(Art: “The Rescue,” by Mai-sensei)
Shiomi leaned heavily on me, and her feet dragged. I couldn’t say whether it was from the effects of her encounter with Mikawa’s ghost or her weakened condition, but I had to more than halfway carry her. She wasn’t dressed to be out in the cold, especially in her weakened condition. So I hurried as much as could, dragging her along.
I returned the way we came. As I turned the corner onto Route 5, I glanced nervously over my shoulder to see if Mikawa’s ghost was following. To my relief, there was no sign of her. Once on five, we didn’t have much further to go and soon arrived at the rundown house Tomo and I rented.
The trip hadn’t been far, but I was glad for the stamina I’d built up from loading and unloading trucks. Shiomi leaned heavily on me and her breathing was labored. The stagger in her walk came from more than alcohol. She was weak and looked like she hadn’t been eating. It could also have been that the ghost had been sapping her vitality.
I only had a vague idea of how ghosts worked, but I remembered a story about a ghost returning for her lover and how he had grown weaker and weaker. Some jerk that had ignored his lover till it was too late. I didn’t remember any more of the story; I should have been paying more attention. Instead, I felt like the frog who only knew the safe confines of its well.
A brown privacy screen sheltered us from view as I leaned against our venerable Tanto. I caught my breath and checked one last time if the onryo had followed us. Everything was quiet, though. Much too quiet for that time of night. There should have been more cars on the road as people returned home from work.
Shiomi started muttering again, and I caught some of it, “Why… Mikawa… Interfering bitch.” Things like that. Most of it seemed aimless muttering, but the last comment was accompanied by a glance aimed my way. I didn’t take it personally. Shiomi was clearly under some kind of spell.
As I opened the front door, Tomo looked up from the couch. He was dressed in an oversized t-shirt his kid had given him the year before. On the front was a crude handmade drawing of a stick figure and the word パパ, papa. He teared up whenever he read it; he missed that kid. It was a pretty casual thing to be wearing with me bringing a stranger home. On the other hand, Shiomi was in no shape to notice.
“You’re late,” Tomo began and then took in the situation at a glance, switched gears, and said, “You bringing strays home now?” If he was embarrassed by how he was dressed, he didn’t show it.
“Ha Ha, funny guy,” I replied.
He was one of my strays. I’d brought him home one night from a club, and he’d never left. It had worked out. In my mid-twenties, I had given up on finding someone who would accept me as I was. Tomo, a few years older than me, had chuckled and said, “I don’t care what’s between your legs as long as you don’t try to use it on me.”
We just worked as a couple. I laughed at his humor and told him he looked dashing when he dressed up (He did). He read my fiction, told me it sucked (It did), and made suggestions to improve it. We traded poetry and split the rent when he had money. His messed up back kept him from holding a regular job as a mechanic, but he picked up work when he could. He did most of the cooking, cleaning, and tried to keep our battered Tanto running to make up for the times I covered his portion of the costs.
“It’s Shiomi-san, from the konbini. I told you about her,” I said. I was too winded to take up his challenge.
He looked her over again. I could imagine what he was thinking, but he only said, “This is Shishi? The girl you fell in love with?” I glanced to see if she had reacted to his rude use of a nickname or about my infatuation, but she hadn’t.
The girl with me hardly matched the glowing descriptions I’d given Tomo. There wasn’t much I could say, so I left it with, “Yeah, this is that Shiomi-san, and I was only politely crushing.”
Shiomi was unaware or ignoring our banter. Glassy-eyed, she hardly even looked around. The room wasn’t much to look at: neat and orderly with old furniture; bookshelves of manga and light novels; posters for yuri and josei romances on the walls; and some ashtrays that Tomo emptied behind me. It wasn’t much, but you would have expected at least a little curiosity, but there was none.
I led her to the kotatsu, and she collapsed on a cushion with all the grace of a sack of bricks.
Tomo rolled his eyes but let the subject drop. There wasn’t much he could say in her presence. He could lack tact, but tried to be considerate.
One glance at Shiomi raised questions about my taste. In the light, it was clear that she hadn’t washed in days, wore wrinkled clothes, and her unbrushed hair had black roots showing. If I’d touched it, I’m sure my fingers would have come away greasy.
I resisted the experiment and asked her, “You going to be okay? That was pretty close.”
“Where’s my beer?” was her apathetic reply.
I gathered I was on her shit list for interfering and shrugged. I hadn’t saved her, so she would like me. It had been the right thing to do. At least I hoped that was why I’d done it. Still, a little goodwill wouldn’t hurt, so I fished a pack of smokes from my coat. About half remained. I removed one for myself and handed the rest to her.
“Peach, sorry,” I said.
A smile flickered for a second, then disappeared again. “Thanks.” There was a wistful quality there that puzzled me, but I was happy for any sign of gratitude.
(Art: “A Smoke,” by Mai-sensei)
I lit our smokes and left to get her a beer and some food. Tomo usually made generous portions, which with my work was welcome and today it would come in handy.
Tomo followed me into the kitchen. “What’s going on? She looks like something the cat dragged in.”
“You won’t believe it, but I saved her from a ghost. — don’t look at me like that, I really did. Her manager, the dead one, was leading her into the cemetery. Really!”
“Your writing is rotting your brain.”
“I swear it’s true. I wouldn’t have believed it either. She was following this figure in a white. There was something wrong with it, but I was more worried about how drunk Shiomi looked. She was weaving all over the place. But when I saw the woman she was following, my blood ran cold. It was Mikawa, her manager… partner. Mikawa’s face was bloated with long lank hair falling over it. Her clothes, a burial kimono, were billowing in a wind I couldn’t feel. When the kimono blew open, you could see withered, drooping tits. It was enough to turn you off women.”
“Thankfully, that kind of thing doesn’t interest me anyway,” Tomo joked. “But I don’t need the details. I suppose she didn’t have any feet and was wearing a little white hitaikakush on her head.”
“I didn’t notice. Feet and the details of her dress were the last thing on my mind. — Isn’t there any more fish?”
“No, I didn’t know we would have guests, or I would have bought more. Now go give your girl her beer and if she throws up, you clean it up.”
I took the tray Tomo had prepared. He had put portions of miso, ochazuke, and some broiled mackerel on it for each of us. I was sorry to be splitting the fish with our guest, but that was life. Fortunately, there was plenty of rice with nice toppings.
When I put the tray in front of Shiomi, her expression was hardly endearing. She glared at me and said, “Where’s the beer you promised?”
Whatever goodwill the smoke had engendered had evaporated.
“Eat first, and then you can have the beer. You need food more than a drink.”
Shiomi met my comment with another glare, but the effort to maintain it seemed beyond her and she gave up. She drank the miso and ate some ochazuke. “I can’t face the fish,” she said as she pushed it aside. “Can I have my beer now?”
“Sure, A for effort,” I said as I opened the beer and passed it to her. As I did so, I noticed the pack of smokes I had left had disappeared. “Whatever,” I thought.
“Want another smoke?” I asked. “Tomo should have some unflavored ones around here somewhere.”
“Sure… I don’t mind.”
After a quick search, I found a pack of Mevius’ and offered her one. “Better?”
“Yeah, thanks.” The wistful quality was lacking this time, but the thanks still seemed genuine.
“Why were you following that thing?” I asked. The question had been eating at me, and I figured I should ask it while I had some personal capital.
“She’s my girlfriend, and if I want to be with her, I have to follow her. You shouldn’t have interfered.”
“She’s dead.”
The glare flared for a second and then died. “No, she’s not. You saw her. Did she look dead?”
By the time she had finished her reply, the anger had faded from her voice and was replaced by a pleading tone. For a second, I thought of telling her the truth, but bit the words off as they reached my lips. I had seen that thing and there had been no doubt it was dead. Shiomi had seen that thing and claimed it was alive. We weren’t seeing the same Mikawa. I didn’t think I would get through to her, and pushing the issue would only antagonize her, so I just smiled and didn’t reply.
She drained the can and put her head on the table. I heard her mutter, “Why didn’t she wait?”
I waited to see if she would address me again, but she remained silent and then began to snore softly. The booze and fatigue had finally gotten to her.
I took the smoldering smoke from her fingers and studied her sleeping face. Washed, it would still be pretty. Clean clothes, a bath, make-up, and brushed hair would go a long way to making this scruffy, foul-mouthed woman attractive.
I looked at the cigarette in my hand, thought, “What the hell?” and took a puff; “Ugh, unflavored.” But I’d finally gotten a kiss from my konbini girl, a secondary kiss, but a kiss.
There’s a saying that if you save someone’s life, you become responsible for them. Shiomi was vulnerable and wasn’t in her right mind, so I couldn’t throw her out and live with myself. I didn’t know how much she was out of her mind until later when I asked her about that night…
*** Mikawa’s Return (Shiomi POV) ***
(Art: “Konbini Idol,” by Mai-sensei)
Mika had practically shone just ahead of me, always just ahead. I wanted to shout, “Wait, Mika. Wait for me.” But it was too much work. I was so weary. Ever since Mika had left, things had gone to shit. I was behind on rent. What money I had went for cigs, shochu, cheap sake, and beer. Food? The thought of food made me sick.
Then she had started coming back at night, and things would be wonderful. We had never had sex that good before. She was tender. She never accused me of cheating and promised we would be together forever. But in the early morning, before the sun rose, she would get up and glide out of the room. At first, I didn’t know what was happening and by the time I figured it out, it was too late. I would be too tired to protest or follow. All I could do was lie there drained.
Later, I would drag myself to work, but the effort was pointless without Mikawa.
But tonight she’d said, “Follow me, and we’ll be together forever.” I had no idea where we were going, but I had no choice but to put one leaden foot in front of the other. Whenever I thought I couldn’t manage another step, she would beckon and encourage me. I thought I heard her whisper, “Almost there.”
Then a woman grabbed me. I tried to pull away, but my feeble efforts achieved nothing. Through lips stiff from disuse, I said, “Let go. I have to catch up.”
Mika called, “Hurry; It’s almost time.”
Why was this stupid broad holding me? Surely she could see I had to go?
I tried to pull away and explained, “She’s calling.” But the woman held on tight.
I peered at my captor and saw that damn butch, Ume, who came into the konbini every morning to buy cigs. She’d tried to make conversation with me, and I’d been flattered. All the time I’d been preening for this bitch, Mika had been getting sicker and sicker. Mika, who had saved me, and paid my debts. Why had I thought Ume was hot?
Instead of letting me go, she said, “You shouldn’t. That’s a graveyard and she’s dead.”
Everyone said that, but it was a mistake. I had seen Mikawa, and she was definitely alive. Why wouldn’t Ume let me go? All I wanted to do was be with my girlfriend. Did this damn bitch think I would go with her when I had Mika?
“Fuck you,” I said and tried to get away. “She’s waiting. Mika is waiting.”
Why didn’t Ume understand?
I could feel my anger rising. She was keeping me and my girlfriend apart? “Let go, bitch.”
I pulled harder and got ready to hit her. But I never got the chance because she slapped me hard. It stung, and I tasted blood in my mouth. At the same time, all my strength left me. I felt sick, like I would vomit at any moment.
For a second I had seen Mikawa in a coffin, dead. We had buried her. The priest had chanted over her, and all I could do was stare dried-eyed at the last person in the world who had cared about me.
But no, that wasn’t possible. It was a cosmic mistake because she had come back. Every night she came back, my Mika came to me. I wasn’t alone.
It was all too much, and I found myself on the cold ground looking up into Ume’s face and said, “I need a drink.”
—————————
Story by Nara Moore
Twitter/X:@nara_moore
Mastodon: sakurajima.moe
WordPress: Josei Yuri and Paranormal Romance
Art by Mai-sensei
Twitter: @Maiisheree