The Second Visit

The next morning, I woke up with a blanket draped over my shoulders.

Not mine.

It was a thin, checkered one. Smelled faintly of fabric softener and city air. I blinked sleep from my eyes and sat up slowly, the sounds of rain replaced by birdsong and the distant groan of old wood expanding in the sun. Someone had tucked me in during the night. Or at least, after I’d fallen asleep.

My ears twitched.

I hadn’t imagined her, then. The woman from the rain. Shiori.

I stood, stretched, and adjusted my shirt. It still hung loose on my shoulders, but I’d gotten used to it. My tail gave a sleepy swish behind me.

She came back.

Or… she planned to. And she'd left a blanket, like some kind of awkward offering.

I picked it up and held it close for a moment. It was warm from the sun, or maybe just warm because someone had cared enough to leave it here. I wasn’t sure which.

The shrine creaked as I stepped out onto the engawa, the worn wood cool under my bare feet. The trees rustled lazily in the breeze. I sat down and waited.

It didn’t take long.

By late morning, I heard the soft crunch of shoes on the overgrown path. My ears perked. Moments later, a familiar silhouette appeared beyond the torii gate—hair tied back in a low ponytail, holding a small grocery bag in one hand.

Shiori.

“Good morning,” she called, almost hesitantly.

I nodded regally from the steps. “You remembered the food.”

She held up the bag. “And it’s not tofu.”

“…You may approach.”

She laughed under her breath and walked up to the shrine. She was dressed more casually today—loose jeans, a hoodie zipped halfway up. Her shoes squelched slightly with each step; the ground hadn’t dried completely from yesterday’s downpour.

“I brought some things,” she said as she knelt and opened the bag. “A thermos of miso soup, rice balls that aren’t crushed, and… um, some fried chicken.”

I leaned in. The scent alone was enough to make my mouth water.

Shiori unpacked it all on a faded cloth she spread across the steps. I watched like a suspicious cat while she unscrewed the thermos lid and poured steaming soup into the cap. The scent wrapped around me like a warm blanket.

“Eat up,” she said.

I didn’t need to be told twice.

The first bite of the rice ball made my toes curl. The fried chicken was crunchy and hot and oily in the best way. I tried to maintain my dignity while eating, but I think I made some very un-spirit-like noises.

“You really haven’t had anything in a while, huh?” she asked gently.

“Decades,” I said between bites. “Offerings stopped coming before the cherry tree died.”

Shiori looked around. “There was a cherry tree?”

I nodded toward the stump beside the altar. “Big one. It used to bloom like a cloud every spring. People would come just to see it.”

“…I’m sorry.”

I shrugged and slurped my soup. “Not your fault.”

There was a pause. Then:

“You know,” she said, “if you ever want to leave here… I mean, just for a bit—I could show you the town.”

I stared at her over the rim of the soup cup. “…The town?”

She smiled. “It’s not much. One convenience store, a bathhouse, and about ten vending machines. But it’s something.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Machines don’t interest me.”

“There’s pudding.”

My ears twitched.

“…Pudding?”

“Custard. Sweet. Comes in little plastic cups.”

My tail gave me away, flicking once with curiosity.

“I suppose,” I said carefully, “as shrine guardian, I must investigate any strange food items in the surrounding region. For safety.”

“Of course.”

She smiled again. A small, real one.

I didn’t understand this woman. She smiled like someone who hadn’t in a while.

Before we prepared to leave, Shiori insisted that I wear shoes.

“You’ll get blisters,” she said.

“I’m a spirit. I’ve walked barefoot for centuries.”

She gave me a look. “And your feet are filthy. Come on.”

So I found myself wearing an old pair of sandals she’d brought, probably her old ones. They were slightly too big, but I tried not to wobble.

She also brought a jacket, a plain one in a soft cream color. I glared at it.

“I have a shirt.”

“Your shirt has a hole the size of Mount Fuji in the back.”

“It’s air conditioning.”

She ignored me and helped me into the jacket anyway.

We walked down the hill together. The path had changed since I last followed it—roots breaking through old stone, moss covering half the trail. Still, it was familiar in that dreamlike way. Shiori carried her umbrella even though the sky was clear. “Just in case,” she said.

When the shrine was out of sight, I felt a strange twinge in my chest. Like I was stepping out of a memory and into something unknown.

We reached the edge of the village.

Everything smelled… different. Cleaner. But in an artificial way. Plastic and asphalt and electricity. My nose wrinkled.

“There it is,” Shiori said, pointing. “The konbini.”

It had a green and white sign, glass windows, and a little bell that jingled when we stepped inside. Cold air blasted my face. I flinched.

“Magic!” I hissed.

“Air conditioning.”

“I hate it.”

Shiori laughed. “You’ll get used to it.”

The store was small, but filled with wonders. Bright lights. Shiny wrappers. A strange humming noise from every corner. And a wall—an actual wall—of drinks in glowing boxes.

“What… is all this?” I whispered.

“Snacks. Drinks. Convenience.”

I tiptoed past the shelves, sniffing the air. Curry bread. Sweet milk buns. Something pickled. A little machine near the entrance played a cheerful jingle.

“Don’t touch that,” Shiori warned. “It’s a ticket printer. You’ll summon receipts.”

I immediately stepped back.

We spent far too long there. I picked up a pack of strawberry gummies, shook them next to my ear, and demanded to know if the little berries inside were real. Shiori tried explaining, but I wasn’t convinced.

Then I saw it.

A small refrigerator filled with tiny cups. Labels written in cheerful fonts. Pudding.

I pressed my face to the glass.

“That’s it?”

She nodded. “That’s it.”

I pointed. “I want three.”

“You’ll get a stomachache.”

“I’m a spirit. I’ve had curses stronger than dairy.”

She bought me two. I sulked the entire walk to the register.

Outside, we sat on a bench beneath a crooked vending machine. I opened the pudding with reverence. Shiori watched as I took the first spoonful.

It was smooth.

It was sweet.

It was holy.

I sat there for a long moment, letting the flavor melt over my tongue.

“…Shiori.”

“Yes?”

“I think I finally understand modern religion.”

She laughed so hard she nearly dropped her bottled tea.

We stayed there until the sun started tilting westward. Then she stood, brushed off her pants, and offered a hand to me.

“Ready to go back?”

I looked up at her, the last light catching in her hair like fire.

“…Yes,” I said.

And I realized I wasn’t just returning to the shrine.

I was returning home.