11,445 Words

I stepped off the bus near Lake Akan, in the eastern region of Hokkaido. The lake was host to a lesser known resort town on its southern bank. The other people from the bus filtered into the large Akanko Hotel, while I walked along the road to the east. I walked for about a kilometer, passing the 711 on the edge of town and continuing on. I followed the road for another hundred meters before cutting into the woods and appearing on the southeastern shore of the lake. I took out a cigarette and lit up while looking out at Oshima Island. 

I had gone to Akan to meet with my Uncle, Nobara Keito, who had been missing since I was ten. At the time my father visited his house in Osaka to find it had been sold. Several months later we received the first letter from him. Evidently he had retired to marry in the countryside, at least according to these correspondences. He spoke little of this wife, except to say she was a beauty, and a marvelous blessing. Apparently his hands had taken some condition, because the letters were written sloppily. We suspected sickness, despite his insistence that he was well—then again, even had we expected malevolence at the time, we had no means to contact him or to assure his wellness. My Uncle had disappeared besides these letters.

It was only on my High School graduation that we received the slightest piece of information on his location. It came as a congratulatory letter and invitation to his villa in Hokkaido. A small island in Lake Akan. I responded to his letter, but it had taken me six years of college to find the time to travel that far north. I had sent ahead notice of my arrival, and the island lay just a few hundred meters before me over the water. Stamping the cigarette under my shoe, I headed back into town. 

“A boat?” The man at the bait shop laughed. “Sure, I can take you onto Oshima, but why would you want to go out there? You don’t look like a fisherman, if you’ll pardon my saying.”

“I’m visiting my uncle, he said he had a house built on the island a few years ago.” 

“A house on Oshima? No such thing. Kids go out there to make mischief, nobody builds anything there friend. Only time someone wanted to was about fifteen years back, fellow drowned in the lake. You’ve been fed a lie my friend.” 

I remembered my uncle’s colorful dimples and his penchant for joviality. Pranks were not above him, but something like that was out of the question, given the sincerity of his invitation. Whether there was a house or not, my Uncle was on the island, of that much I was sure. 

“Do you think you could give me a ride out tomorrow morning? I’ll pay you for your time.” I flashed a few ten thousand yen notes and the shop owner shifted his weight from one leg to the other. 

“Sure thing, I don’t know why you’re so insistent, friend, but first thing tomorrow we’ll head out. Just go down to dock number eighteen, look for my son Heiichi, he should be doing his chores down there when you show up. Are you staying in Akanko?” 

I had not planned on staying the night in town, so I had to settle for a two star hotel that sat on the highway. The hotel was called Ryosohan, and though it looked nice from the outside, the interior of the rooms were rather plain. The business was primarily a restaurant, run from the bottom floor of the larger span of the L-shaped building. 

After my bath I decided it would be better to relax in the restaurant than to wallow away in the silent blandness of my room. Perhaps it was a good season, because the place was packed with people. Too many for them all to have been tenants. In the back there was a long counter that separated the dining room from the kitchen. Along the center a row of regular diner booths sat full of sardine-like people. It even smelled of fish, owing to the lake town cuisine. Against the front wall was a row of floor tables each with four zaisu chairs. The people along that side were somehow more rambunctious, and several received large mugs of beer from the old waitress who tended them. I was not the only one put off by them, even the chef, working away over his hot stove, threw a look in their direction once or twice. 

A table near the middle of that crowd had the only open seat in sight. I approached and observed the group there. On one side there was a young couple only a few years older than me. They were splitting their time between the older man across from them and a group of college students on vacation behind them. The older man had been drinking, much like the rest, and he patted the seat beside him when he saw me. 

“Come! Have a seat! Where are you from, friend?” I obeyed, taking my place. 

“My parents are from Saga, but I was raised in Hakata, Fukuoka.” I answered, signaling for the waitress. 

“Why’d you come here then? Don’t people from Kansai vacation in Okinawa?” The young man of the couple across from me asked. 

“You idiot.” His female better laughed. “Fukuoka is in Chugoku. Didn’t you learn anything in school?” 

“I’m not on vacation. I’m just visiting my uncle.” I responded. The old man leaned over. 

“What’s his name? I may know him if he’s living around here. I deliver the mail.” 

I told him. 

“Let me think…your uncle you say? The only person I know by that name is a teenager.” 

“Maybe you know his wife, her name is Atsuko.” 

At that the man laughed and slid a few yen to the waitress as payment for my drink. 

“Now, there hasn’t been an Atsuko in these parts since the Restoration. That name is bad luck around here, friend. This Uncle of yours is probably pulling your chain.” I had no interest in local superstition, but a drunkard behind us leaned back between the old man and I and spoke with snarled slurs. He must have had more to drink than the mailman. I followed their examples and began to enjoy my generous serving of beer. 

“You geezers, always talking about bad luck and curses. What’s so bad about the name, eh? My niece in Sendai is named Atsuko you raisin!” Though his words and manner were harsh, he maintained a smile and joking demeanor. A good drunk, I decided. 

“It’s an old story about a fox spirit who sucks the life from men. At the turn of the century there were disappearances and they were blamed on the workings of this creature. Eventually, to rid us of the beast, a woman who happened to be named Atsuko was randomly chosen to be banished from the town for a hundred years. She went to a monastery near Nara, I think. After that the disappearances stopped. I guess the ceremonial banishment worked. Atsuko has since been regarded as bad luck, and if anyone named Atsuko were to live near Lake Akan, it is feared men would go missing again.” The mail man took a large gulp of his beer with a smile. 

“Just a fairy tale, mind you, but I liked it quite a bit when I was a boy. A poet who stayed here one winter wrote a poem about it; ‘The fair Atsuko, Deceiver of man and god, Near peaceful Akan.’” 

“Crummy poetry.” The drunk laughed. 

“True enough, but give it some respect, alright?” The two continued the conversation as I drank and changed my attention to the couple. The feminine member of the two stopped and spoke out loud. 

“What if that woman they banished really was the killer? I doubt anything like a fox spirit exists, wasn’t it just that this Atsuko was a murderer?” 

The old man thought for a moment and laughed again. 

“That is a very modern retelling.” He laughed. “But either way, she was still very unlucky to have been picked for the ceremony.” 

The conversation changed to lighter subjects as I drank the night away with the cohort. It was already two in the morning when I fell back in my room. As I drifted off to sleep, my mind numbed and hazy from the liquor, I thought I could hear chattering outside.

The next day I set out to the docks as I had promised. It was tough work finding the shop owner's boat, as there were several dozen other vessels of various occupations. Along one small section there were a few similarly painted paddle boats that were rented by tourists looking to enjoy the lake. A few fishing boats were moored as well beside a handful of very expensive, yet small, yachts that were probably owned by the hotels. The motorboat that belonged to the shop owner came into sight at the far end of the eastern docks, sequestered as though in a cove against the peninsula that we would sail around to reach my destination. A young boy of junior high age was scrubbing the boat with a soapy sponge. As he wrung it out into the water, I approached. 

“Mr. Shinjiro?” The boy asked, looking up at me on the dock. 

“One and the same, will your father be along soon?” 

“He’s already running late, he and Mr. Oba from the school were drinking last night. He’ll get here.” As he spoke I sat on a box nearby the small boat. 

“You speak well for a boy your age.” 

“Father is strict about my education. He says ‘No son of mine is going to be a fisherman.’”

“I suppose that means he loves you very much.” 

“I guess so.” The boy smiled. 

“Tell me, have you heard the tales about that demon which used to be here at the lake?” 

“Of course, but Father says it was just a normal murderer. Such things as magical creatures don’t exist.” For some reason his words wilted my humorous mood. Perhaps it was because the boy lacked any childish spirit. A tendency towards fantasy in the face of pragmatism. A good father, and yet a poor parent. 

“Heiichi!” A man's voice called from further up the dock. It was the bait shop owner, looking somewhat grim and sickly. He was dressed in grey rubber overalls and had a shotgun slung over his back.

“Good morning, why the gun?” I put forth my open hand. 

“Nojii Tanaka, that is my son Nojii Heiichi. As for this, I always take it out with me. There are bears and sometimes I fish near the other shore. Just to Oshima then? It’ll be a relatively short trip around the peninsula, friend. Are you sure you want to go?” His gruff hand which shook mine was worse than gripping sandpaper. 

“Hanakara Shinjiro, and I still wish to make this trip, Nojii-san.” 

Nojii yawned loudly and nodded his head. Without another word he dropped into the small boat. I got in after him and took a seat near the front while he manipulated the motor to life. As the boat was too small, we left Heiichi on the dock. When father and son had finished waving to each other, and the docks disappeared around the edge of the peninsula, I spoke up again. 

“What do you think about the fox myth, Nojii-san?” 

The subject, while not a concern, had become a regular conversation piece in the last twenty hours. In lieu of any other small talk, it seemed entertaining enough. Nojii coughed and looked out as the island came into view. 

“Tall tale, but it’s fine I suppose. A lady drowns men in the lake and people get superstitious. They should've locked her up instead of banishing her. Lord knows what kind of trickery she got up to down south. Do you believe in stuff like that?” 

“No, it’s just that I’ve heard so much about it.” I said. 

“Yes, well you’ll be happy to know this then; the reason they banished Atsuko was because they found her on Oshima island, right after another body floated up.” Nojii smiled, chuckling to himself. 

“How do you know that? I haven’t heard that from the other townspeople.”

“It’s a fisherman’s tale. They say a fellow went out near the island and spotted her coming out of the water. So much for your fox myth, eh?” 

“Indeed, people get the most wild idea’s.” 

At the turn of the century a madwoman drowned men and was caught. Perhaps because of the body count, or some other reason, they decided to banish her. Over time a simple homicide case takes on the aspect of legend. Having been raised in the city, those quaint country superstitions and histories were alien to me. Still, they had a nice character, and it improved my opinion of Akan. 

We came to the shore of Oshima. Beyond a short three meters of clay and mud, thick bushes and trees obscured the interior. There were no traces of human presence. Before me was just a jungle. It was strange that it would give that impression, as the northern trees were normal types of oak, birch, and maple. Indeed, the trees on Oshima were the same, but they sagged low like jungle trees. The bushes were damp, and algae and other unknowable muck washed up on the dark clay. My first step off the boat let out a squelching sound, and mud stuck thick to my shoes. 

“Lovely place.” I joked.

“The bushes and things on the southern shore have been cut back. There’s also a concrete slab covering the ground a bit. It's a much friendlier side.” Nojii said. 

“Why drop me here then?” I turned to see the old man’s face sunken deeply, as if I were a beast he had discovered. Then, before I could ask what was wrong, he leaned over the side of the boat and puked into the lake. 

When he came back up, rubbing his mouth with a sleeve, he smiled. 

“Well, anyways, I’ll only stay the night, can you pick me up on the southern side tomorrow morning? About seven thirty or so?” 

“Sure thing, I’ll be out fishing early in the morning, I’ll get you on my way back in. Are you planning on enjoying the cold night too?” He reached into his thick jacket and pulled out an old lighter. “Here, to start a fire, you'll need to find some dry wood yourself, friend. If I still see light when I’m out on the lake I’ll come in for you, no point letting a city fellow like you freezing through the early morning.” 

“I might be from the city Nojii-san, but I can handle one night. If I end up needing your rescue I’ll even help with the haul, how about it?” I took the lighter. Worst case, it would be an impromptu camping trip. Nojii laughed. 

“That’s a deal, Hanakara-san. See you in the morning.” 

He pulled away and puttered to some other distant section of the lake. I waved for as long as I could see him before he disappeared around the peninsula again. 

Then I heard a sound. 

Atop the lapping of water upon the sodden clay, there was a more mechanical sound. A thing of some shape, some existential clarity, had moved. It was quick, but this entity leapt through the bushes behind me. I turned but could see nothing in the dense green thicket. 

There would be animals on the island. Though why anything would swim out that far was a mystery. A snake? It would not have made such a shuffling sound. A bird would vocalize or appear above the canopy. Squirrels, perhaps, or some other rodent, but for some reason the idea did not calm my nerves. Either way, I was suddenly discouraged from entering the center of the island. Of course, the dense bushes had no appeal to begin with, but the malevolence I suddenly perceived firmly dissuaded me. 

“The nerves of a city boy.” I laughed. 

Really, it was pathetic that something so benign had terrified me so much. Still, some things were natural and must be lived with. I started down the shore. Likely, from that southern clearing, I could find some sort of trail. 

The island was not that large, only two hundred meters across, west to east, and about five hundred north to south. At least according to a pamphlet from the bus. So I was on the southern shore sooner than expected. Sure enough, the space was quite ragged looking. A concrete slab was buried in the mud and clay, jutting into the water a bit. Likely it was the start of dock construction, a leftover piece of development from the unfortunate entrepreneur. Still, though its creator was dead, others had found use for it. The trash was insane. Empty cans of beer and plates, cups, broken glass, party streamers. All remnants of festivals conducted by the young and stupid were very present. The shrubbery around the slab was cleared for about four meters in all directions. 

I had mixed feelings about my emergence into such a space. At once, I was relieved to have a clearer understanding of my surroundings. Nothing, in such openness, could surprise me. However, my second thought was a definitive fear of exposure. From that dense treeline I could not see a thing. If, as I had feared, there was a creature in that thicket, then it could stalk me with impunity. 

To calm my unreasonable nerves I made use of Nojii’s charity and brought out the lighter. It was old, with faint military markings. Likely it was some old standard issue trinket he had fished up and restored. There were a great many things left behind by our forefathers, and this lighter was no special exception. It took three clicks for the flame to come to life, and as I lit a cigarette I could feel my senses grow just as calm as the lightly flickering flame. 

It was almost midday, and the sun beat down more than I expected. Sure, I've never been a stranger to warm weather, but the humidity surprised me. I had to take off my jacket and set it on the ground. Luckily though, it provided reasonable comfort so I could sit on the concrete without worry of setting upon the trash. 

As my body adjusted to the heat and my nerves calmed, I looked back to Oshima's shadowy interior. There, amidst the dense brush, was an opening. It was nothing extraordinary, no pavement, gravel, or even well traveled dirt. The opening was relatively new compared to the rest of the surroundings. From where I sat only a few meters away I could see the live flesh of torn branches in those bushes. Not yet dried. Someone had been through there recent to my arrival. It was only about forty centimeters wide, which in a thicket would be hard to spot, but I saw it clearly. Perhaps it was my reassembled wits illuminating the strange surroundings after the darkness of unease had overtaken them.

Irreverent of my perceived danger, I put out the cigarette and approached the opening. Once closer I could just about see a small rectangular object. I entered, and after a few short meters bore witness to a small stone shrine. It depicted a fox, presumably as to represent Inari-no-kami, beneath a torii. It was fairly crude, having been carved from a boulder about waist-high. Still, those teens who went there had clearly bore some reverence to their guardian, and there were a few unopened cans and snacks set around it as offerings. There was only one small candle, and it was unlit. Quite creatively, the main figure, the fox, was curled around it as if sleeping. In such a manner it made it look as though the fox was wrapped around the candle for warmth. I decided that such a unique image must have meant the statue was quite recent compared to most of its type. After all, all the shrines I saw usually had conservatively stoic looking gods. None with such personable character. It had probably been built in the wake of the Atsuko incident, as a symbol of Inari keeping watch over her mischievous children.

I pulled out the lighter and flicked it on. 

“Shinjiro-san?” A husky voice spoke. 

I jumped and dropped my lighter in the mud, extinguishing the small flame. The voice came from a teenage boy behind me. When I reflexively retreated a step he laughed in a high pitched, but quiet and airy, cackle. Besides judging him for the strangeness of his laugh I also noticed a few things. Firstly, his hair was brown. It had not really been a concern per se, it more stood out because even in the darkness of the canopy I could tell his hair was brown, which meant it must have been a brighter hue than normal. He was also fairly good looking, as if he was on a sports team. Also, he was dressed in a well worn cotton jinbei that made him look as if he were plucked from another era. Of the few impressions a person has upon first setting eyes on another, those were the only ones worth mentioning. 

“Shinjiro-san?” The boy repeated. 

“Yes, that’s me, and you are?” He held out a small hand to me and I shook it. 

“Nobara Yumito, I’m your cousin.” Upon closer inspection I could see that he had indeed resembled certain aspects of my uncle from the image I could remember. The nose protruded in a way very like the old man. 

“That’s strange, you seem to be older than that.” I joked. Yumito seemed to understand my confusion and laughed along. 

“I am my mother’s son from a previous marriage. My sisters are younger, but I’m still nineteen. Now, shall I lead you to the house?” 

I nodded and followed. He led us down a cobble path that I had not noticed before. Probably just a matter of perspective, as I could not see much of anything in the dense bushes until that time that I stood before the statue. Once on the path, however, we traveled quickly through the jungle as it grew thicker around us. As we walked I noticed that Yumito had a birthmark on the left backside of his neck. For some reason it reminded me of my previous observation of his nose. Perhaps, I thought, I was just mistaken. In a situation like that I likely just began to overlay the image of my uncle onto the boy and tried to find any small similarity to clear up my impression of him. In almost every way it was clear that Yumito did not resemble my uncle, and the matter of his nose, I concluded, was mere coincidence. A smile slid across my face as I found the humor in such mental trickery as that. 

Briefly we came up to the house. It was in the old, traditional, style, with a high roof and a closed veranda surrounding the inner rooms. The thicket ended only about three meters from the house, which surprised me. Then again, I refrained from mentioning such a thing because I was ignorant of the ways in which country folk lived. What was strange to me, to them, may have been entirely normal. It would be nice to hold off on any potential embarrassment. 

Yumito went up to the entrance and slid the door open. Against the silence of the island a loud sound of metal rubbing harshly on metal came low to my ears, but I could not determine the source. 

“After you, Cousin.” He gestured.  

The entrance was fairly standard of the type. With the raised floor shining just two meters from the door. The house, itself, was both unique and plain. Unique in the sense that I was generally not acclimated to such classic styles of architecture and design. It was nice that my uncle found pleasure in such humble living, but, as I was young, that old and antiquated style was a touch beyond my ability to appreciate at the time. That said, if one were to simply describe the most standard of standard Japanese houses from around the turn of the twentieth century then they would have described my uncle's home. His decadent taste was cheated by a lack of imagination or desire for creative expression. As I was, and have never been, one with a distinct taste for construction or home design, I began to ignore the house. Acceptance of it as a thing which existed was the only thought I gave. 

A woman in yukata was passing the entryway with a basket of laundry while Yumito and I entered. She was very tall, perhaps fifteen or so centimeters taller than me. Still she had very sharp features that were pleasant on the sensations. As if she were a hostess putting on airs and attempting to welcome a guest. Though the woman was one of my hosts, the look she bore was definitively natural, except in the surprise which she clearly exaggerated upon seeing me. I chalked it up to the gestures of the refined class. 

“Well! Is that Shinjiro then?” She asked in an airy tone. Yumito nodded. 

“Hanakara Shinjiro, pleased to meet you.” I bowed. The woman set the basket down and returned the gesture. 

“Nobara Katsumi, I am my mothers first daughter.” I was purely stumped. 

“I’m sorry? I was under the impression both daughters were of my uncle?” 

Katsumi laughed into her sleeve. 

“Yes, your uncle is my father. I’m seventeen.” 

Complete vexation. Then, supposing that she was indeed his first child, that meant his relation to the mysterious Atsuko had existed prior to his disappearance. That he withheld such things from his family felt odd. An unserious and flippant man like him, at the very least, would have let something slip. I could trust my uncle with a great many things, but a secret was not one. Still, her testimony stood, and as she stood there existing in reality I could not deny the fact that she must have been at least seventeen.

“So it is then. Speaking of which, where is my uncle? I expect he’ll be happy to see me.”

“He is asleep at the moment, but he should be awake by dinner.” Yumito replied from behind me. “Would you like to meet our youngest sister as well? She’s helping mother with the laundry at the back of the house.”

“No, that’s fine. Actually, I feel quite ill all of a sudden.” In truth, as soon as I stepped through the door a vicious curse turned in my stomach. It must have been a consequence of the night before, I should have eaten something instead of having a liquor dinner. 

I was led down the hall into a guest room that looked out into the woods. The room was larger inside than I thought, about six mats total, when I initially had the thought that it would be smaller. In fact, I realized, the house seemed about twice as large inside as it did from the exterior. Perhaps that was a trick of the style, empty space made one appreciate it more. Perhaps the room I stayed in was no larger than the hotel from the  night before. The traditional style combined with my sudden sickness made me feel exposed and small comparatively. Yumito and Katsumi left me alone. 

Outside the day shone faintly through the canopy. I could not say it was a pretty view, but it was, by my standard, very enjoyable. In the middle of the room there was a futon laid out neatly, but I was feeling better so I slid open the fusuma and sat on the veranda. As I looked out at the view I pulled out a cigarette and my matches. Though, I had only one left. I puffed my cigarette and chucked the match into the mud. I would likely smoke more, so it was a good thing I had the lighter. 

I was suddenly struck by my own stupidity. 

“Damn, I dropped the lighter.” I cursed myself. Excuses could be made, my surprise and absent mindedness. My distracted nature. Still, I had to get it back to the fisherman before I left. The next day, when I would leave, I had to make sure to swing by that shrine and grab it. 

After I was finished with the smoke I sat quietly and listened. I expected to hear the highway, or at least the distinct torrent of wind that cars made upon it, but I heard nothing. The other sounds were expected, the lapping of waves upon the shore of the island, the shuffling wind through the canopy. Still, above them, there was a tapping. It was not from outside, but from within the room. I turned back and shut the door to focus on it, and found it was coming from a spot in the eastern wall. I leaned my ear against the floor and it became louder, only instead of a tapping, as I had initially thought, it was a frequent scratching. To my ears it sounded like a rodent digging into a wooden board, perhaps a cat or hare attempting to burrow beneath the house. I resolved to tell my hosts of it, and as I started to open the door my head felt heavy. I lost my balance for a moment and swayed like a drunk. 

The illness had returned, so I submitted to it and climbed into the futon. While darkness enveloped me, I could still hear the scratching. 

Then I awoke to a voice. It was new to me, young and female. As I slid open the door to the hall I was right in presuming it to have been the youngest daughter of the Nobara clan. She must have been eleven or twelve, much closer to the age I had expected of Katsumi. Like her sister the girl was also dressed in a casually colored yukata. It was on this final note that I became aware of my lack of sense for their traditions. That was, I felt out of place in the clothes I had worn for my whole life. My tan button down shirt felt as though it was choking me. Of course that was a bit of an exaggeration, but still, it was embarrassing to have it confirmed that I was probably the only person on the island dressed in Western styled clothing. 

“Shinjiro-sama?” The girl looked up at me. 

“What can I help you with?” I asked, somewhat stilted and caught off guard in the midst of my daydreaming about silly insecurities over my outfit. 

“Mother has made dinner, I’m supposed to retrieve you if you’re feeling better.” 

“Of course, of course, yes, I’ll come right off then.” 

My head felt numb, but otherwise I had mostly recovered from my illness. I was at least able to follow the girl down the hall to where dinner was to be served. Politely, she slid open the fusuma and my eyes were blinded by a bright room. As I adjusted my eyesight two figures came into view. The first was the young man from before, Yumito. He sat on a thin cushion to one side of a long table which already bore a few plates of food. Before I could focus much on the spread, however, my attention was drawn to the head of the table. 

That was Nobara Atsuko. She could not have been anyone else. Indeed, to suggest as much seemed cruel or, even, heretical. Perhaps she was local after all, and her parents had a sick sense of humor or a profoundly poetic whim. Her name could not have been anything other than Atsuko, as the dim solemnity of that exiled woman, so unfairly vilified throughout time, came alive again on that prestigiously reproduced expression of sadness. That was not to say that my Aunt was, at that moment, sad or crying. It was the noble stoicism of her face that foretold previous education of the glimmer of hidden sorrow. There was tragedy in that woman, and that was all that I knew at the time when I first laid an eye on her. 

“Welcome Shinjiro-dono, I am Atsuko, your uncle's bride.” Her lips moved slightly, but each syllable came with purpose and royal pronunciation. 

“There’s no need for honorifics among family is there?” I laughed, scratching my hairline. My head was still numb, and likely from the lights my eyes began to feel moist. 

“If you wish. Please, sit, Keito will be here momentarily.”

I obeyed and took the seat next to Yumito.

“So, Shinjiro, what is it that you do for work?” Yumito asked. 

“Nothing, that is, not yet. I’ve only just graduated my third year of college.” 

“I see.” Atsuko spoke. “And do you have many friends who you may work with?” 

“No, sorry to say but I was mostly book-focused. I have contacts, but they aren’t really what I could call friends.” 

“What about girls?” A voice boomed from directly behind me. 

Startled, I jumped and turned, feeling a shameful sense of deja vu, and there he was. Still as round and jolly as I had remembered him, but aged by just over a decade. I looked up and saw my dearest uncle, Nobara Keito. His balding head had totally given up the ghost and was devoid of a single strand of hair. The polished dome sparkled while his big dimples glowed red from the effort of his wide smile. I leapt up immediately and embraced the man, he accepted the hug with open arms and patted me on the back a few times with a large, strong, hand. He was also wearing jinbei like his stepson, but with the finality of my excitement, having reached the end of my journey, I was much too happy to dwell on silly things like that. 

“I’m sorry uncle,” I laughed, “but I’ve no talent for skirt chasing like you.” 

“Me, a talent? You’re gullible to this day aren’t you? Those were tall tales. It was your father that went to all the parties. I was busy in school. Well, at least you take after the best parts of the both of us. After all, by my word, you are probably taller than I was at your age. Are Tenkichi’s genes that good?” 

“Better, actually, I’m taller than Father now. Though he won’t admit it.” 

My uncle looked me up and down with a proud eye. Many years between our last meeting when I was still no higher than his belt, and there I stood, a man. I let him absorb the knowledge and admire what I had become. His smile of approval bolstered the support that held up my ego. 

“I am glad you did not come when you got out of high school. It is good that you went to college first, there are a great many things that can change in a person's heart between the age of eighteen and twenty-three. I’d have seen you that young and seen an entirely different man just six years later.” His eyes shifted to the direction of Atsuko. 

“And then?” She asked in a leading tone. 

“Oh, there’s no need to get into that now is there?” He asked with a smile. “Let’s eat first and talk business later.” 

“Business?” I spoke up. “What is there to speak of?” 

My uncle waved me down and took his spot at the end of the table opposite his wife. As he did we began to eat. However, I could not say exactly what I was even eating. I grabbed a piece of sushi, but it tasted different than it should have, and not in a good way. It was not disgusting, and definitely not spoiled, but the rice did not taste like rice. In fact, it probably had no flavor at all. A good example would have been if I grabbed a soda and drank it but I could only taste water. Though it looked perfectly fine, there would be no carbonation or sugar. Still I mustered through and managed to withhold my thoughts on the poor cooking. 

Near the end of the meal Katsumi, who sat directly opposite of me next to her younger sister, spoke up. 

“So, Shinjiro, was your trip fine?” 

“I guess, but I was delayed by a fisherman who brought me out here. I’d have been here yesterday if not for his schedule. I’m supposed to meet him tomorrow morning.” 

“This fisherman, is he local?” Atsuko asked. 

“Yes, he owns the bait shop. Do you know him?” 

Her brow did not technically shift, but there was a glint of disgust in her eye that made me imagine as if she had furled her brow. 

“I don’t fraternize with those people.” 

“Quite right!” My uncle exploded jovially. “Leave the louses to their louse trades and the others to theirs. I have a boat, so when your friend comes tomorrow morning you can tell him to not bother. I’ll take you back to shore the day after tomorrow.” 

I laughed along with him. 

“Perhaps, but with everything going on I do have to wonder if your boat is as antiquated as your fashion sense. What is all of this by the way? This isn’t how I expected a Tokyoite to spend their retirement.” 

“Well, you know how it is. I was never opposed to traditionalism, and my precious Atsuko here is from a very old fashioned family. I guess it just felt right.” 

“Speaking of which…” Atsuko led her husband gently but with a firm tone. He had clearly been avoiding to mention some matter which she had wished to broach with me. 

“Yes, speaking of old fashioned; do you really not have any romantic interests?” 

I drew back from the question. 

“No, I don’t. School is more important right now.” 

“Indeed, indeed, but after all you are a man and there are certain things which, of course, can’t be put off just for the sake of putting them off. That is, well, naturally I mean that, but it is such a blessing that you have decided to come now that it is several years on. This would simply not have worked at the time.”

Across from me Katsumi shuffled shyly, barely able to look at me. 

“Uncle, you can’t be serious?” 

“Oh, so you figured it out? Well, you know, I have always thought of you as a son, and once I got this beautiful family I must admit making you my son has occurred to me many times. Of course, it’s only since last March that it was, well, legally possible.” 

I may have been ignorant of country traditions. I may have been a city boy. However, if there was one old fashioned activity I was quite sure was simply not in the realm of desirable outcomes, that was it. 

“Listen, Uncle, I appreciate your sentiments, and I am happy you have connected with our heritage, but just because you dress the way you do and live in an old house, that does not mean you can return to decadent and harmful practices such as this. Katsumi, I am sorry if you are hurt by this, but as a young person yourself you must also understand that this simply isn’t the way things are done in the modern era.” 

Atsuko, who just smiled until that point, spoke up. 

“You are quite right in your own way Shinjiro, but you must remember, besides such things as paper there is no cause for your hesitation.” 

The comment confused me. 

“Paper? Isn’t Katsumi his blood daughter? There is a likeness of blood that concerns me, even beside moral complaints. Paper and legality do matter here, but they are not primary.” 

There were eyes on me from all directions. 

“No Shinjiro, Katsumi is not my blood daughter.” My uncle said lowly. 

“Well!” Yumito suddenly exclaimed. “That’s quite alright, you don’t have to make up your mind at this moment exactly. I understand it is a lot to take in and you’re getting confused. Come, I’ll take you back to your room for the night and you can think it over.”

I stood with Yumito and bowed to the family as we left. As the door was shut behind us, I caught a final glimpse of that strange assembly. My uncle, theretofore happy, was holding his head low and muttering something to himself, fiddling with a chopstick. Atsuko, for her part, smiled and ate rice along with her youngest daughter. Katsumi sat totally still. 

I wished Yumito a fair night and went to my futon. A million frustrations ran through my head. It was certainly an inspiration from the woman, I knew that much at least. It was already well past eight and there was total silence in the house. Perhaps I had really been the fool, to believe that I could ingratiate myself with those who lived so differently from me based on nothing else but blood relation. It was not quite betrayal that I felt, but shame. It was only my attachment to him that could be blamed, not the man himself. I should have kept him at arm's length, and should not have gone that far out of my way to meet with him. As I began to drift into the waves of dream sea’s, the scratching came again. 

I was back home, in my apartment in Kyoto. I was on the bare floor and my futon was neatly folded against the back wall like usual. In the middle of the room my table had a few textbooks and homeworks assignments from the last semester. Everything was as I remembered, except for the scratching. This time, it was not in the room, but at the door. Low to the ground, it sounded as though a bird was pecking at the wood. 

I crawled to the door without standing and put my ear to the door. When I did, the scratching stopped, and there was a sound I could not quite place. It was a vibration of some kind, but in my sentimental lethargy, I perceived as though it were a shiver. Then, muffled through the door, a voice came to me that I had not heard before. 

“Wake me.” 

And then I awoke. 

Night covered the house. Several hours had passed, but with no clock readily available I had no clue what time it was. There was silence, and with it, a complex storm of worries. I knew my illness had caused the dream, mental trickery. Still, my heart was tied with lead weights, and it felt as if something was pressing down on my chest with great, unseen, force. I was in fear, and I did not know for what purpose beyond my own ignorance. There was nothing to have caused such a feeling. My visit was merely a series of sensations, a frequent occurrence of confusion and education. Such was how people lived in this part of the world, but then why did it still work on my nerves so greatly? 

With this new unease I rose from my futon and went to the hallway. Outside it was just as dark, but a light leaking from a room at the end illuminated the hall to some degree greater than pitch darkness. What compelled me forth? What force of benevolence engaged my fancy enough to push me out into that space which gave me only the deepest fear? A leaf upon a stone, such was the will that I received, but it was enough, and soon I arrived at the room that distracted my sense of danger. 

I peered through the crack like a thief. The room was not as well dressed as the rest of the house. The wood was dark, and even the tatami were frayed and clearly much older than any in the dining room from earlier. To one side there was a desk with papers laid about. A single futon lay in the center of the room. There was a small incense burner next to it which was unlit. As I maneuvered I caught sight of my uncle, hunched over and going through a closet. I slid the door open and approached, each step falling on old and firm mats of his room. 

“Uncle? Are you looking for something?” 

He turned to me with wide eyes. At first he pulled away, then, after a moment, looked around and leaned closer, waving me over to his seat. I obliged, kneeling beside him and giving him my ear. 

“Shinjiro, boy, you smoke don’t you?” 

“Yes, why? Do you want one?” 

“No, no, but you have matches don’t you? Or a lighter? Something to start the incense, anything at all?” His tone became more rushed and desperate. I thought that a wrinkle had appeared on his face, but I had probably only just noticed how old my uncle really had become. His bald scalp was loose on the skull, much unlike the form that the bright lights had shown just a few hours prior. In an attempt to avoid his strange eyes I quickly glanced around the room, drifting my gaze across the papers on the desk and, upon acknowledging the writing on them, I returned to my uncle. 

“Uncle are you alright? Where’s Atsuko-san?” 

With my mention a figure appeared in the doorway behind me. I noticed it in my uncle's glare, and turned to face Atsuko. Her youngest daughter was standing at her hip, and the two were looking at us curiously. 

“I’m sorry Shinjiro, but there is a strict rule on fire. You understand, old houses are prone to lighting on accident.” 

“Of course, it makes sense.” I laughed nervously. 

“I will also take this chance to discourage smoking tobacco anymore, if you could give me your matches, I would appreciate it.” She held out a pale hand. It was the first time I took notice of how sharply honed her nails were. 

“Sorry about that, I wasn’t thinking, but I actually used my last match earlier.” 

She stared at me for a moment with an acute glare. 

“It looks like your uncle isn’t quite feeling himself, and it is late, so you should leave for your room Shinjiro. Get some rest for tomorrow, it will be a big day after all.” Atsuko ordered.

My uncle had ceased his words, just staring into the closet blankly swaying on his knees as if he were drunk. 

“Tomorrow?” As I said the word I could feel my own head grow hot and cloudy. 

“Yes, after you think it over tonight we’re going to have the marriage ceremony tomorrow evening. We will spend the day preparing you in the usual ways.” The girl was smiling up at me as if nothing was at all awry about the situation. She was so short for a twelve year old…

“I’m sorry, Atsuko-san, but I’m not going to be changing my mind on this.” 

What words? What phrases or metaphors could I possibly use to describe that expression which she gave me. It was not one of anger, or frustrated acceptance. It was more, at least it was closer to, a look that dictated that what was to come was her will alone. Perhaps suggesting a hypothetical situation in which I was approaching the old Emperor Hirohito, then perhaps that would equate. Still, I was never a conservative. My reverence for that historical figure, as a man, was still just in respect to the knowledge that he was just a man. I was raised in the modern world where such fantastic divinity was a relic of that bygone era that my uncle had grown up in. I was raised by those who existed in that time, but not by that time itself. No, her gaze was not related at all to what I would feel in the presence of royalty. If I suddenly grew an ounce of superstition, of religious belief, then her gaze would be supernatural. It was fate in her eyes, nothing less. Whether I agreed with it or not, Atsuko was intent, and powerful enough, to marry me to her daughter. However, made resolute by my stupidity of otherworldly senses, I was able to defy her word yet again. 

“I think I’ll be leaving with Nojii-san in the morning. Goodnight.” I walked out the door, barely passing her without brushing against the folds of her yukata. I thanked whatever deity spared me such an embarrassment, as I would probably have leapt in utter fear and made a fool of myself. As I passed, I nodded to my uncle, but I could only see the back of his head, his neck caused my pace to quicken. 

The hall felt longer on the way back than it had before. Yumito passed me, still wearing the same outfit, and holding a glare of vilification. I could not blame him for hating me, but there were moral standards that needed to be upheld. Let the old folk live in their old ways, I was of the new world, and we could not mix in such matters as what Yumito and his mother clearly desired. When I had finally reached my room I caught a glimpse of him leaning against the wall, staring at me. 

“Goodnight Yumito-san.” I called to him. 

He looked on in silence. 

My room enraptured me with a sense of security. It was bare and hardly what I was used to, but those sheets that had felt my warmth invited me yet again. Though, there was still a nagging unease in the back of my head, stabbing into my brain stem and keeping my head in constant motion. Both inside and out. I went over the day's events, on my illness and my uncle's transformation. I felt sorry for poor Katsumi, raised under the burden of ancient traditions and expectations. What would become of the family once I left was beyond me. It was clear they had limited access to the world. Then there was Atsuko. 

The sad woman must have been uneducated. That was my decision, rather, she was educated in a wise sense. She was clearly not a simpleton, and was quite intelligent, but she must not have received a formal education. My only course to have reached such a conclusion lay among the crumpled and ink blotched papers of my uncle's desk. Over and over again she had written her name incorrectly, Ako, Asuki, Atoko. The hand which made these strokes was uneven and not used to the feel of a pen. Yet still, beyond that understanding, I felt that the pages held some greater significance that failed me. 

I opened the veranda and gazed into the pitch of the trees as I pondered. Twelve years was a long time, more than enough for men to change drastically in terms of their personal morals and philosophies. Entire wars lasted less than half that time, so if even the world was not immune to change, then my uncle was simply a human being after all. It was no surprise, then, that he would marry a woman he loved and have a daughter with her. It was also no wonder that, as he drew further from the modernity of his family, and closer to Atsuko’s own mysterious heritage, he would adopt her ways. Such was the bond between man and wife, and I had no right to judge it more than that. I supposed I should have mourned the loss of my uncle to antiquity, but people change. I still loved him, and though he had abandoned the greater world, he maintained a line of communication with us so that we could, at least, ensure his safety. 

Communication through written letters…

At dinner my uncle's hand looked fine, with none of the veins or shapes of arthritis. He held his chopsticks as though he were still an unaffected young man. If anything, it was Atsuko who hesitated and ate little. Then, it was Atsuko who had written the letters? What kind of prideful being would receive dictation when her skill was so novice? Unlikely, so; were the letters entirely her own construction?

The metal squeal I had heard earlier that day came again, this time louder and clearly from the direction of the front door. Though it was definitely made of wood, the door made the worst sound of scratching bare metal. Being farther away, and behind my own closed door, had somehow made the sound clearer in my head.  

It must have been Yumito leaving. He was the only one still dressed in appropriate outdoor clothing. For what reason I had few guesses, but the primary among them was an inspired idea from my previous conversation with Atsuko. Though my gut was all I had, I knew that Yumito was leaving to retrieve Nojii’s lighter from the mud before that little statue of Inari. A mission from his mother perhaps? Why would they go to such lengths for a fire hazard? Coincidences and moments of ignorance stacked upon each other and produced a terrible visage. No matter Yumitos true cause, it was my responsibility to return the lighter to Nojii. Without knowing how this act of defiance would be justified, I quietly slid open the veranda door and stepped onto the wet mud with nothing but my indoor slippers. 

The cold Hokkaido night grabbed me with its frigid talons. Though I was dressed well enough to withstand that daytime investigation, the night presented an all new depth of winter. Down south, in Fukuoka, it was not the same sort of night. We got snow, but there was always the inclination towards humidity. I made my way around the house to where I thought the trailhead lay but could not spot the cobble that had led me there. Positioned in front of the house, I estimated my direction and started into the bushes. As soon as I stepped away from the light of the house my head cleared and I became fully aware of the silence, the darkness, and the reality of what I was doing. Yes, I could not have been more than ten meters from the house, but it felt as though I were worlds away from it. My mind grappled with the stupidity of stepping into the Hokkaido night with nothing but slippers, and as my feet became numb from the wet and cold I cursed under my breath, but without a word. There could be no sound, and if I was to die, or to lose my feet at the very least, I would not make a word of complaint known to the ghosts behind the trees. Ghosts of men drowned in the lake, men who I almost imagined were staring at me with vengeance in their eyes. My head clear, I shuck the notion away to keep as calm as I could, panic would do me no good in this venture.

At least, I did not want to give myself away to Yumito, wherever he was in that pitch. 

Surprisingly, I came upon the shrine by pure chance. Stumbling through the dark and yet still I emerged from a dense bush to find my hand feeling upon a boulder that, at least as far as I could tell, was the same statue I recalled. Being careful not to make a sound I started combing the ground near the base. I could not find the lighter. 

“Is there a problem, Cousin?” Yumito’s distinctly high pitched chuckle came to me. 

“Ah, well, I seem to have misplaced my lighter.” I admitted.

“There’s no need for that, surely? Mother has told you that there are to be no flames allowed on the island. Come Cousin, let’s return to the house.” I could not see him, but I could feel those eyes leering at me in the dark. Sizing me up, taking stock of my form so as to pounce. Such vilifaction was unknown to me, and at that moment I could not place its origin.

“I must insist Yumito-san, the lighter belongs to Nojii the fisherman, the man who brought me here. It would be rude of me to not at least return it to him, don’t you think?” 

“Cousin, I understand, but if that is the case then I shall hold onto it, is that fine?” 

The suggestion was the final straw in the grand bale that had been placed upon my patience that whole day. From the sickness, to the moral terror, and even upon the arrogance of the matriarch. I was no accomplished man worth any great respect, but I was, at the least, an individual with agency that had been totally ignored. So with a great exercise of will to overcome my polite and sensitive nature, I stood straight toward the direction of Yumito’s voice and spoke deeply from my chest in a gesture of outright confrontation. 

“Yumito-san, give me the lighter.” 

It felt as though the darkness smiled. 

“Come now Shinjiro, why the constant honorifics? We are family, aren’t we?” 

“Are we?” I shot back. Suspicion and conspiracy, that was what I had witnessed in that house whose correspondence was created by a scheming matron. For what cause I had no idea, but with that final question I resolved that my Uncle was being held against his will. I would leave with Nojii, I would call the proper authorities, I would save my dear Uncle from that den of malcontent. I would retrieve that image of a jolly old man that would give me sweets and take me to amusement parks every summer. He was a kind man, and he would find love in time, he would recover, but I only had to withstand the demands of a teenage boy. 

I would have my lighter. 

Off in the distance, through the tree’s, a small light flicked on over the water. The will-o-wisp smoothly glided closer until it was within a hundred meters of the island, at which point it rose a little to the face of an old and familiar fisherman. It amazed me the clarity with which I recognized Nojii from such a distance, a fact I attributed to the lack of any other reference point in the void of night. The tenebrous malevolence grew from where I thought Yumito stood. 

“Your fisherman?” Yumito growled in a high pitch. 

“Yes, now give me the lighter, I’ll signal him and get picked up immediately. It’s clear I’m not meant to be here any longer.” I held my hand towards the boy, whose profile I had to imagine. 

“Oh? And how will you do that? I doubt a little thing like this will catch his eye.” 

“The shrine has a large candle, and it will direct the light out towards him. He knows I am here, he will probably call to me if he sees it. I’ll be out of your hair.” 

“I’m sorry, Shinjiro-kun, but I can’t let you do that.” 

A great force threw itself at my stomach, keeling me over into the mud. The force repeated its assault once I was on the ground, driving itself into my chest and stomach again and again. The air had been knocked out of my lungs, and the pain was unlike any I had ever felt. I had never been struck before, and certainly had never been in a fight. For all of my posturing, I was still the fool to think my escape would go without reply. Still, I had some sense left, primal though it was, and as the force struck me again I grabbed onto it for dear life. As it turned out, I had grappled Yumito’s foot, and turned over, dragging him to the ground clumsily. A fist found my spine, but I hastily climbed over him as he repeatedly struck me. With no thoughts running through my head, I thrashed wildly at the darkness below me. I hit mostly mud and stone, but my aching knuckles occasionally found something resembling flesh. Yumito changed tactics after this assault and began beating my stomach with his fists, which threw me off of him and against the small shrine. The two of us breathed with great difficulty, and it sounded as though Yumito had stood. 

Then, amidst the panting and silence, the sound of metal hitting stone rang out in my ears. As though illuminated by the faint moonlight which barely penetrated the tree’s, I could have sworn to have seen the glint of the moon. As Yumito was still invisible to me, I desperately reached for it, in hand I realized with all of my senses that it was that treasured lighter, and so I took it to the shrine behind me. Stunned and still recovering, Yumito could not stop me from lighting the candle that Inari cradled with care. I turned and, sure enough, saw Nojii’s light drawing closer to the island and around to the remnants of the half-constructed dock. Seizing the opportunity I leapt from my crouch and towards the direction I thought the  pseudo-dock had been. Though, as I lunged forward, I collided with a body in the dark. For all the candle illuminated, it did not show me the malcontent which had arisen from his stun. 

We both fell to the ground and he shoved me off of him, back towards the shrine. As my back crashed into it, the shrine fell over, dropping the candle into the bushes. While the two of us recovered once more, neither being fighters or particularly durable, the light grew stronger. Somehow, some way, the candle had actually started a fire in the wet woods. Perhaps it was the snack wrappers and loose trash that began the flame, but nevertheless it began. Billowing greater and greater until it had engulfed the bushes behind the shrine almost completely. I could have excused the sudden raze, but that inferno which followed was a mystery to my eyes. In the ground lay melted snow from a blizzard then two weeks gone. The trees and bushes were colored vigorously with fresh life. How had a fire enraged so suddenly? 

At the time I was too much concerned with Yumito and my escape to spend overlong on the subject. In such an instant emergency my senses were overloaded by dangers and actions, there was no more time to make sense of things. 

As the flame grew and quickly swallowed up the path back to the house, Yumito disappeared. I had no foolish belief he had fallen victim to the flames, but a part of me—that same one which flung his arms about at his enemy like a mongrel—wished truly that he had been. Even now, so divorced from that night, I wish I had pushed him into the flames at that time. My chance, though, had come, and I ran to the bushes and straight out into that clearing which I had found that day prior. Nojii’s boat rushed to the end of the makeshift dock as I emerged, and the look on his face as he raised that dark weapon of steel and brimstone remains with me to this day. Never before had I seen a man so taken by sheer terror. He looked nothing like himself, as his face contorted to that of another man, a man I had never known, and would never know again. I knew immediately that he was not looking at me, and though I would regret it, as I ran, I turned to see my villain. 

It was Yumito, and it was not. It was a ragged beast with matted fur. It had the face of a young man, and its body bent and twisted into something nothing like a man. The knee’s had inverted, and the feet had erupted from the sandals as great naked paws. This canine half-man rushed towards me as it growled in a high pitched tone that resembled nothing it should have. Even then, with such an intent to kill, Yumito was laughing at me. I tripped over an empty beer bottle, and the beast stood over me with arrogant dominion. 

On a clear night on Lake Akan, a single sound of thunder rang out. 

The beast that resembled Yumito fell to the ground. He writhed, clutching at the flesh of his chest which was no longer there, but he did not howl, instead the incessant cackling overpowered the crackling flames. He made a low gurgling as he laughed with sundered lungs, filled with viscous and malevolent blood. Already the fire had reached us, and that creature that called me cousin crawled into the infernal hell from where it had come. I could still hear him cackling, until even that became nothing more but white noise beneath the blaze. The only remnant of it being the long trail of blood that was absorbed by the thirsty earth. 

I stood slowly and made my way to Nojii. Each step reminded me of my weak constitution as the bruises and internal pains nearly caused me to fall yet again. The adrenaline was all that pushed me, and as soon as I made it into the boat, I collapsed. Nojii quickly threw his gun down and gripped the accelerator with strength, sending us flying away from that terrible island. 

I laid in the boat, watching the fire clean away the detritus. I watched it purify the evil that had taken my uncle. I watched the mud boil, and, just as we rounded the cape and escaped the view of that place, I saw something else. It stood on four legs, and in the night only illuminated by hellfire, I could see it was white. Two other figures appeared, one quite small, the other about the same size as the first. As the fire engulfed even them, the cape obscured my final view of Oshima.

As I recovered in a clinic nearby, Nojii gave me the newspaper from that day. According to the authorities, teenagers had accidently set an old workman’s shack on fire, leveling Oshima Island. Only one body was found, that of a middle aged man named Nobara Keito, my uncle, who had succumbed to the flames. There were two pictures attached to the article, one was of the burnt and broken steel supports of a low-budget shack meant for temporary organization of construction projects. In the middle of that there was an object beneath a white sheet. Likely, I realized, it was my poor uncle. The second photo was of a shrine I had never seen. It was a short statue made from a boulder, and it depicted Inari-no-kami beneath a torii. However this Inari, whose candle was lit in the photograph, sat proudly upright. It must have been a different shrine, and those creatures I saw on the shore of Oshima must have been nothing more than hallucinations. 

I left the following day, despite the doctor’s plea that I stay in town until I was healed. I told him I would report my uncle’s passing to the main family, and it was my duty to do so, he let me go on based on such responsibilities. In truth, the night before forbade me from staying beyond my need, and as I said my final farewell to Nojii before stepping onto the bus, I could see the reflection of the fire in his eyes. No, I did not share with him the events of that night, nor did he ask. Those cursed memories were my own. The memory of Atsuko’s final glare upon my soul as I left her, and Inari’s rage purifying the hellish place. I cannot recall the final look I gave to my uncle, or what he really appeared to be beyond the illusion of that old man I had loved as a boy. I cannot recall the shape of his nose, or the fullness of his cheeks, but I can still recall with fine detail Yumito's handsome face turned crooked and slant. I can still see him looking down at me, and I can still hear his laughter resounding in my head. 

The fox myths of Russia and Japan colored much of my writing in the early days. Thanks in no small part to Mr Pelevin and his Sacred Book. Highly Recommend.

Bewitchment by a fox is a popular Asian fairy tale. Chinese and Japanese myths about men being found in a shed with a litter of fox puppies as the mother scurries away to cast her illusion on another. I’m probably in love with these stories, they’re quite fun.