Thomas Randall - The Waking

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.”

Her wet, matted hair hung in curtains that blocked the moonlight, so it almost seemed that Ume had no face. The illusion made Kara shiver.

“I’m sorry!” Ume wailed, lowering her head further as though waiting for the executioner. “Please, I’m so sorry.”

Miho and Kara’s destruction of the shrine had scattered scraps of letters and photos all over the place, and the breeze had blown them across the slope, down toward the water. The ketsuki stalked toward Sakura and Ume, carefully choosing its path so that it did not step on a single scrap.

“Sakura, please!” Miho cried.

Kara and Hachiro and Miho all fell silent then, staring as Sakura stood defiantly in the path of her own heart’s vengeance.

Sakura closed her eyes and raised up the scrap she had been holding. Its glimmer revealed it as a photograph, but they were too far away to see the image.

“I can’t forgive Ume,” Sakura said. “I never will. I do wish she would die, and if you were Akane, I would not stand in your way.” She sobbed and her hand shook, but she did not lower the picture. “But my sister would never hurt the people who care about me. I knew the truth when Jiro died. She didn’t want to be his girlfriend, but he meant so much to her. She would never have hurt him. But I didn’t want to know it. I wanted so badly for you to be her.”

The ketsuki took another step toward her but then only crouched, watching her, shivering. It seemed much smaller than before.

Kara thought Sakura would destroy the photo, tear it in half and cast the pieces to the wind again. Instead, she turned and walked the few steps back to Ume. Sakura reached down and picked up Ume’s hand, forced the girl to take the photo from her.

“You gave me this pain, Ume. Now I give it back to you, and you can live with it. I’ll go on, for my sister, and I’ll have her with me always. And you go on with your guilt, and I hope it’s with you always. I pity you.”

The ketsuki screamed and collapsed. It struggled to stand, limping back toward the place where the shrine had been but was no longer. It fell in the spot where Akane had died, mewling and writhing.

When at last it went still, all that remained of it was the cold, dead body of the red and copper cat that Kara had watched die there weeks before-Kyuketsuki’s first victim at Monju-no-Chie School, and its last.

Hachiro limped up beside Kara, blood weeping from a scratch on his face, one hand clutched against the slashes on his chest, and put an arm around her.

“You all right?” he asked.

She nodded, amazed by this guy who’d been brutalized but who seemed concerned only about her own welfare. Kara stood on her tiptoes and gave him a quick, soft kiss. The punctures in her side and back bled, but she’d live.

Miho went to Sakura. They’d been best friends, but just watching them now, Kara could see the distance all of this had put between them. And yet, with just a few steps and open arms, Miho closed that distance. She put her arms around Sakura-the shy girl now strong, the rebel now tender and broken-and hugged her close.

Just a few feet away, Ume still knelt on the ground, sobbing quietly. She had her arms wrapped around her knees and her face buried there, hidden. In one hand she still clutched the photograph that Sakura had given her, tilted in the moonlight so that at last, Kara could make out the image. The picture was a shot of Akane and Sakura in their school uniforms, arms around each other, heads leaning together. The sisters had the same smile.

“Is it over?” Sakura asked, hopeful.

“Yes. It’s over,” Miho said.

As one, Miho and Sakura, and Kara and Hachiro, turned their backs on Ume and started to walk toward the school and the dormitory beyond. The police would drive by soon. Twice an hour, they’d said. They would notice the open door of the dormitory and find Mr. Matsui’s body. Eventually they would find Ume, crying, and the girl would confess.. . or Kara and her friends would tell them of her confession.

What would happen then, she had no idea. But for the moment, Miho was right. It was over.

Yet even as the thought entered Kara’s mind, the wind picked up.

The breeze eddied and swirled and whipped at her clothes and tugged at her hair, and the torn bits of notes and pictures danced and skittered across the grass, moving in tighter and tighter circles. It grew stronger still, dragging pieces of cotton and the cloth skins of stuffed animals into its inexorable pull, and the gathering fragments began to build something.

A silhouette. A shape. An effigy.

At first Kara thought the fragments were constructing the image of the ketsuki, but then a sick feeling clenched in her gut and she felt the wave of grief that she’d felt before, and terror stole her breath away. She felt the presence of the demon, even as the wind finished sculpting it out of the remnants of Akane’s life.

“Oh my God,” Sakura whispered.

Miho said its name. “Kyuketsuki.”

Its hideous face looked very much like the Noh mask they had seen, but uglier, more massive, and when it opened its papiermache mouth, the long knifelike fangs within did not look like paper at all.

Nor did its eyes, when they opened. They were cat’s eyes, like the ketsuki’s, but they gleamed a sickly, putrid green.

Hachiro held Kara tightly, braced as if to run, to carry her away if need be.

And the demon spoke.

“Fortune has smiled upon you,” it said, voice a flutter of torn paper in the breeze. “I can only reach my hands into the world by chance, on those rare occasions when a window is opened. You have closed that window. I swear to you that if I should ever find a door, you would all suffer such agonies as even your nightmares cannot contain.

“But the doors have all been closed since the world was young, and I cannot touch you as I would like. Still, you must be punished for your interference, so I put my curse upon you. Little remains in the world now of the darkness of ancient days… but what there is will come to you, and to this place. All the evil of the ages will plague you, until my thirst for vengeance is sated.”