Fourteen Japanese tales of the miko — the woman who lends her mouth to gods and the dead.
When a house needs something said that no one living can say, a woman is sent for. She sits down, sets out a bowl of water, closes her eyes, and lets something else use her voice. Nothing glows here and nothing floats. The horror is a voice coming out of a person that should not be coming out of her, in a room full of people who can all hear that it is.
These are not fourteen versions of one priestess. She may be a goddess, a farm woman who leaves off her field work when you come about a calling, a travelling stranger with a box on her back, or the last medium of a village that once sent out hundreds. And in every one of them, the woman at the centre is the one person the record never lets us hear from directly.