The Lunar Binding

I’m a seventeen-year-old exchange student in the remote village of Hoshizora, Japan, nestled deep in the mountains. My name is Maya, and I came here to escape the suffocating sameness of my small American town, seeking something different, something ancient. The village is known for its hot springs and its shrine to the Moon Goddess, and the locals keep to themselves, their eyes holding a quiet wariness of outsiders. I rented a small room in a traditional wooden house owned by an elderly woman, Mrs. Tanaka, who spoke little English but offered me warm tea and a knowing glance that made me uneasy.

It started a week ago, with a dream that felt more real than any I’d ever had. I was standing in a stone circle at the edge of the forest, the full moon casting long shadows. Around me, figures in white robes chanted in a language that I didn’t understand but that resonated in my bones. They were summoning something, their hands raised to the sky, and the air grew cold. A sensation of dread wrapped around me like a wet shroud, and I felt my heart being pulled toward the ground, as if something was anchoring me there. Then I woke, or thought I did.

My room was bathed in a sickly blue light, and I was paralyzed. I couldn’t move my limbs, couldn’t speak, and my chest felt like a stone was resting on it. My heart thudded wildly, and I tried to scream for help, but only a faint whimper escaped. I felt a pressure on my arms, like needles pricking my skin, and then my bed began to vibrate, the wooden frame rattling against the floor. I fought against the invisible force, but it was like trying to swim through tar. After what seemed like an eternity, I managed to shout, ‘Grandma!’ but the walls swallowed the sound. The vibration stopped, and I could move again, drenched in sweat.

That night, I turned on every light in my room, my hands shaking as I typed into my laptop, searching for answers. I found nothing conclusive, but the next morning, I noticed small, red pinpricks on my forearms, like tiny needle marks. Mrs. Tanaka saw them and her face went pale. She grasped my wrist, her fingers cold, and whispered, ‘Kitsune-tsuki? No… something else.’ She refused to explain further, but she gave me a small wooden charm with a crescent moon etched into it, telling me to wear it at all times. I complied, though skepticism gnawed at me.

Three days later, the dream came again, but this time I was in a dark, narrow corridor, the walls slick with moisture. I could hear a woman sobbing, and the air was thick with the smell of incense and decay. At the end of the corridor, a door was ajar, light spilling out. As I approached, a figure emerged—a woman in a white kimono, her face obscured by long black hair. She pointed a finger at me, and her voice echoed in my skull, ‘You have been chosen.’ I woke with a gasp, the charm on my chest burning hot against my skin. The pinpricks on my arms had multiplied, forming a pattern that looked like constellations but with lines connecting them, like a map.

I confided in a local boy named Kenji, who works at the village’s only store. He listened quietly, his eyes darkening. He told me that the village had a dark history, tied to the shrine. ‘The Moon Goddess has a keeper, a spirit that protects the village but demands a sacrifice every hundred years. You came at the wrong time,’ he said. He explained that the spirit was an incubus-like creature, not a demon, but something older, bound to the lunar cycles. It feeds on fear and life force, and it can only be banished by breaking the binding that links it to a chosen vessel. I was the vessel, somehow.

Last night, I couldn’t sleep. The air was heavy, and the moon was full, casting a silver glow through my window. I felt a cold breath on my neck, and the room grew dark. The charm on my chest was steaming. I tried to call out, but my voice was gone. I saw a shadowy form at the foot of my bed, and it spoke in a voice that was both male and female, ‘Your fear is delicious.’ It reached out a hand made of darkness, and I felt a searing pain in my chest. I fell back, and then I was standing in a clearing, surrounded by trees. The woman in the white kimono was there, her face now visible—she was beautiful, but her eyes were voids. She said, ‘I have waited so long for a suitable host. You will join me, and we will feed the moon.’

I woke on the floor of my room, the charm shattered, my arms covered in the star-like marks, glowing faintly. I realized that the incubus is not just following me—it is trying to merge with me, to use my body as a gateway to the physical world. I searched the shrine the next day, and in an old text, I found a ritual of binding, using salt, blood, and a mirror. I must perform it at the exact moment the moon is at its zenith, and I must speak the true name of the spirit, which is carved in a hidden place beneath the shrine’s altar.

Tonight, I will go back to the shrine, alone, with a small bag of salt, a pocketknife, and a handheld mirror. I will find the name, speak it, and if I’m lucky, I’ll banish this thing forever. If not, I’ll become another ghost in this village, another cautionary tale. The moon is rising, and I can feel its pull. The marks on my arms are twisting, forming a sigil that I don’t recognize. But I have no choice. I am the chosen one, and I must fight.