DarkFuse Anthology 3

by Shane Staley

  He stepped towards her and stopped as he noticed the white prayer charm hanging from the window sill. His eyes widened and he looked displeased at the slip of parchment.

  “What’s that?”

  She looked at the prayer charm and blushed.

  “Oh, um, it’s something Mama gave me the other day. It’s supposed to ward off evil spirits or something. I have bad dreams sometimes so I guess it’s her way of helping.”

  “She must be very superstitious to rely on such foolish scraps of paper.”

  She took it off the window and walked over to the dresser to put it away in a drawer. The object seemed to offend him and she was surprised by his reaction to something so traditional. He seemed so old fashioned. Sara liked Shin somewhat. He was a little strange in a way she couldn’t place, though.

  “Here, give me that if it’s okay. I will put it on for you.”

  She handed him the fabric, relieved he knocked when she had more layers on and that she wasn’t in her bra or underwear. She followed his prompting when he asked her to hold her arms out and the cool black silk slid over her like a caress. He seemed to move slowly, languid in his actions, and it made her skin prickle uncomfortably. He folded the fabric in the front and asked her to hold it while he took the strip of obi and tied it place.

  “There, perfect. You will make a fine looking bride.”

  “What? I’m dressed for a funeral, not a wedding. What a weird thing to say, Shin.”

  He smiled.

  “Are they so different? Both are an end in some way. Granny Haruka left her life completely in death. When you become a bride your current life will end completely.”

  Sara took a step back, more uncomfortable. She didn’t like the conversation or its weird tone.

  “Thank you for the help, I would like to be alone now,” she said, curtly.

  He shrugged and left the room, sliding the door shut. His talk of marriage was too much, so was the way looked at her when he spoke of it. It felt like he looked straight into her. She tried to remember people were different here but it felt like more than that. She would try and not be alone with him anymore if she could help it.

  I guess there goes being a friend, she thought.

  She grabbed her small bag and headed downstairs where the rest of the family waited. Uncle Kenji wore a black suit while Mama and her aunts had on matching black kimono like hers. They looked at her and their expressions grew angry.

  “Nan desu ka? Baka na shoujo! Asamashii!”

  Uncle Kenji yelled at her, but Sara didn’t understand what she’d done.

  “Mama? What? I don’t…”

  Mama ran to her and took her roughly by the hand to lead her upstairs and to their room. She quickly undid Sara’s obi and rearranged the fold of the kimono.

  “What did I do? They were so mad…I don’t get it!”

  Mama shook her head, her face pale.

  “You had it folded right over left. Only the dead wear right over left. It’s disrespectful to wear kimono like the dead, Sara.”

  Sara’s eyes widened. How did Shin get it wrong? He had to have known that he folded it for a dead person. Why would he do that?

  “I’m sorry, Mama. Shin helped me with it, I didn’t know.”

  “That boy! I knew something was not right with the boy when I spoke to him yesterday. He should know better. Do not talk to him anymore, Sara. I will speak to him tomorrow about this.”

  They returned downstairs and Sara made apologies to her relatives, bowing and murmuring the expression for sorry, one of the only other phrases she knew. Uncle Kenji said nothing. Aunt Ichiko didn’t even look at her. Only Aunt Chidori nodded. They left the house and walked to the shrine.

  It was a long ritual and the wooden shoes made Sara’s feet ache. When it was her turn, she placed white flowers around Granny Haruka’s head. The old woman looked like a wax statue frozen in time. Just under her collar bone, partially obscured by the white kimono, was an arrow-shaped birthmark that looked remarkably like the one on Sara’s hip. She never knew it was inherited.

  Afterwards, when they returned home, Sara walked around the inn. The hallways were quiet and the inn was a ghost town. When she turned around a corner she found Aunt Chidori.

  “Ah, little niece! You here!”

  “Were you looking for me?”

  Chidori nodded and took Sara by the kimono sleeve.

  “Hai, time for food. You eat. Too skinny is no good.”

  Sara fought the urge to chuckle. She wasn’t exactly a skeleton and had never been accused of being too skinny for her own good. She was starting to like this one aunt.

  Dinner was quiet with few words. She sat next to Mama and heard Aunt Ichiko whisper fervently to Mama. Uncle Kenji seemed interested in the conversation and annoyed when it stopped. Meanwhile, Aunt Chidori looked at Sara intently the whole time. Since arriving, it felt like some unknown thing loomed overhead that everyone else, including Mama, knew but Sara did not. Whatever it was, Mama didn’t like it and Sara suspected neither would she. Her appetite faded and she roughly set her chopsticks down and stood up. It was too much.

  “Sara?”

  Mama looked up at her confused.

  “I’m tired of you all talking over my head and about me when I can’t understand, though I do remember what gaijin girl means and the attitude towards it. You owe your family something? Something regarding me as well? I owe these people nothing Mama, you hear me? Feel free to translate.”

  She stormed off upstairs to their guest room and slammed the door shut. She changed hastily out of the kimono and into jeans and a sweater, tossing on sneakers and her jacket. The house suffocated her and she needed to get out.

  She crept down the stairs slowly and through the hallway towards the door. Mama and her siblings were still in the dining room arguing, and it seemed to not be going in Mama’s favor. She must have translated Sara’s words and the family was not pleased at all.

  It was chilly outside but the street was lit. Something small passed by her feet and dashed into a nearby alley. It looked furry and orange with pointed ears. Not a cat, perhaps a fox. It seemed like the city was full of them. She remembered a Starbucks down the street, and ached for a piece of home.

  After a few attempts to place her coffee order, she sat in the corner near a window. The coffee didn’t taste right but it was warm and better than nothing. She tried to relax and not think of her family.

  A tapping noise disturbed her and it came from the window. She turned to look over her shoulder and saw Shin stood outside. She waved half-heartedly, not wanting to deal with him either. He motioned for her to come outside.

  She stood up and tossed her coffee in the trash and walked outside, wondering what he wanted. It was a well-lit street and public enough. They wouldn’t be totally alone.

  “Got out of the house, I see?”

  Sara nodded and felt the urge to vent. It rose in her chest and burst out of her in a stream of angry words.

  “I couldn’t take it anymore. I don’t know what the deal is with my family or what they think we owe them but I’m tired of not knowing what the hell they’re talking about or what they mean. I didn’t come here for this.”

  She turned on her heels and walked back towards the inn. Shin followed as she assumed he would and she wished he wasn’t there. She didn’t want to be around his weirdness at the moment. She didn’t want to deal with her family either, but she had to go back. It was late and she was in another country and still just a young girl. She could just sulk in the guest room with a book and ignore everyone.

  Shin spoke again as he walked at pace with her.

  “No, you or Jun-sama would not have come if Haruka-sama hadn’t died. Probably the only time you’d return.”

  She whipped her head to the left to look at him, shocked by his blunt words. It seemed rude the way he worded it.

  Finally, you return!

  The words the boy spoke in her dream, now so much like Shin’s. Was it coincid
ence? A cold feeling crept over her and she reached for her jacket packet, finding it empty.

  “You left it in the dresser at the inn, remember?”

  “What?”

  “Your little charm. It’s not going to help you much now, is it?”

  They were a few feet outside of the inn now and the streetlights flickered. She stopped walking and dread filled her

  “Shin, have we met before?”

  He faced her, grinning. She could see his teeth this time; they were pointy and sharp. The color drained from Sara’s face.

  “Oh, you finally remember! You were a child then, so I came to you in the form of one. I was so excited to see my little Sara-san, even though you didn’t understand me. Then Jun-sama took you away for so long. She forgot what was owed.”

  He seemed to change before her eyes, looking less human. His fingernails grew pointed and sharp and his hair now gleamed more like the color of fire than coal black, resting against pointy ears. Sara was scared but she needed to move. Needed to escape. She pushed at him and ran toward the inn as fast as she could and yelled for her mother. She could hear Shin following her up the path and he grabbed her at a short distance from the front door. She screamed again and tried to break out of his hold. Her kicks and scratches did nothing but made him laugh.

  The front door burst open and Mama appeared, followed by Uncle Kenji who grabbed at Mama and kept her in place.

  “Ie! Onii-sama!!”

  Mama was frantic and struggled with her own captor. Aunt Ichiko and Aunt Chidori appeared behind their brother. They did nothing either to stop Shin.

  “It ok little niece, this always to happen,” Chidori said with a small smile.

  Ichiko slapped Mama to keep her quiet, but Mama spat at her elder sister.

  Sara felt her eyes burn, watering with salty tears. Shin’s long fingernails caressed against her neck and took hold of her chin.

  “You are not your Mama’s anymore, that life ends. You are mine now, as Haruka-sama promised long ago. I told you those who remember the old ways and honored them prospered. Your family always understood this and for many generations they paid me tribute. This is simply a ritual, like a wedding or a funeral.”

  Had Mama known this would happen? She must have known it possible and did her best to constantly watch over Sara. Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t wander. Now all the strictness made sense. If one’s daughter were promised to some demon, one would keep them as close as possible.

  Shin’s hold on her tightened more and Sara gasped.

  “Come now, my bride, your time in this world ends now.”

  Sara struggled more but any hope of escape ebbed away and she felt herself grow numb with defeat. She looked once more to her mother.

  Mama, for the first time that Sara had seen in her entire life, was crying. It was the last image imprinted on Sara’s mind. After, there was darkness and wind as if they moved through space and time away from the mortal world and the life Sara would no longer have.

  Chanterelling

  Nicole Feldringer

  John bushwhacked uphill through waist-high ferns. Dew soaked his pants, and he glanced back toward the car, tempted to call it quits. But Shelley was going to be gone for a couple of hours, and he hated hanging around the cabin by himself.

  A drop of moisture fell from the canopy and landed on his eyelash. He blinked it away and cinched his belt tighter to hold up his soggy pants. He scanned the tree trunks as he passed, noting the furrow spacing between thick ridges of bark. The cones were supposed to be distinctive as well, but he couldn’t remember how. He ticked off the trees as he passed.

  Not Doug fir. Not Doug fir.

  He wondered if Shelley was having better luck with her birdwatching. She better be, since she had bribed him to come up to the cabin this weekend. Quality time was, as usual, on her terms. Thank God she hadn’t insisted he go birding with her. They both knew he would be bad company. Much better to be in charge of foraging for a romantic dinner.

  Not Doug fir.

  The carpet of conifer needles deadened sound and sprung back under his footsteps. Raindrops struck leaves high overhead. John imagined he could walk right up to a wild animal, and it wouldn’t even hear him coming.

  Doug fir.

  His gaze plummeted to the ground. He stalked the base of the tree, his eyes probing for the distinctive splash of orange.

  There.

  John dropped his basket and swung his knapsack off his back. He fumbled blindly for his pocket knife, half afraid his prize would disappear if he took his eyes off it. He crouched and brushed the fir needles out of the way. Pinching the meaty stalk near its base, he wiggled the mushroom upwards until it released from the earth like a bubble bursting.

  John held the chanterelle—he thought it was a chanterelle—aloft. The mushroom was apricot in color with a cap like a wavy trumpet bell. He flipped open his pocket knife with clammy hands and shaved off the flecks of dirt and dead leaves and broken needles. It looked delicious.

  John pawed through his pack for the mushroom field guide he had snagged from Grandpa’s battered collection. Did they have any Arborio rice left in the cabin? A chanterelle risotto would make a damn tasty dinner.

  John held the mushroom in his hand and awkwardly consulted the index, then flipped to a dogeared page 40:

  “Edibility: Poisonous. Causes profuse sweating and gastrointestinal distress. In severe cases, death may result.”

  Chanterelles were on the next page, but he couldn’t help skimming the entry for the jack o’ lantern mushroom. He turned the page, consulted the picture, then compared it to the specimen at hand. John tucked the mushroom into his basket and stood.

  He looked ahead to the next fir tree.

  A little girl stood between two trunks.

  She was bled of color, straight out of a Depression-era photograph. Her eyes were black pools and she wore a white frock. John felt chills erupt along every nerve ending in his body. His heart thudded in his chest. He dropped the pocket knife. It disappeared amongst the pine needles.

  The little girl flickered and reappeared right in front of him, and when she opened her mouth it was a yawning chasm filled with tiny needle-sharp teeth like an eel.

  John slipped backwards in the wet needles, scrambling to get his feet under himself, and ran. He didn’t look back.

  * * *

  His car was where he left it by the locked forest service gate. He clutched at the stitch in his side and wheezed. Rivulets of water ran down his face, plastering his hair to his forehead. Somehow he was still holding the field guide, but he had left his knapsack—with his car keys—in the forest with that, that thing.

  It hadn’t felt like a hallucination. He thought maybe it was a ghost, and he knew that was crazy. But his skin hadn’t stopped crawling yet.

  John stared hard through the pissing rain at the stand of evergreens. He imagined he could see a flash of white on the hillside. He turned away from the forest, ducked his head, and started the trudge back towards Grandpa’s cabin. He left his car at the gate.

  * * *

  His clearest memory of Grandpa was the day a stranger showed up falling-down drunk at John’s house. John wasn’t really old enough to stay home alone, but he had a key to let himself in for the two hours between when the bus dropped him off and when Mom got home from work.

  The man pounded on the front door, over and over, but John followed the rules. He asked the man who he was but only got “Letmeingoddamnit” in response. John watched through a crack in the curtains as the man stumbled around the porch then fell over and passed out on the fake grass welcome mat. The plastic daisy petal poked up his nose.

  When Mom got home from work, she flipped out. John watched from the other room as she called Dad’s office, her finger nearly ripping the dial off with each number. Dad came home from work early and drove Grandpa to the cabin.

  Grandpa said he didn’t want to go up to the mountain. John’s parents didn’t budge, and the old ma
n died up there.

  * * *

  John followed the uneven shoulder of the mountain highway. The headlights of oncoming cars blinded him, and a semi passed, horn blaring. He tucked the rolled-up field guide to mushrooms under his armpit and focused on taking deep breaths.

  He tried to shake loose the memories of Grandpa. It didn’t matter what kind of crazy-ass shit happened in the mountains. Tomorrow he and Shelley would drive back to the city, and he could resume his boycott of the family cabin.

  He couldn’t believe he had let Shelley convince him to come up here.

  Twilight had turned to dark by the time a car pulled over in front of him. The hazards went on, and Shelley leaped from the driver’s side. She ran toward him, her feet crunching and slipping on the loose gravel. Her blonde curls bounced in the headlights.

  “Where have you been?” She flung herself at him and held on tight, tighter than normal. John clutched her to him. He needed to stop shaking before he worried her.

  “Lost my cell phone in the forest. Car keys too.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Shelley pulled back, and John felt a distant alarm at seeing the tears well in her eyes. “Something happened to me,” she said. “I think I saw a ghost.”

  * * *

  Shelley drove them back to the cabin. Her knuckles were white, and her body curled around the steering wheel, peering out into the darkness. The words rushed from her in a torrent. John was afraid she would hyperventilate.

  “When I was out birding, I thought I saw a pine grosbeak. I stopped to get out the birding book when suddenly it was there. A little boy. He was wearing knickers and a blazer, like an old-fashioned school uniform, and I thought he would gobble me up. I asked what he wanted—”

  “You talked to it?”

  She glanced at him, her eyes wide and haunted. “You would do the same. I know you would.”