(Art: “The Rescue,” by Mai-sensei)
I woke up to the smell of broiled fish and cigarette smoke. The former welcome, and the latter not. My mouth tasted like an ashtray and my throat was raw. Memories of my nightmare trip to Kitakata flooded my mind, and I wondered if it was, in fact, just a nightmare. Mikawa-san, Time Space Man, and Tsubame Onna couldn’t be real. But they were. Too darn real.
Stirring, I saw Shiomi eating at the kotatsu. She saw me looking and gave a little wave and a shy smile. She seemed well. As for me, I felt drained, but was relieved that, unlike after my last supernatural encounter, I didn’t seem to be sick. Still, when I had time, I would have to call the priest, Kawanami-sama, for a cleansing.
“You should come and eat,” Shiomi called over to me. “The fish is wonderful. Tomo is an excellent cook.” She had no right to be so cheerful this early in the morning, especially after our ordeal last night.
With effort, I struggled out of bed to the kotatsu and crawled under the blanket to stay warm. Shiomi was sitting across from me, wearing one of Tomo’s oversized t-shirts. This one had the emblem of the Yakult Swallows on it. It was mildly ironic on her.
Her face was still thin, but she had done her hair and makeup. She looked fantastic. Another sin so early in the morning.
“You asked if you could wear that?” I grumbled. The last thing I needed was for her and Tomo to be at odds already.
“I asked. I promised to behave, didn’t I?” She looked hurt at my suggestion, which was a seven on a cuteness scale. It reminded me of when I flirted with her at the konbini. Too bad I also remembered the nasty things she had said to me since.
She continued, “All my stuff is dirty, and you were asleep, or I would have asked to wear one of your shirts instead.”
She then pointed toward the kitchen. “He won’t let me help. Says it’s his kitchen. I cleaned the living room a little, but didn’t want to wake you.” Now she had a little apologetic smile, ramping the cuteness up to an eight. If it wasn’t so early, it might have been a nine or a ten.
“I’m sure he will let you do the dishes,” I responded. My voice grated, and I looked around for something to drink, but all I saw was her tea with a lipstick stain on the cup’s rim.
I looked away and continued, “Just be sure to put things where they belong. He can be touchy about that. Cups with cups; plates with plates; like that. Clean the rice cooker, he is particular about that. If you have questions, you can ask me, unless I’m at work or writing.” I couldn’t help responding in a small way to her efforts. But I still needed to set some boundaries. I had seen this girl when she had jumped the rails.
“Tomo told me to take care of you. — Oh, I don’t mean in that WAY — You know, get your tea and stuff. Let me get you some. What kind do you prefer?”
“Oolong would be fine. Tomo can point out what I like.” I looked around for the Mevius’ Tomo had brought out, but they were nowhere in sight. “And a smoke. I’m dying for a Pianissimo, and I’m out.” No matter how bad my mouth tasted, I needed that cigarette. Nicotine addiction was hell.
I watched her walk out of the room. The t-shirt looked better on her than Tomo. Not that I would tell either of them that. No point in giving them ammunition. It was hard enough maintaining that I had lost interest in Shiomi. That it was just my white knight complex at work, but no one believed that.
She returned soon and set a pot of tea and a plate of food in front of me. “Tomo says you smoked all your cigs.” She picked up her pack of Camels and shook one out. “Have one of mine. You paid for them, after all.”
I took one as she poured the tea. We ate, drank the tea, and smoked in silence. I pondered the secrets of the universe. Like why, I had even noticed the lipstick stain and, more importantly, why I was still thinking about it.
When we finished, she asked, “Would you like to hear more of my story?”
I glanced at the time on my phone and then agreed. “I have some time before work. If I don’t get a chance, tell Tomo, I told you to do the dishes and could he please show you where things go.”
“Sure,” she responded and poured us more tea before beginning.
** The Girl with the Kudan (Shiomi POV) **
(Art: “Fukitsu Suzume,” by Mai-sensei)
I stared at the photo Miura-san, my manager, slid across the desk. “Shit,” I thought. It was me and Mikawa at the restaurant. I couldn’t believe Mikawa would do that to me. No, it couldn’t be Mikawa. She had been happy when I promised to stop avoiding her and gave her my private LIME address, so we could communicate.
Taka must have given the photo to management. I don’t know how she’d gotten it, but that seemed most likely. She would do anything to ruin me.
I looked up from the photo at Miura’s round, sweaty face. His wire-frame glasses had slid down his nose, a detail I desperately fastened on. The rest of the room blurred.
He was talking, but I was too numb to understand. Instead, I was floating a foot behind my face, watching a horror film unfold. The meeting had started with him complaining about my drinking and hogging the stage lights. Then he’d sprung the photo on me.
Damn Taka. This must be her doing.
I looked down at the picture and managed to say, “We only had dinner. It won’t happen again.” I had to search for each word before I could say it.
He frowned and looked like I had said something stupid. Puffing up his cheeks, he said, “Did you hear what I said?”
I shook my head, “Sorry, sorry, sir.”
“I said it had better not happen again. If it does, you’ll never work in this industry again. Think about that while you’re on suspension… Blah, blah, blah.”
The words “suspension,” and “never work again,” echoed in my mind. The rest was nothing but noise.
I nodded numbly when he paused.
“Never work again.” How could that be after all I had done to be here? This was my life. For years, this was all I had lived for.
I got up and walked out the door. Behind me, I heard, “Where are you going?” But I kept walking. What was the point? Ever since they had learned I was gay, they’d had it out for me. Even if the suspension didn’t become permanent, they would drag me down eventually. I just couldn’t take it anymore. Taka, Miura, and the toxic people online.
My legs were like rubber, and I had to put one hand on the wall to steady myself. I passed Mega. Her lips said, “I’m so sorry,” but her words made no sense. Taka took one look at me and fled. I didn’t have the energy or will to pursue her. She was just one more jealous bully. There had been so many.
Nothing mattered. It was all gone, sucked into a black void.
Outside, the summer heat assailed me, but it couldn’t thaw the ice that encased my soul. Everything seemed so far away. The buildings across the narrow street were miles away. In the distance, I heard the rumble of traffic from a busy intersection and I stumbled toward it. I had no objective except to get away from the agency and anyone who might come out to question me.
When I reached the intersection, I stood looking at the traffic. The words, “Never work again,” echoed in my mind. I thought about stepping out into the street. I attempted that last fatal step once. Hesitated. Then twice. My life had ended anyway. There was nothing but gray emptiness left. But, each time, my courage failed me.
A voice next to me said, “It would cause people a lot of trouble if you died.”
Turning, I saw a salary man standing there. There was fresh blood on his face and his limbs were mangled. He continued tonelessly, “If you have anything to finish, do it first. You won’t get another chance.”
He tried to smile, revealing broken teeth, then he turned and walked into traffic. Neither he nor the cars paid any attention to each other. Then he was gone.
It was the first time a ghost had spoken to me. Maybe it was because I was so close to death, or because of the despair that filled me. Usually, encountering a ghost filled me with terror, but this time I was numb to those feelings. It could have been Teke Teke and I wouldn’t have cared.
After a while, I let the crowd of people sweep me away, and I wandered aimlessly.
The craving for a cig finally woke me to my surroundings. I was pleased that I had stumbled into a park where there was sure to be a smoking spot. A thick carpet of red maple leaves covered the ground and fog swirled through scattered gnarled trees.
Peering through the fog for where I could smoke, I realized something was off about the park. There were no people. The sound of cars and summer cicadas was absent, replaced by a sighing breeze. I stared at the ankle-deep blanket of leaves and realized that they shouldn’t be there either.
I shrugged. It was too much work to worry about. Nothing mattered. My life was over. Whether I was in Tokyo or this weird place didn’t matter.
A nearby tree looked inviting, and I sank to the ground between its roots and rested.
I had left my makeup kit and purse at the agency, but had cigs in the pocket of my outfit. They were cheap kreteks some stan had given me, not the expensive ones Mikawa always bought. It didn’t matter, anyway. I would just sit here until the earth enveloped me. That thought, along with the soothing clove-laced smoke, quieted my mind, and I drifted off to sleep.
I awoke to an itching sensation. When I tried to move, I found small branches had enveloped me. Looking down, I saw small tendril rootlets had grown from the ground and were climbing my leg. The itching sensation where they dug into my skin had awakened me.
Instead of panicking, I leaned back and fumbled for another cig. My life was meaningless anyway. What did it matter whether I lived out a drab life in the city or served as fertilizer for this tree?
I finally got a cig in my mouth. In the process, I looked out and saw high-top button shoes a meter away. That was unexpected, and I wondered who it might be.
Looking up, I saw they belonged to a schoolgirl in a white sailor suit uniform. Light blue lines accented the collar. It was an old-fashioned sailor fuku, like my grandmother might have worn. The most striking thing about her was her face. Long bangs hung down her forehead, covering where her eyes should have been. The face was entirely blank, an empty white expanse of skin.
As emotionally numb as I was, a shock of fear coursed through me and then subsided. A tree, a youkai girl; what did it matter? If she dragged me off to hell, it couldn’t be worse than the misery I felt.
The girl stood and stared at me, or would have if she had eyes.
Since she made no move to harm me, I looked beyond her and saw that she was leading a reddish-brown cow by a straw rope. Only the cow had a human face with a broad mouth and large brown cow eyes, surrounded by short, curly hair. Even I recognized it was a kudan and knew it was a beast of prophecy.
(Art: “Kudan (件).” by Mai-sensei)
We looked at each other, and I waited. What could it predict except my death?
Eventually, it spoke. “Your time has not come. But she will bring you back. Have the joy of her.”
I was vaguely disappointed that my time hadn’t come, but the kudan was never wrong. Wasn’t that the saying? Then I wondered who the “she” the kudan prophesied was. The faceless girl?
The girl, of course, said nothing. Instead, she came over and pulled the branchlets and rootlets off me. There was a soft sucking noise when she pulled one from my flesh. I didn’t mind the pain. It distracted me from thinking about how I had lost everything. The trees made a soft sighing noise as she removed each rootlet, evoking a sense of pity in me. It at least had a use for me. No one else did.
When she had pulled the last rootlet free, random red spots and stray scarlet drips decorated my legs, but I felt no pain. My legs were numb. I looked with fascination as drips ran down my thigh, painting crimson runes. Bright red against white. Indecipherable writings, laden with meaning.
The sound of crunching leaves disturbed my macabre contemplation. I looked up and saw the girl had picked up the straw rope and was departing with the kudan in tow.
Not having a better plan, I staggered to my feet and followed. My legs refused to cooperate with my desires and I staggered along, barely avoiding tripping over roots that hid in the leaves underfoot. It wasn’t long before I lost the girl in the fog and growing darkness.
Having nothing better to do, I lit a cig and looked around. I stood in a narrow canyon with towering cliffs pierced by numerous caves. Above me, the sky cleared and stars appeared. When I looked down again, I found I was back in the city. The cliffs had become towering buildings, and the caves were windows.
The night was chilly without a coat, so I looked around for somewhere to go. Ahead of me, I spotted the familiar blinking green and blue sign of the Pegasasu Club. It was the bar where I’d drunk Tokyo Mules with that fireball idol. I was beyond being surprised and took my return to the mundane world in stride.
The bar was inviting, and I stepped in. The warm, friendly atmosphere did nothing for me and the highball I ordered failed to touch the cold inside me. I wondered what it would have been like if I could have changed places with that other girl. She had been bursting with energy. I had a hard time picturing that she was ever down.
A second highball did nothing, but when I started on a third, something broke in me and all my misery came rolling up my chest. I had been an idol, and now I was nothing. NOTHING. The lights blurred and the bartender behind the counter became indistinct.
It was in that haze that I heard a husky woman’s voice say, “You’re crying.” I looked up, expecting a ghost, but it was a woman’s face, framed in bleached blonde hair. I touched her face to be sure. Even as drunk as I was, I could tell it was beautiful. Her heavy makeup couldn’t hide its innate loveliness.
She touched my glass and said, “Another highball?”
The next morning, I awoke with a throbbing head and a sour taste in my mouth. I lay and stared stupidly at a yellowing ceiling I didn’t recognize. For a moment, I thought Mikawa had found me and taken me home. The thought made me happy for a second. There was at least someone who cared about me.
I gingerly turned my head and looked at the person next to me. I didn’t recognize the face. “God,” I thought, “If management finds out.” Then it hit me. It didn’t matter what management thought, it was all over.
I got up and tried getting dressed quietly, but the tangle of clothes defeated me and the woman opened her eyes, groaning, “Owww, that hurts.”
Now that I could see her clearly, I vaguely remembered her. She had bought me a drink. Even with the red mark from lying on her face and the smeared makeup, one could see she had a lovely face. When she had been younger, she must have driven men crazy.
“Sorry, sorry,” was all I could manage.
“It’s okay, honey. Mornings hurt.”
She stopped, looked me over carefully, and spoke slowly, “It wasn’t just the booze. You’re a good looker. Waking up to a pretty face always helps.” She stopped for a moment, then continued, “Is it true you lost your job? You were blathering on and on about that as if it was the end of the world.”
“Yeah, they say it’s a suspension, but I don’t think there’s anything I can do to fix it.”
“You were an idol, right?”
“Yeah.” The admission was almost too much, and I was on the verge of breaking down.
“The offer stands then. I can use a looker like you. Pays better than being an idol, too.”
“Offer?” I said stupidly.
“Hostess. I run a hostess club. You can live in the room above the bar till your first paycheck. You seemed pretty tapped out. A pretty girl like you’ll be rolling in it soon.”
As much as death had beckoned me last night, I wasn’t ready to end it. And if I couldn’t be an idol, maybe being a hostess would be as good.
“Sure,” I said and crept back under the covers, blocking out the light.
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Note:
From idol to working in a hostess club. It’s not an uncommon career path. I would wish Shiomi luck with it, but we already know that’s not how it turns out. But what exactly happened? And what next for Shiomi and Ume?
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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