The Kitsune

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Since the end of World War II, American military personnel have maintained a presence on the island of Okinawa, the largest in the Ryukyu Island chain, now a prefecture of mainland Japan, and in 1945, the site of one of the bloodiest battles of World War II, with nearly equal numbers of soldiers and civilians perishing.

Potentially, due to its history of violent death, stories of supernatural encounters are common on the island.

In fact, many American service members consider Okinawa the most haunted place in the U.S.

military.

What if ghosts and specters were not the only supernatural beings these men and women encountered?

This

is the story

of the Kitsune.

I'm Luke Lamana,

and this is Wartime Stories.

The Battle of Okinawa, occurring from April 1st until June 21st of 1945, was the last major battle of World War II and one of the bloodiest.

The combatants and civilians both endured grisly casualties as American forces attempted to root out a defending Japanese army from their many tunnels and fortifications.

Approximately 7,500 U.S.

Marines and soldiers and another 5,000 sailors were killed.

Japan sacrificed even more men, at least 110,000 soldiers, with less than 8,000 Japanese soldiers surrendering, while many committed seppuku, a form of honorable and ritualistic suicide.

Civilian death counts are undetermined, with some estimates as high as 160,000, more than a third of the island's population at the time.

They were either caught in the crossfire between the two armies or died by the act of Shudan Jigetsu, or mass suicide.

Suicide by civilians has been contested on some levels as to whether it occurred under the fanatical orders of the Japanese army or voluntarily due to anti-U.S.

propaganda which evoked civilian fear of torture or rape by their would-be American captors.

Needless to say, violent death holds a significant spiritual presence on the island.

Following the surrender of the Japanese Empire later that same year, Okinawa and the rest of the Ryukyu Islands were placed under American jurisdiction.

With the signing of treaties occurring over the following decades, American military bases eventually became permanent installations on the island and remain so to this day under the U.S.-Japan Status of Forces Agreement.

American occupation in Okinawa has remained a controversial issue, with the 1970 COSA riot against the U.S.

military presence violently demonstrating such tensions between locals and U.S.

personnel.

To both the anger and approval of many Okinawans and Americans, the Okinawa Prefecture and Ryukyu Islands were ultimately reverted to Japan on May 15, 1972.

The U.S.

installations, however, remained as part of the international agreement.

While infrequent incidents of drunken and criminal behavior on the part of U.S.

personnel over the decades have largely contributed to these local tensions, The dangers and inconveniences of living near to several military bases, pollution, noise, and aircraft or airborne debris, unintentionally killing residents and children, crashing into homes and playgrounds, carries an additional portion of blame.

Since the end of World War II, some among the local population have viewed this surrender of Okinawa by Japan as abandonment.

Still, other locals continue to approve of both Okinawan independence as well as the incorporation of American culture.

Throughout these last 70 years, with Okinawa serving as a military outpost, a jumping-off point for overseas deployments, expeditions, and other contingency operations in Southeast Asia, tens of thousands of American military personnel, Marines, soldiers, sailors, and airmen have likewise found themselves entrenched in Japanese culture, including its supernatural elements.

The majority of supernatural encounters on Okinawa have been spectral in nature, with events such as hauntings being reported to occur in the same locations over the years, the stories even appearing in military newspapers.

If we look to the many varieties of folklore and myths the world over, every culture has assigned specific human characteristics to certain animals which they live in close proximity with, incorporating these animals into their stories and legends.

The wise owl, the cunning serpent, the lone wolf.

The sly fox is no exception.

Throughout Chinese and Japanese lore, the fox, the kitsune, has been widely regarded as an intelligent being, one who possesses magical abilities that increase with age and accumulated wisdom.

The more tales a kitsune has grown, the older, wiser, and more powerful it is.

The Japanese term yokai is prescribed to supernatural entities, including the kitsune.

According to yokai folklore, for instance, upon reaching a certain age, varying in folktales between ages 50 to 100, all kitsune acquired the ability to shapeshift into men, or, more commonly, beautiful and seductive young women.

While medieval superstitions ran wild in Europe and America, with prosecutions and witch burnings occurring throughout the latter centuries of the second millennium, Japanese villagers feared crossing the path of a stray fox or that of a lone woman in the evening, as she was presumed to be a fox in disguise.

According to folklore historian Yue Kasal, the conviction that there are bakemono kitsune, bewitching foxes, has become so deeply ingrained in the Japanese that even in these modern enlightened times, few people will venture to pass a lonely spot, especially a graveyard or wood at night.

They openly admit their fear of being bewitched.

Nobody is ashamed of it, and if an uncomprehending foreigner laughs at the superstition, examples are immediately forthcoming of well-authenticated cases, or at least of people who knew people whose friend was once fooled by a fox.

Hey, it's Luke, the host of Wartime Stories.

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When a fox's weird yelping is heard at night, people crawl deep under their covers and pray that the beast may leave them in peace and pass on.

In some parts of Japan, communities will not even use the word kitsune at night, fearing to call the powerful fox demon.

They may use enari instead.

Some tales speak of kitsune possessing incredible powers, able to bend time and space, drive people mad, or take fantastic shapes such as a tree of incredible height or a second moon in the sky.

Other kitsune have characteristics reminiscent of vampires or succubi and feed on the life or spirit of human beings, generally through sexual contact, feeding on their victims while they sleep.

Among other supernatural abilities, individuals who are known to be illiterate are said to suddenly acquire the ability to speak and write fluently, even in foreign languages.

Folk tales involving Kitsune vary in their characterization, with some speaking of Kitsune as tricksters, while other stories portray them as faithful guardians, friends, lovers, and even wives.

These more kind-hearted supernatural fox spirits are often associated with one of the most important and powerful kami, or gods, named Inari.

a prominent deity of fertility and prosperity in the Japanese Shinto religion.

This association has reinforced the fox's supernatural significance throughout Japan.

While many depictions of the kitsune are harmless or even benevolent, they are also believed to have demonic counterparts, a malevolent form of kitsune, a belief which has been attributed to very real Japanese historical accounts of illnesses and misfortunes being blamed on demonic possession as well as violent retributions taken against the possessed individuals and their families.

In fact, followers of the ancient Japanese religion of shugendo still perform exorcisms on afflicted persons, attempting to cure them of symptoms or behaviors associated with kitsunitsuki or the state of being possessed by a fox.

With these ideas in mind, we are left to consider the island of Okinawa, steeped in chaos, haunted by so many violent deaths and unmarked graves, disturbed by a long-standing controversial occupation by foreign militaries, and a story of a young Marine during the Vietnam War, which suggests the potentially supernatural consequences.

This story is not my own.

It was told to me by my father on a drunken night when I was in my early 20s.

I should say that the entire night was kind of weird when I think back on it.

My father and I didn't have the best relationship, only really speaking on holidays.

My mom had left when I was young, and I think I always blamed him.

We still weren't talking much, but that was the longest we had hung out together without it devolving into a screaming match.

Eventually, as I walked around the living room of my childhood home, looking at the relics of my past life, Nostalgia, along with the buzz I was feeling, got the better of me.

We started talking, mainly about people we hadn't thought of in years.

Old friends, neighbors, usual.

The conversation grew quiet as we ran out of things to talk about.

After a considerably longer period of silence, my dad caught my attention with a quiet cough.

I realized he had been staring at me, and the intensity in his eyes was

unnerving.

You know I was in Vietnam, right?

And that I spent some time in Okinawa, he said.

I nodded my head, noticing a slight feeling of apprehension creeping in.

He took a few more long drags from his cigarette, and the look in his eyes seemed to darken.

I half expected him to tell me I had a half-sibling in Asia.

Now I kind of wish it was as simple as that.

This story is kind of long, but here goes.

This is the tale that I was told, as best I can recollect it.

I hope you all enjoy it or could possibly shed some light on the happenings that he and the men in his company witnessed or experienced firsthand.

I should probably state here that he was a Lance corporal in the Marines, as that may not be clear from the story itself.

I wasn't that much older than you are now when I graduated boot camp and was shipped to Okinawa in the summer of 67, before heading to Vietnam,

I didn't know what to expect between what I'd been trained to deal with and some of the things I heard from the guys on the base in Oki were saying.

There were some pretty horrible stories coming out of the jungle, and yes, I was scared.

But I was confident in myself and my brothers.

I was also stupid.

The first few days I was on Okinawa, I was restricted to base, as was anyone who had never been there before, so we didn't get into too much trouble.

The first day I got a pass, one of the older guys took a group of us out to a nice bar, where they specialized in making us feel comfortable.

The girls there were good at their jobs, and so were the cooks.

That's not the point, just facts.

We all started drinking sake and cutting up, and I was dumb enough to believe that my whole deployment was going to be alright.

That night was fun, but nothing really happened.

It was the second time that I went out, probably three or four days later, that I started to notice something a little off about the higher-priced girls.

For one, a lot of the girls that worked there had minor skin problems or obvious bruises on them, but the high dollar ones were clean and unblemished.

They also spoke much better English than the other girls, even though they didn't look any older.

Anyway, that was the first occasion that I decided to spend the night with one of those girls.

I had the best dream of my life that night.

I still remember walking by those snow-capped peaks in the countryside with her on my arm.

I was disappointed when I woke up in the dark, kind of rank barracks the next morning, and didn't remember exactly how I got back there.

I figured I'd had too much to drink.

Anyway, the day before we were supposed to head to Nanang, we were told our company commander, our CO, got deathly ill.

And we were also told that our further deployment was on hold.

Stuff like that happened, so we didn't think much of it.

I spent quite a bit of time at the bar, but I didn't spend the night with the women every time.

Some of the time I just wanted to drink, and their whiskey and cigarettes were cheap.

But it was after my fourth trip to the bar that something happened happened to a friend of mine.

Also, that was the night I asked one of the girls why none of the local Japanese boys ever came in.

She brushed it off with something about the place just being for American GIs.

Anyway, that night, the bar was packed.

Guys were dancing, drinking, and basically just blowing off steam.

I was in the corner.

with a few guys from my platoon.

Jameson, a big Irish-American with a typical Boston accent, was being his loud and obnoxious self.

And Eddie and I were laughing at his BS stories between mouthfuls of warm beer.

Pisswater, Jamie called it.

We had already waved off a few of the girls who'd come around, trying to make their money, when I saw a familiar figure walking toward us, flanked by a pair of girls just as flawlessly beautiful as she was.

Eddie was the first one of us to give in.

He slipped me some cash to help pay for the drinks.

Jameson drifted away next, leaving me and the woman, who I was starting to consider a friend, alone in the booth together.

She helped me finish drinking the beer that was left in the pitcher, and after taking my money, she eventually lured me upstairs to one of the private rooms, me being too drunk to resist anymore.

I again woke up in my barracks with no memory of my return trip.

That morning, while I was nursing myself through breakfast and mainly just drinking coffee, I noticed that Jameson hadn't showed up.

I went back to the squad bay and checked his rack, his bed, and was surprised to find his stuff still there, but the big guy nowhere to be found.

I thought maybe he'd gotten a two-day pass or stayed at the club the night before and hadn't made it back yet, so I didn't worry too much.

I showed up to work with Eddie, and we started our daily routine, helping the guys in logistics load and unload trucks mainly.

Jamie still had not showed up by the time we were finishing lunch and so I figured I should mention it to someone.

Before going back to work, I found our lieutenant in his office.

I asked about Jamieson's past situation and he pulled the logbook out of his desk, checking the roster.

Apparently he had been given a two-day pass.

That explained it, or, you know.

That's what I thought.

We went out again that night.

I was standing in the line, waiting to get into the place with some of the other Marines, smoking and chatting about nothing in particular, when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

It felt like I was being watched, so I started glancing around.

I was about to turn back and say something to Eddie when I finally saw the guy, about a half a block away, standing at the entrance to a narrow alley and staring right at me.

He was short, wearing a Japanese army uniform.

We made eye contact, and instead of looking away, he motioned for me to walk over to him.

I'm not sure why, but I made up some excuse and split off from the group.

I could just sense the guy wasn't going to start trouble.

As I got closer, I could see that he looked scared, or maybe angry, but certainly not threatening.

I offered him a cigarette, and he took one, again motioning for me to follow him, this time down the alley.

I stayed a few paces behind him just in case, and then he turned and opened an unmarked, barely painted metal door.

Obviously a restaurant, the smell of cooking fish and rice wafting out.

He ushered me into the kitchen, urging me to sit at a small cheap table that had an overflowing ashtray and wet rings all over the top.

From the looks of it, this was where the cooks took their breaks.

He disappeared for a few minutes, then came back carrying a couple bottles of beer.

He handed one to me before he sat down across the table.

He was about my age, but the set of his jaw and the look in his eyes told me that he had probably already seen things that would have turned me into a gibbering mess.

How long have you been going to that club?

He asked me.

I was more astonished by his lack of accent than anything else.

I told him I'd been there a few times and that I enjoyed the music as well as the company of the staff there.

He nodded as I sipped at my drink, and I could see him trying to organize his thoughts.

I thought about getting up and leaving, starting to feel slightly awkward in the unfamiliar place by myself.

I was halfway through a swig of beer when he broke the silence.

Have any of your friends gone missing yet?

I put down my beer.

The question made me pause because I immediately thought about Jameson.

Since I hadn't gotten into the club across the street yet to see if he was in there, I just shook my head.

But I was still a little freaked out that he had asked such a question.

Just be careful over there, he said, and stood up, giving me a bow and sending me on my way after I finished my drink.

He might not have believed me.

Maybe the look on my face gave me away.

Anyway, I walked back to the club, finding Eddie just a bit closer to the door than when I had left him.

Pretty soon we were inside, being ushered over to the booth that, by now, had become pretty much our regular spot.

We ordered food and a pitcher of beer, and I was now feeling a bit edgy.

I remember looking around, trying to find a few more familiar faces.

The Japanese guide made me kind of paranoid, so I wanted as many people as possible that I knew to be around me, at least that night.

As our group expanded, I started to relax, especially when, lo and behold, I saw Jameson coming down the stairs from the private rooms.

He joined us and even had a couple of drinks, but there was something wrong with him.

It was like his personality was a little bit forced.

It was like he was trying too hard to be his loud, obnoxious self.

Things were weird enough as it was, so I ended up dragging him away from the group outside and handing him a cigarette before asking him, What the hell is up with you tonight?

Clearly he hadn't expected that kind of question, and he suddenly looked at me like he'd been caught doing something.

He recovered himself a bit and just said, What do you mean?

I'm a fine man.

Just a bit hungover and tired.

I didn't feel like I should press the issue, so I accepted his explanation and we smoked in silence before we headed back inside.

Eddie had disappeared from the booth.

When I asked, I was told that one of the pricier girls had come by and swept him away.

That was pretty typical, but now,

what with that Japanese guy had said at the back of my mind, I was feeling jumpy, slightly worried about my friends.

I quit drinking early that night and got a lift back to the base with a couple of guys who were probably way more smashed than I was.

Thank God we didn't wreck the car on our way back.

I went to sleep feeling concerned, but hoping that we would be leaving the island soon.

No such luck, since we found out that morning that the commander apparently took a turn for the worse.

Although there was some talk about us being shuffled around to get more bodies into the jungle.

Thing is, Jameson didn't show up for work that day either.

With his two-day pass being expired, me and Eddie covered for him when they took names at formation.

It turns out our lieutenant noticed.

With Jameson being expected back, the LT had been looking for him.

He pulled me aside after formation to ask where he was.

I told him Jameson was likely hung over in his rack.

Probably should have said he was at medical.

He let it go, but told me to forward a message.

He suspended Jameson's off-base privileges and wanted to speak with him.

First thing the next day.

Remember when I told you I was stupid?

Well, despite my concerns, I found myself going back to the bar a little earlier than usual that day.

We got released early since the supply shipment was delayed and we had nothing to do.

But of course, I also wanted to look for Jameson.

We could only lie so much before he was accused of going AWOL.

Eddie joined me in going to the bar again, but Jameson was there before us, sitting in the booth.

To be honest, it looked like he had been there all night and hadn't slept.

If I could trust my instincts, something was very wrong.

He looked worse than he had the day before, so I told him he looked like hell.

I think I caught something, he said, before hacking into a piece of cloth that was blotted in red stains.

When he pulled the cloth away, I saw another dime-sized spot of fresh blood.

Maybe he caught whatever our CO had.

After we showed up, Jamie said he wanted to head back to the base to see what was wrong with him.

I wanted to ask him why he hadn't gone to medical sooner, but

that's a Marine for you.

Me and Eddie decided that he shouldn't go back on his own, so we decided to get him a cab and make sure he made it to see a Corman.

On our way outside, I glanced toward the alley where the soldier had been standing before.

But the street was pretty much deserted, since it was early.

Jamieson's repeated disappearances and now his decline in health had me spooked.

Was this what the Japanese guy was talking about?

If anything, I thought maybe Jamie's food or beer was being poisoned or something.

He was a bit obnoxious when he drank and a lot of locals didn't exactly like having us there.

Can't imagine why.

But I got the feeling that the Japanese guy knew something about it and I'd have to find him and ask when I had time.

The taxi, we called them honchos, wasn't licensed to drive on the base, so we had to walk from the front gate.

Since the barracks was in the opposite direction, Eddie offered to escort Jameson to medical, so I spent the rest of the evening writing letters and decided I would check on Jameson in the morning.

All things considered, I slept pretty well that night, and for the first time since I'd met the gorgeous local girl at the club, I didn't dream about her.

Actually, I might not have dreamt at all.

I don't remember most dreams, but it was significant because it was the first time that week that I hadn't dreamt about her.

I'd been looking forward to it.

I also noticed that despite a good sleep, I felt a little bit off the next day.

Not sick, exactly, just sluggish.

I thought maybe I caught what Jamie had.

I was kind of tired the whole day, as if my energy had been drained as soon as my eyes had opened.

During our morning formation, a few names were called that would be shipping off to Da Nang.

No, I wasn't one of them, and neither was Eddie.

After formation, I told Eddie to cover for me and headed over to medical.

To my surprise, Jameson had checked himself out.

In fact, he had ripped out his IV and apparently left in the middle of the night without telling anybody.

The cots were uncomfortable, so the corpsman figured he went back to his barracks to sleep.

I checked.

He wasn't there.

So I I went to the front gate and checked the logbook.

I could see where we signed him back in, but there was no signature for him leaving.

In any case, he wouldn't have been allowed off base.

What with not having a renewed liberty pass?

I figured, and it worried me, that he must have snuck off base, either jumping a fence or finding some other way.

The girls at the bar were cute, but...

With how weak he looked, I couldn't figure out how or why he would go to such lengths just to get back there.

But where else would he have gone?

As soon as I was able to, I left the base, heading for the club.

I figured explaining my paranoia to Eddie would be too weird, so this time I went alone.

Before leaving, I stopped by the squad bay to grab something.

My pistol.

Our issued weapons were kept at the armory, but luckily, someone told me to pack out a pistol from home, since he said the forty five s they gave you would blow your ears out.

They would probably court-martial me if I was caught taking a gun off base, but I felt a lot safer going alone with it.

It was early.

The place was practically empty, and I didn't see Jameson.

None of the staff were very helpful either.

Not knowing what else to do, I went back outside, and my feet took me back to that alley.

The soldier wasn't there, but rather than turning back, I walked back down the alley, the same dingy metal door.

I tried opening it, but wasn't surprised to find it locked.

Figuring I'd try to go around the front, I turned to walk back up the alley and practically collided with the Japanese soldier, who had apparently walked up behind me without making a sound.

He apologized for startling me and then raised his hand to knock twice on the kitchen door, yelling something I didn't understand in Japanese.

The door opened and a short old man wearing a suit stared at us with mild interest before he putted off.

He walked me to a private booth on the actual dining floor this time and ordered for both of us.

Meanwhile, we made small talk and I was trying to figure out what to even ask that didn't seem accusatory.

After a server dropped the beers off, the soldier stared at me for a few seconds.

So, what brings you back here?

He asked, and now that I was paying attention, I was kind of surprised at how well he spoke English without any trace of an accent.

Figuring I'd be straightforward, I told him about Jameson.

When he heard it, his whole demeanor changed noticeably.

He went from somewhat relaxed to, what, pensive, anxious, even a little bit angry.

Whatever it was, his mood didn't brighten when I told him my theories about the whole situation.

Although his face shifted slightly when I mentioned the possibility of the food and alcohol being poisoned, he said nothing.

With nothing else to do for it, we ordered a few more beers and to get the conversation going, I reverted to small talk.

His name was Brian, and he had been born in the States and had even went to school there for much of his youth, which explained the fluent English as well as his American name.

When we were a few beers in, I thought I would press my luck, now that he seemed more open to talking.

He still hesitated, but quietly told me that he had a theory about the people running the place, and that they might be killing or enslaving people.

But he was having a hard time getting information.

Apparently, people kept disappearing.

I began to understand his anxiety in telling me this.

He was worried he might disappear too.

I thought about it for a bit and volunteered to poke around later that night.

He resisted but eventually agreed, telling me, This is my father's place.

Just tell the cooks you know me if they give you trouble.

and stop coming through the front door.

With that, we parted ways.

I headed back outside to find a line queuing up in front of the bar.

I hopped in and waited to get inside with the rest, hoping Jameson might have showed up.

I didn't see Jamie anywhere.

I saw the girl he normally spent time with, and she said she hadn't seen him either.

Since the bar was more crowded than usual and I wanted a better view of the place, I sat at the bar.

Feeling a bit anxious, I was happy when another guy joined me.

He was a talker.

I let him prattle on while I mulled over how to begin my investigation.

Not unexpectedly, I felt a familiar female form pressing up against my outer back.

I'd nearly forgotten how stunning she was.

Hell, I'm pretty sure I forgot about Jameson as soon as I made eye contact with her.

Still, I did my best to play hard to get for a while.

ordering more beer, drinking, and making her do the same before letting her convince me to rent a room for the night.

Sometime later, after we had finished, I feigned sleep for a bit while listening to her breathing until I was convinced that she was well asleep.

I eased my way out of the bed and slipped into my clothing in the dark.

I grabbed her garments and made for the private bathroom, closing the door and going through her belongings.

I didn't find anything suspicious.

I put the stuff back the way I'd found it and slipped out of the room, following the hall back to the stairs.

I went back down into the club, which was practically shut down.

Only one bartender was on duty and a pair of cooks played cards at a table, smoking and talking loudly.

I couldn't do anything with the bartender watching me, so I ordered a few drinks, which I poured quietly onto the floor.

I wanted to keep my wits about me.

After supplying me with my third drink, the bartender gave me my opportunity.

disappearing in the direction of the bathroom.

I made sure the card players weren't paying attention, then slid off the stool, acting as if I were going to the same place, then ducking through the door into the kitchen.

I looked around, but saw nothing that looked out of the ordinary.

I walked to the freezer.

Perfect place to hide the body, I thought.

I opened the door and looked inside.

They had meat on the hooks, but I'm pretty sure it was pork.

Nothing weird, so I walked back out, closing the door.

Not wanting to be caught by the bartender, I was about to give up, at least for that night, when I noticed a door in the back wall, leading to what I would discover to be a root cellar.

The door was slightly ajar.

Feeling apprehensive as all hell, my bad judgment won out as my feet carried me through the doorway, which opened onto a staircase.

The smell of damp earth and some kind of spices intensified as I walked down the wooden steps, listening as hard as I could for the sound of the bartender, or anyone anyone else for that matter.

When I reached the landing and tried to light my Zippo in the dark, that was when I heard it.

I tried my damn lighter.

It startled me so bad.

It wasn't a bartender's footsteps.

It was a muffled scream.

It sounded a good distance away, so...

I made my way toward the back wall of the cellar, found a trapdoor, which was open.

Son,

until that point,

that was the most scared I had ever been.

For close to a full minute, I debated on whether or not just to turn around and run back up the stairs.

Again, bad judgment making one out over cowardice, and I slid down into the opening, dropping about six feet down.

Compared to the root cellar above, you could tell that the digging here had been done recently.

The smell of fresh earth was so heavy in the air you could feel it in your throat and lungs.

On a side note, I can't tell you how happy I was not to have been a tunnel rat in Vietnam.

Having heard the stories from the guys coming back, I thought that's what this was.

Viet Cong bringing the fight to Okinawa, right under our feet.

Or maybe some old Japanese fighters still in hiding, carrying on with that war.

Hell, I didn't know what to think.

I heard the scream again.

And this time, I could tell it was a man's scream.

And there was agony in the sound.

A sound I became very familiar with when I finally did start swapping lead with the Viet Cong, watching everyone around me getting

ripped apart,

dropping like flies.

Anyway, I wasn't sure what I was dealing with, slowly walking down that dirt tunnel, expecting to find some kind of torture room, I suppose.

I followed the cries, pulling my pistol out of my waistband.

I had a million horror scenarios flashing through my mind as I moved through that tunnel.

But I had to do something.

The man screamed again, much closer now.

There were lights strung along the tunnel when I came around a bend in the path.

This portion of the tunnel looked much older, probably used by the Japanese army.

But that's when I heard the man's racket sobs between the louder cries.

I knew that voice.

It was Jameson,

And he was begging for his life.

I didn't even realize that I'd stopped moving until he screamed again.

I knew he needed help.

He was dying.

But somehow, I stopped myself from acting too quickly.

I wasn't sure how many enemies I might be dealing with.

I'd heard about booby traps in the jungles.

As I slowly approached another entrance to a room off the tunnel, I could tell Jameson was just inside that room.

I snuck up to the side of the entrance.

Couldn't help but notice that, along with my buddy's voice, I distinctly heard something else under the sound of screaming and crying.

It was grotesque.

I pressed myself to the wall and peeked through the doorway.

I recoiled immediately.

To this day, I still struggle to make sense of what I saw.

It haunts me.

My friend and squadmate, Jameson, had been strapped to a table.

His face was ripped apart, covered in blood.

If it was not for his voice, I would not have recognized him.

His clothes were tattered and soaked in blood.

The next thing I'm going to tell you is something I have never told anyone's son.

Well, you'll be the second.

It was not a human who had done this to my friend.

The thing in the room was a fox.

But it was standing like a man on its two hind legs.

It also had several tails, maybe three of them.

I don't know what the hell it was, but it was eating my friend alive.

I raised my pistol as I swung wide through the door, squeezing the trigger as I approached the monster from behind.

The first bullet struck to the side of the thing's spine, just under the shoulder blade.

It didn't go down, and I squeezed the trigger three more times as it turned toward me with a whimpering growl.

One of the shots missed, but the third smacked home into the creature's ribs.

That time, it let out a pained yelp and dropped to a knee.

Then it charged.

I managed to get off another two rounds into its stomach before it hit me.

It knocked the gun out of my hand, and somehow I managed to avoid its claws.

Probably should have let him slash me.

At least then I'd have scars to prove it.

Obviously, it was strong as hell, but I think my bullets weakened it enough to give me an edge.

I managed to land a hard kick to its skull with my boot, then lunged for my pistol.

Whatever it was, it was quick.

It was out of the room and down the tunnel before I could take aim again.

I'm not sure if I was more pissed or scared.

Might have chased after it, but I knew Jamie didn't have much time.

I untied him, bandaged him as best I could using my shirt and jacket.

He was bleeding so much.

I'm still not sure how I got him back out of those tunnels.

I just started screaming for help when I got to the street.

Some of the shop owners came out.

Must have had apartments over their stores.

That guy Brian showed up as well.

Anyway, they called for an ambulance.

I kept pressure on Jameson's wounds.

In the confusion, the police seemed to show up before I could even consider how ridiculous my story sounded.

I think Brian picked up on that when I looked at him.

None of the cops really spoke English anyway.

As they were loading Jameson into the ambulance, I heard Brian telling the police something in Japanese.

I still don't know what he said, but can you guess what the official story was?

Attacked by dogs.

Well, they were half-rat.

But without any proof, I knew if I tried to tell them the truth, they'd chuck me in the looney bin.

Hell, you probably think I'm crazy, too.

Law enforcement was pretty loose, or maybe they figured whatever Brian told them was enough, but the cops left me there.

Didn't ask me to come down to the station and make a statement or anything.

No idea.

I followed Brian back into his dad's restaurant after the cops and ambulance left.

He asked me what happened.

I told him everything.

I couldn't help but notice he didn't seem surprised or even skeptical.

It's like he expected something like this, like giant fox monsters or run-of-the-mill around that island.

All he said is that I'd done enough, and he would take care of the rest.

I told him I wanted in on whatever he was planning, but he shut me down, telling me to go back to the base and to sit tight.

He gave me a beer before he left and I thought about following him, but for the first time in a couple weeks I chose to do the smart thing and to stay out of it.

I went back to the base and reported the incident, told them Jameson was being taken to a hospital.

I left out the part about the fox.

Not that I could have slept that night, even if I'd wanted to, but around 4 a.m.

a lot of guys were awakened by what was the distinct sound of an explosion in the distance.

Like me in the tunnel, everyone thought maybe the enemy was somehow bringing the fight to Okinawa, which made no sense, and that notion was quickly dispelled.

A few hours later, we were standing in full battalion formation, and we were missing a few guys from our platoon, not just Jameson.

Apparently, the explosion had been the bar being blown to smithereens.

Killed all of the guys sleeping sleeping with the girls upstairs, including Eddie.

Took out a good part of the buildings around it too, apparently.

Never did see it.

They restricted us to base from then on.

I never heard from Brian again.

Never found out what happened.

The incident was covered up.

Gas leak, they told us.

Maybe that's how Brian did it.

Opened the gas lines in the kitchen.

I was probably the only one who knew anything about it.

And I figured saying saying anything might incriminate me, just make things worse.

Jameson went into a coma.

Too much blood loss.

He uh, he didn't make it.

It was then that I stopped making new friends.

Good thing, too.

I would have lost a lot more once I got to Vietnam.

I shipped out the day after I found out about Jameson's death.

I saw things in that jungle that were horrible.

But it was never enough to make me forget about that thing in the tunnels.

I have never told anyone else this story.

But I have to admit, it feels good to get it off my chest.

After he stopped talking, he was quiet for a long time.

I finally thanked him and let the story sink in as I went to sleep.

I just wanted to share the story with you guys, as I thought you'd all enjoy it.

Thanks for listening.

Wartime Stories is created and hosted by me, Luke Lamana.

Executive produced by Mr.

Bollin, Nick Witters, and Zach Levitt.

Written by Jake Howard and myself.

Audio editing and sound design by me, Cole Acascio, and Whit Lacascio.

Additional editing by Davin Intag and Jordan Stiddam.

Research by me, Jake Howard, Evan Beamer, and Camille Callahan.

Mixed and mastered by Brendan Kane.

Production supervision by Jeremy Bone.

Production coordination by Avery Siegel.

Additional production support by Brooklyn Gooden.

Artwork by Jessica Cloxen Kiner, Robin Vane, and Picada.

If you'd like to get in touch or share your own story, you can email me at info at wartimestories.com.

Thank you so much for listening to Wartime Stories.