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It had been a very cold winter that year, 1905.
Nearly five village children had passed in their sleep from illness, and one grandfather took his final breath in the frost, too stubborn to return back to his hearth. The deaths came not as a surprise, as child mortality was an annual thing in Kumotori. As for the old man Tadashi, well, he was a dead man walking.
Despite how far it was, Tanjirou’s mother, Kie, always insisted that the whole family go down to the village and pay respects to the lives lost during the great yearly snow. She’d wrap up every one of his siblings in their warmest garments and stockings. Once each was bundled up to her satisfaction, she’d turn to him and say: “Alright, Tanjirou. You’re the eldest, so lead by example, okay?” And Tanjirou would puff out his chest and march forward through the snow with his sisters and brothers waddling behind him like ducks at the river. Oblivious to his mother’s careful eyes, he truly believed himself to be the strongest six year old in the world.
When they reached the summit of the mighty snow dusted mountain, they were greeted by the empty serenity of one of Kumotori’s smallest settlements; the one that lay East of the peak. Tanjirou hadn’t been sure why his mother’s grip on his hand had tightened.
Eventually, as they progressed down the main road, people appeared in their house-fronts and shops. Every face was pale, and every mouth was pulled to a frown. Their eyes were sunken and bloodshot. Tanjirou wondered if the ice on the ground was frozen rain or the villager’s tears.
Undeterred, he pulled his mother forward, almost bouncing in place. His mother shushed him, wearily glancing at the people who stared at him. But the boy could not see the onamori swinging viciously in the wind, nor could he hear the disconcerted whispers of strangers. He could only see what was right ahead of him, buried in the snow.
At the end of the road was the people’s graveyard, sitting at an incline that presented it higher than the rest of the village. Tanjirou felt a feeling bloom in his chest—something quite unfamiliar and yet so terribly right. So far, his mama had only taught him a few emotions: sadness, happiness, anger, grief—the gravestones wedged into his heart each held a quality of each of them. It created his center, his whole.
“Haka!” Nezuko shouted behind him. She still had that childish lisp Tanjirou had only gotten over about a month ago. “Those’re haka, mama!”
His mother shushed her, but nodded. “That’s right, Nezuko-chan. The people underneath them pass through the bridge between life and death, and the offerings people leave makes their journey easier.”
Tanjirou had heard her say this before, to him, about their father’s grave. When Tanjirou had asked her about the murmuring coming from deep inside the grave, she’d taken a sharp breath and pressed her mouth into a thin line, like she might cry. Tanjirou wasn’t inclined to ask again, after such an unusual sight.
Once they got past the graveyard’s fence, all the Kamado children, save for Tanjirou and Nezuko, ran wild. Their mother chased after them, threatening them with punishment if they didn’t get their acts together. Her protests were covered by a harsh, incoming wind.
“Tan-tan,” Nezuko tugged at Tanjirou’s sleeve. His eyes followed where her finger pointed: a stone sat two rows away from them. No offerings were perched upon its sharp edges. It was fresh, untouched by any conditions, and yet, no name was carved into the grave. It was perfectly unmarked.
Tanjirou waddled over to the peculiar grave, holding Nezuko’s hand along the way. Being as steadfast as he could, he concluded: “Well, this must be the grave of a nobody!”
“A noboby?” Nezuko scrunched up her face as she felt the unfamiliar word on her tongue. “Who makes haka for noboby?”
“I dunno.” Tanjirou shrugged. He rubbed his thumb against the new stone—he’d never seen one so pure.
I was somebody.
Tanjirou yelped and covered his mouth. He watched as Nezuko frowned and blinked; had she heard it too?
Over here, the voice beckons. Tanjirou took a shaky breath and turned his face back to the gravestone. The air around them shifted, and one of Tanjirou’s ears rang as if some loud noise had gone off in the distance. However, besides the wind and the whipped trees, nothing made a sound. Tanjirou couldn’t even hear the trickling spring water or his mother’s chiding voice in the near distance. In that moment, it was just him and his sister. And a third.
In front of them, on the lowest tier of the gravestone stood—or more so hovered a figure of short stature. Even when Tanjirou squinted, he couldn't completely capture the being, who was shrouded in an almost glass-like translucence. The only thing giving away its identity were two neat braids resting upon her chest and dark, ebony eyes that bore into the soul of its beholders. Tanjirou protectively positioned himself in front of Nezuko. He could feel her standing on her tippy-toes to see over his shoulder.
“Who—who are you?” Tanjirou pouted. Looking over to the side, he could see his mother was occupied with his other siblings, who were picking flowers for offerings.
The obscured child stared back at Tanjirou and Nezuko, seeming just as confused by their appearance as they were of its. After a passing moment, it replied in a soft voice: I’m not sure.
Tanjirou’s form relaxed; he wasn’t sure why, but he felt comfortable enough to do so in that moment.
“Didja die in that big snow storm?” Nezuko asked. Tanjirou wasn’t fond of his sister talking to this weird thing.
L-like a ghost…? The child shifted, its every movement followed by a cloud of gray. Are you saying I’m dead?
Eight days ago. That’s when it must’ve died. Tanjirou wasn’t sure why he knew that. The revelation felt certain on his tongue: “My sister is right. You died in the storm, and now you’re at your grave. But ‘cha don’t know who you are…”
This time, it was the spirit that came close. Tanjirou yelped.
How is it that you see me? Could you retrieve me? Bring me back to life?
Tanjirou knew the ghost couldn’t be made of anything but some sort of smoke, but its hands held arms with a grip only seen in man.
“I-I’m sorry—I’m really sorry—we have to go!” Tanjirou grabbed Nezuko and pushed her forward. He waved away the traces of the spirit’s cloud that covered his view.
Come back! the spirit screeched, flying towards them at a quick pace, but just as they jumped from one side of the graveyard to the other, it disappeared. As if it had never occupied space at all.
Nezuko was frozen in place. Tanjirou tried to pull her along.
“Nezuko… we have to go.” Tanjirou stressed, still warily looking at the nameless grave, almost waiting for something unnatural to burst out of it.
“But… she needed us.”
“Nezuko! Tanjirou!” Their mother walked up to them. Their baby brother waddled and held onto her hand while their sister was cradled in her arm. Their hands were covered in dirt and flower petals.
“Mama!” Nezuko hugged her leg. “There are kids here, and they need our help!”
Their mother frowned for a second before quickly sighing and forcing a smile. “That’s really noble of you, Nezuko-chan. But unfortunately, these children have passed on already.”
She always did try to be frank with them about death.
Tanjirou was glad that his mom was able to calm Nezuko down, because even back then he had a feeling talking to spirits wasn’t normal. Those who saw them ended up just like old man Tadashi—dead and alone in the middle of a snow covered forest.
In the years following, Nezuko learned this as well. She learned that, as friendly as the dead seemed, they had no place in the world of the living. That’s just how it was.
Maybe a lack of interaction weakens the bond between one who can speak to the dead and the dead themselves. Perhaps it's a relationship that must be nourished and sustained, for it is detrimental to both the spirit and the living to loosen their twine.
That must be it. There’s no other reason for Tanjirou to be standing here right now, in the pool of his family’s red and gold carnage, not being able to hear a single word.
“Mom!” Tanjirou screams with no response.
The wind is deafening over the erstwhile home of the Kamado family.