The river of wishes leading to death.
Have you ever hated someone so much? Hated them to the point of wanting them to disappear from the face of the earth? Usually, it’s just fleeting anger—you don't actually want them dead, because if that happened, you’d live with the guilt for the rest of your life.
But this time was different. I hated this man so much I wanted him to drop dead right now.
"Go to hell, Tui! You lying piece of trash!"
I crumpled the photo of my ex-boyfriend that I kept in my wallet, trembling with rage. I had already deleted everything from my phone. He broke up with me because he already had a girlfriend—and she was the one who came to harass me. I should have known a guy that handsome and charming wouldn't be single, but I fell for him anyway. In the end, his girlfriend cornered me, claiming her territory and leaving me utterly humiliated.
"Just die already, you bastard!" I screamed at the water to clear my head. Deep down, I knew throwing a picture into the river wouldn't actually kill anyone. It just made me feel better.
Until a few days later, I heard the news: Kabashi (Tui) had committed suicide. He jumped into the very same river where I had thrown his photo.
I felt sick. Even though I knew it was impossible—that it had to be a coincidence—the guilt gnawed at me. Everything might have ended there if it weren't for the strange rumors that began to spread. People started whispering about throwing photos of those you hate into the water to curse them to death.
Someone must have seen me. Someone who knew me must have watched me throw that photo and scream those curses. But rumors are just rumors. Many people tried it afterward, and no one else died in that river. That confirmed it for me: what happened to Kabashi was just a fluke.
Time passed, and I eventually opened my heart again. But like always, I was just a "stupid woman" who got played by men. When I found out I’d been cheated on again, even though I knew the river thing was just a coincidence, doing it again felt like a release.
"Die, Watanabe! You scumbag!"
I threw Watanabe’s photo into the river at the exact same spot I’d thrown Kabashi’s. The next morning, Watanabe was found drowned in the river, exactly like Kabashi.
It had to be another coincidence. But this time, the rumors grew louder—and they pointed directly at me.
"Please... please kill my husband. He won't give me a divorce. Help me!" A woman stalked me, pleading and shoving a photo of her husband into my hands. "I tried doing it myself, but it didn't work. It has to be you. Only you can do it."
No matter how much I tried to explain, she wouldn't listen. Finally, unable to take the pestering anymore, I did it just to get her off my back. Twice was a coincidence; surely a third time wouldn't do anything.
"Go to hell, Mr. Umewa!"
I shouted her husband’s name. The woman thanked me profusely and gave me money as a reward. I didn't think it would work, but it gave her peace of mind. I was wrong. The next morning, her husband was dead in the river.
I became a local legend. Many didn't believe it, and perhaps I was lucky that this was a remote village with terrible internet, otherwise, I would have been a sensation on national TV. Even my parents didn't believe I could do it.
I looked into the history of the river and found an old legend. Long ago, a heartbroken woman threw a photo of the husband who abandoned her into the water and cursed him. The next day, he died right there. The legend gave the rumors a terrifying weight.
"What should I do? Killing people is wrong," I said, seeking advice from a male friend. I had tried it a few more times for people who asked, and every single time, it came true. The elders didn't believe it, so I wasn't in any legal trouble.
"You took the money from that woman, right?" he replied. "Besides, you aren't actually killing anyone. You're just throwing paper into water. If it were a crime, the police would have arrested you long ago. Look, why don't you turn this into a business? I'll set up a website to bring people here. We'll be rich."
I listened to him. We opened a secret website: Kill the One You Hate. Just send a photo, transfer the money, and that person would commit suicide at the river.
Orders flooded in. Some days I had to throw ten photos at a time, my throat raw from screaming. And like clockwork, those people—men and women alike—would travel from afar just to die at that river. It became a national news story. The village head tried to close the area, put up fences, and station guards, but people still found a way to sneak in and end their lives.
"Don't worry," my friend reassured me. "I've kept your identity hidden. The locals who used your services won't talk because they’d be complicit. Just stay low and keep doing it."
With the money flowing in, I stopped feeling bad. I became numb to the sight of bodies being pulled from the water. I lost count of how many photos I had cast into the depths. But eventually, the weight became too much. I wanted out.
"Don't quit now! We're making a fortune," my friend protested. Of course he didn't want to stop—he wasn't the one doing the "deed."
"I'm done. I feel sick inside. Let's finish this," I insisted. "One last job. A big one. An actress wants us to get rid of a manager who embezzled her money. After this, we shut down the site and pretend none of this ever happened."
I agreed to the final job. The photo was of a beautiful woman I didn't recognize. I took a deep breath, shouted her name, and told her to die, just like all the others.
But when her photo hit the water, something changed.
Instead of the water remaining still, a hand breached the surface. Then another. Then dozens more. Bloated, waterlogged corpses—both men and women—began crawling out of the river.
"AAAAAAAH!" I screamed in pure terror. My friend had already bolted the moment the first hand appeared. I tried to run, but my legs were lead. I watched in horror as hundreds—no, thousands—of bloated bodies marched past me.
Strangely, none of them looked at me. Except for two.
Two men stood directly in front of me. When I looked closer, I recognized them: Kabashi and Watanabe. They grabbed me as I tried to flee. I struggled with all my might and managed to break free, sprinting away with the two of them lumbering behind me.
As I ran, I saw the woman who had first asked me to kill her husband. She was being dragged toward the water by his bloated corpse.
"I'm sorry! I was wrong! Please!" she shrieked. But the corpse dragged her relentlessly. Even when people tried to help, they couldn't pry the dead man's grip off her.
"The legend is true," an old man’s voice drifted through the chaos as the dead walked the streets. "When the river is full of souls, the dead will return to claim their substitutes to clear the waters."
I was cornered. Kabashi and Watanabe caught up to me and began dragging me toward the river. The other woman and her husband plunged into the water together, and I saw others I had "helped" being taken the same way.
In a moment of pure desperation, I remembered something. I fought with a burst of strength, breaking free from their grasp. I sprinted to where I kept the old photos of Kabashi and Watanabe.
As the two ghosts closed in on me—their water-filled bodies moving with a heavy, clumsy gait—I reached the riverbank and threw their photos in one last time.
"GO BACK TO DEATH! AND NEVER COME UP AGAIN!" I screamed.
Suddenly, their bodies dissolved into nothingness right before my eyes.
But the nightmare wasn't over. News reports flooded in of bloated corpses entering the city to find the very people who had hired me to kill them. Now, the river is filled once again—not just with the victims, but with the corpses of the vengeful dead, locked in a permanent, watery embrace with the ones who ordered their deaths.
--- END ---
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