The white steel glint of a silt-scrubbed dime oscillated as it sank ahead of Claire in the deep, coastal waters. Claire’s silver scale pupils widened to catch light refracting into her peripherals.

“Dime time” she thought, gut still twisting from her eye opening conversation with Tree Boy.
Claire spent a restful, recuperating quarter moon phase at her safe haven onsen hideout, yet to her it felt as if she dreamed of Birchaven many moons ago.
“Why is it that I’m reluctant to follow these coins?
Regardless, she redirected her body in pursuit of it.
“It’s gut magnetism,” she thought.” Outstretching her hand, she grasped the coin between two fingers and then swiftly slipped it near her navel, next to the others in the folds of her kimono’s obi.
“Another for the collection” she thought in delight.
     Her hefty Kimono did not slow her rate of descent. The elegant indigo-violet material was watertight. It all felt like a liquid second skin; soft and breathable. Claire descended at a degree that matched the submerged Mnt. Iwase’s fifty two degree angle of elevation. Their sight lines synced flawlessly. She sliced through water, shoulders back, hands facing hell, tracking at an ideal trajectory for speed. Her determined intentions propelled her. Claire’s body naturally adjusted to the additional two point four degrees of axial rotation that the moon causes when stabilizing earth and governing the flow of its liquids. This allowed Claire to race through the water. Her body was a slip-fast projectile, zero drag, heading for the Borough. She darted through faint light rays. As she reached their extent, once again, darkness consumed her. Any remaining brine-green light vanished, fading, replaced by a dioxazine purple that in this low light lay intimate with bone black. Plummeting as swiftly as a skydiver, she felt suspended in freefall. She closed her eyes to more deeply the floating sensation. Bubbles of thought popped in, “There’s nothing to lift me up down here.” Her dry, closed mouth felt a sucking squeeze as she gulped back apprehension, stifling it to calm her nerves. Her gills gently breathed salt water.
    Her mission was now clear for the first time. Eyes shut, “Imagine.. she thought, “clairvoyant intuition has led me this far and now I know. It was not for nothing. My father’s been trapped in isolation for over two decades, and I knew it all along. Everyone told me he was gone for good, but I knew he was alive. I knew, that’s what matters. I knew it.”
      Calire was at peace, each cell within relaxed. Since birth, this may very well be the first time her body chemistry has settled into such a pristinely peaceful state. Her body’s absolute angle tilted ever so slightly to increase her speed of descent within the incremental amplification of soul crushing pressure. Her ethereal self thought nothing of it. This was commonplace. She was made for this. Purpose propelled her through nothingness, eyesight irrelevant. A faint smile began to appear on her beautiful face. Both dimples pulled her lips just slightly, like a doll’s smile on a string grasped lovingly by baby finger tips. Head down, Claire tilted her palms in opposition, causing her to spiral elegantly.
    Mid spin, she opened her eyes to see distant, deep sea fireworks erupting. The explosions illuminated a singular hexagonal valley surrounded by a vast, deep radial chasm of unknown depth. Sheer cliffs of dense basalt rock engulfed the obelisked central column. The radial gap averaged a quarter mile in length. Crimson steam rose from it. Perched on the tip, the valley was a maze of tight knit streets and narrow buildings. One long arched bridge connected this enclave to the flat sea floor expanse surrounding it.
    Judging by the rate of Claire’s helixed descent and the mounting pressure, she was about 1700 feet from oceanic crust. “I’d better determine a covert landing zone. From the looks of it, there’s a party down there that I must join in secret.”
    Below, a tremendous celebration had begun. It was a sonorous bash. Two mammoth cyclops towards the front of the procession hammered gargantuan taiko drums, leading the way for a gilded rickshaw. Its ornate gold filigree reflected bits of rainbowed light that burst from the crackling explosions above. Creatures of all sizes and sects romped behind the cart in exuberant fashion. Its large cast iron wheels rolled over the bridge. Rotting gray wood slats bent beneath the weight of this royal carriage. Two dozen long legged critters marched ahead of the two giants. These creepy toothed harry things frantically battered snare drums. They blasted trombones, trumpets and clarinets frantically. Any ghoul who wasn’t harping on an instrument cackled and shrieked. Their shrill tone cut through the fast ratatats and deep base bong.. bong.. bongs of the drums.
      Peering through the techno-colored explosions of light, Claire gawked at the monstrous parade entering the Borough of Ghosts. Above these explosions, she went unseen.
“Doe’s this parade never end?” Looking down the line, various groups of dancing performers snaked in succession behind the interminable music. Even with her flawless vision, Claire could just barely see large colorfully lit matsuri floats far off in the distance. Innumerable ghostly forms stretched on and on, in single file. A whizzing firework spun past Claire, 900 ft above the jamboree. She veered left, and spotted the many flat roofs of townhouses separated by deep, thin and dimly lit alleys. Each rooftop was outlined with yellow, purple and green faerie string lights. Having sunk out of time, she lifted her breastplate in preparation and resolved to land on the tallest roof in the area.
     Swooping low, Claire gingerly touched down, her kelp ballet slippers, silent. Tiptoeing to a fire escape’s top railing, she peered over the ridge to look for prying eyes. There were none, or so she thought. Innumerable windows revealed a wide range of silhouettes. The three story building directly across from her was a whorehouse. Smoke seeped through the decaying burnt cladding and slightly cracked, yellow stained windows. Inside, low light sconces hovered over humping silhouettes of all manner of creatures on beds with no sheets. Below the rumping was a rowdy nightclub. Fluorescent laser light beams shot off in all directions. The beam streams cut and whipped out intermittently as ballistic dancers thrashed. Next door, the dive bar bellowed with roars and the clanking of bottles bashed. A body crashed through the front glass door and a hulking half rhino, half ox with the face of a bearded man bellowed “I am Kargadan!” He proceeded to stomp on his victim. Claire turned away in disgust, looking down to see the parade’s drum major entering the derelict city. This Wendigo was emaciated, with elk like horns protruding from its gaunt skull. Its gait was wide with lumbering, awkward steps. Long arms with outstretched hands wiped their way past town windows. Its fingertips produced drag marks through the smoke-suffocated algae and pale looking coral, three stories tall on both sides of the street. Onlookers popped their ghastly grins out of broken windows, hollering elatedly at the triumphant march. The parade began to clear the bridge, entering the Borough, trailing triumphantly behind their band leader. Directly behind their leader, just in front of the rickshaw, dancers of every odd shape, dressed to match in rainbowed sequence and elaborate large menacing masks, twirled as their synchronized batons spun in the water. Their choreographed hip thrusts forced through the narrow main strip. Horns blared while confetti burst to the music. Virtually all the Boroughs monsters shifted toward the street, awaiting the grand celebration’s main attraction.
     Claire, ready to hop the handrail to slip into the unit below felt a pinch in her neck. Looking down, she had the horrifying realization that a massive, slender hand with long, pointed fingernails had grabbed her attention. These black painted nails shimmered with faint stardust. Frozen, she kept her head where it was, nose just shy of the ledge, hands on it. She shifted only her eyes to peer up and over at the pair of large yellow squinting spheres looming above. A deep wheezing, authoritative whisper told Claire through an astonishingly wide grin,

“It is my duty to keep the dead, dead and to make dead any living who manage their way to this Borough. It’s much more than the party of a lifetime down here. This party never ends.” A sinister smile stretched to unfathomable extents.

“Care to join in the festivities? Seems to me you were about to, you reckless faun?”

“OH! hi. Pleased to make your acquaintance Sir.”

“Pleeeeased” I haven’t heard a word like that in eons.”
“Well, you do have a large brilliant smile Sir.”
“Compliments? Cut it out little lady. Let’s cut to the chase.”

His finger dug in just enough to break skin, sinking ever so slighting into one of Claire’s gills.
“You’re a git-ninny to think it’s possible to slip by me. What are you doing here? Trespassing?”
“I thought I was alone.”
“Here, none are alooonne.
“Your fingernail tastes of fresh blood SIr. Do you mind removing it from my throat?”
A few long seconds passed before the painfully long index finger retracted from Claire’s neck, though the longer middle one remained wrapped around it, keeping her in place. Claire tried not to tremble. She did her best to hide any displeasure or pain.
“I’m looking for two brothers. They are about the size of an average peach when combined.”
“Whhhy?
“Their forefathers are samurai, ancestors of mine, and I’d like to speak with them about my great great grandmother’s funeral procession.”
“Liar! Regular folk don’t make it down here. I see your gills underneath that oshiroi makeup.”
The white powder hadn’t concealed the breathing gaps in her neck.
“You’re likely a flesh eating siren. Do you intend to consume the boys? They do look delicious.”
“No sir, I’m vegan.”
“HA! Annnnd a comedian. The boys are fruit!”
“I know Sir, but their flesh is alive.”
“I don’t eat animals.”
“Oh really? Those two constantly bruised up, fumbling, bumbling, babcock bungoes are young fruit, not animals. You would savor their fine nectar down to the last drop.”
“I avoid consuming all creatures… even humans.
“I’m not really into humans, in most respects.”
Deadpan stares mirrored one another.

“A siren who hates humans! Hmmm, hahaha. Humans are vile! I used to be tasked with ending their short lives before I rose in rank. That was ungodly hectic. Yeah, I bet they taste awful. I may just write you up, and take you to the local cage instead.”

The tall dark beast stared through his bright crimson eyes. They seemed to be powered with the blood of two hot red suns.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what is your role down here? asked Claire.
“I am a Shinigami” he answered indignantly. “I invite spirits towards death. Rarely do I have to kill them myself. Deadening words are enough to drive most of my subjects to the brink of madness. If I don’t make them end it themselves, as the saying goes, tIme will tell. In fact, time himself tells me when they are ready to go, and I take what’s left.”
“What happens once your subjects are deceased?”
“Ah, a great mystery! Truth is, there is a wild assortment of options. Once dead, some become stars, others flowers, animals, bugs, wisps, ghosts, yokai, babies of all makes, frogs, fish.. any manifestation of energy with a soul. What most should want to know about death, is what happens to memory. The answer is a clean slate. Old bits are wiped away. A new round of consciousness begins. The creeps that remain down here have never once wanted to leave so they don’t care much for memory. This is my borough, the borough of ghosts. You are in it now, for how long I’ve yet to determine.Who told you of this place and the boys?”
“Like I said, my great grandmother, my obasan was their mother.. who passed away in front of me at her bath house in Northern Kyoto. Before breathing her last breath, obasan told me to bring her wedding Kimono to her deceased husband, at his izakaya in their home town. It took me thumbing through old journals in her library to find mention of the borough that lay at the bottom of the ____ mountain. According to my great grandmother’s journal, her husband went to the borough to avenge his sister, the peach boys followed their great grandfather there. The three of them never returned, presumably killed in the acid rain flooding. I know the peach boys are immortal. I know it’s a dangerous gamble but, I had to take a chance on coming here to find their two grandsons and deliver the Kimono to their parents. Do you know of the boys and where I can find them?”

*Judging by his upper body language, The Shinigami was opening up.
“You’ll have to cut your teeth here.. be quick to learn the ropes if you’re to survive as a living lady among the dead” said the Shinigami, “And you can’t simply walk amongst the home crowd as you are.. sticking out like an anglerfish with no teeth.”
Claire took no offense. Her skin did seem to shimmer down here, and many of the creatures she had seen thus far looked oversized and menacing.

“Be glad we have the love of risk, and gamble in common” he taunted menacingly.

With no hesitation, no warning, the Shinigami’s hand, twice the size of Claire’s head slammed into the scar side of her face. Her chin wobbled, nerve clipped, knocking her unconscious. Life was slapped out of her; hit by a real deep sea breaker. Everything but her soul left her body.

Immeasurable time appeared to have passed. Upon opening her dizzy eyes, Claire looked down to see herself floating. Hovering, just above the stairwell, she proceeded to suck in deep sea brine through her gills with absolute resolve, readying herself and recalling her mission. She raised her chin, to meet the assailants.

“It’s in my nature to honor a death wish” hissed the Shinigami.
“I’ve given you a chance to find your great grandfather. Enjoy the effects of my ‘temporal slap’. I slapped you dead center on your temple lil-lady, brought you closer to god.. temporarily. You’ll blend right into the crowd, appearing dead until the moon pulls the tides back out. That gives you precisely eight hours to find your estranged twin relatives, speak with your grandfather and find a way out of here. Keep a close watch on that watch of yours.”
Clare glanced down at her trusty Casio Frogman.
“If you fail to escape, finding nowhere to go, you will remain here among the dead. You fit right in down here with us now as it stands, or er.. as you float,” he chuckled slyly.
     Time was not on her side, and she hadn’t the faintest idea where to find the peach boys, or their father’s Izakaya. Almost as if he could hear her thinking and was getting bored of it, the Shinigami said, “take the elevator.”
He ushered towards it with the same hand that had clocked her.
     Claire turned her head to see an accordion style iron gate, compressing on both sides to reveal two elaborate, black sliding elevator doors. As the steel screeched open, she saw its indigo interior, softly illuminated by dingy flickering violet lights. Claire’s sore neck subtly bowed to the Shinigami, as she floated backwards, into the elevator, blending in with the irie blue fuzz. Claire thought she heard the sound of a spent coin falling into an arcade machine. Both a chameleon and an alchemist, she recalled. The boom of Atlus’ voice in her mind sparked memories of a simpler time. For the first time Claire felt as if she were remembering her life, when she was alive.. from a deceased point of view. The sheer potency of sentimental feeling released upon reflection of her life was unmatched, so too was the yearning to experience life again. She felt both naked, stripped of freedom and light as air. It occurred to her then in that indigo void, that she did not want to stay dead. She felt as trapped as air in deep water. She needed to rise up, and escape. Claire resisted the urge to check her watch already.    

     Clair felt her body acclimatize to this new cosmic zero gravity existence. “I do not want to stay dead for long,” she murmured. The eyeballs on her Obi blinked, and popped out in the purple blacklight. The nose, eyes and tongue of her headdress arose to their senses. This bit of magic cloth was designed to notify the wearer of veritable evil. They were on high alert in a place as nauseating as this. Sound was muffled for Claire. A faint whirring noise persisted in her mind. This may have been a result of being no longer alive, however, she wagered that it was that head rattling temporal slap that caused the fantom sounds in her head. It was a deafening blow. Even above the constant ring, she could hear blurred 1960’s oldies music seeping out the elevator. Ironically, there was no extra ear on the head dress to assist her.
     DING, sounded a tingsha bell before the elevator door slid open. Through the opening lay a cobbled street. There were no sidewalks, just many doors in between hard stones, coral and smoke stretching out before her. The marching band oompahpahed its way two feet ahead, right past her, paying no mind, absorbed by the preformative rhythms they produced, TAP rata TAP, BONG, tap BONG, SNAP.
Is this mashed up music gaining in speed or am l? Claire wondered anxiously as she tried not to reflect on what had just happened. That Shinigami slapped me away, yet I’m forced to stay. She shook her head, noticing how stiff her neck was now. A shimmering in sequence, color-ripe dance group paraded past. Clown children, flipped and strutted holding colorful, cute balloon animals. Another group of clowns, holding black balloon toy weapons, brandished their rifles, handguns, hammers and axes and proceeded to act out a choreographed animal massacre. Pops and bangs were sharp and shrill. Flares and sparklers hissed. Batons twirl incompetently and trumpets sound muffled in most aquatic zones, yet here the sounds of the merry demons, gimping goblins, and bombarding clowns were crisp and thunderous. The world’s noisiest zones are above water, in air. Down here it was a massacre of sounds. The clowns’ frowns were as silent as the ghosts that trailed them. 
     Clare gazed at her watch, taking one conscious breather before stepping out the elevator. Thinking the group had passed, her back was slammed by a weapon wielding clown wearing a nametag that read, ‘The Plunger’. She found herself amidst  the balloon popping massacre. Claire’s pinball-like trajectory had her blocked, stopped, bumped and passed directly through the clown’s vinyl explosions. She was then paddled and bumped by supernaturals at breakneck speed. This playfield felt tilted, rigged for a low score, yet twelve quick sharp turns later she burst out of the mix and this is where time froze. At the corner of Kichigai and Pierrot Street Claire looked over her shoulder, her eyes turned a silvery white as she was struck by a clairvoyant premonition.