The Waking

by Thomas Randall

  Hachiro glanced at her and Kara picked up her pace. But when they came to the back corner of the school, Miho slowed down, and they quickly followed suit. The three of them stalked hurriedly alongside the building, wary of the woods.

  Miho stopped, staring at the ancient prayer shrine that abutted the woods on the right, just ahead. Hachiro looked around, holding the bat with both hands, ready to swing.

  At least a dozen white candles were burning on the altar of the ancient shrine, ringed in a carefully arranged circle and surrounded by freshly picked cherry blossoms. The smell of the flowers wafted to them on an errant breeze.

  Kara peered past the old shrine into the woods, then looked ahead, toward the front lawn of the school and the bay beyond. Who had done this, and what did it have to do with the ketsuki? With Akane? With any of this?

  In the darkness at the lee of the school, someone struck a match.

  Kara turned to see Sakura’s face illuminated in the corona of light as she put fire to the tip of her cigarette and drew in a lungful. She shook out the match, but the cigarette glowed orange in the dark.

  “Sakura—,” Miho started.

  “What are you guys doing out here?”

  Hachiro didn’t lower the bat. “We were worried about you,” he said.

  Sakura had her fuku uniform on, the jacket inside out the way she’d worn it the first day Kara had met her. All of her patches and pins were showing. Her hair was feathered and jagged at odd angles, fresh from the pillow, and though she wore socks, she had no shoes on. She looked more than a bit crazy, like she’d been in a trance.

  No, Kara thought, she looks like something out of one of my dreams. Or a nightmare.

  A terrible thought occurred to her.

  “You know this isn’t a dream, right? You’re awake. This is real.”

  Sakura stared at her, taking a long pull from her cigarette and then exhaling, letting it plume in twin streams from her nose.

  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. I know I’m not dreaming. I wouldn’t dream this.”

  “Where’s Ume?” Hachiro asked.

  “Having a chat with Akane,” Sakura replied, gesturing north toward the bay, down the slope to where they had ruined the shrine the students had built for the dead girl.

  “That thing isn’t Akane,” Kara said.

  “How can you be so sure?” Sakura asked.

  “Because we knew her,” Miho said. “And she wouldn’t have done this. Not ever.”

  “Maybe not before they killed her,” Sakura sneered. “I’m pretty sure being murdered might change your attitude.”

  “Sakura, listen,” Kara said. “You can’t let this happen. It’s wrong.”

  The girl curled her lips in disgust, about to argue.

  “Yes, I know, she killed Akane,” Miho snapped, and Kara had never heard her speak to Sakura that way before. “Or you think she did. But if you don’t do something, you’re just as bad.”

  “And when Ume’s dead,” Kara said, pleading with her to understand, “it’s going to come for us. You’re the one who brought this thing to life! Your grief, your rage. Just like in the story.”

  Hachiro took a step away from them, headed down the slope for the ruined shrine to Akane.

  Sakura blocked his way, flicked her lit cigarette at him.

  “You’re wrong. I know you’re afraid, but you don’t need to be. She won’t hurt you, or me.” Emotion contorted her face and Sakura shook her head, looking at each of them. “Don’t you get it? What’s going to happen has to happen so Akane can finally rest.”

  Miho hesitated. Kara saw in her face how difficult this was for her. They were roommates, and Miho struggled with her love for Sakura. But Kara hadn’t known them as long. She couldn’t just stand there.

  “Get out of the way, Sakura,” Kara said, starting forward.

  Sakura shook her head, her mouth a tight, expressionless line.

  “You can’t stop us,” Hachiro warned.

  Sakura swore and spit at him. Then her calm broke and she began to cry, balled her fists up and shook them like a toddler having a tantrum.

  “Please,” she said, looking from Miho to Kara, ignoring Hachiro now. “Don’t interfere. This has nothing to do with you.”

  Miho hesitated. Kara looked at Hachiro. She didn’t want to hurt Sakura, but she was ready to force her way past the girl.

  A cry of terror rose into the night, startling all four of them and rousing an owl, which took flight from a tree and vanished over the roof of the school.

  The cry became a scream.

  Ume had woken from her sleepwalking dream into a nightmare.

  15

  As they started to run toward the sound of that scream, Sakura grabbed Miho’s arm.

  “Leave her alone, please!” Sakura said. “This has to happen!”

  Miho struggled, and Kara and Hachiro both faltered, starting to go back for her.

  “You’re hurting me!” Miho snapped.

  Sakura must have seen something in her eyes then that jolted her out of her grief and obsession, must have remembered this was Miho, her roommate and best friend, who’d always stood by her. She let go, pulling her hands back as though burned.

  “I’m sorry,” Sakura said. “But—”

  “No,” Miho said. “Wake up! It’s not Akane!”

  Then she ran to catch up to Kara and Hachiro and they raced down the slope toward the bay and the ruin they’d made of Akane’s memorial.

  More screams tore at the darkness, cries for help and for forgiveness. Kara’s thoughts grew darker. For Sakura’s sake, they’d been fighting the idea that the bloodthirsty thing killing their classmates could be Akane. But maybe it is, she thought now. In a way.

  Maybe part of what Kyuketsuki used to create the ketsuki was the murdered spirit of the dead girl, weaving Akane’s anguished ghost into the fabric of a nightmare, right along with her sister’s grief. The story from the Noh play was just a version of the tale, like all legends. The reality might be more complex. Kara knew it was only a theory, but if it held any truth, that meant Akane might be part of the ketsuki, but a tainted, awful version of herself that the dead girl never would have wanted.

  But Sakura had tortured herself enough over her sister’s death. Kara wouldn’t make it worse by suggesting such a thing.

  Sakura hesitated only a second before sprinting after them.

  “Kara, stop,” she begged, in English.

  “You helped create this thing, Sakura. You have to let go of your hate and grief or more people are going to die.” She stopped and spun to face Sakura, who nearly collided with her. “And I’m going to be one of them.”

  Sakura only gaped at her, shaking her head in denial.

  Kara swore in frustration and turned to run. The screaming had stopped and that frightened her. Hachiro and Miho had gotten ahead of her, and as she looked past her friends, down the slope toward the bay, she saw two moonlit figures at the water’s edge.

  The ketsuki stood like a tiger on two legs, seven feet tall at least, even with its back arched. Its tail rose up from the bay, casting off diamond droplets of water as it dragged Ume along beside it, one clawed hand hooked through her clothes. It had the face of the Noh mask Miss Aritomo had shown them, but terrifyingly real.

  The grief-forged thing threw back its head and cried out, and its voice reminded Kara of the terrible sounds she’d heard sometimes at night, when animals had fought in the woods behind her house. It was a scream, but nothing like Ume’s.

  The air was thick with the scent of cherry blossoms.

  “Do you smell it?” Kara called to Miho.

  Wide-eyed, staring at the demon, the other girl only nodded.

  “Be careful. Don’t all approach at once,” Hachiro said, waving her and Miho back with one hand as he raised the bat.

  “We destroyed the shrine and that did nothing,” Miho said. “How do we fight it?”

  As she spoke, Kara glanced over at the memorial the
students had built for Akane. Her eyes widened. “Look.”

  The shrine had been restored, but only partially. Bits of letters and photos had been carefully arranged. A single red candle burned in the center. Rain-soaked stuffed animals and moldy beanies sat together the way they might on a little girl’s pillow.

  Kara shook her head. Had the ketsuki done that?

  “Akane, it’s all right,” Sakura called, walking past them, headed for the revenant, the monster. “You can rest now.”

  It yowled that terrible, spine-raking noise again and tossed Ume onto the shore. The girl lay there, unmoving, and Kara hated herself in that moment. They were too late. Sakura had slowed them just enough that it had cost Ume her life. The ketsuki had drowned her. Kara wondered if Ume had done the same to Akane.

  And then it hit her.

  The rebuilt shrine. The candles at the ancient prayer site.

  “Jesus, Sakura, you did this!” Kara said. “We took its power away, and you gave it back, on purpose!”

  Sakura ignored her, not even turning now. She kept walking toward the ketsuki, hands out as though the thing might embrace her. But Kara didn’t need a reply; she knew it was true. You can rest now, Sakura had said. She thought she was doing this for her sister.

  “No more,” Miho said, running for the rearranged shrine. “It has to stop now.”

  Kara bolted after her, knowing what she meant to do.

  The ketsuki cocked its head, long ears perked up, and it hissed at them. In that moment, jaws wide, lips curled back from its gleaming red teeth, Kara thought it looked nothing like a cat, except for the green, feline eyes.

  “It’s okay, sister,” Sakura said softly, in a small, little-girl voice. “She was the worst one, and she’s gone now.”

  Kara and Miho tore into the shrine, first with their hands and then kicking and shouting and dragging their shoes through the wreckage of it. Miho cried out prayers to God and her ancestors and Kara could hear in her voice that she was weeping with fear and panic.

  The ketsuki lunged across the ground, dropping onto all fours and springing toward them. Sakura shouted at it, tried to grab for its tail, but missed and was left staring at her empty hand.

  “No, Akane, stop!” Sakura shouted. But she didn’t move, only stood there, such a strange figure in the moonlight, almost like a ghost herself.

  It would have barreled into Kara, ripped her open like it had Mr. Matsui, but Hachiro took three sure, firm steps to intercept it, cocked his arms, and swung the bat with such force that he let out a yell. Kara could hear the aluminum whistling through the humid air.

  The ketsuki tried to dodge, but not quickly enough. Hachiro struck it in the side of the head with a terrible crack and the dream-walker, the vampire, lost its footing. Its momentum drove it forward, tumbling into a mass of limbs and flashing claws.

  Miho screamed, paused, and then kept kicking at the ruins of Akane’s shrine. If the ketsuki wanted to stop them, their instincts must have been correct. Kara felt something soft underfoot and looked down. There was the Hello Kitty she’d seen before. She picked it up and tugged at it, fingers searching for the seams.

  Sakura still shouted for her sister. But if the beast had anything of Akane within it, she ignored Sakura’s pleas.

  The ketsuki rose, shook its head, and hissed at Hachiro, stalking toward him.

  Kara tore the head off the Hello Kitty beanie.

  The ketsuki flinched, staggered, and turned to glare at her.

  Kara blinked. The whole world seemed to tilt beneath her and she found herself looking not at the feline vampire but at a slender girl with long, silken hair and no face. Soft laughter came from the faceless girl.

  Hachiro swung the bat.

  When it struck, Kara blinked again, and the illusion had gone. The bat cracked into the thing’s shoulder and it staggered backward again.

  The night wavered. The air shifted.

  The ketsuki yowled again, but now a different sound came from its throat, a hiss like the breath of hell that made Kara remember all of the hurtful words she’d ever overheard, made her feel the pain and humiliation accumulated in a lifetime, and made her relive the crippling heartsickness that had destroyed her on the day her mother died and on so many days thereafter.

  That, too, passed, and then her skin prickled with revulsion and fear and she could barely breathe. Tears slipped down her cheeks and a sliver of vision passed through her mind, an image of her imminent death, the ketsuki on top of her, fetid breath in her nostrils, its tongue darting into the cavity where her heart had been before it had torn open her chest and gnawed her bones.

  She saw it so clearly.

  Knew she’d join her mother in the grave.

  And Kara screamed.

  A shadow moved behind the ketsuki, in and around and enveloping it, much larger than the vampire-thing, the essence of its bloodlust and insidious heart.

  The demon. Kara felt the truth of it, knew what she saw. Kyuketsuki.

  “I see you,” Kara whispered to the night.

  Down by the water, someone began to scream. At first she thought it was Sakura, but a quick glance revealed Ume, rising unsteadily to her feet. A choking cough interrupted her scream and she began to shake, walked two steps and collapsed. But she still lived.

  The ketsuki turned toward her now, confused and torn by too many distractions. But vengeance had molded it from rage and pain and vengeance commanded it. It took a step toward Ume.

  Sakura stood in the way, studying it, searching its cat eyes.

  “Akane?” she asked, pleading and pitiful, hopeful and heartbroken.

  Hachiro, breathing quick, terrified breaths, steadied himself and went after the dream-killer again. The ketsuki did not like to be hurt. It had learned. As he swung the bat, it shifted so that it seemed almost to flow around the bat, and then it leaped at him.

  With a cry of fear, Hachiro swung again, but too late. The ketsuki lashed out, talons raking his chest. If Hachiro hadn’t pitched himself backward, attempting to escape the attack, the ketsuki’s claws would have flayed him open to the bone.

  Swiftly, it stalked after him, picked him up, and flung him toward the trees. Branches snapped and leaves shook as Hachiro fell among them.

  A dozen sleek, stealthy cats darted from the woods, scattered by the intrusion. They kept a distance from the ketsuki, prowling at the edges of the unfolding scene like vultures waiting for a meal.

  Miho and Kara moved as quickly as they could, scattering bits of the shrine far from the spot where Akane had died. Kara picked up a small poster of some J-pop band and began to shred it in her hands, then scattered the pieces on the light breeze, making sure they were strewn across the grass away from the memorial. Once again the shrine was ruined, but they continued to drag their feet through the debris, kicking and spreading the pieces.

  The ketsuki seemed smaller as it turned to them. In the woods, Hachiro did not stir, and so step-by-step, almost wary, it started toward Miho and Kara. It picked up speed, beginning to lope.

  “Miho!” Kara shouted.

  Both girls screamed. But Kara knew who it came for. She had been here to see it born. Her dreams had been poisoned by it, tainted by its hideous intentions.

  When it lunged, she tried to move, to hide behind a tree, but was too late. It snatched her, claws puncturing her clothes and flesh, drawing blood and screams. Terror ripped through her like nothing a nightmare could inspire. Every breath came out a scream and she wailed, blind with fear, and beat at its arms as it lifted her toward its face. Those slit cat eyes gleamed with pure hatred and anguish, and it opened its jaws wide, breath stinking of rot and death.

  Kara heard the laughter of faceless girls.

  The ketsuki let out that bestial, primal cry of pain and rage it had yowled before, and there among the trees it drove her to the ground so hard that her screams went silent. The breath went out of her. Sakura had summoned it unknowingly, and the ketsuki had made Kara its witness. Now she couldn’
t even speak. She tried to breathe, tried to scream, and as it pressed its weight on her chest she knew she was going to die.

  The baseball bat smashed into its feline snout. Someone screamed. The ketsuki whipped its head around to see its attacker when the bat struck again, crashing down on its neck.

  Hachiro! Kara thought.

  But as the vampire-thing shifted atop her, she saw Miho holding the bat, terror contorting her features but determination in her eyes.

  A nighttime shadow moved in the darkness of the trees, and Hachiro appeared. With a strength driven by fear, he thrust forward a thick, splintered branch, jabbing it into the ketsuki’s chest like a spear.

  The ketsuki shrieked, faltered, staggering away from them. It shook itself and stood up on two legs. Its cat eyes locked on Kara, and for a moment she sensed the presence she had seen before, the rotted, voracious aura of evil that lingered behind it.

  Then it took one hate-filled step toward her.

  “Akane, stop!”

  It whipped its head around. When it saw Sakura coming toward it—and two steps behind, a limping, wounded Ume following her—it lay back its head and let out the most hideous, sorrowful wail yet.

  Kara studied it, waiting for another glimpse of the demon that had created the vampire-thing, that had let it insinuate itself into dreams. But of Kyuketsuki, there was no sign.

  “Why would you hurt them?” Sakura asked, shaking her head. Her tears glistened in the moonlight. She held something in her hand, some scrap that had blown away from the ruined shrine. “I don’t understand.”

  In her uniform, with her jacket reversed and badges showing and with her edgy, jagged haircut, she didn’t look like a rebel anymore. She looked like a little girl playing dress-up in her sister’s clothes.

  The ketsuki started toward Sakura and Ume.

  “Sakura!” Kara yelled. “You’ve got to let it go. Ume murdered Akane, but your hate’s going to kill us all.”

  Ume fell to her knees and hung her head. “Please, no. I hated her so much. Nobody meant for her to . . . I did not come out here to kill her. Things just got out of hand.”