The Hungry Choir Act I – The Song Begins Chapter 2 – Katakana’s Life

Act II – Katakana’s Life

The morning sun pierced the cracks of the shutters, painting jagged stripes across the wooden floor. Katakana’s eyes blinked against the harsh light, his body stiff from a night spent half-awake, haunted by the echo of that hum, the choir’s song that lingered even after sleep fled him.

His younger brother was already moving about the small room, gathering scraps of bread from a chipped bowl. “Did you sleep well?” Katakana asked, though he knew the answer already. Sleep had fled him entirely.

“I dreamed of the river,” his brother said, brushing crumbs from his hands. “It was calm this time.” His smile was small, fragile, but it lit a spark in the gloom that clung to the town like fog.

Katakana crouched beside him, adjusting the quilt around his shoulders. He wanted to laugh, to tell him that dreams didn’t matter. But the memory of the hum made his throat tighten. “That’s good,” he said softly. “Maybe today will be a good day.”

The streets were eerily quiet. Cobblestones glistened from a recent rain, but no one ventured outside yet. Windows were shuttered. Smoke drifted lazily from chimneys, faint and gray. Even the wind seemed hesitant, stirring only when it could not be avoided.

“Why does the town feel so… silent?” his younger sister asked, tugging at his sleeve.

Katakana’s stomach twisted. He wanted to give a comforting answer, but no lie could make the tension disappear. “Old habits,” he said finally. “The town has… stories. Too many stories.”

He remembered the whispers: children chosen, swallowed by the Choir, erased as if they’d never lived. Parents who stared at empty rooms, wondering why their children’s names no longer existed in conversation or memory. And the hum, the ever present hum, like the breath of some unseen creature, waiting.

Katakana and his siblings walked toward the river at the edge of town, the stones slick beneath their sandals. The water reflected the pale morning light, turning it into a silvered ribbon that curved lazily around the bend. His brother skipped stones across the surface, counting each splash with careless delight, breaking the tension for a few fleeting moments.

Katakana smiled, genuine this time, though it felt fragile. In the small comfort of his siblings’ laughter, he could almost believe that life wasn’t completely governed by shadows.

But even as he watched, he felt it, the subtle unease that clung like a second skin. Windows along the narrow streets shuttered too quickly when people passed. Doors closed with a soft click, though no one had touched them. And beneath it all, almost imperceptible, was that hum again.

He stopped and pressed a hand to his chest. His heartbeat thudded like a drum in the silence. The sound wasn’t just in his head. He could feel it vibrating in his bones, a low, insistent call, like fingers running along the spine of the world itself.

He shook his head, forcing the sensation away. “Don’t think about it,” he whispered. “It’s just nerves.”

But the day wouldn’t let him forget.

By midday, the town began stirring. Market stalls creaked under the weight of vegetables and grain. Villagers spoke in hushed tones, glancing nervously at the square where the Choosing would take place. Even here, in the mundane rhythm of daily life, fear lingered.

Katakana’s younger sister tugged at him. “Let’s go to the hill,” she said, her eyes bright. “We can see everything from there.”

Reluctantly, Katakana followed. They climbed the slope, the town spreading beneath them like a fragile diorama. Roofs leaned at odd angles. Smoke drifted lazily from chimneys. And above it all, the sky was pale, gray, heavy with clouds that threatened rain, or worse.

Katakana felt the weight of eyes, though no one was there. A prickle ran down his spine. The hum was back, faint, as if mocking him, reminding him that this calm was temporary.

He knelt by his siblings, brushing their hair from their faces. “Promise me something,” he said, voice low. “Promise me you won’t wander alone, not today. Not while the town… acts like it’s safe.”

They nodded, small, solemn gestures. But even as they smiled, Katakana felt the creeping dread beneath the gestures. Something was stirring in the heart of the town, patient, inevitable, hungry. And soon, he knew, it would reach for them.

Katakana squeezed their hands. He wanted to protect them. But deep in his chest, a cold certainty had settled: the Choir had marked the town.

And this time, it would not take only one.