Where You Come From

They need not know his true name. But that did not matter. They would give him the name that suited him.. While those close to him whispered him as the Historian, the other spirits in Osaka knew him by another name: The King of Ghosts.

Hitode got up, mostly charred and slightly bruised. Beneath him, Hitomi was only minorly singed while heavily bruised. She tried to get up but nearly collapsed from a twinging ankle. Looking down, it wasn’t purple or swollen, but looking up, the way was blocked.

“How do we get out?” she asked.

“We don’t,” said Hitode. “We move forward.

The air had changed around him. There was an air of anger about him, and a hollow glint in his eyes.

He walked ahead to the only path left for them. Hitomi tried to get up.

“Won’t you wait for me?’ she called out.

“Follow me or don’t.” he said grimly, his back more burn than skin.

Hitomi grimaced and forced herself to her feet. “I’ll follow you.”

The way is damp, with a slight stream of water flowing down from the path. The tunnel was unnaturally smooth, with a mossy slick sprouting out from the stone. They were deep where the sea and earth intermingled.

“Your nose is still bleeding.”

“That’s because I’m still remembering.”

“What are you seeing?”

“Nothing I would wish to share with any soul, good or bad.”

He felt the sting rise from his nose to his eyes and then to the back of his skull. It was far too loud.

“Do you remember where our house is?” asked his mother, face obscured by a glare.

She was leading him across a beach, towards a hill in the forest.

“Don’t ever forget where you came from.” said his father, face blocked by a knife.

He stabbed him in the chest.

Hitode collapsed on the stone.

“Hitode!” Hitomi rushed to his side, only to be pushed away.

He ran his fingers long the moss till his nail scratched bare limestone. As he traced it, he could feel it was raised two inches off the ground and shaped in a large rectangle. Engraved upon it were names, scratched on with a sharp rock.

“Mommy? Daddy?’ He pressed his head deep against the stone.

“Are those your parents?” asked Hitomi.

He nodded softly.. Hitomi stepped back to let him speak.

“I’m sorry I don’t remember what you look like.” he whimpered. “Or even what you sounded like. I just remember you were warm. But they weren't warm with me.”

“Let me help you with that.”

A voice called from down the hall. Suddenly, a floating fire was ignited.

“Hello, Hitode.”

Out from the shadows stepped a familiar fishmonger, battered and bruised.

“Kenichi?” asked Hitode.

“Yeah,” the fishmonger smiled. “It’s me.”

“How did you get down here?” asked Hitomi.

“There’s a pathway just up ahead. A few yokai tried to jump me in the shop, but I managed to fight them off.”

He showed off his bloody knife.

“Anyway, are you alright?” He tried to go close to Hitode. Hitode flinched.

“What’s wrong?” asked Kenichi. He looked down at the spike swinging from his belt. “The blood’s from the other guy, don’t worry.”

Hitode shook his head. “I’m not, my head just…hurts a bit.”

“Here, then let me.”

Hitode drew his knife. “Please don’t come any closer.”

The pain was right and the top of his head, where the flesh was soft and swollen. A small trickle of blood began to pour from a wound in his forehead.

“Are you remembering something?” asked Kenichi, stepping forward again. This time

Hitomi stood in his way.

“He said don’t come any closer.”
“He’s also bleeding out of his forehead. Please…let me help him.”

Reluctantly, she moved out of the way.

Hitode stopped struggling as Kenichi approached, letting himself relax in the man’s arms. Kenichi rubbed the spot on Hitode’s forehead.

“Does that feel better?”

Hitode shook his head.

“Are you remembering how many times I stabbed you. Can you still count it?”

Hitode shook his head.

“It always made it easier for me to like you.” Kenichi whispered to Hitode. “I’ll make it all better now.”

“That’s where you got it wrong.” smiled Hitode back. “He always did it for my sake.”

Kenichi’s face suddenly disappeared, replaced by white fur and a vulpine face, all covered with white crystals..

“A kitsune!?” said a surprised Hitomi.

“Kenichi used to always get pissed when I’d raid the salt in his cabinet,” said Hitode. “I’m so glad I took the rest of it out.”

“I’ll count the grains, just you wait. You’re in no condition to fight me.”

Hitode clambered unsteadily to his feet. “Doesn’t matter. There are two of us.”

Hitomi thrust her pocket mirror into the kitsune, binding it within the glass’s reflection.

“Pass it over!”

Hitode then took the mirror, and crushed it against the wall, obliterating any reflection and creature within.

“I feel a lot better after that.” said an exhausted Hitode.

“How did you know I had a mirror on me?’

“I just trusted you,” said Hitode.

Hitomi nodded.

“What’s a kitsune doing all the way down here?”

“Mischief, most likely.”

“But why did it look like…”

“It won’t matter when I figure this out. Come on.”

Before they moved along, Hitomi rummaged through the mirror’s remnants, finding a somewhat familiar style of letter beneath the kitsune’s clothes.

His nose was still dripping blood, but he managed to keep moving upright without breaking anything. The hallway began to change too. It grew narrower and narrower, with the humidity and the moss growing much higher, becoming almost like the villi of the cave system. It was moist with a sort of saliva..

Silhouettes began to take shape on the wall, like how a spider leaves its prey in a cocoon.

“Are these…all the yokai you’ve eaten?”

“I…I don’t know.I just know sometimes parts of me fall off.”

“We’re getting nearer,” coughed Hitode.

As they closed to the end of the line, there was a familiar equine silhouette.

“Is that…Daniel?”

Hitomi cut a bit of her hair for a fire, filling the room with the scent of burning hair and light.

But there was no horse man in sight.

Placed into the wall was not a horse but a body cavity, lodged straight into the wall, creating a snout.

And placed gently within the ribcage was a familiar human head.

Hitode screamed.

“KENICHIIII”

There was a young man who had run away in the middle of a heavy rain. His face stung from his father’s hand. His ears rang from his mother’s voice. He hid, letting the rain chill him while he sat under the faint protection of a tree.

“What’s wrong?” a voice called out to him. There was a homeless man sitting beside him where he had not seen him before.

“Where did you-”

“This is my spot for crying too. I like to cry when it rains because it makes me feel so clean.”

“I’m not crying.”

“Just taking a bath then?” said the homeless man. “You probably shouldn’t be holding on to so many things while you’re at it.”

“I’m not taking a bath either. I’m just…running away.”

“Running away from what?”

“My stupid family. All I want is a toy or a game but all I got was a stupid set of sharp pointy metal. I already smell like fish. I already feel so different. Why do I have to be so different?”

“I like to think people who are different are the ones who are needed.” said the homeless man. “What if you’re just special?”

“I don’t want to be special. I just want to be normal.”

“You can be a special kind of normal.” He reached out a hand. “May I borrow this?”

Unfurling the bag, he revealed a set of shining silvery knives and rods, all honed and hardened to perfection.

The homeless man picked out the Gyuto. “I think your parents see you like this, when really, you’re more like–” He suddenly slammed the knife bag shut. “You don’t need me to tell you. Do you get it?”

“Not really.” shook the young man’s head.

“Whatever knife you pick up, you can carve your own toys and your own games. Or you don’t even need the knives.”

“They say it’s part of my legacy. My dad got mad when I told him it wasn’t for me.”

“It is for you. But you know, you get to choose what you do with it. That is all you have to do in your limited time.”

The young man looked down at the knives.

“What’s your purpose then?”

“To teach mercy, I guess?”

He looked at the homeless man looking up at the wistful gray sky. Time seemed to move strangely for him then, as though this would be burned into his mind for the rest of his life.

“Will you grant me mercy?” the homeless asked, grabbing the metal spike from the kit of knives.

“Please, mercy. Make me forget. Make it stop.” Hitode was on his knees before Hitomi,

eyes dripping bloody tears. “I don’t. I can’t” He placed the spike in her hand. “I’m not strong enough for this. Make me forget.”

Hitomi placed the spike on his head for a moment, trembling. Then she pulled away.

“I’m not strong enough either.”

“Please-”

She thrust it into his chest instead.

He collapsed backwards, struggling to breathe, all the while he laid by a crumpled letter.

“Don’t forget where you came from.”