NA Horror/Fantasy Horror -- Darkmaw Part 1 "A Feast of Fairies"
As he inspected the muddy water, something larger than any Yōkai [Fairy/Spirit] he had ever seen swirled into view from the river's edge--a gigantic, pale face.
“Haruki?” Ayami called out for her son to help her clean up the remains of the evening meal. With hands full of empty dishes, she straightened and watched her son as he leapt up from playing with his wooden toys.
“Hai, okāsan?” [“Yes, mother?”] replied the small boy as he hopped and skipped barefoot across the large room, which served as both dining room and kitchen.
She smiled down at him; he was six years old now. Strong and intelligent, but more than that, he was kind and well-mannered. “Father and his guests have gone to continue their work meeting in the city. I need your help to clean up tonight. There’s a lot of food left over, and it mustn’t go to waste. We can use it to feed the fish, and as an offering to the Yōkai [fairies/spirit-like creatures]. The Yōkai are troublesome spirits, and by honoring them, we do our part in keeping them occupied and out of mischief for the Kamigami [Gods/Greater spirits]. If we do this, the Kamigami can focus their attention on more important things--like bringing a fruitful harvest for our farmers this year.” She indicated two large serving bowls heaped with the remains of various dinner dishes: white rice, pan-fried chicken, dumplings, nori [dried seaweed], and pickled vegetables. Then she smiled. “At least it’s a neat way of disposing of food waste. You know what to do.”
Haruki asked. “But, if it is an offering for the Yōkai, shouldn’t we have prepared it specially for them?”
His mother smiled back at him, “Yes son, you are correct. Next time I will make sure to do so.”
Haruki knew his mother didn’t really mean it. His mother paid lip service to the Yōkai, he could tell she didn’t truly believe in them. He was worried that this would bring her trouble one day. He frowned up at his mother and wanted to warn her, but one shouldn’t argue with their parents. So, all he said was, “Hai, okāsan!”
Haruki had fed the Yōkai many times now. At first, his mother had taken him along many moons ago to dispose of the food waste each night, and they’d "offered the food to the Yōkai" together. But his mother could never see them like he could. Maybe it was because she was a grown-up? All he knew was that whenever he pointed them out to her, she’d give him an indulgent smile and shake her head. She never told him they didn’t exist, nor did she ever imply that he was lying about his fantastic stories of them. She was a good mother, but she didn’t beleive.
“I will feed them,” he said, coming out of his thoughts. He took one of the large bowls of leftovers between his delicate arms and tottered toward the doorway, which opened from the kitchen area directly onto the back garden pathway. He placed the dish down carefully by the doorway, slipped on his sandals, and climbed down the steep single step to the garden path. He then took the bowl up in his arms once again.
Ayami called out one last word of admonition, “Remember, Haruki, do not cross the threshold from our garden to the riverbank. I do not want you slipping and falling into the river. Also,” she said conspiratorially, “it is said that the Yōkei and even the greater Oni [Evil spirits, demons, monsters, etc.] are bound by the Kamigami not to trespass upon our personal property. Though they are mostly harmless, some are malicious by nature and would love the chance to play nasty pranks on you.”
“Yes, mother,” replied Haruki. He knew the rules, of course. She’d told him many stories about the different types of Yōkai and the naughty games they’d played on families who didn’t follow the rules laid out by the Kamigami--even though he knew she didn’t truly believe in them. He knew she only wanted to scare him so he’d stay away from the river at night. But he knew better. He would be cautious, not for the river, but for the sake of the Yōkai. He moved away from the warm yellow light of the kitchen and into the shade of the garden path. On his left were the dark and silent rice-paper walls of his house’s rear rooms. On his right was the garden, full of small plants, flowers, and stone statues, all dimly lit by the golden light streaming from the kitchen. Beyond the long, narrow garden was a thick wall of leafy trees and shrubbery, which acted as a barrier between their gardens and the river that ran past their property. There was a section of the path that became very narrow, and the leafy trees began to press in on him from the right. To Haruki, it felt like he was walking through a dim natural corridor, with the outer wall of his house forming one side and the thick leafy trees forming the other.
He passed the vacant gap in the trees to his right, a dirt slope leading into the river. This gap acted like an access ramp to the river—and was one of the two feeding spots for the fish, or as Haruki knew, the Yōkai. It was dark, empty, and silent. The black water of the river looked sluggish, almost still, as it drifted imperceptibly by. Haruki continued on, and the golden light from the kitchen faded to grey as he passed through the narrowest part of the natural corridor. After a tense moment in the dim light, he emerged into the larger garden behind the house.
Here was an open, beautifully landscaped area, cut in half by a small stream, spanned by an ornate bridge. There were sand gardens with hand-picked boulders and stone statues, and a majestic cherry blossom tree at the garden’s center. Narrow stone footpaths wound their way through the harmonious design, allowing one to move about without disturbing its careful zen of its arrangements. The yellow light of the kitchen was now replaced by the bright silvery light of the moon. The right edge of the picturesque garden was still bordered by the thick wall of leafy trees, and beyond, the dark flowing river—the river where the Yōkai lived.
There, along the right wal of the garden, was a second section cut out of the wall of trees, revealing a muddy strip of dirt--another earthen ramp leading into the river. This was the second location where Haruki and his mother fed the fishes--but, as mentioned, it was really the Yōkai. Haruki walked over to the gap in the trees, careful not to overstep the boundaries of their property. With one great heave, he flipped the serving dish upside down. The scraps and leftovers spilled out in a great pile on the riverbank, some parts tumbling into the dark water.
Haruki watched with fascination as, almost instantly, Yōkai began to appear from the river at the scent of the food. Soon, a whole swarm of odd little creatures--each about an inch tall--surrounded the pile of scraps: Buta no yōsei [Ugly little pig-like creatures], dirty, rude, and greedy, shoving their way forward and taking more than their fair share; things like miniature royal ambassadors with eccentric headdresses; tiny “fly-goblins” spitting and hissing as they landed, snatched up their supplies and carried them away from the throng below; delicate humonoids with dragonfly wings, the men with long swaying mustaches; “Lilypods,” green-limbed men with flat green caps, elegantly rowing their way over on their lily-pad rafts, using thin reeds as paddles. Almost at once, the food was gone, then the Yōkai. The river’s edge, once again dark and silent. Only a few pig-like Buta no Yōkai remained, squealing and snuffling around the muddy bank for more. Haruki only had some rice left, stuck to the bottom of the bowl, which he was attempting to scrape free. But, just as he was about to scoop it out with his bare hand, he heard his mother’s voice calling to him,
“Haruki! Haruki!”
He paused in his efforts. Better go back and tell her he was okay. Then he could get the second bowl of food--and maybe a scraping spoon for the rice.
He headed back toward the rear corner of the house and into the dim natural corridor beside it. The moonlight faded, and the dark wall of leaves felt as though it was pressing in on him once again as he padded quickly through the narrow corridor. He could feel the sluggish black water just beyond the leaves, now so near, as though it would reach up and take him in. He shivered and hurried along. A moment later, the yellow light of the kitchen came back into view. Haruki’s courage returned, and he continued on at a more leisurely pace.
As he passed the second feeding bay, now on his left, he noticed something odd: The dirt ramp looked slick and wet, and the river’s edge was disturbed. He stopped walking, forgetting his mother’s summons in his curiosity.
As he inspected the muddy water, something larger than any Yōkai he had ever seen swirled into view from the river's edge--a large face. The face was pale, with a large splayed nose, red as if flushed from Sake [Japanese rice wine]. It had large, flabby cheeks, like rippling lard, which tapered up to a thimble-cone crown, shaping the head like a squash. Five or six individual strands of thick black hair hung flatly down its otherwise bald head. The face was fixed in an expression of sullen dejection. Apart from its unhealthy complexion and strange hair, it could have been the head of a security guard or a fat businessman, drunk on sake. It looked strange juxtaposed against the inky surface of the water.
Haruki gasped silently and stepped backward a pace. He’d never seen such a big Yōkai! It must be a greater Yōkai… or maybe an Oni! He felt he should run, but as he went to move away, it spoke in a mild, conversational tone:
“Ah, is that all that’s left? A shame. Go on, give it all up. I’m very hungry.”
Haruki felt compelled to obey and scraped some of the rice free from his bowl with his hand. The contents landed in a messy heap at the edge of the bank, half tumbling into the murky water.
“Oh, this is delicious. Your mother cooked this?”
“Yes, sir Yōkai,” replied Haruki in a proud but tremulous whisper.
“She is a great cook,” said the Yōkai gravely, lending much honor to Haruki’s mother. Haruki wanted to leave, but the Yōkai continued talking, engaging his attention. Furthermore, polite manners demanded he shouldn’t interrupt someone while they were talking. Father wouldn’t approve of that, so he hesitated and stayed a little longer, just to let the Yōkai finish.
“And what were these white, wrapped things filled with pork?” the Yōkai asked.
“Those are pork dumplings, sir Yōkai,” replied Haruki with some confusion--he hadn’t given the Yōkai any dumplings. Was it a Yōkai? Or an Oni?
“Ahh, they are most appetizing.” And then, as Haruki hurriedly scraped at the last contents of his serving bowl, “And what’s that left over? Rice?”
“Yes, sir Yōkai. It is only rice. You probably wouldn’t like it very much.”
“Oh, I like it very much indeed. Don’t be shy now--throw it all in.” It sat and watched politely as Haruki scraped the last of the rice into the edge of the mud. A hidden hand rose in a swath of water and dragged the muddy scraps away into the swirling depths below. Haruki was more confident now; the Yōkai was so reasonable and well-mannered. However, his bowl was empty, so he felt he should return for the other one now--plus, his mother must be getting worried.
“Oh, before you go, be a good fellow…” said the Yōkai, in the mildest of tones. “I see a single pea left on your bowl. It looks so delicious--it would be such a waste if it were to get away. Would you lean a little closer and pass that over?”
…
To find out what happens to Haruki, lookout for Darkmaw Part 2!--The Oni