Edward could never quite explain it. Every time he set about adapting a horror novel or film, he always felt as though the once-empty room around him suddenly grew crowded, as if unseen presences were pressing in from every corner. It was strange, even a little unsettling, yet also oddly fascinating.
"The original version of Ju-On…" Edward murmured, sitting before his computer. He scooped up Q, rubbing its costume-like head affectionately before turning his thoughts to the storyline he wanted to craft this time.
With Q at his side, there was really nothing to fear. Even if Kayako herself truly descended into this world, Edward could easily let her experience firsthand what it meant for a Ghost-type to battle another Ghost-type—and just how devastatingly effective such matchups could be. After all, Kayako needed to understand the most basic law of the Pokémon world.
The original Ju-On chose to tell its story primarily from the perspective of a young woman who was hired to look after an elderly grandmother inside the cursed house—only to encounter Kayako by accident.
What made the film so unforgettable wasn't only Kayako crawling grotesquely down the staircase, body mangled and making that chilling grr grr grr noise from the second floor, nor just Toshio appearing suddenly and vanishing without a trace. The most memorable element was Ju-On's utterly unique narrative style.
Each segment of the story began with the name of a victim. Sometimes these tales ended abruptly or seemed incomplete, leaving the viewer disoriented. But when seen in full, all the seemingly disconnected stories wove together, their protagonists overlapping within one another's plots, ultimately giving closure—or at least grim resolution—to their fates.
At first glance this odd, fragmented style seemed confusing. Yet when one truly watched carefully, the whole picture fell into place. That was why the format became a signature feature of Ju-On, a template carried forward into most of its sequels.
At the root of all this tragedy stood Takeo Saeki, the husband. Edward had heard that in later spin-offs, the origin of the curse was attributed to the house itself and the land beneath it, with the built-up resentment manifesting upon Takeo and Kayako. In that framing, Kayako became merely the vessel of this accumulated grudge.
But if one looked only at the original film, without those later reinterpretations, there was no doubt: Takeo Saeki was one of the chief culprits behind everything.
One of the culprits—because the story also featured a doctor so thoroughly lacking in medical ethics that his negligence helped doom everyone.
"But if I filmed it exactly like that, it would feel too fragmented, without a proper beginning or end. Better to adapt it slightly," Edward muttered. After thinking it through, he decided at least to let audiences know how the curse began. That would make the subsequent parts of the story flow more naturally.
He began drafting his outline:
Kayako Saeki, a tragic woman.
During her school days, she fell madly in love with a classmate named Shunsuke Kobayashi. Yet she never dared confess. When she finally mustered the courage, she discovered he already had a partner.
Heartbroken, Kayako withdrew, never confessing her feelings, never daring to compete.
Later in life, Kayako rented her house to Takeo Saeki. Takeo grew infatuated with her, confessed his feelings, and eventually, Kayako accepted.
After marriage, she bore a child. Though she had once loved another, she insisted on naming her son Toshio Saeki. The "Toshi" came from her first love Shunsuke's name, while the "O" came from her husband Takeo's.
Takeo didn't quite understand, but since it was his wife's wish, he agreed. Thus the boy carried this symbolic name.
As Edward wrote this, a thought crossed his mind: What if Kayako had not named the child Toshio? Would things have turned out differently?
But then he considered the fact that Takeo was already deeply unstable at the time. Even if the name hadn't aroused suspicion, the tragedy might have unfolded regardless.
He continued drafting:
Life might have gone on, not happy but at least tolerable. Yet one day, while Kayako was sending Toshio to school, she discovered his teacher was none other than Kobayashi—her old crush. Memories stirred, and she began pouring her feelings into a diary at home.
Around that time, Takeo learned during a medical checkup that he suffered from oligospermia. The negligent doctor, rather than explaining the nuance—that it was still possible, though unlikely, for him to father children—simply told him outright: "You cannot have children."
Furious, Takeo spiraled into madness, convinced his wife had betrayed him. Returning home, he found Kayako's diary, realized she still harbored feelings for Kobayashi, and saw why their son bore the character "Toshi" in his name. His rage exploded. When he confronted Kayako, she only laughed.
In a frenzy, Takeo tortured and killed her brutally, snapping her neck. He hid her corpse in the attic, then set off with a knife to find Kobayashi. Toshio, too, vanished into the cursed house.
At the moment of her death, Kayako's overwhelming resentment transformed into the curse—the Ju-On. She became a vengeful ghost.
Kobayashi, unaware of these events, later visited Toshio's home after the boy missed many days of school. There, he encountered Kayako's vengeful spirit and was killed.
Before his death, he even received a phone call from Takeo, who gleefully confessed to slaughtering Kobayashi's wife and cutting her open to rip out their unborn child.
Afterward, Takeo himself returned to the house—only to fall prey to Kayako's curse.
Edward set down his pen.
The origin story was complete. Everything stemmed from an irresponsible doctor and Takeo Saeki's rage.
Believing with certainty that his wife had cheated with Kobayashi and that Toshio was not his own, Takeo murdered Kayako with cruelty, twisting her neck so violently that her vocal cords were destroyed. That was why every time she appeared, all she could emit was that spine-tingling grr grr grr.
That sound became her signature. Audiences who heard it knew instantly that something terrible was about to occur.
"Kayako really was pitiful… But still, if she hadn't written that diary, maybe nothing would have happened. And if the doctor had been more professional…" Edward shook his head.
If Takeo had simply done a DNA test on his son, perhaps the entire story of Ju-On would never have unfolded.
"But it's Kobayashi who's the unluckiest of all," Edward clicked his tongue. Out of everyone, Kobayashi was the most innocent. He had never known of Kayako's feelings, never done anything wrong. Because he worried about Toshio, he fulfilled his duty as a teacher by visiting the boy's home—and paid for it with his life. He lost his wife and unborn child as well. Truly a tragic victim.
And that was exactly why Ju-On was terrifying. The curse didn't care whether the characters had any personal grudge against the ghost. There was no karmic justice, no retribution. Simply setting foot in the house, or having contact with someone already cursed, was enough to seal one's fate.
In the whole franchise, Edward could only recall a single survivor—and even that sparked heated controversy among fans. In a horror movie, to have one person survive was seen as almost a betrayal of Ju-On's cruel spirit. Its "no one survives" theme had become deeply ingrained in people's minds.
"But will this be too scary?" Edward scratched his head, staring at his script.
On the one hand, horror films were supposed to be frightening. On the other hand, making it too terrifying could backfire. Especially since in his films, audiences were drawn directly into the protagonist's perspective. Imagine them sitting in the cinema, heart hammering, watching Kayako crawl down from the second floor, that crawling echoing closer, then her pale, twisted face pressing right up against them.
Most protagonists in such scenes were too terrified to even stand, collapsing to the floor, forced to gaze helplessly upon Kayako's ghastly visage. If viewers experienced that firsthand… someone might actually wet themselves.
After all, Kayako crawling down the stairs was one of the film's standard, most iconic shots—always highlighted in retrospectives and horror rankings. And in the sequels, Kayako kept crawling and creeping everywhere, killing one victim after another. It had practically become her signature move.
"Forget it. I'm just a director. My job is to make sure the audience leaves the theater scared out of their wits. If I worry too much, I'll miss the point." Edward ultimately decided to make Ju-On as terrifying as possible. After all, he needed to harvest fear value. And thanks to his master-level cinematography skill, audiences would be protected by a special buff: once they left the theater, all lingering negative effects would vanish. To not push things to the limit would be a waste.
"Ke-ke-ke~" Edward burst into a chilling laugh inside his office.
Outside the door, Zoroark had been about to knock and report something. Startled by the eerie sound, it froze, waiting until the laughter faded before finally knocking.
"What is it, Zoroark?" Edward asked curiously, still half-thinking about whether to invite Diantha for an audition. After all, while Kayako's role mostly involved scaring people, it still required a hint of acting skill. And Diantha might enjoy such a role.
"Boss, the two film award committees that nominated Buried have sent invitations!" Zoroark said excitedly. "Buried has been nominated for Best Screenplay, Best Actor, Best Film, and Best Director!"
Edward's eyes lit up. That was good news. If he could win even one of those, it would bolster his personal portfolio—and perhaps silence those online critics who dismissed him as just a commercial director.
Not that he cared much about the haters. He made movies for fun. If he wanted money, he could just inherit the Devon Corporation and enjoy a carefree life as a wealthy second-generation heir.
"Alright. I'll take the crew with me when the time comes," Edward nodded. Out of four nominations, surely they could win at least one. Losing all four would be absurd.
Of course, he also knew that with his revolutionary new filming technology, he was both highly respected and deeply resented in the industry. But surely no one would stoop to sabotaging him through the awards process… right?
"Oh, and Zoroark, make sure to oversee the amusement park construction. All the rides we buy must be safe and durable." Edward suddenly remembered the concerns of Mismagius and the other Ghost-types. They were important employees, and their welfare mattered.
From a business perspective, having so many Pokémon employees even brought tax benefits, reducing the company's burdens. But from Edward's personal perspective, Mismagius and the others were veteran staff. He didn't want to mistreat them. He wasn't some heartless capitalist.
"Yes, boss," Zoroark replied firmly, noting it down. This time, Edward had allocated a large budget. With that much money, building a first-class amusement park was easily within reach.
Once Zoroark left, Edward picked up his phone. The trailer for Alien had just been released, since the film had passed review.
But to preserve the mystery of the creature itself, the trailer revealed nothing of the Xenomorph's appearance. Instead, it was a montage of spaceship shots—traveling, mining, astronauts in suits—scenes that, at first glance, seemed more like a space exploration movie than horror.
As he watched, a barrage of comments scrolled across the screen:
[Warning: This trailer may contain massive trailer fraud!]
[Heh, Ghost Films releasing a sci-fi movie? Do you expect me to believe that?]
Edward coughed awkwardly.
True, back when he had made One Missed Call, the trailer had indeed been "fraudulent"—presenting it as a suspense thriller while the film itself was horror. But this time, the title clearly said Alien!
"Well, who knows how receptive Pokémon-world audiences will be to sci-fi. But it doesn't matter—the next project will be Ju-On." Edward rubbed his hands together eagerly.
The trailer itself was short, just snippets of space travel. Without context, anyone might think it was a new Star Trek.
But the comment section was full of complaints. Many viewers were convinced this was another trick, and swore that if there were no horror scenes later, they'd literally wash their hair while doing a handstand.
Edward's mouth twitched as he read. This time, the trailer fraud wasn't even intentional. If he spoiled too much in advance, the film's horror impact would be greatly reduced.
(End of Chapter)