from the brazier, she saw a swarm of eyes watching her from the paper panels of the shoji screen dividing the room.
Mokumokuren, she thought, remembering Ucosan tales. Mokumokuren were not harmful kami, merely curious. They liked to peer where the barriers dividing the worlds were tinged by sorrow or neglect. As Ucosan said, what greater sorrow was there than an ill-kempt house? Perhaps they wondered why the shoji screens panels were unpatched, or the walls let in drafts? Because mama is ill, she wanted to shout.
The eyes were not watching Okurimono, but her mother. Afraid of what she might see, the girl turned around. Seven ghosts hovered over her mother. These were ghosts of…
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