One day, when I got home to my apartment where I lived alone, I got changed and a 10 yen coin rolled out of my pocket. I didn’t remember receiving any change that day, so it was strange. But I was a bit of a pig, so chances were good the coin had been in there for a while and I just hadn’t noticed. I picked it up and put it in my piggy bank.
A few days later, I took my phone out of my pocket when yet again another 10 yen coin dropped out. Maybe I’d put my change from the convenience store in there. I didn’t think too much about it. Yet over the new month, the same thing happened on a weekly basis, so of course I started to wonder about it. As this kept happening, I finally noticed something. Every single coin was from 1972, and the marks on them were the same as well. They were all the exact same coin, and somehow it kept working its way back into my pocket. There was no other way to put it. It was creepy as hell.
‘Then I’ll just use it,’ I thought, and even though I wasn’t thirsty, I went to a nearby vending machine and bought a drink. I figured that would be that, but the next morning when I got out of bed, the 10 yen coin fell out of my pants again.
A chill ran down my spine. It was like the coin was haunting me. Worried, I took the coin to one of my university friends who could supposedly sense the supernatural.
“I think this coin was used to play Kokkuri-san,” she said. “If you don’t send the spirit back, then it remains here.”
“Why does it keep coming back to me?”
“You must have been unlucky enough to pick it up, that’s all. Have you ever played Kokkuri-san before?”
“Then it’s just a coincidence.”
“How do I get rid of it?”
“I think if you follow the appropriate steps, you should be able to get the spirit to return.”
“By the appropriate steps, you mean…”
And so it was decided that I would play Kokkuri-san. We stayed in the classroom after the lecture was over and I drew the shrine gate, yes, no, and the alphabet on a piece of paper. Then we put the coin on top and both of us placed a finger on it.
“Kokkuri-san, Kokkuri-san, please come here. If you’re here, please proceed to ‘yes’.”
I wasn’t placing any pressure on the coin, and yet it moved.
“No way. Are you doing that?”
“Sssh. Be serious.”
The coin moved to “yes.”
“Kokkuri-san, thank you. Please return now.”
The coin dashed over to “no.”
“Kokkuri-san, I’m sorry. We no longer need you, so please return.”
The coin rapidly circled “no” on the page.
“What should we do?” I started to panic.
“All we can do is ask… Kokkuri-san, what can we do to make you return?”
The coin started to move. First to “d,” then to “i,” and finally to “e.”
I almost burst into tears.
“Why? Why me?! What did I even do?!”
The coin moved as though in response to my cries.
“You called me,” it spelt out.
“I did no such thing!”
“You called me.”
Me? When? Then it hit me, like a flashback. Last summer, a bunch of us gathered at a friend’s house for a party. Being summer, someone started reading some scary stories from the internet. We also visited a scary place to test our courage, and once there, started telling each other scary stories one by one.
My story was about Kokkuri-san. To heighten the mood, I took a 10 yen coin out of my wallet to use as a prop…
When I came back to, my friend that had been sitting with me was gone. She’d fled. My finger rested on the coin as it seemed to dance around the same three letters, over and over.
D. I. E.