Chapter 3: Creepy Guy

The next morning felt like a gift, a rare slice of normalcy after days of unease. I woke to Rika sprawled across her favorite spot on the couch, her belly full of cat food, her green eyes half-closed in lazy contentment. 

The apartment was quiet, the sunlight streaming through the windows, painting the room in soft golds and greens. No raccoon, no paper knives, no lingering sense of being watched. Just a normal day. I clung to that thought like a lifeline.

“No raccoon today,” I whispered to myself as I grabbed my bag, casting a glance at Rika. “It’s a normal day, right? No raccoon, no weirdness.” Rika flicked her tail, unimpressed, as if to say I was being dramatic. 

I gave her a quick scratch behind the ears and headed out, repeating my mantra under my breath. “No raccoon. No raccoon.”

The city greeted me with its usual vibrancy. Rivers wound through the streets, their surfaces glinting under the morning sun, where ducks paddled in lazy circles. 

The air was crisp, carrying the earthy scent of the artificial habitats that dotted the city lush, green spaces designed to keep the animals thriving. Birds sang from the treetops, their melodies weaving through the hum of the energy towers. 

I let myself relax, soaking in the beauty of it all. This place had changed so much since I was a kid. Back then, the air was heavier, the streets dirtier, the balance between humans and animals less certain. 

Now, a decade later, it was a marvel, a city where nature and technology danced together. I could almost forget the raccoon, the paper knife, the creeping dread that had haunted me.

School was uneventful, a blur of lectures and whispers from classmates I barely acknowledged. For once, I didn’t feel like I was waiting for something to go wrong. 

When the final bell rang, I headed home, my steps lighter than they’d been in days. “No raccoon,” I muttered, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Told you, Ayumi. Normal day.”

But as I turned onto that street the one where I’d first seen the raccoon my heart gave a little lurch. I slowed my pace, my eyes scanning the pavement, the alleys, the shadows. Nothing. 

Just the usual city bustle: a fox darting across the road, a group of pigeons pecking at crumbs. I let out a breath. “No raccoon,” I said, louder this time, as if saying it would make it true.

Then I saw it..... 

The raccoon was back, crouched near a lamppost, its paper knife clutched in its paws. But it wasn’t alone. Standing beside it was a guy, maybe my age, with messy dark hair and a lanky frame. 

He was holding a magazine, flipping through it with the raccoon peering over his shoulder, its tiny head tilted as if it were actually reading. 

From a distance, I couldn’t make out what the magazine was, but the two of them seemed engrossed, the raccoon’s tail twitching with interest. They looked… happy, almost like friends sharing a secret. 

A pang of something unfamiliar hit me jealousy, maybe? No, that was ridiculous. But watching them, so at ease, stirred something in me. Curiosity, or maybe just relief at seeing the raccoon distracted.

I edged closer, my sneakers silent against the pavement. The racoon’s paper knife glinted in the sunlight, but it wasn’t pointed at me this time. 

The guy was talking to the raccoon, his voice low, too quiet for me to catch the words. I don’t know what possessed me maybe it was the normalcy of the day, or maybe I was just tired of being afraid but I stepped forward and snatched the magazine from his hands before I could think better of it.

My eyes widened as I glanced at the cover. “This is… an adult magazine?!” I blurted, my face flushing with a mix of shock and disgust. 

The glossy pages were filled with images that made my stomach churn scantily clad models, suggestive poses, the kind of thing you’d expect to find hidden under a mattress, not brandished in the middle of the street with a raccoon.

The guy’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. The raccoon froze, its paper knife raised slightly, as if it, too, was offended by my interruption. “Who are you?” the guy demanded, his voice sharp but tinged with embarrassment. 

His cheeks were pink, but his expression was defiant, like he was daring me to judge him.“Creepy! Disgusting!” I shot back, my voice louder than I intended. 

I waved the magazine at him, my face twisted in a scowl. For a moment, I forgot how much I hated talking to people, forgot the knot of anxiety that usually tied my tongue. I was too pissed off to care.

The guy’s expression shifted, his anger giving way to something else amusement, maybe? The raccoon, meanwhile, darted behind a trash can, its paper knife still in its paws, watching me with those unnerving eyes. 

The guy shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to play it cool, but I could see the flush creeping up his neck. “I-I gotta go. Bye!” he stammered, turning to leave.

“Oh no you don’t!” I grabbed his shoulder before he could slip away, my grip firmer than I expected. “Nah, nah, nah, perverted guy, you can’t just escape!” The words tumbled out, bold and reckless, and for a split second, 

I felt like someone else someone who wasn’t afraid of confrontation, who didn’t shrink from strangers. Then it hit me. I was talking to someone. A stranger. 

My cheeks burned, and I let go of his shoulder like it was on fire. “O-oh, sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean that,” I mumbled, my confidence evaporating. I stared at the ground, my heart racing, wishing I could sink into the pavement. 

What was wrong with me? I didn’t do this. I didn’t talk to people, let alone yell at them.The guy turned back, his expression softening. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice calmer now, almost gentle. 

But there was something in his eyes, a glint that reminded me of the raccoon’s stare like he’d sensed my sudden vulnerability and was sizing me up. 

The raccoon peeked out from behind the trash can, its paper knife glinting, as if it, too, had caught the shift in the air. The moment felt charged, like I’d stumbled into something bigger than a chance encounter.

I shoved the magazine back at him, my hands trembling slightly. “Just… don’t read this kind of stuff in public, okay? It’s weird. And creepy.” My voice was quieter now, but I held his gaze, trying to salvage some of my earlier bravado.

He took the magazine, tucking it under his arm with a sheepish grin. “Yeah, my bad. Won’t happen again. I’m, uh, gonna go now.” He gave a small wave, then turned and walked away, his steps quick but not rushed. 

The raccoon watched him go, then turned its gaze back to me, its eyes unreadable. For a moment, I thought it might follow me again, but it just chirped softly and scampered off in the opposite direction, its paper knife bouncing in its paws.

I stood there, alone in the street, my heart still pounding. “What did I just do?” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. I’d talked to someone. Yelled at them, even. 

And I hadn’t completely fallen apart. It was a small victory, but it felt huge, like a crack in the walls I’d built around myself. As I continued home, the city’s beauty felt sharper, more vivid. 

The rivers sparkled, the birds sang louder, and the scent of the habitats filled my lungs. But beneath it all, questions gnawed at me. 

Who was that guy? Why was he showing an adult magazine to a raccoon, of all things? And why did the raccoon seem so… invested? The paper knife was another piece of the puzzle, a thread connecting the raccoon’s strange behavior to something or someone else.

When I reached my apartment, I locked the door behind me and sank onto the couch beside Rika. She stretched, her claws kneading the cushion, and gave me a look that felt oddly judgmental. 

“Don’t start,” I said, scratching her chin. “I talked to someone today. That’s progress, okay?” But as I sat there, the magazine incident replayed in my mind, and so did the raccoon’s stare. 

The guy’s quick exit, the raccoon’s retreat it all felt too neat, like a performance that ended the moment I called it out. And then there was the paper knife, the one I’d found on my steps the night before, still tucked in my bag. 

I pulled it out, turning it over in my hands. Its intricate folds, the tiny cuts along the edges it wasn’t just a random craft. Someone had made it with care, with purpose.

I glanced at the window, half-expecting to see the raccoon staring back. The glass was empty, the street beyond quiet. But the unease was back, stronger now, whispering that this wasn’t over. 

The raccoon, the guy, the paper knives they were connected, and I was caught in the middle of something I didn’t understand. Tomorrow, I’d be ready. 

I’d watch the streets, the shadows, the animals. Because normal days were over, and whatever came next, I had a feeling it wouldn’t be as simple as a creepy guy and his raccoon.

To be continued…