When it was about 2 o’clock p.m. I saw a ghostess who was crying bitterly and coming to me direct in a hut where I laid down enjoying myself. When she entered I noticed that she held a short mat which was woven with dried weeds. She was not more than three feet high. Immediately she entered she went direct to the fire, she spread the mat closely to the fire and then sat down on it without saluting or talking to me. So at this stage I noticed carefully that she was almost covered with sores, even there was no single hair on her head, except sores with uncountable maggots which were dashing here and there on her body. Both her arms were not more than one and an half foot, it had uncountable short fingers. She was crying bitterly and repeatedly as if somebody was stabbing her with knives. Of course, I did not talk to her, but I was looking at her with much astonishment until I saw the water of her eyes that it was near to quench the fire, then I got up with anger and told her to walk out of my hut, because if the water quenches the fire I should not be able to get another again, as there were not matches in the Bush of Ghosts. But instead of walking out as I said she started to cry louder than ever. When I could not bear her cry I asked her—“By the way what are you crying for?” She replied—“I am crying because of you.” Then I asked again—“Because of me?” She said—“Yes” and I said—“What for?” Then she started to relate her story thus—
“I was born over two hundred years ago with sores on my head and all over my body. Since the day that I was born I have no other work more than to find out the doctor who could heal it for me and several of them had tried all their best but failed. Instead of healing or curing it would be spreading wider and then giving me more pains. I have been to many sorcerers to know whether the sore would be healed, but every one of them was telling me that there is an earthly person who had been lost in this Bush of Ghosts, so that if I can be wandering about I might see you one day, and the sorcerers said that if you will be licking the sore every day with your tongue for ten years it would be healed. So that I am very lucky and very glad that I meet you here today and I shall also be exceedingly glad if you will be licking the sore with your tongue every day until the ten years that it will be healed as the sorcerers had told me. And I am also crying bitterly in respect of you because I believe that no doubt you have been struggling for many years in this Bush of Ghosts for the right way to your home town, but you are seeing the way every day and you do not know it, because every earthly person gets eyes but cannot see. Even it is on the right way to your home town that you found this hut and sleep or sit in it every day and night. Although I believe that you will not refuse to lick the sore until it is healed.”
Having related her story and said that if I am licking the sore it would be healed as the sorcerers said, so I replied—“I want you to go back to your sorcerers and tell them I refuse to lick the sore.” After I told her like this she said again—“It is not a matter of going back to the sorcerers, but if you can do it look at my palm or hand.” But when she told me to look at her palm and opened it nearly to touch my face, it was exactly as a television, I saw my town, mother, brother and all my playmates, then she was asking me frequently—“Do you agree to be licking the sore with your tongue, tell me, now, yes or no?”