My Modern Kaidan

Chapter 10

Once I get there, I'm surprised to find my block is busier with activity than Miyako's block. People I've never seen before pace up and down the sidewalk, some in groups, some alone. Some just hover, standing just beyond the gate to my house. I glance at them out of the corner of my eye as I walk past, noticing they don't try to avert their gaze, they just stare at me. Slamming the gate behind me, I enter the house to find both my parents in the kitchen.

"I take it you've seen all the weirdos outside?" I say.

"Of course we have," my dad says, coming over to stand with me near the window facing the street.

"You're not worried about it?" I ask.

"My editor was worried this could negatively effect the release of the tankōban, but I think it could do just the opposite," he tells me.

I stare up at him. "You want people to think you're a murderer?"

"Any publicity is good publicity," my mom says, flipping a porkchop over in the pan.

"Aah, a news van," my dad says beside me. "I should practice coming to the window." I watch him take a few steps forward and the block becomes alive, raising their cellphones to snap pictures. He chuckles lightly.

"Okay," I say, heading to my room. "Everyone in this house is certifiably insane."

"That includes you," my dad calls after me.

Maybe he's right, I think to myself as I lie in bed later that night, fixated on the shōji in front of me. If he is, that would make the figure that's appeared on the other side a lot less alarming.

My heart pounds in my ears defiantly as I try not to breathe. Maybe if it seems like there's nothing alive in here, the figure will go away. Instead it stands there, just far enough away that if you didn't concetrate, you wouldn't notice it, or you might mistake it for a plant from the garden outside. But I know it's not. I've stared at this stupid panel enough times, freaking myself out, to know this form is something that doesn't belong. It's not entirely still, swaying from side to side ever so slightly.

I close my eyes and count to three. When I open them, the figure is gone.

I pause, contemplating my next move. Should I tell my dad? The real question is, will he be alarmed or thrilled?

I know I wasn't dreaming. I'm not going to let some otaku make me a prisoner in my own house. I get up out of bed and go over to the shōji to slide it open. But even the act of placing my hands on the door feels like a gamble.

Why would I open it at a time like this?

People in horror movies who give in to their curiosities and egos and ignore their gut always end up dead.

Although, in my dad's works, even if you do everything you should, you'll usually end up dead anyway. In his world, fate is always cruel.

Monday morning, I wake up to the scraping of a shovel outside my door to the garden. Sliding it open, I find my dad patting dirt over a freshly dug hole.

"Dad?"

"Amaya," he says quickly. "Good morning."

"What are you burying?" I ask.

"Mmm," he says, nodding, stalling for time. "Just some trash."

"Trash?" I say dubiously. "Why didn't you just throw it in the garbage bin?"

"Ano," he says. "It wasn't that kind of trash. Just some mischevious kids."

"What do you mean?"

He smooths the dirt over the hole. "Mai-chan, please," he says before collecting himself and smiling at me. "Nothing I can't handle. You had better get ready for school."

The stupid mystery hole is on my mind the whole way to school, until I'm distracted by something else.

Kenji's absence.

The day is excruciatingly long, the whole time, my eyes glued to the clock, every tick of the second hand reverberating through my entire head. When we're finally dismissed, I bolt up from my chair, ditching my classmates on cleaning up for o-soji and hoping I can claim a foreigner's absentmindedness the next day. I practically jog to Kenji's house, regarding Miyako's house warily as I go by.

Inside, I find him hard at work the same way he was the other day. The woman from last time spots me and begins to come over. I can tell by her face that she wants me to leave.

"I brought Kenji's homework," I blurt out. "Please, we have a quiz."

The all important quiz. The irony isn't lost on me that the same excuse gained Miyako entry into my house the day she went missing.

"Kaasan," Kenji says, probably sensing my urgency. "Please, let me walk Amaya outside."

He follows me out to the porch where I retrieve a few sheets of haphazardly written notes that are more for show than actual use from my backback. "Here," I say, then gasp. "What happened to your face?"

He raises a hand to his red cheek. "I told Miyako's parents what happened," he says. "Her mother was very upset. They told me I needed to stay home and wait for detectives."

"Did they come?"

He shakes his head.

I sigh. "She really slapped you?"

"It's okay," he says. "I'm glad to help Miyako's parents, even if they think it's too late."

I sigh, but my relief brings my earlier distraction back into the front of my mind. "Do kids throw trash over the neighbor's walls around here?"

"Trash?" Kenji says. "What do you mean?"

"This morning, my dad said some kids threw trash over our wall last night. He was burying it."

"Burying it?"

"Yeah."

"You didn't think that was strange?" he asks me.

"Well, yeah. There's been strange people hanging around the house lately. Fans of his-- no offense. But he basically told me to buzz off and not worry about it. He didn't seem that upset."

"Amaya," Kenji says slowly. "How familiar are you with your father's work?"

"What do you mean?"

"Have you read it?"

I shrug. "Some of it," I say. "Not all of it. Why?"

He glances at the front door to his house, then back at me. "Please, follow me."