Shadow Of The Day

The heavy wooden door of the establishment gave way with a familiar creak as the young boy stepped inside. It was a ritual he’d performed plenty of times before, moving with a confidence that didn't quite match his age.

“Welcome to—Eiji?”

The man behind the bar caught himself, his brow furrowing as he clocked the kid waltzing into his shop this late at night.

“Yo, Hayato,” Eiji greeted. He strolled up to the counter, his tone as casual as if he were greeting a classmate rather than a man twenty years his senior.

Hayato, the master of the house, couldn’t help but let out a dry chuckle. He tossed a white towel over his shoulder in that practiced, effortless bartender fashion.

“‘Yo,’ he says...” With a weary sigh, Hayato jabbed a finger toward the antique analog clock mounted on the wall to his left. “Listen, pal, there are more hours on that clock than you’ve got years in this world. You know what time it is?”

Eiji didn't offer so much as a shrug of apology. He just hopped onto one of the high stools, his feet dangling.

The bar, aptly named Dream, had a distinct Gothic soul. Low, amber lighting clung to the dark brown leather seats and polished wooden flooring. The only real splash of modern color came from a striking purple LED sign reflecting off the glass panes behind the counter, casting a moody glow over the rows of spirits.

Searching through his pockets like a broke college student who’d just scraped together rent, Eiji fished out a meager handful of coins. He slid them across the wood with a smirk.

“One juice, please.”

“Fine. One juice, and then I’m dragging you home myself,” Hayato grumbled, though he was already reaching for a glass.

Their friendship was an oddity, sure, but it was real. Eiji had started coming here after his sister’s boyfriend, Asahi, had introduced them, and it hadn't taken long for the boy to start showing up on his own. For a kid with no friends his age, Dream was the only place he could truly let his guard down. It was a sanctuary where he didn't have to sit alone in his room or endure the unnerving, silent stares of those translucent figures that haunted the night streets.

Deep down, Hayato didn't mind the company. His protests were mostly a performance—usually reserved for the terrifying possibility of Eiji’s sister, Hifumi, barging in to catch them. Despite being years older, Hayato was deathly afraid of her.

Haraguchi Hayato was the picture of a professional. He kept his long brown hair tied back in a neat bun, sporting a light stubble that gave him that "charming man in his thirties" look. He was always dressed in a crisp white shirt, a black bowtie, and matching dress pants—the "shop code," as he called it.

“So,” Hayato asked, leaning in as he poured the juice. “What’s with the face this time?”

Eiji gingerly touched one of the Band-Aids. “Long story…”

“Hayato… where do these go?”

A voice drifted from the back of the shop. A man emerged from the storage room, or rather, a crate emerged with a man's legs shaking beneath it. His knees were wobbling violently, his thin arms straining against the weight of the load.

“Oh, just put them down before—”

CRASH.

The sound of wood hitting floorboards echoed through the quiet bar. Gravity had claimed another victim.

“—you fall,” Hayato finished with a heavy sigh.

Snack packages scattered across the floor like colorful confetti. Hayato looked at the mess, then at his employee, then back at the mess. It was a lucky thing Eiji was the only customer in the building to witness the catastrophe.

Luckily, the bags were airtight; the mess was just a matter of organization rather than a mop-up job. Eiji hopped off his stool, picked up a stray bag, and squinted at the label.

“Mixed nuts?”

“Don't even think about it,” Hayato pointed out, extending a hand across the counter. “No matter how nice you ask, you're only getting the juice.”

What is it with everyone being so strict today? Eiji wondered, handing the bag over.

Beside him, the fallen soldier on the floor let out a pitiful groan. “Ow…”

“Who’s this guy, anyway?” Eiji asked, looking down at the heap of thin limbs and dirty-blonde hair.

“Oh, right. I haven’t introduced you.” Hayato cleared his throat, regained his barkeep persona. “This is Ueno Shigeru. The newest employee.”

“Hehe… nice to meet you.” The man’s pained expression vanished instantly, replaced by a goofy, lopsided grin.

It was a bit weird. Shigeru didn't seem to find it odd at all that an eleven-year-old was lounging at a bar past midnight. He just accepted it with an aloofness that felt almost supernatural. His hair was a messy, faded blonde that turned brown at the roots, looking like a DIY dye job that had long since given up. He was wearing the same uniform as Hayato, though on his skeletal frame, it looked three sizes too big.

Eiji looked at the empty bar, then back at the man on the floor. “With hardly any customers, can you really afford an employee…?”

Hayato took a physical step back, looking offended. “Wow, since when did this kid start making sense?!”

“Eiji-kun is smart…” Shigeru chimed in, still sprawled out like a sleepy cat.

“Look, we get plenty of customers, it’s just too early for the rush, okay?” Hayato huffed, turning back to polish a glass. “And you… get to cleaning, will you?”

“R-roger…” Reluctantly, Shigeru began gathering the scattered packages.

Hayato leaned over the counter, beckoning Eiji closer for a whisper. “Listen… I kept seeing the guy roaming the streets and sleeping on park benches. I figured I’d let him stay here in exchange for some light work. It’s not much, but it’s better than leaving him out there.”

Eiji glanced at the man currently struggling with a bag of peanuts. “Is it okay to trust a stranger like that?”

“He’s a good guy,” Hayato insisted. “I’ve asked around. The neighborhood says he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“If you say so…”

“Mhmm… these mixed nuts are incredible.”

They both turned. Shigeru was squirming in pure delight, happily munching on a handful of the stock he was supposed to be cleaning up.

“I told you to put them in the crate, not eat the profits, for fuck’s sake!” Hayato roared.

Eiji watched the chaos with a faint smile, trying to decide if Shigeru was genuinely stupid, perpetually drunk, or just operating on a completely different frequency than the rest of the world.

⌁◉⌁

The time to head home drew near, and while Hayato had insisted that Shigeru escort the kid back, the "new hire" had already managed to fall asleep in the backroom. The possibility of an escort was nulled by a chorus of thin, whistling snores.

So, Eiji set off into the night alone. It wasn't anything new.

Tonight was actually lively, Eiji thought, a small smile tugging at his lips as he recalled the constant bickering between the two men. Deep down, he felt it—everything was just more exciting after the sun went down. The colors were sharper, the air was cooler, and the world felt like it was holding a secret.

As he skirted the edge of the park, his gaze drifted to the figures. They were still there, as immovable as statues, standing by the side of the road like translucent sentinels.

Why don’t they ever move? He wondered if they were like the spirits the two onmyouji brothers fought in his anime. But those were usually roaring demons; these things just… existed.

He was so lost in thought that he almost missed the shadow stretching across the asphalt, unnaturally long despite the angle of the streetlamps.

“Eh?”

Eiji skidded to a halt. Standing beneath a flickering light was a figure that made the hair on his arms stand up like needles.

It was tall—too tall for a man—draped in a heavy, tattered cloak that might have once been a vibrant crimson, but now looked like dried, clotted blood. A pale, cracked porcelain mask hid its face, the frozen grin of a hannya staring back at him. Beneath the hem of the cloak, the "flesh" of its ankles was a sickly, translucent grey, peeling back in wet strips like rotted parchment.

The thing’s neck snapped to the side with a sickening, wet crack. It didn't have eyes behind the mask, just hollow, weeping pits that seemed to fixate on Eiji’s very soul.

As it took a staggering, jerky step forward, its hand—long, grey, and tipped with blackened nails—reached out from the red folds. A sound escaped the mask. It wasn't a roar. It was a raspy, pressurized wheeze that forced itself into a single, suffocating word.

“...Red… or blue?”

Eiji’s blood turned to ice. He didn’t wait for a second word. The air around the Aka Manto felt thick, like he was trying to breathe through a wet cloth. He turned tail and bolted, his sneakers slapping the pavement in a desperate, panicked rhythm.

“AAAAH!”

He didn’t look back. He couldn't. The sound of that heavy, dragging cloak seemed to whisper right behind his ears, even as he put distance between them. What is that thing?! He’d seen the silent "others" before, the ones who just stood there like cardboard cutouts, but this was different. It was a rotting, vocal nightmare.

He reached his apartment building in a blur, leapt through his bedroom window, and crashed head-first onto his futon.

“Woah!”

His momentum carried him over, sending him tumbling until his foot caught the edge of the nightstand with a dull thwack.

Ignoring the throbbing pain, Eiji scrambled up and stared out the window. The street lamp hummed quietly outside. The sidewalk was empty. The beast was gone, vanished as if it had been nothing more than a trick of the light.

“Phew…” He collapsed back onto the bedding, exhaling a breath he felt like he’d been holding since the park. “Ouch…”

The adrenaline faded, letting the pain in his foot finally catch up.

“What was that noise?” Hifumi’s muffled voice drifted through the door.

Eiji moved with the practiced speed of a professional delinquent. He whipped the sheets over his body and kicked his shoes under the bed, burying his late-night adventure beneath a layer of domestic innocence.

The door creaked open a crack. A sliver of hallway light cut across the room. Hifumi’s head peeked in. She watched her "sleeping" brother for a long ten seconds, gave a satisfied nod, and closed the door.

Mission accomplished, Eiji thought, his heart finally slowing down. He wasn't about to tell her about his escapades—or the fact that a nightmare had chased him to his doorstep. Before he could process the "why" of it all, he drifted into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

⌁◉⌁

“What’s for breakfast?”

“Omurice!”

“Again…?”

The next morning began with Eiji grumbling over his plate like a grumpy old man who’d seen too many winters.

“Again,” Hifumi replied sternly, her ponytail swinging as she pulled a carton from the fridge. “Juice?”

“Nah, I had jui—” Eiji cut himself off just as the secret was about to spill.

Hifumi paused, her brow arching. “You didn't have juice yesterday, though.”

“...I mean, sure. I’ll take some.”

“Weirdo.” Hifumi smiled to herself, pouring him a glass.

“When wilf Afahi be bach?” Eiji asked through a mouthful of egg.

“Chew first, speak later,” Hifumi chuckled. “He’ll be back in a bit; he’s off work today. But I need YOU out of the house until the evening.”

Eiji’s eyes narrowed. Were his suspicions right? Were they finally pushing him aside for the new arrival? “What for?”

“I need to set up decorations for your party. It’s supposed to be a surprise, you know.”

Eiji let out a silent sigh of relief, though his voice remained cocky. “It’s not much of a surprise if you tell me, Nee-san.”

“You’re getting bolder by the day, little brother…”

Despite the bickering, the warmth in the room was undeniable. Hifumi cared, and Eiji knew it.

After breakfast, Eiji geared up for the blistering summer sun. His bruises from the playground fight had mostly faded—he was "battle-ready" again, much to his sister’s dismay. Trouble had a way of finding him, and honestly, Eiji didn't mind meeting it halfway.

As he grabbed his bike, Asahi came out to see him off.

“Be careful not to crash into any telephone poles, okay?” Asahi joked.

“No way!” Eiji smirked, gripping the handlebars. “Forget the bicycle—I’m gonna get a motorcycle as cool as yours one day. Just you wait!”

Asahi chuckled. “You’ve got a long way to go before you can handle a beast like mine, pal. No rush!”

The "no rush" part annoyed Eiji. He wanted to grow up now. To him, Asahi was the blueprint—the father figure he’d never known, the cool, dependable officer he wanted to become.

“Yeah, yeah…” Eiji sighed, strapping on his red helmet.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Hifumi walked over, waving a small slip of paper. “Could you pick up the photo I sent to the studio yesterday? It’s right next to the park.”

Eiji took the slip. A small errand, but it made him feel slightly more "relied upon"—a tiny dose of the maturity he craved. “Sure.”

“Good boy. Now off you go!” Hifumi tapped his back.

“See you later, little menace,” Asahi added with a wink.

Eiji pedaled away, an absent-minded smile on his face as he waved back. To Hifumi, watching him go, he was still just her baby brother. But as his silhouette grew smaller against the summer heat haze, even she couldn't ignore how much he was changing.

“He’s really growing, isn't he?” Hifumi sighed. “It feels like yesterday he was just a baby.”

“Feeling sentimental?” Asahi leaned against the porch post. “Don’t worry. He’s a big kid. He can take care of himself.”

“I just worry… he doesn’t really have any friends his own age yet.”

“Well, we’ll just have to watch over him until he does, right?”

After picking up the photograph near the park, Eiji spent the afternoon riding through the neighborhood, the wind whistling through the vents of his helmet. He loved the freedom of the bike, imagining the day it would be replaced by the roar of an engine.

As he circled back toward the shopping district, he spotted a familiar, reed-thin figure stepping out of Dream.

It was Shigeru.

Eiji squeezed his handbrakes, the tires of his bike letting out a sharp protest as he skidded to a halt. “Ueno… san?”

“Oh! Eiji-kun!”

The man spun around, his dirty-blonde hair flopping over his eyes. He wore an aloof, lopsided grin that suggested he was currently having the best day of his life—or perhaps he just didn't realize he was having a day at all.

“Where are you headed, Ueno-san?” Eiji asked, propping one foot on the pavement.

“Hayato sent me on an errand to the convenience store…” Shigeru replied, his voice calm and steady, like a still pond. “And please, call me Shig. I’m not really fond of my family name. Too stiff, don't you think?”

“Okay… Shig?” Eiji tilted his head, pointing a thumb back over his shoulder. “The convenience store is that way, though. You’re walking in the opposite direction.”

“Heh, I’ll just go the long way around then,” Shig said, waving a thin hand dismissively. “The pigeons in the park are waiting for their lunch, you see. Can't keep the locals hungry.”

He’s feeding the pigeons?

Eiji stared at him. It was already becoming clear that Shig was a "my-pace" kind of guy—the type who lived in a constant state of zen-like nirvana while the rest of the world scrambled around him. It baffled Eiji. How could someone be that carefree?

As Eiji shifted his weight to pedal forward, his eye twitched.

Eh?

There, just around the corner of the shop, a flash of red caught his eye. The same tattered, blood-colored cloak from the night before.

The color vanished around the corner of the building before Eiji could be sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

“Wait!” Eiji cried out before he could stop himself.

“What’s wrong, Eiji-kun?” Shig cocked his head like a confused bird.

Eiji didn’t answer. He stood on his pedals and surged forward, drawn toward the alley like a moth to a flame. He didn't think it would attack him—not with the sun beating down and people nearby. He just had to know. He had to see where it went.

He rounded the corner, his heart thumping against his ribs. The alley was a dead end. Piles of trash bags, a rusted fire escape, and the smell of damp concrete.

The creature was gone. Vanished into thin air.

“Wha…?”

Eiji stared at the empty space. Seeing it at night was one thing, but for it to manifest now? It felt unnerving, like the boundary between the "other side" and his world was getting thinner by the hour.

“Eiji-kun? Something the matter?” Shig rounded the corner a moment later, looking as clueless as ever.

“No, I just…” Eiji stuttered, his grip tightening on the handlebars. He hesitated. Would it be wise to say anything? Then again, looking at Shig’s vacant expression, he wondered if the man’s brain could even process a "secret."

“There was a monster,” Eiji blurted out. “I thought about following it, but it disappeared.”

“A monster?” Shig repeated. He didn't laugh. He didn't call it imagination. He just looked at the empty alley, completely unfazed.

“Yeah. And I thought I could understand it more, but—”

“You can see… monsters?” Shig asked. For the first time, his voice lost its airy quality. For once, he sounded genuinely intrigued.

“Kinda…” Eiji muttered, feeling a flush of heat in his cheeks.

“You must be special then, Eiji-kun.”

Special?

The word echoed in Eiji’s head. It was such a simple statement, yet it had never occurred to him before. He saw things his sister couldn't. He saw things a police officer like Asahi couldn't.

If they were blind to it, and he wasn't… did that make him "special"? And if so, what did that actually entail? Was it a gift, or was it the reason a rotting ghost was talking to him?

“Never mind that,” Shig chirped, his goofy grin returning as if the moment of seriousness had never happened. “I need to go. The pigeons are waiting. See you, Eiji-kun!”

Isn't Hayato waiting too? Eiji wanted to shout after him, but he decided against it. It felt like trying to stress out Shig was a lost cause anyway.

As he watched the thin man wander off toward the park, humming a tune that didn't quite exist, Eiji stood alone in the alley. He looked at his hands, then back at the spot where the Red Cloak had vanished.

“Special, huh?”