Shaman King Fan Fiction ❯ Shaman King 2498 ❯ The Voices in My Head ( Chapter 1 )

I can't ignore them any more. I can see the spectral flares all around me. If I look at them, they form the shape of a ghost. There are so many of them. A homeless ghost hangs from a street pole. A pretty woman sits around on the corner, screaming at me to choose her. I don't know what it means, but they all say it. Choose me...choose me...

"Can you believe it?" Kiyoshi is ranting next to me. "I mean, Eternal War III is their most anticipated product in years, and all they've been doing is giving it delay after delay! It's pissing me off!" His voice fades away to a numb score beneath the constant drumbeats of choose me...choose me...

I have to stop this.

I clench my eyes, letting the crowd carry me. I try to focus on Kiyoshi's words, ignoring the ghost's cries. Choose me...no! What is Kiyoshi saying? "...but I don't think it's true. I mean, Bioquake is stupid..." Choose me... Out! "...so what do you think? Hey..." Choose me... "...don't look so well, Natsume."

I open my eyes. The ghosts are mostly gone, just glimmers in the sunlight with whispering voices. "Wha? Oh, I'm okay." Should I tell him? He'd probably just think I was insane. Which I probably am.

* * *

Why are there so many ghosts? Why do they all want to choose me? Wait a minute, am I actually discussing the logistics of ghosts? There are no such things as ghosts. I am going insane. I should tell someone. Maybe there's something wrong with me. Every time I walk home, I see them. There are hundreds of ghosts on just one street, flickering in and out of my vision.

I have got to get out of here.

Taking a small detour, I take another route. This one is usually more peaceful than my normal one, and I go here to think. Think. That's what I need to do.

There are still ghosts here. But not as many. The lowing hisses of choose me... still penetrate my ears, but I can make some attempt at thinking beyond them. Okay, I have a serious problem. I'm taking detours so that I hear less voices. Hey, I'm talking to myself. Isn't that one of the first signs of insanity? Well, I'm sure hearing voices and seeing ghosts is a definite sign...

I pass by a small memorial, and glance at it curiously.

This memorial honours the one thousand and four hundred Japanese soldiers who gave their lives in the Battle of Seoul, on December 23rd, 2064. Their determined bravery and heroic sacrifices helped end the War of Fire.

* * *

I don't know how long I've been here, in this white room with padded walls. A week, maybe. I try to count the days, but forget about it. There's nothing to do here. Well...there is one person. I have a cell mate, but he isn't alive any more. Apparently he died about two hundred years ago. He was a prisoner here too. Says he's Hannibal, but he looks like another mental patient. Like me.

"You know, it's too bad I'm a ghost," pseudo-Hannibal said wistfully. "Otherwise I could take that stupid jacket off of you."

"And then what," I say darkly. "I go back to living life insane?" Briefly, I wonder what my family thinks about this. Their only son turning out to be psycho. I hope they don't feel guilty or anything about it.

"You're not insane," my ghostly cell mate responds. "You're just gifted."

"Gifted?" I ask cautiously. The absurdity of the situation strikes me again. I'm having a conversation with a ghost! No, not a ghost. A figment of my imagination. I'm talking to one of the voices in my head.

"Yeah, you have the sight," the ghost explains. "I think you're a shaman too, but I can't be sure." I tell myself that this isn't real, this is just my consciousness thinking of something and my insanity twisting it. "We get shamans thrown in here all the time, but they never stay long. For some reason, they don't want the great Hannibal as their spirit."

Then again, I think, maybe he is a real ghost after all. I mean, the Hannibal thing is nuts, he seems to know much more about it than I ever knew. Maybe he's not a part of my consciousness after all. Or maybe I'm just making up facts. I don't know. I sigh and lie my head down on the padded wall, drifting into sleep.

* * *

I am awakened to a loud rapping at my door. Oh joy. Meal time. I raise myself from the ground, and murmur "Come In..." The rapping ceases, and the door opens. To my surprise, it isn't one of the hospital workers. Two men in dark suits with sunglasses step through.

"Natsume Takenouchi?" one of the men questions in a deep voice. Shyly, I nod my head. Being in a mental asylum kind of makes you feel inadequate. "Come with us."

Slowly I lift myself from the floor and follow the men out. The ghost in my cell waves goodbye to me, and I try not to react. We head down the white hallway--everything in this building is white. They say it helps to ease the insanity, but in any case, it gets annoying. One of the mental workers finally catches up to me and the black-suited men. "Are you sure this is safe? You can't just remove a patient from here!"

They're going to remove me? I feel elated, like I'm finally being saved. "Sir, we're with the government, please don't interfere."

"I'd like to see some proof," the worker snaps back.

One of the men removes a card carrier from his pocket and opens it. The card displays his picture, along with several lines of text I can't quite read. The worker focuses on it. "Chinaka Imperial Association of Shamans and Other Spirit Mediums? Is this some kind of joke?"

"No joke, sir," the supposedly government agent says seriously.

"I won't let phoneys like you..." the worker begins to say.

"Makoto!" another worker says from down the hall, this one older. "It's okay. They're authorized to do that."

"But..." the worker known as Makoto sputters. "Okay, but I don't like it." Frowning, he turns and walks down the halls. The agents continue walking the other way, and I follow them. Eventually, we reach the entrance to the asylum. Some of the inmates stare at me wistfully.