November 12, 2025

Hungry Ghost
Paul Walter

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I’ve got to tell this to someone before it’s too late, I don’t think there’ll be another chance. Something is coming for me. Something that wants me dead – and I’m freaking the fuck out. We’d call it a ghost, the Japanese have a different word, Yūrei. And it was in Japan that this whole thing started. I remember the last day of that trip when I just wanted to take it easy, but my friend Wayne said, ‘I’ve got a better idea.’
A better idea? I should never have listened. Things would have been so very different. Something happened there. We crossed a line. We opened a door we never even knew existed. It might never have happened. We might never have known if we hadn’t gone there. So, here’s the story of what took place that day. The day that changed everything.


First up, let me tell you something, I am not afraid of the living, but all that spooky, demonic stuff gives me the creeps; I steer well clear of that. Let’s just say I have my reasons. See, I’m a big fella and though I may not be in peak condition, I’m still in pretty good shape. Other men tend not to tangle with me too often, if at all, I believe it’s all to do with how you carry yourself. Years of playing rugby has made my face – interesting – to say the least, and if some clown starts to get a bit mouthy after a few beers, I make sure he gets a good look at the cauliflower ear as I lean in, pretending to listen to his bullshit. Works like a charm. Trust me. I don’t play rugby anymore, a bit of jogging and ocean swimming will do me nowadays, I even got back into skiing last year. That’s why me and Wayne went to Japan in the first place, a boys’ ski trip. It was more just a chance to get away really. A chance to let off a bit of steam. The job had been getting to me, especially since I’d hit the big four-0. Life begins, or so they say. Like hell it does. Not when you work on the psychiatric ward of a major Sydney hospital. Night shifts are a killer and my stress levels had been going through the roof, that’s why I’d suggested the trip one stinking hot February night in a pub in Surry Hills. I was due long service leave anyhow, and Wayne could pretty much please himself when it came to working hours, he was a senior financial advisor for a firm down in Martin Place. Good with sums, smart as a whip.
‘The season’s nearly over,’ I said. ‘We can probably snag a bargain.’
He’d stroked his chin like he was considering the statement, but that didn’t fool me one little bit, I know that almost all of Wayne’s major decisions are made with a mental coin toss.
‘Count me in, Murph,’ was all he said, and knocked his beer back. That was it. Land of the rising sun, here we come. Wish I’d never opened my big mouth now.






We’d finished breakfast and didn’t really have any plans for the last day of the holiday. Our ski passes had expired and the snow hadn’t been that great, anyway. The dining room was noisy, everything was glary and if I moved my head too quickly, I was in all kinds of trouble. Even though I’d cleaned my teeth twice and was on my third coffee it still felt like I had an old sock in my mouth. The problem was, I’d put quite a dent in a bottle of Suntory the night before and now I just wanted to rest up, maybe even down a hair of the dog, possibly two, but not Wayne, he’d been talking to some American the night before in the hotel lobby. That’s where he got the idea to go to Aokigahara Forest. That was his better idea.
I said, ‘What? Have you suddenly turned into a tree hugger? Will wonders never cease?’
He laughed disinterestedly and changed his tone, he was fishing, ‘I doubt it would be your idea of a fun day out anyhow. You know how certain things play on your mind.’
I paused for breath. Kept the voice cheery and sensible, ‘Care to explain?’
So, he told me what the American had said, in a voice that sounded more like he was quoting statistics. That it was the creepiest place he’d ever been to. That it was known as the Suicide Forest on account of the number of people who go there to kill themselves, hundreds a year, he thought. But the authorities weren’t too keen to advertise it. Hanging was the most common. Pills, a close second. Haunted too, he reckoned, by all the unhappy souls of the victims who wander among the trees, trying to coerce other weak-willed, depressed individuals to join them.
‘Sounds a bit far-fetched,’ I said.
He dropped his napkin softly on the table, raised a palm, ‘I’ll understand if you just want to stay here, it’s not everyone’s cup of tea.’
I wasn’t going to fall for that old trick. No way was I going to succumb to peer pressure. So, I said, ‘Alright, let’s do it.’
I folded like a Geisha’s fan. Didn’t I?






The next thing you know, we were on a bus to the world’s second most popular suicide destination. You won’t find that in any tourist brochure, believe me. We drew some stares too, seeing as how we were the only foreigners and Wayne was being all chirpy, and by that, I mean annoying. He was scrolling on his phone and rattling off information, ‘It says here that all this suicide stuff started way, way back, centuries ago in fact. There was this custom called Ubasute, which literally means; abandoning an old woman. Sheesh, nice people.’ Holding the screen that close to his face made his skin look sickly green, which was exactly how I felt. ‘There’s more; also known as senicide or the practice of killing the elderly, it says it falls somewhere between murder and suicide – I mean, it seems they went willingly. According to legend the practice of Ubasute was performed right here in Japan, where an elderly or infirm relative was carried to a remote place and left there to die. Can you imagine, just leaving your old gran to starve – on her own – out there in the forest. So that’s what started this whole thing off.’ He switched the phone off, ‘So, you needn’t feel too bad anymore about dumping your old gran in North Sydney.’
No filter, that was Wayne, he was never intentionally cruel, he just said what he was thinking. Like it or lump it. We’d been best friends since boarding school. Not everyone got him, that kind of honesty can be off-putting. From day one, he looked like someone that had no trouble sleeping and wasn’t particularly overburdened with pointless worry in his daylight hours. I wanted to be his friend from the get-go. They say opposites attract.


The bus rolled out of the suburbs and into the less dense neighbourhoods. I chewed a fingernail and looked out the window. It was getting greener, almost pleasant, it was the brightest day we’d had so far. But my guts still bothered me. Then the bus slowed and the engine whined as we turned off the main drag and started to lurch down a winding road. I had to concentrate hard to keep last night’s booze down and it must have showed on my face.
‘Not too much longer now,’ he said.
I had a bad feeling about the whole deal.


Everyone filed off the bus, we were the last two to leave, and it seemed the polite thing to do, so I made a point of thanking the driver who gave me a friendly little nod. As we stepped off, Wayne said, ‘What was that for? He can’t understand you.’
I said, ‘That’s not the point, is it? It’s the gesture. Good manners cost nothing.’
It came out a bit short and stroppy. I was still kicking myself for being swayed. Again. And I can’t really blame him for being who he is, for being Wayne, but it made me feel a bit contrite so I rasped my hands together like I was thrilled to be there, ‘Best crack on,’ I said.


We shuffled after the little knot of people crowded around a signboard that stood near to the bus stop. You know the type of thing; a walking map with dotted lines that branched off a main track that snaked through the trees with an arrow pointing: you are here. I remember thinking; how morbid do you have to be to come here? I mean, we were clearly tourists, not that that was any excuse, but locals? The low murmur of chatter grew quieter the closer we got. Wayne caught the eye of an older man who seemed to be supervising the group, and pointing at one of the dotted lines that wound deep into the hinterland, made walking motions with two fingers, and asked him, ‘This one okay?’
That’s when things got weird, and I mean quickly. Everyone started babbling at once, full on amateur dramatics, hands flew to mouths, eyes widened, one or two even seemed to stagger, you name it. Quick as a flash, the main man grabbed Wayne by the arm, started shaking his head and wagging his finger, and in broken English said, ‘No. Must not go there.’ And with the slightest of bows, he, and his cohort, scarpered.
‘Friendly bunch,’ I said.
‘Screw ‘em,’ Wayne said.
And once we were alone, we could really take in our surroundings, and they were none too cheery, I must say. For one thing, there were a lot of abandoned cars, and not just old rust buckets either. Even the newer ones were covered in leaf litter and bird shit. Not something that happens overnight. We exchanged a look that hinted maybe we’d made a mistake and propping a bar might have been the better option. Wayne pawed at his chin and shrugged, ‘Sooner we get started,’ he said. ‘Sooner we’ll finish.’
And with that little pearl of wisdom, we shuffled into the cool darkness of the trees. Instantly, it felt different to any bush walk I’d ever been on. It was soooo quiet and the trees were so densely packed that there wasn’t the slightest hint of a breeze. Faaark!


The trail was wide enough and well maintained, so I began to calm down a little until we came to a warning sign that read: Your life is a precious gift from your parents. Please think about your parents, siblings, and children.
Standing in that absolute silence I worried that Wayne might hear my heart pounding like the bombing of Cambodia.
‘Nothing like a bit of encouragement,’ said Wayne, and on we went, saying little apart from the occasional swear word as we stumbled into the ever-darkening forest. It was eerie, totally alien. The gnarled, moss-covered tree roots that sprang from the tortured ground appeared to strangle the life out of all they touched in that awful, heavy stillness. Not more than a few minutes in, a cold sweat began to trickle down my chest, and Wayne was moving at a fair old pace, so I shouted, ‘Wayne, fucks’ sake, what’s the hurry?’
But I didn’t like the sound of my voice in the dank gloom. It sounded like the voice of a madman. There was no answer, so that was that. No more chit chat.


Before long, we were forced to walk in single file as the path hemmed us in more and more. I could hear Wayne’s laboured breathing up ahead and it was getting hard to see clearly. A sickly-sweet smell caught in the back of my throat and I hadn’t thought to bring a bottle of water. My shoes kept slipping on the mossy roots and though I didn’t want to lose him, I couldn’t risk twisting an ankle. In here, of all places – are you kidding? Eventually, we came to an intersection with no signpost, so it was anyone’s guess. Instinctively, we both turned to the left. That was comforting somehow, but not for long. The path quickly narrowed yet again, clogged in by the oppressive trees. Lumps of rock jutted from the ground in haphazard clusters. Every third step became a sickening lurch, and the dim light was being further suffocated by the canopy of trees. I wasn’t even sure if we were still on the path, or if it had ended and we were soon to become just another statistic. Everything was chaotic. It was like the forest itself didn’t want us there. Like we were an infection. A feeling of deep melancholy pressed down on me, but I didn’t want to be the first to suggest going back, told myself I was overthinking it, and just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I started to notice all the leftover bits and pieces, grim reminders of those who had lost hope. A pair of mossy trainers here, an empty vodka bottle there, articles of clothing snagged or draped on branches, dangling ropes, sleeping pill packets. It went on for who knows how long, and all the time there was one solitary thought that screamed inside my skull; Dear God, get me out of this. I don’t care how, when or where I kick the bucket as long as it’s not here. Not today. And He must have heard, because just up ahead, the trail started to get brighter and our spirits lifted.
Wayne turned, hooked a thumb over his shoulder, ‘Think we found a lookout.’
I forced a smile and picked my way forward. What was I playing at, letting myself get spooked like that, how old was I? Seriously. But what a relief it was when I finally stepped out into the clearing and dragged down a lungful of bright clean air. I knew I’d need it for the trip back. That’s when I saw the spit of land stretched out before us, a narrow strip that led to a wider viewing platform, a natural lookout about six metres away with a deep drop to the canopy below. I had to get out there, to get some light and air after the pandemonium of the forest.
‘You coming?’ I said, looking back, one foot already on the catwalk.
‘Nah, you go. I’ll just rest here for a minute.’
That’s when I remembered, he didn’t like heights. Never did. Then he asked the question I’d been dying to hear, ‘Soon as you’re done communing with nature, can we please go back?’
I gave him a thumbs up and started along the narrow bridge. It was trickier than I’d expected, but I’ve got good balance, I was a surfer back in the day, so before I knew it, I was at the end of the platform. I looked back for a bit of reassurance, but Wayne was staring off into space, so I turned slowly to gaze out over the vista that stretched away before me. My God, it was so peaceful, jutting out as it did over that soft green silence. I sat cross-legged and closed my eyes. The low sun warmed me and made me drowsy. Peaceful and drowsy. I don’t meditate. Never have. My mind races too much, but I suppose that what I felt that day was like a form of meditation. Because faintly yet unquestionably, the feeling of drowsiness morphed into one of ecstasy. It was like being delightfully stoned, as if I’d been lifted a hair’s-breadth off the ground. That’s when it happened.


I suppose you’d say I felt it rather than saw it, as my eyes were closed, but it was there alright. It was most definitely there. It just floated up next to me from the forest floor. Like a balloon at a kids’ party, a big bright helium balloon. That’s the impression I got. But who’d bring a kid all the way out here? Besides, it didn’t keep floating up and away. It stopped there, gently bobbing next to me, a little off to my right, in all that empty space. And a feeling of warmth gently surged up my body and danced like ten-thousand pin pricks on my scalp, making my head loll back and I could feel myself smiling, blissful to the point of tears. It was like Dad was there. Like Christmas. And it spoke to me. Well, it didn’t really speak. It was more like thoughts than spoken words. But I wasn’t thinking them, I swear. It was like the voice of a child, but not exactly, there was something off-putting about it. Something that didn’t seem right somehow; it was like the tinkling of a little glass bell. It was giggling and cooing, and the sound made me feel all warm and dizzy, it was the most seductive sound I had ever heard. Join us, it said. Stay here with us. It kept repeating in whispers that overlapped like soft little waves on a moonlit beach. My head was feeling light, but I struggled to hold it up. And that’s when I heard Wayne screaming, ‘Open your fucking eyes.’
The shout came from a million miles away. Down a deep, dark tunnel. And again.
‘Murph, open your fuckin’ eyes.’
And I tried – I really tried – but I couldn’t do it, I just couldn’t. All I wanted to do was to sleep and forget the world, and Wayne screamed it again, so I tried even harder and managed to unglue the lids a tiny bit and see a flicker of light and that’s when I remembered where I was and what I was doing. But the little voice became more insistent and I shook myself awake and blurted out, ‘No, I have to leave this place! This isn’t right.’
And suddenly, it was as if someone pulled a big, heavy, black curtain across the scene and I felt the presence of something so malevolent that I started to gasp for breath. I blinked the valley into focus as it spoke to me in a deep resonant growl that sounded like a manhole cover being dragged over flagstones – you wiill staaaayy. Immediately, I felt a malignant energy pressing in on me from all sides. I rose unsteadily and turned to see Wayne frantically gesturing for me to come back. But the stone bridge seemed to have tightened and everything was heavy and dark and my stomach churned and I struggled to breathe. I had never known fear like this. The only possible way back now was to crouch down on all fours and crawl as carefully as I could without looking down from the precipice. My whole body trembled and my palms were sweaty, which made me slip once or twice and all the while the malevolent force kept pace with me, growling its command, join uusss. Stay here. I knew that if I vomited now, I would likely go over the edge. I fought to keep down bile, my head swam, I didn’t see this ending well. Then I saw Wayne lying flat and stretched out toward me as far as he dared. He was wild-eyed and his mouth was screaming, but all I could hear was the spiteful voice repeat its command over and over. I felt myself being dragged to my feet and Wayne’s flattened palm between my shoulder blades, as he pushed me back into the sea of trees. Where he got the strength from, I’ll never know. There were tears in my eyes. We ran. We never looked back. The only thing he said to me when we were safely back on the bus was, ‘Who the fuck were you talking to out there?’
I didn’t have an answer to his question, well not a satisfactory one at least. We hardly spoke two words on the flight home, and when we got back to Sydney, he went his way, I went mine. And now it’s too late.

​                                                                     I💀I💀I💀I


Paul Walter is an Irish-born, recently retired illustrator, art teacher, and occasional author.
He has had two children’s books published by Penguin; Grandpa’s Big Adventure, and Grandpa’s Space Adventure. His literary novel, Fin Rising, was originally published by Really Blue Books in 2012 and was re-published in 2022 by Púca. It is available on Amazon In his spare time, Paul likes fishing, playing pétanque and writing novels. 'Hungry Ghost' is the first chapter of a half-finished manuscript with the working title 'The Suicide Forest'