Double Edged

The room was dark and the silence was dreary. The wick flame of the andon lamp flickered. The boy lay alone under his quilt staring nervously at the high wooden ceiling. And then… he heard soft footsteps advancing towards his room. He was momentarily tensed. A grotesque shadow crept up on the sliding door. The door opened, just a crack and the boy squeezed his eyes shut ready to scream.

“Are you all right, Tori?” A gentle feminine voice asked. Tori’s eyes shot open and he sat upright. He stared at the woman with the lantern. It was his mother. Tori’s mother sighed. One look at the boy and she understood that he had succeeded in scaring himself to death. The poor boy was pale and shivering. What was worse that beads of sweat had broken over his forehead and the rest of his body. She went over and felt his forehead.

” You have a fever, Tori.” She concluded, the concern heavy in her voice. “Shall I make some herbal tea for you?”

Tori simply shook his head.

“You’ve been listening to ghost stories from your uncle Akira again, haven’t you?” She asked bending over and trimming the andon lamp. Tori glanced at her guiltily.

Sighing again she said, “How many times have I advised you…they are not for children but you still don’t listen and…” She pottered around his room arranging his toys.

“I’m sorry, Mama. I won’t listen to Uncle again.” He mumbled laying back on the bed. His mother bent over and felt his small forehead again. She then tousled his straight black hair and smiled.

“We will be leaving soon. Be good and don’t wander outside. You will catch a chill. If you need anything just walk next door to aunt Haraka’s house.” She whispered, pecked his cheek and ran her hand through his hair again. Outside, Tori heard his father’s voice, sharp and urgent, “Akane, hurry up or we will be late!” “Yes, in a moment!” His mother called, rose and left, sliding the door softly behind her.

Rolling over his back, Tori stared unblinkingly at the ceiling. He was acutely aware that outside all the adults and the teenagers were having fun, for today was the special night when the hearing of the 101 Ghost Stories would begin. He looked out of the window at the star- strewn sky. Apparently, the Great Bear was not even halfway through the sky, he could make out it was around 8:00. When the Great Bear would be exactly above his head it would be morning and that was when the game would end.

He knew that children under 12 years weren’t allowed to participate because the stories were deemed as too terrifying for kids like him to digest. He wondered about the strange rules because he was the kind of person who loved hearing tales of the supernatural even though he ended up scaring himself. A few minutes later he heard the front door slam shut. He would now be alone in the house. And he was 100% sure that all the ghosts his uncle had talked about would come to get him….

The last thought was so harrowing that he pulled his quilt over his head and squeezed his eyes shut. A few minutes later he began to suffocate so he threw the quilt away, sat up and stared at his room. The andon lamp burning brightly scattered quaint shadows on the light wooden walls and floor. He looked at the thin shelves that had been nailed to the wall. They housed his toys and haikus. A lonely paper kite hung on the wall beside the window fluttering in the occasional wind. Tori stood near the window looking at the sky, trying not to think about his uncle’s stories, praying to the moon to guard him from spirits. That moment he heard a clang echo from the corridor. Fear crept up his throat again. All the stories his uncle had told him came flooding back in his mind. Was it the children ghosts who created mischief everywhere? A vengeful spirit? A shape-shifting cat?

Tori shuddered from head to toe. Another clang. Fresh cold sweat broke out on his body and his throat turned dry. Yet another clang and now…quiet footsteps. The footsteps halted abruptly near his room. A shrill yowl gave it away. It was a cat. A bakeneko, no doubt. Tori choked out a cry and threw himself on the bed, drew up the quilt tight over him and sobbed pitifully under it. A bakeneko generally haunted its owners and Tori never had a cat. It was known to create illusions of fireballs, shape-shift and even talk.

Wait a minute. Didn’t the neighbour Suzuki’s cat die suddenly last year? Could it be that the cat had returned as a monster to haunt him? Had he or had he not pulled the cat by its tail and pulled its ears when it was still alive? Yes, yes he had. But would a cat return for vengeance over something so trivial? The yowling continued outside and it seemed that the door would burst open due to its pitch. But he could imagine a terrifying, evil cat, with yellow yes and a forked tail, reaching…reaching out to him…the tail wrapped around him…choking him, squeezing the life out of him followed by the evil howl. A howl of triumph. Tori bit back a cry and lay supine, shivering with fright until sleep overcame him.

He awoke with a horrible sense of dread. His eyes darted wildly from side to side and his breath came in short gasps. It was a long time before he could calm himself down. Wiping the sweat off his forehead he peeked out of the window at the sky. 10:00 he thought. He glanced surreptitiously at the door. No scary shadows. No howls. Thank god it left him alone. He was afraid to venture out, wasn’t the cat lurking about somewhere there? He glanced at the lamp to realize that it was dying out…fast. Whether he liked it or not…he had to go…

He slid the door open a crack and peeped out. A dim lantern hung in the long hallway giving it an eerie look. He gulped, looked around his room once, slid the door further and slipped out onto the cold wooden hallway taking the lamp with him. He made his way into the kitchen and gasped. The contents of the kitchen lay sprawled in different directions. The rice lay leaking out of its bag, the kitchen equipment, the bowls and chopsticks lay scattered around in the dark. It was not long before he noticed that the fish kept for tomorrow was missing. Tori immediately realized that for all his imagination, there had indeed been a cat, a real live one which had raided his house! He was quite relieved to know that there was no bakeneko haunting his house. He relinquished the lamp and put it back in his room. He felt his forehead, his throat, which was covered in cold sweat. His fever was gone. He felt absolutely fine. Still he did not want to be in the house alone and remembered that he could go and stay at aunt Haraka’s house.

Tori eased out and went over to aunt Haraka’s. He didn’t like the lady much because she was sullen and strict. Moreover she never gave him sweets and other goodies. Plus there were rumours going around among his friends that Aunt Haraka was a kitsune or an illusionary fox. He knocked on the door once, twice. When nobody opened it Tori called out, “Aunt Haraka? It is me, Tori. Mama said I could come over to your house.”

No reply. Tori called repeatedly but there was still no answer. Maybe aunt was asleep. He sat down on the verandah of his house, wondering what to do next. He looked at his surroundings. The stars shone brightly in the night sky. It was a new moon. The wind howled through the trees and the village road. The leaves rustled and it was getting cold. The mountains were covered with thick mist. Tori had once learned that the mountains knew all about the future because they were nearer to the stars. Looking at them he remembered the story of Yama-uba, the mountain witch who ate children. He wished he hadn’t thought of her as it also made him think about the Hone-onna, a skeleton woman and Yuka-onna the snow witch.

Tori gulped, looked back nervously inside his house. The hollow, empty silence of the rooms made him shiver and the fear crept back onto his spine. The wind blew strongly and the poor boy shivered even more in the cold. He looked at Haraka’s house and sighed again. If the woman had opened the door, he wouldn’t be here…like this. Suddenly, an idea popped into his mind. He could go to aunt Rumiko’s house! Aunt Rumiko was the miser, Koji Yamada’s wife. He knew that she was a wonderful person because she told him nice folktales in the late afternoons and give him lots of sweets and rice crackers to eat. She was a gentle and kind person, almost like a second mother to him. The cottage was a little away from their house and Tori always dropped in for a visit. He knew that aunt Rumiko did not go to the ghost story narration because she had an aversion to ghosts.

Tori made his way toward the Yamada’s cottage. He knocked on the door and waited. Almost at once the door slid open and aunt Rumiko appeared beaming, “Tori! What are you doing here so late? Come in, come in, or you will catch a chill.”

Once inside, Tori allowed himself to be fussed over as aunt Rumiko tousled his hair and patted his back. “What are you doing here so late at night?” She asked as they seated themselves on the tatami mats.

“Nothing, aunt. I wanted to see you. I was alone…my family has gone to the festival.” He replied.

“Oh, you poor baby. Your parents left you alone? That is not very good. They should have called me to keep an eye over you.” Aunt Rumiko said running her long fingers through his hair.

“No, it is all right aunt. They thought you would be at the festival. Besides, I can stay alone.” Tori mumbled, looked up at her and smiled.

Aunt Rumiko laughed, pulled him into a hug and observed, “My dear Tori! You are growing up so fast!”

Tori smiled feeling warm and secure for once after his horrible nightmares. When he had pulled away she said, “You must be hungry. Wait. I’ll make you some rice crackers and tea.” Tori nodded and his mouth watered at the mention of rice crackers. They were his favourite snack. Aunt Rumiko got up and went into the kitchen.

Out of childish curiosity he began to look around the house. Although he had been here numerous times, he still liked to study the walls and poke around the furniture because aunt Rumiko often had surprises waiting for him. The last time she had a stack of fine rice papers hidden under the tatami which he now used to write his haiku’s on. As he searched he found something tucked away under the low dining table. He jerked it out but as his eyes fell upon it, he recoiled in horror. It was a half-finished painting of the Futakuchi-Onna commonly known as the Double Mouthed woman. Tori remembered what his uncle Akira had said about the spirit:

“My dear nephew, a futakuchi onna looks like a normal human being but when nobody is around she eats raw rice. She sits with her hair loose and her back towards the rice bags. And then two eyes and a mouth with jagged teeth appear-on the back of the head- and the hair, substituted for the hands snatch the rice and stuff it into the hungry mouth. Sometimes, the futakuchi-onna will eat her relatives as well, if she does not get enough rice to satisfy her hunger.”

Tori shuddered thinking of the folkloric beast but he still did not know who had painted such a frightening picture. Aunt Rumiko could not have painted this, she was too gentle of a person to paint such a horrible ghost. He looked around. Aunt Rumiko had still not returned with his rice crackers. He was getting hungry plus he did not want to be alone with that painting in sight.

He raised himself up and went into the kitchen calling for his aunt. She was nowhere to be seen. The backdoor was wide open. He went through it to find himself in the backyard of the house. The wooden shack near the corner of the fencing around the house flickered with light. Such shacks were usually used for storage of food grains. He advanced towards it. The door of the shack was shut. He then ran over hoisted himself up by the sill and peeped through the window. By the dim light of the lantern he saw that aunt Rumiko had loosened her long dark hair. She glanced around and sank onto the floor with her back toward the gunny sacks…

A blood-curdling scream pierced through the village, shattering its peace and silence, only to die down in the mountains beyond. The immediate day was a mourning day for the village. 11 year old Tori had passed away. Apparently he had died of fright. But the reality still remains concealed. We shall never know what happened.

Only the mountains remain to tell the tale.

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