NAORI - PART 1

Long before anything existed in the physical world, there were two gods: Izanagi and Izanami. They came to earth and created the lands, the oceans, and the animals to live on it. One day, the female goddess Izanami insisted to Izanagi, the male god, that they should create something that looked just like them. Thus, they created two babies: Ebisu and Awashima.

However, these children were born malformed. The gods were disgusted by their creation and didn’t want to accept them. They discarded these children, leaving them on earth to live among humans. Later, Ebisu grew into the god of fortune, but Awashima turned into an evil goddess. They both created their own descendants: the descendants of Ebisu became the kami that we pray to, and the descendants of Awashima became the yokai that we know today.

“Grandpa, who is that standing over there?” said a child’s voice, who had been ardently listening to his grandfather narrate the story of Japanese mythology.

The old man looked in the direction his grandkid was pointing. The warm expression on his face faded, and with a stern voice he shouted, “Go away!!!”

In a sudden jolt, his body lurched awake. The old man’s voice had woken him up. Naori Shohei, a 20-year-old guy living in a cramped-up apartment in Tokyo, had just been dreaming about his grandfather. How long had it been since he last saw him?

He sat up straight in his bed, his grandfather’s face still clinging in his mind. Something felt off. A strange, eerie coldness had filled the room that summer morning. A distant but familiar chill ran down his spine.

“Something happened to Grandpa.”

It wasn’t a dreadful thought — he was certain. After all, it wasn’t the first time his sixth sense had told him something that turned out to be true.

“Brr… brr…” sounded the phone when he tried to reach his dad.

There was no one on the other side.

“What about Uncle Yashiro?”

The answer was still the same.

His suspicion was growing stronger. There was no time to waste — he had to leave for his village at once.

He climbed out of his bed and onto the floor. The floor was cold as ice, the air inside the room chilly unlike any other summer morning, as if the 3-meter-wide and 4-meter-long room, fairly lit by the morning sunlight through the big balcony window, had somehow been moved to a different location that particular morning.

He walked the short distance toward the bathroom at the far end of the room. He slid open the bathroom door and walked inside. Inside there was a vanity mirror with a sink under it; on the right, a small bathtub barely large enough for one person; and on the left, the toilet separated by a half wall, with not enough legroom — typical of toilets in any Tokyo apartment.

Taking his shirt off, he washed his face in the sink and stood there in front of the mirror. The teardrop-shaped birthmark in the middle of his chest looked darker than usual. It grabbed his attention for a moment.

“Weird,” he thought.

His hand moved to touch it.

Just then, something moved.

He could swear he caught a glimpse of something through his peripheral vision.

“A… long… tongue?… No… a tail… has to be… right?” he speculated.

Whatever it was seemed to have hidden behind the toilet. His heart was beating fast, his hands trembling subtly but surely.

He peeked through the edges of the side wall, trying to keep as much distance as possible. Nothing in sight. That gave him enough confidence to move in closer and take a look behind the toilet.

Nothing caught his sight this time except an unusual clump of greasy, slimy hair just behind the toilet seat.

Without wasting a moment — without a second thought — he got out of there, grabbed a bag with his valuables, put on his shirt, and left his apartment room. It was his intuition again, something that had gained his keen trust over the years.

A gust of warm air hit him as soon as he stepped outside. He locked the door and walked down the stairs.

While he was leaving his apartment building, he turned back to find his neighbour, the landlady, on her balcony on the first floor. She looked pale. Her usual warm smile was nowhere to be found today. She stood there looking directly at Naori.

He waved at her as usual; however, she didn’t respond to his gesture.

He moved on, not thinking much about it.

About ten minutes later, he reached the bus terminal. The bus arrived on time. He swiped his card, got on, and sat down. The bus continued on its journey.

A trail of smoke rising far in the distance caught everyone’s attention on the bus. Three police cars, one after another, passed by, heading toward the direction of the smoke. The silence inside the bus erupted into loud chatter at the sight, filling the air with unrest.

“Why is the police involved for a fire?” questioned a man sitting in the bus.

“Probably a crime… you know crime rates have been increasing recently,” answered another.

“Strange cases have been occurring these days in Tokyo. Remember that singer’s death? He went inside his hotel room after a concert, and the following night he was found dead. There was no trace of anyone entering or leaving the room,” added another man.

“Not only that — you know, recently a cult has been on the rise. Some people speculate the cult has something to do with his death.”

“What nonsense. That is BS. I don’t buy it. The guy was a famous singer. When a million people love you, there ought to be a hundred who would hate you. It’s nothing but a well-planned murder,” another man disagreed.

All this chatter — though nothing more than nonsense talk to kill time — was filling the mind of young Naori with unrest, who had been eavesdropping on their conversation.

“I hope Uncle Yashiro is fine. He didn’t pick up my call earlier,” Naori thought worriedly.

“Well, that manslut is probably just with a girl right now,” he grinned a little as the thought crossed his mind, as though the worry weighing on him had finally eased.

After a while, the bus left behind the bustling city as the landscape slowly gave way to the beautiful scenic countryside of Japan. Empty narrow roads lined with utility poles and wires, lush green paddy fields on one side of the road. Traditional wooden houses with steep thatched roofs nestled at the foot of a forested hillside. In the distance, lush green hills created a scenic backdrop; white clouds floated lazily in the sky. The summer sun created enchanting vibrant colours across the scenery.

Along the way, the sight of a dagashiya (old Japanese snack store) hit him with a wave of nostalgia. His childhood flashed before his eyes in an instant.

It was around 4 p.m. when the bus came to a stop. It was a curved mountain road with a steep slope on one side and a narrow trail on the other, leading into the mountain forest — the way to his village.

The bus drove off, leaving behind a trail of dust. The sun hung low in the sky, its colour turning a soft orange, indicating the approach of sunset.

He entered the trail: a cobblestone path leading him deeper into the forest, shrubs and bushes on either side. In a few minutes, the forest grew thicker, tall cedar trees covering the entire area. The sun sank deeper into the sky; the sunlight creeping through the dense forest created a contrast of dark and light on the moss-infested cobblestone path that led him through the dense woods toward his village — where his family’s uncertain fate awaited him.

An old, worn-down Japanese shrine could be seen far off in the distance, lying almost parallel to where he was standing, its greyscale entrance nearly concealed by the trees.

“Could anybody be living there?” The thought crossed his mind.

A grumble came from his stomach.

“Oh… yeah. I haven’t had anything this entire day. Better hurry and reach home. I hope my intuition is wrong this time… and Grandpa is safe.”

The sun was starting to set. Whatever light that had crept through the trees was almost gone. A sense of fatigue began to overcome his body. An eerie silence engulfed the entire forest. With each step he took, a strange numbness began to overtake his legs; his steps grew heavier in a slow creep.

As these events unfolded, a faint, pungent, rotting smell drifted in from afar.

One step — the numbness grew.

Another — the smell drew closer.

A feeling crept over him, as if somebody were tailing him… someone light, almost weightless.

The cobblestone path that had kept him company all this time seemed endless.

“Coooome… heeere…”

A faint, almost imagined voice rang in his ear.

“…To… me… I… will… help… you… you just have to…”

That sounded like an old woman’s voice.

His eyes darted around, scanning the area. A faint silhouette of an old woman stood further down, catching his eye. The pungent smell drew closer and closer; something was carrying it.

He looked behind him for a moment.

“…W-what… is… t-that…?” he stammered, his voice trembling as his eyes gazed in disbelief at the thing —

A fog- or cloud-like shapeless entity gliding across the trees, slithering from tree to tree like a snake. Somehow he could make out a faint face in that cloud — an old man’s face, perhaps. Wrinkled skin. A mouth with pointy teeth. Fog that took the form of hands reaching for him. That was where the smell was coming from — no doubt.

He sprinted down the path.

The old lady still stood there.

“Come… to… meeee,” she said again.

“I will help you… you… just… have to…”

The last line sounded somewhat sinister this time.

He was almost at arm’s reach from her when he stopped in his tracks.

She was standing with her back facing him.

“Please help me,” she cried.

He looked at her. She was dressed in a completely white garment that contrasted the darkness. But when his eyes dropped to her feet, his breath caught — they weren’t standing on the cobblestone path.

They were sinking into it.

“GIVE… ME… YOUR… BODY!”

Saying that, she turned around to face him.

As she turned, he froze — one-eyed, wrinkled, a wide, sinister smile spreading across her face.

He ran — this time off the path and into the forest.

“No… don’t go… I want to see my son!” she wept, standing at the edge of the path, her feet planted as if she were bound to it.

“What… is happening… I can’t take this anymore!” he cried, running deeper and deeper into the woods, the shapeless fog-like entity still chasing after him.

His foot caught on something, and he fell hard onto the forest floor. As he turned back, the entity surged toward him, its misty hands stretching out.

“AGHHHHHHH!” he shouted, throwing his hands over his face as if that could drive it away.

Nothing happened for a moment.

Then, slowly, he opened his eyes and lowered his hands.

The entity was gone.

Everything fell silent — the woman’s voice was gone, the numbness and fatigue had vanished. The forest was still again.

Everything seemed… normal.

Then he felt it — the unmistakable sense of someone standing behind him.

Who could it be this time?

Friend… or foe?