The Oni

A strange tension filled the air, and an almost inaudible deep bass sound filled Haruki’s head for a split second, as if the air pressure was dropping, or perhaps rising.

(If you missed part one I’d suggest reading it first! It’s here in the same page)

Haruki felt a definite and peculiar compulsion to lean forward. A strange tension filled the air, and an almost inaudible deep bass sound filled Haruki’s head for a split second, as if the air pressure was dropping, or perhaps rising. He hesitated on the brink of the garden for a second, then shook his head and withdrew, his young spirit sensing something amiss in the Oni’s conduct, though not knowing exactly what.

The Oni watched him calmly with an expression of mild attentiveness, but said nothing as Haruki moved away, down the garden path and beyond its line of sight. Haruki looked at the yellow light pouring out of the open doorway at the end of the path. The night was quiet, and the garden seemed serenely still, lending a dreamlike quality to the scene. The golden light seemed to expand in the silent stillness and, to Haruki, the quiet scene before him seemed, for an instant, to dominate the entirety of his existence. He pushed through the strange sensation and hurried along, down the path, feeling the presence of the Oni at his back. He even looked backward quickly once or twice, to verify the Oni wasn’t there, but each time he only saw the stillness of the garden, though the strange tension in the air remained and seemed to draw upon him. He reached the open doorway, shuddered, and then climbed up the high wooden step into the kitchen.

He slipped off his sandals and called for his mother. “Okāsan? Okāsan?” Only a brooding silence greeted his cries. In a panic, he ran through the house, room by room, searching for his mother. The rooms were lifeless, empty, and dark. He returned to the dining room, to the vain comfort of its glowing lanterns. The Shinto shrine his father kept at one end of the dining room seemed to loom large to Haruki and draw upon him. He wandered over to it, face wet with the tears of fear and grief. Upon the shrine was the trinket his father had purchased off a traveling merchant some years ago—a miniature replica, only eight inches long, of Ame-no-Nuboko (the spear the gods Izanagi and Izanami used to create the first land mass of Japan). Without knowing why, he snatched it up and tucked it inside the breast of his shirt. Then, moving back to the kitchen area of the room, he noticed something: The second bowl of food waste was gone! The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as the words of the Oni flickered through his mind once more:

[“And what were these white, wrapped things filled with pork?”

“Those are pork dumplings, sir Oni.”

“Ahh, they are most appetizing.”]

He hadn’t given the Oni any dumplings. With sudden alarm, Haruki connected the dots. His mother had disposed of the second bowl of food. The Oni then must know where she is. Haruki was afraid, but he didn’t know what else to do—besides, with father away in the city, he was now the man of the household, wasn’t he? So, rallying his courage and slipping his sandals back on, he returned once again to the garden path. A strange feeling of déjà vu hit him as down the dim corridor he went. Once again, the warm light of the kitchen faded into grey. On his right, the gap in the leaves appeared, and there, the black river. And, there was the Oni, waiting patiently—the mild, slightly pained look on his face still there. He hadn’t moved an inch. Haruki walked carefully to the boundary of the garden. The Oni smiled sheepishly and seemed to shrug apologetically under the water.

“So?” it said.

“Sir Oni?”

“Yes?”

“Have you seen my mother?”

“Oh indeed. I was meaning to tell you this…” The Oni rolled its eyes up to the sky as it spoke, "but you ran off so fast… I never got the chance.”

Haruki became excited, but also, a certain sick feeling was growing in his stomach. “Oh? Well then, would you please tell me where she is, Sir Oni?”

“I will indeed, since you are such a polite and well-mannered boy. She is here, in the river.”

Haruki’s eyes went wide in alarm, and he began to cry. “But she must be drowned?”

“Oh, my dear boy. Don’t you cry, you are the man of the house now, are you not?”

Haruki nodded his head silently and wiped his face.

“That’s better. Besides, she is not drowned.”

Haruki looked up. “She isn’t?”

“No, don’t be silly.” The Oni touched three pale fingers to its mouth, politely suppressing a giggle, "She is a guest of the Yōsei.”

“Really? So she is not drowned?... I didn’t know the Yōsei had guests?”

“You didn’t? But of course we do. Wouldn’t life be boring without guests?”

“Yes. You are right, sir Oni.”

“Of course I am.” The Oni grinned tiredly, almost sickly. The grin of an old man dying from cancer. "And do you know why your mother is our guest?”

“No.”

“Because she is such a good cook and has been so kind and wise, always feeding the Yōsei. So this time, I decided to have her over… for dinner.”

“Can I see her? Please, sir Oni, tell her I want to see her.”

“Okay. Since you are such a good boy, I will do this for you.” The large pale face disappeared into the blackness. A few moments later, it returned to the surface. “She says for you to join her. She would come to tell you herself, but her hands are full. She is helping with the preparations of the meal.”

Haruki took a step back and looked fearfully at the cold, inky water. Despite the pleasant tone of the Oni’s voice, he still felt he shouldn’t trust it. The Oni were bad Yōkai… Though, some had been taught to be good and raised to the heavens by the Kamigami, hadn’t they? Perhaps this was a reformed Oni?”

The Oni cocked its head. “Don’t you hear her calling?”

Haruki froze and listened. There was… something. A very soft sing-song voice, bubbling up from somewhere, deep beneath the water’s surface. He couldn’t quite make out the voice. He leaned a little closer.

“Quick, she is saying you will miss out on dessert if you do not hurry up. Can’t you hear her?”

The sing-song voice got louder; it was now just out of earshot. If Haruki could only get a little closer. Again, he felt compelled to listen to the Oni’s reasonable advice. He bent his head down slightly. Again, that deep, almost subsonic bass and feeling of tension filled the air. An imminent pressure. He bent a little more and stepped slightly closer to the water. In sudden alarm, he looked down at the positioning of his feet. In his efforts, he had insensibly crossed the threshold of the garden. At once, the Oni’s face transformed into a visage of madness and horror, like those faces depicted in traditional Japanese Oni masks. But, as Haruki saw, the masks were only a washed-out imitation of the true face of an Oni. A great pale arm, hard as horn, shot from the water, and a large clawed hand clamped over the small child’s whole head. He let out a muffled wail, and, a split second later, was snatched away into slimy, black oblivion.

After an unknown period of time, Haruki found himself raised out of the water and able to breathe again. He gasped and sucked in air as fast as his small lungs could take it in. Though he could breathe, he could not see, for he was in a space of utter darkness. With a panic, he wondered if he were already in the lands of the dead. The air in the dark space felt damp and was fetid beyond Haruki’s experience, or imagination. He heard the swishing sounds of the Oni leaving the water, and then he felt himself being carried away through the blackness. He could hear the sounds of small stones being tumbled here and there, and the regular “slip-slap” of the Oni’s wet feet on a hard surface.

Haruki cried, pleaded, and wriggled in the Oni’s grasp. But it was to no avail. Gone was the polite conversational voice—it didn’t even bother to answer. The only responses Haruki got were its grunts of effort as it maneuvered him through what must be a narrow, winding passage, where Haruki often felt the brush of an earthen wall against one of his naked limbs; and the wafts of the Oni’s rotten breath that blew down into his face out of the darkness.

Sight returned to Haruki as they emerged from the narrow passage into a cramped subterranean chamber. The chamber was dimly lit by candle and firelight. But the chamber wasn’t spacious or grand or beautiful, like the caves people like to explore for pleasure. It was suffocating and dank and crowded with filth, sticks, and bits and pieces of river detritus—more like the nest of some bird, or the den of a crocodile. The ceiling was so low that even Haruki’s mother would need to watch her head at certain parts of it. The Oni was forced to crane its neck down grotesquely and breathe directly into Haruki’s face as it traveled through its own lair. Haruki’s ears pricked up as he heard the quiet sounds of a woman sobbing. Then he saw her. Against the eastern wall of the chamber, the wet and disheveled form of his mother. She was chained crudely to two metal plates which were anchored in the earthen wall behind her. The chains that were attached to her wrists were taut, and her arms were stretched wide. Her head hung down slackly upon her breast—unconscious.

“Okāsan! Okāsan!” Haruki called out. “Help me! The Oni has me! Okāsan! He told me you asked me to come down for dinner.” Haruki cried.

Ayami stirred slightly at the sound of her son’s voice, but her head did not raise. After a moment, she began to whimper and mumble indistinctly, as if in the grips of some terrible nightmare.

Haruki’s mind reeled in confusion: She too had been snatched by the Oni… but she was unable to resist its spell!… Now they both were doomed. It was an odd and terrible feeling, having the comforting presence of his mother so near, yet completely unable to aid him. Haruki roared and cried and struggled in the Oni’s iron grasp and attempted to wake his mother. But, from her corner, he only heard the mutterings of a woman in the grip of either madness, or a horrid dream. She will not be able to help me, he thought again and cried the harder. The Oni, seeing his grief and perplexity, only chuckled thickly under its breath, almost absentmindedly, as it went about securing him in another set of manacles to the wall opposite his mother. Haruki was too small for the manacles, and they were loose on his wrists. However, the Oni paid no heed to this. Haruki was only a frail human child, soft, unarmed, and unarmored. The perfect snack…