(Art: “The Rescue,” by Mai-sensei)
With the haunted bridge and the roads to the cemetery behind me, the rest of the trip to the temple was uneventful. Which was good, since I wasn’t sure how much more I could take and keep my sanity. It still shook me how close I’d come to jumping off the bridge. Who knows what would have happened if I didn’t smoke, or if Hanayome-shin hadn’t come to my aid?
It could only have been her. I was glad I’d kept my promise to my grandfather even if I’d done a half-ass job. The realization I’d actually married a kami was almost enough to drive thoughts of Shiomi and Mikawa from my mind, but not quite.
When I arrived at the temple, I was pleased the lights were still on. In contrast, my arrival at that hour annoyed the priest, Kawanami-sama.
“It’s past midnight. What are you thinking of⁈” I heard Kawanami shout from behind the door.
The time surprised me. By my reckoning, it should be ten-thirty, eleven at most. But regardless of the time, he was going to help me, and I kept banging on the door until he opened it and stuck a very red face out.
“Ume-san, I don’t know what you are thinking, but it’s too late for this. Come back in the morning. I should be up by…”
I interrupted, saying, “It won’t wait until later. This is serious. I had a run-in with a ghost and have a ghost-sick girl at my house.”
By that time, I had my foot in the door. I wasn’t taking any chances of having Kawanami blowing me off as drunk or crazy. Even Tomo had doubted my story.
Instead, he gave me an appraising look. “Look Ume-san, I’m just a neighborhood priest. I take care of the shrine, look after the kami, and do regular blessings and cleansings. There’s someone I know who makes this their specialty. I’ll make you a referral…”
“No, no, no,” I thought. Even if I was willing to wait, I didn’t have a car to get to someone else, so I snapped, “You shouldn’t have become a priest if you don’t want to do this kind of thing.” Not nice, but I wasn’t in the best mood.
Grumbling, Kawanami put on shoes and a coat and followed me. As we walked, I explained. I had barely finished describing Mikawa-san when he stopped and protested again. “I’m not used to doing this kind of thing. Let me give you the contact information for someone more suitable.”
I took his arm and pulled him reluctantly along. I had no time for this nonsense. It was his job and, from what I had seen, Mikawa-san meant business. That meant no unnecessary delays.
By the time we got to my apartment, Kawanami-sama knew the situation and went straight into the bedroom. He looked at me oddly when I shoved the meds into his hand, but what did I know? He might need them.
While he was working, I opened the doors to Hanayome-shin’s shrine. It was small and neat, but the only outstanding object in it was the silk-wrapped box. I lit the cheap incense I used and bowed.
“Thank you for saving me. I regret neglecting you since we were…” I stumbled over the next word. It was so foreign to me. “…wed.” I paused to think about how bizarre the situation was, then went on, “You may not approve of who I am, but there’s no help for it. I hope I will prove as worthy a bride as your other husbands were bridegrooms.”
There was a sighing like the wind in trees. I took it as a sign she had heard. Whether she was satisfied or not, I couldn’t tell.
Having done my duty, I stuck my head in the bedroom and the priest waved at me to go away. I wouldn’t be doing any writing tonight, it seemed. I usually wrote in the bedroom’s quiet at a small folding writing desk. That way whatever Tomo was watching on TV wouldn’t disturb me. On nights that I was particularly inspired, he would sleep on a futon in the living room, which was where we would sleep tonight.
It probably was just as well that I couldn’t write. My nerves were shot, and my focus would have been dreadful. Instead, I got myself a beer and a cheap individual-sized bottle of sake. I placed the latter in the shrine as an offering. “Sorry, it’s the best I have. I’ll do better next time.”
I finally settled down on our battered couch to drink my beer and enjoy a decent smoke. Tomo joined me, interrupting my thoughts about putting on a Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers musical to relax by.
“You okay?” Tomo asked, placing a reassuring hand on my knee.
“I’m fine. Tired, shaken.”
I leaned against his shoulder and said, “She, Mikawa, tried to kill me. I think I am out of my depth.”
“You think?” he said sarcastically. “I think you’re out of the fort.”
“You didn’t see it. I did. I may have some screws loose, but I’m not that delusional. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”
Only I didn’t tell him the next day or the day after. Instead, I lay prostrate with a high fever on the futon. I kept dreaming there was someone at the door that wanted to speak to me. I distinctly remembered that the door was red, a detail that seemed important at the time. Tomo restrained me more than once from getting up to open it. At least, I think he did. It was all hazy.
My days were as muddled as my nights. Tomo fed me rice porridge, gave me sponge baths, and smokes. I remember telling him we all needed to smoke Golden Bats, and then having a coughing fit when he gave me one. At other times, the priest would sprinkle me with sake, force me to eat salt, and chant over me.
On the third day, I got up and made my way to the kitchen. On the way, I noticed slips of paper with red writing placed on the doors and walls. “Charms,” I thought. By this point, I was beyond being surprised.
“Food, real food please!” I told Tomo, who was working at the counter.
“Sure,” Tomo growled. “But something light. You had me worried. That was a terrible fever and if the fever wasn’t bad enough, you were babbling about faces in the water and a woman with a snake’s tongue.”
“Sure, light will do; miso, rice, and pudding would be fine.” I looked in the refrigerator, hoping to see that caramel pudding I liked. A tub from our favorite sweet shop greeted my eyes. Tomo was a wonderful guy to go all the way to Kawagoe to get that for me.
Between mouthfuls of pudding, I continued, “After I eat, I’ll tell you about the faces in the water. I don’t remember a woman with a snake’s tongue, but if she had one, it wouldn’t shock me.”
Tomo busied himself preparing my meal and addressed me over his shoulder, “I’ve been making offerings at that shrine. You were insistent. Something about being married to that box. It all sounded like delirium talk to me, but Kawanami took you seriously.”
“You didn’t touch the box, did you?” I had been told no one but me or my successor should touch it.
“Would I touch your wife without permission?” I couldn’t see Tomo’s face, but I bet he was smiling.
Yeap, I saw a smile when I poked a spoonful of pudding into his mouth. It was his turn to get a secondary kiss, ace or not. Thank goodness he enjoyed being touched. I suppose it wouldn’t have worked with us if I couldn’t be romantic. That would have been a bridge too far.
I winced at the word bridge and remembered the insidious whispering and thoughts they had inspired.
Looking over at Tomo, I felt guilty about the thoughts I’d had about him. I noticed Tomo’s warm expression as he wiped a drip of caramel off his face with his finger and stuck that finger in my mouth.
“You’re not a cold fish,” I thought.
Over my food, I told Tomo my story. He looked doubtful, then shrugged. “Okay, all of you seem to believe it. But I still have a hard time buying all this talk of an onryo.”
“On another note, your girlfriend, Shishi, is doing better. She was sicker than you. I would have taken both of you to the hospital, but Kawanami-sama insisted I shouldn’t. According to him, neither of you would survive the night there. He said, ‘There’re too many ghosts in a hospital.’” Tomo shrugged again, “Guess he won the argument.”
When I finished my food, I felt steadier and went to visit Shiomi. It was like Tomo to call her Shishi without permission, but I would wait.
Shiomi was resting peacefully, but looked dreadfully thin. Someone had washed her face, but her hair was still a nasty mess. What I had first seen in her wasn’t there now. Instead, she looked fragile and vulnerable, like a stray kitten. My partner was right, I was a sucker for strays.
I touched Shiomi’s face with one finger, and she stirred and muttered, “Why? Mika?”
I sighed. She wasn’t “my” stray kitten, and she didn’t dream of me. I wasn’t sure why it bothered me.
I sat on a cushion and watched her anyway till Tomo came and put me back to bed.
The following day, I felt stronger, but on Tomo’s advice, I stayed home from work another day. It would be nice to get some movie watching time. I had been dying to watch Astaire in “Shall We Dance” again. But, not getting paid for the time would hurt, but Tomo said he’d earned enough that month for us to get by. Being poor sucks.
After eating a more substantial breakfast, I went into the bedroom, set up my little writing table, and started working on my laptop. I ignored my current novel, and instead documented recent events: how I began chatting Shiomi up; learned about Hanayome-shin; and what had happened since I rescued Shiomi. The results pleased me. My new stories were more substantive than my romance and were definitely more interesting. Eventually, I would change the names and locations, but this had marketing potential.
I looked over at Shiomi and frowned. If I had any sense, I would send her away as soon as she was well. Mikawa-san wasn’t something to take lightly. But if I sent Shiomi away, my story wouldn’t have an ending, or I would have to make one up. Experience taught me that in-depth fascinating plots weren’t my specialty, and Tomo routinely made me rewrite my endings. Sometimes he even supplied a witty line to end on.
Keeping Shiomi around might be dangerous, but I wouldn’t be the first writer to court danger to get a good story. War correspondents did it all the time.
I was mulling over my options when Kawanami-sama came in and beckoned for me to follow him. He looked haggard, his skin was sallow, and there were dark rings under his eyes. I couldn’t help wondering why he stayed, given his reluctance to begin with. Maybe he was more conscientious than I gave him credit for.
Once outside the bedroom, he handed me charms and said, “I’m going home. There’s nothing more I can do. Wear those charms. Hopefully, they are strong enough to keep Mikawa-san away. I don’t think she is done with you. You should keep those wards on the doors and windows up as well, so she can’t enter the house.”
He fished in a pocket and produced a card. “If there’s more trouble, DON’T come to me. See this guy, Mikito-sensei.” He taped the card and handed it to me. “This is the kind of thing he does. He’s good, much better than me. I doubt I could have saved you two, except for your guardian. I’m not good at sensing these things, but even I could feel her in the room when you were in crisis.”
“And Ume-san…” he said, questioning.
“Yes.”
“Good luck. You and that girl will need it. I’ve dealt with minor supernatural stuff, but nothing like this. Mikawa-san is dangerous.”
“Yeah, I know. Any advice?”
“See Mikito-sensei,” he answered, then gathered his stuff and left.
Before going back into the bedroom, I got some sweetened barley tea. I figured when Shiomi awoke, she would need it. Then I sat down and waited, this time poking on the internet to see what I could learn about ghosts and onryo. Among other things, there was a story, “The Peony Lantern”, about a ghost named Otsuyu that came back for her lover. I skimmed and bookmarked it to read more thoroughly later.
After a while, Shiomi stirred, opened her eyes, and muttered, “Mika?”
I closed my computer and went to her bedside. “You’re looking better,” I said. “Marginally,” I thought, but at least the fever was down.
“We were really worried about you,” I added.
She looked at me with blank eyes. There were dark circles under them. Recognition came slowly, “You.” She said through dry, cracked lips. The tone implied I was the last person she wanted to see.
I ignored the glare and continued, “I brought you some tea. You’ve had no fluids except ice chips and sake. We can talk after you drink some.”
I helped her sit up. She weakly resisted at first, but I gently overcame her efforts. Once she was sitting, I held the cup for her, and she sipped the drink. The tea dribbled out the side of her mouth and when she was done, I carefully dabbled the spilled liquid with the sheet.
“You’re safe now. Do you remember any of it?” I asked.
“I remember you stopping me from following my girlfriend,” she said weakly.
I moved to give her another drink, and she took the cup from me with a trembling hand.
This time there was more liquid spilled, but I patted it dry again.
“Pretty shitty thing to do, if you ask me,” she said, a little spirit returning to her voice.
I never would have imagined she had such a foul mouth. I supposed she was under a lot of stress and didn’t feel well.
Gently, as possible, I said, “We’re going to have to disagree on some of that. As for your girlfriend, you may want to rethink that part. You know she’s dead? She’s a ghost.”
“Fuck you!”
“There isn’t any call for that. I was only trying to help you.”
“Bitch.”
This wasn’t getting us anywhere, and I was getting irritated. Stressed or not, there was no call to speak to me like that.
I kept my voice smooth. There was no point in starting a fight. “Would you like something to eat?”
“I guess, and a cig.”
“Sure,” I said and left to get the smokes. I came back in a moment with the Golden Bats and a pack of my Pianissimos.
When I offered her a Bat, she looked at me and said, “Cheap ass.”
“The clerk at the konbini said it was what you bought. You can have one of mine,” and I offered a Pianissimo.
The look she gave my cigarettes was a triumph of contempt, so I asked, “What brand do you like?”
She took one of the Bats and replied, “Lights. Peace, Seven Star, or Hope are okay. Camel Lights when I can afford them. I’m not particular. But not that favored stuff.”
I lit her cigarette and then mine, and we smoked in silence for a moment. After a few drags, she smiled weakly at me. “I suppose I should thank you for trying to buy cigs I like. I’m feeling terrible and life is being hard.”
“It’s okay. It’s hard to smile when life deals you lemons.”
“That’s all life has ever dealt me.”
“I’d love to hear about it, but I should go make you some porridge. You have to eat something. If you fall asleep, should I wake you?”
“Sure.”
She snubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray next to the bed and closed her eyes.
As I left, I heard softly behind me, “Why couldn’t it have been you?”
I didn’t know what that meant. Maybe why couldn’t it have been me that was dead?
I put some rice on to cook using chicken stock and then used my phone to read more about youkai. What I found wasn’t very useful. There was stuff about EMF meters and photos. I didn’t think we were talking about the same kind of ghosts, besides I didn’t want to find them. I wanted to protect myself from them.
Then there were stories about Hanako-san, Kuchisake-onna, Hasshaku-sama, and other youkai. Again, what I read wasn’t terribly informative. Every ghost seemed to be different, but I learned a few general rules. Some I had vaguely known before, like not looking in their eyes or their being stronger near water. Other things were new: such as your ability to sense the supernatural was called reikon, and it got stronger after your first encounter. Just what I needed, more spirits. I also learned that each ghost had a unique weakness; the rules that governed them were inconsistent; and things seldom ended well for people who drew their attention. Like I said, not very useful or hopeful.
When the rice was done, I went back into the bedroom with a bowl of it and a can of lightly sweetened oolong.
She ate hungrily, and I had to slow her down. I took her appetite as a good sign. If she was hungry, she must be on the mend.
When she finished, she asked, “How long have I been here?”
“Four days. Things were touch-and-go there. Tomo told me he called your work, and they gave you a few days off.”
“Four days? Shit!” A look of displeasure must have crossed my face because she amended, “Sorry, drat. Now, I don’t have a roommate, no paycheck, and I doubt I have a job. They told me that if I took any more time off, they would replace me. How am I going to pay the rent? You owe me!”
“How do I owe you?” I wondered. “I saved your life. My friends nursed you back to health. Because of you, our house is plastered with wards to keep creepy things out.” I kept my complaints to myself; Life sure had dealt her a lot of lemons.
An idea that had been lurking in the corners of my mind bloomed into a full-fledged idea. It was insane, especially given what I had just read. Tomo would probably kill me if Mikawa didn’t. But my writing career was going nowhere and things were bound to be interesting with a cursed housemate. If she needed a place to live, maybe we could make a deal.
“Tell you what, you can stay with us till you’re back on your feet. In return, you tell me about your life and what has been happening. I get to use it in my writing.”
She looked nonplus. “Stay with you? If you hadn’t interfered, I’d be back with Mika.”
What was it with this woman? I’d been nothing but nice to her. Yabai, I had saved her from her DEAD girlfriend. Why couldn’t I get through to her that Mikawa was dead? I wasn’t the bad guy.
“She’s dead and came back as an onryo. She’s trying to kill you. We warded the house, so if you stay with us, you’ll be safe.”
“She’s not dead. That’s all a mistake. I’ve seen her. She comes at night and we… Never mind. And you want me to believe this cock-and-bull story about her being a ghost?”
“It’s true, but have it your way. Get some more sleep and when you can get around, I’ll see you home.”
She closed her eyes. I grabbed my computer, and I left the room feeling defeated. Tomorrow or the next day, she would leave and join her girlfriend and there was nothing I could do about it. I kept looking for an answer, but none came to me. If she wanted to leave, I couldn’t force her to stay.
To help distract myself, I set up the computer and attempted to write, but ended up just staring at the screen. Nothing occurred to me. Then finally my fingers tapped out bits and pieces, but it wasn’t my novel. They were odd fragments of my memory of her. Nothing I could ever use, just bits and pieces. The time I ran into her at the grocery store. When I had spied her stretching behind the 8 PM checkout counter. Banal things.
Every once in a while I would get up and sadly peer in to look at her. Such a waste.
When she awoke again, I sat down next to the bed. I had nothing to say. What was the point? I would only be met with disdain and/or profanity. Eventually, I took out a Camel and handed it to her. It was the one thing that seemed to bridge the gap between us.
She took the smoke but didn’t hold it out to be lit. Instead, she looked at it thoughtfully and finally said, “Are you really interested in my life story? You want to write about me?”
“Depends; at least recent events.”
“I won’t have to pay rent?”
“Not until you’re on your feet; provided Tomo approves.”
“Okay, but you keep your hands off me.”
“What had I done to deserve that?” I wondered.
“Sigh.” I guess being nice to me wasn’t part of our bargain. I may have rescued her, but I wasn’t her knight in shining armor.
*** Konbini Suto (コンビニスト) (Shiomi POV)***
(Art: “Konbini Idol,” by Mai-sensei)
It had been a rough night. Mika, my girlfriend, and boss had been coughing all night. She had spells like that. They seemed more frequent these days, but she refused to go to the hospital and see a doctor.
I attempted to straighten the blankets over her as I spoke. “I’d be happy to stay home and take care of you.” Actually, the prospect didn’t thrill me. She was irritable when she was sick, worse than usual. But I would never hear the end of it if I didn’t offer. It hadn’t always been like that. At first, I had been delighted to tend to her when she was too ill to work, but the nagging, complaining, and accusations had worn me down.
Mika pulled fretfully at the blanket and looked at me with narrow eyes, saying, “You would like that, wouldn’t you? Lie around all day, doing your nails or looking at photos of other girls.”
“They are not other girls, they’re idols. I worked with some of them and I enjoy knowing how they’re doing. You can check my account. I haven’t messaged them.”
I didn’t know why I bothered. It was old territory, and it made no difference.
“I don’t know what you see in them,” she retorted.
I almost said, “The same thing you saw in me.” But that would have been opening a can of worms. Time to steer the conversation back to safer territory. “Do you want me to stay home? I can make some rice porridge and get you some medicine.”
“Which you won’t take,” I thought.
“No, you go to the store and hold things down.”
Which meant she wanted me to do both of our jobs. Whatever. It would keep me busy and out of the house.
“Then,” I said, “I have to hurry. I’ll grab something to eat there. I may be late coming home.”
She looked at me suspiciously, so I hurried on, “It’ll take me extra time if I’m covering for you.”
She looked satisfied.
Grabbing my makeup bag from my cluttered vanity, I called to her, “Need me to bring anything back?”
“Some of those American cigarettes, they’re easier on my throat.”
I wanted to tell her she should quit. The cigarettes were killing her. But that would be another argument, with her pointing out that I smoked like a chimney.
Once I got to the store, I had a smoke and did my makeup. Then I busted ass and relieved the night clerk only a few minutes late. I had a long shift ahead since Mikawa wasn’t there. At that hour, it was mainly regulars who were getting ready for their day, so the job was easy. Hopefully, it would stay that way.
I was pleasantly surprised when the bell rang and Ume walked in. She would come into the store once or twice a week, but never this early. I could feel her eyes on me. I’d been right the day before. She had taken an active interest in me. When you’ve been an idol, you learn to spot that kind of thing. A dead giveaway was the fact she had put on makeup. I liked her better without. She had also redyed her hair, a butch light shag with the bangs down in her eyes. Yesterday, it had been burnt sienna. Today it was cherry red with black highlights. The choice was bold, but suited her. It said she didn’t mind being noticed and fuck anyone who gave her shit. It could have been to impress someone else, but the way she dawdled over her purchases told me the show was for me. Normally, she was predictable: a salted salmon and tuna mayo onigiri, and Pianissimo Peche cigs. Sometimes a can of coffee or tea. Getting her stuff was a task of a few minutes. Today, however, she waited to come to the register till I was alone.
“Morning, Shiomi-san,” she said. Her voice was slightly husky, a wonderful voice for a butch. She should have definitely skipped the makeup. I could tell she didn’t use it often.
“Morning, Ume-san,” I replied, keeping my voice neutral. I was glad I remembered her name. I had only seen it once on the ID from the first time she bought cigs from me. The formal address was spot on. I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea. At the same time, I craved attention, so I continued encouraging her, “Pianissimo?”
“Peach please.” Her eyes lingered just a little too long on my face and then my tits. It’s usually a guy with their eyes where they have no business. Dumb fucks. I like attention, but not that kind from men. Ume had more class than to keep them there long, but long enough to show interest.
This time, she didn’t touch my hand. Which was good. Letting stans touch you led to them getting the wrong idea. Once they think they have a shot at you, things get weird and unpleasant. Like with Mika…
That was another story. I’ll keep it short and say things got out of control with me and Mika when I worked as an idol. But then she saved me when my career tanked. She found me where I was working in a hostess club and offered me a better deal. As bad as things had gotten between me and Mika, it was better than having strange men leering at me and being in debt to shady people.
It turned out Mika was nasty-jealous. She was bad enough when I was innocent, but if I so much as looked at another woman, I’d pay for days. And Ume was worth looking at. She had nice legs when you could see them. She usually wore jeans or slacks; a flannel lumberjack shirt or some other butch top; and until now, no makeup. I think she had tats, but I’m not sure. Maybe when summer came, I’d see. She looked fit, like she worked out. Bet she had a tight ass. A first-class butch. But like I said, if Mika saw me looking, I would hear no end of it.
Damn, Mika. I got so fed up with this life. Working in a dead place and Mika watching my every move. We never went anywhere either. How long had it been since I’d been to a club? I loved clubs and still followed some of the chika, underground idols. I even had an alt account Mika didn’t know about, and I messaged a few.
But Mika didn’t take me anywhere, said she couldn’t trust me. Take my advice never sleep with a fan or your boss. It is a bad idea even if she’s a girl. I bet Ume would have treated me better. Not that I would ever know.
For a moment, I thought Ume was going to wink at me, but she just paid, and I watched her leave. That was it. I sighed. It was going to be a long day.
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Note: Ume and Shiomi? A butch/femme couple?
I think we have a compatibility problem here.
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Story by Nara Moore
Twitter/X:@nara_moore
Mastodon: sakurajima.moe
WordPress: Josei Yuri and Paranormal Romance
Art by Mai-sensei
Twitter: @Maiisheree
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