“You can hear them too?”

Hisoka steps forward on the old floor, his footsteps clicking loudly.  The church is too big and too dark, like the yawning mouth of a monster.  It’s old and worn, but the age doesn’t bring comfort.  The churches in Nagasaki are alien things, quite unlike the temples that Hisoka prefers.

There are too many figures clad in white in the churches.  Even the windows have images of them.  The voices hit the wooden walls, haunting even the corners of the darkened room.  Hisoka imagines that they’re pleading to the white clad figures to let them go.

Perhaps the spirits can hear them as clearly as they can hear the song.  Hisoka digs his hands into his pockets, waiting for the warmth and security of Tsuzuki’s mind to catch up to his.  His shadow is comfortable to hide in.

“Why would they continue to do this? No one can hear them.“

“I don’t know.”

The sound is eerie and melancholy, worshipful and almost mournful singing that seems to reach straight into his soul. It’s beautiful and heartbreaking all at once. Tsuzuki instinctively reaches back, touching Hisoka’s elbow as a form of reassurance that his partner is still there. They had arrived at the church expecting one lonesome spirit, and instead, they’ve gotten a building full of them, though they haven’t shown their faces yet, if they have faces at all.

“Stay close to me,” he says, knowing that Hisoka can defend himself if need be, and not expecting the spirits to put up too much of a fight; but he’s protective, and having Hisoka nearby assures that he can keep him safe. Around them, the church’s song hums off of the tall windows like a siren luring a sailor out to sea.

“We’re not here to harm you,” Tsuzuki says first and foremost, though knows he has his ofuda in his jacket should he need it. “How many of you are there?”

There’s no response for a moment, but the singing gradually fades and dies, leaving them wrapped in cold and silence. A chill settles on his skin even through his coat. Finally, a very small child’s voice says: