The cursed bijin-ga that wrecked my life (Japanese antique dealer horror)

I wasn't gonna post this but here we are.

So I deal in Japanese antiques out in Tokyo. That's how I pay rent. And when you do this job long enough you start running into stuff that... doesn't really have an explanation. This is the worst one I've had.

Three years ago. I got hired by a big farming family out in Anagi to clear out their old storehouse. The son wanted seed money for some business so basically everything was up for grabs.

Me and my buddy started digging through the place. I'm looking at stuff and suddenly he goes "oh ho" under his breath. I walk over. He's staring at a painting.

"Kanō school?"

"Yeah. No question."

"Who painted it?"

He checked the box it came in for any appraisal papers. Nothing. Blank.

"Some nobody?"

"Nah. It's too dark in here but judging from the condition this is mid-Edo. Meiwa, An'ei era maybe."

"Let's take it outside and check for a signature or seal."

So we bring it into the light and. Bro. It was a bijin-ga¹ and it was STUNNING. Classic Kanō style, thick lines, colors still vivid. But nowhere on it was there a signature. Nothing.

"No name but this is legit GOOD."

"Let's get it back and research it."

Paid the owner, tossed it in with some other junk we bought, drove off. Had no idea what we were bringing home.

On the drive back we're geeking out about it. Kanō school was the conservative crew of Edo painters. Landscapes, animals, still life, that kinda thing. But as Edo culture shifted from samurai taste to merchant taste, art shifted too. Actors, beauties, ghosts. That's the whole ukiyo-e thing. Kanō school basically refused to evolve with it. BUT apparently a lot of younger Kanō-trained painters hated how stuffy the school was and went rogue. Lived as outsiders. Never signed stuff. So an unsigned Kanō-style bijin-ga actually tracks.

"Maybe it's from England!"

"Bro what. No."

We're laughing about it and I glance out the window. And. Wait.

We were in Fukagawa.

We were NOT supposed to be in Fukagawa.

"Dude. Didn't you get off the highway at Gaien?"

"Yeah... why are we here???"

He was just as confused. We both remembered taking the Gaien exit. And somehow five minutes later we were in Fukagawa, nowhere near where we should've been. Felt like a fox had us bewitched². We just kinda shook it off and drove to my shop in Minato.

Back at the shop we laid the painting out again. A woman. One knee up, sitting in that loose, unladylike way. Looked like a low-rank courtesan. Hair a mess, one hairpin, one comb, loose hair still gleaming. Hemp summer kimono with thin vertical stripes and morning glories. Sash tied casually around her waist. The whole vibe was like she'd just finished... y'know. Afterglow. The hem falling open showing this pale white thigh. You could almost see further up.

Her face was turned to the side. Couldn't see her mouth.

"......"

Neither of us said anything. The detail on the messy hair. The mother-of-pearl inlay on the comb. The kimono colors. Who the HELL painted this.

And then.

Something felt off. That 3am nameless dread feeling. For no reason.

It was her eyes.

She was side-eyeing us. Long narrow eyes. And the pupils inside were tiny. Like pinpricks. Like someone had stabbed the paper with a needle.

My buddy felt it too. He rolled that thing up FAST and shoved it back in the box.

"Like... how do I say this..."

"Creepy, right?"

"Yeah. Little bit. It's getting late, let's call it."

It wasn't even that late. But he bolted to his car and drove off. I shut the shop lights and went up to my apartment on the second floor.

And that's when it started.

That night I dreamed about my grandma. She died before I was born, I've literally never seen her face except in the memorial portrait. But there she was, wearing the exact same clothes from the portrait. She had this sad look and was trying to say something to me.

Then the PHONE. Ringing so loud it yanked me out.

It was my friend's wife.

"It's so late, is everything ok?"

"My husband... car accident... he's unconscious, it's critical..."

She's sobbing. I get the story out of her. He drove straight into a telephone pole. Skull fracture. ICU. Touch and go.

"Where did it happen??"

"Fukagawa... I don't know why he was even there..."

"FUKAGAWA?!"

I yelled so loud I cut her off. Didn't mean to.

"I'm coming to the hospital right now."

"No, no visitors allowed in his condition, you wouldn't be able to see him. I'll call you if anything changes."

I hung up feeling like a brick was sitting on my chest. My wife was staring at me so I explained everything. Stayed up all night waiting for the worst call. It didn't come. Small mercy.

Next day was insane. Went to the hospital, gave his wife some money for expenses. She said he was past the worst of it but still not safe. Then I had to take over all his pending work on top of mine. Got home late, completely fried.

Crashed into a nightmare. Woke up. My wife wasn't next to me.

I'm looking around like where is she, and then I hear it. A woman crying. Downstairs. In the shop.

It was her.

I went down the stairs with my stomach in knots. The shop was dark. And there she was, sobbing, choking on it.

And then my skin went cold.

She was on the floor in front of the tokonoma³, the little alcove I set up for customers. And hanging in the tokonoma was.

The painting.

She'd taken it out of the box and hung it up. I don't know when.

I walked over kind of dazed and put my arm around her shoulder.

"Hey. What's wrong?"

She shoved my hand off and cried harder. I held her anyway and reached up to take the painting down.

And that's where my buddy's post cuts off. [TEXT APPEARS TO BE TRUNCATED]