Thomas Randall - Spirits of the Noh

“I would love a cigarette right now,” she whispered, becoming jittery. “I need a smoke.”

Mai shot her a dubious look. “Why don’t you have one, then?”

Sakura sniffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re not very sneaky, are you? If there’s anyone in the house, they might see the match, never mind the cigarette burning.”

Affronted, Mai raised her chin, half-turned away. “You say I’m not sneaky as though it’s an accusation. Is being sneaky an admirable trait?”

“That was me being polite,” Sakura replied. “By ‘sneaky,’ I mean clever. Which you’re not.”

That ended any further discussion, and Sakura was glad. She fidgeted, both with impatience and with a craving for nicotine. Thirty or forty minutes went by without her exchanging another word with Mai. Fewer cars passed. After a while, all Sakura could think about was how idiotic she had been to take up smoking, and how she really needed to quit the habit.

In a way, that was good. The less she thought about the house across the street, the better. Whenever she let herself focus too much on Miss Aritomo’s lovely old place, she wondered if Miho might be inside, and if she would still be alive when they went in after her. Those thoughts made her want to scream.

Craving a cigarette helped keep the fear bottled up.

Mai stiffened beside her. “Did you hear that?”

Sakura frowned, edgier than ever. “What? I didn’t hear anything.”

They both stood frozen in the alley, necks craned, concentrating on the sounds of the night around them. There were no cars driving by now, and no distant roar of motorcycle engines or rumble of a passing train. In that moment, the neighborhood was probably as quiet as it ever got.

Sakura cocked her head. Had she heard a muffled cry in the distance?

“There it is again,” Mai said, turning to stare at her, eyes wide with hope and terror. “You heard that.”

Sakura bit her lower lip, thinking for a moment before replying. “I heard something.”

Anger flickered in Mai’s eyes. “That was a voice. Someone’s screaming for help inside that house.”

Sakura stared at the house, listening intently. Mai fumed, but when she seemed about to speak, Sakura hushed her. Nearly a full minute passed before Sakura heard the sound again, and this time she could not deny that it sounded like a person calling out, though she could decipher no words and the voice seemed so distant.

Still, it might have been coming from the house.

“I don’t know. It could be some woman three streets away yelling at her kids.”

Mai threw up her hands. “You know that’s not what it is!” she snapped, taking a few steps out of the alley, into the pool of illumination thrown by the streetlight.

“What are you doing?” Sakura demanded.

Mai turned to stare at her with a how-stupid-are-you? look on her face. “I’m not just going to wait here. If our friends are still alive, that could be them calling for help. I’m not waiting another second.”

Sakura grabbed her wrist. “Don’t be stupid. Kara and the boys will be here soon-”

“And what if it’s not soon enough? It was one thing when we weren’t sure, but someone’s in there. In the dark.” She yanked her arm away. “I’m going in. Are you coming with me?”

“Not a chance,” Sakura replied. “Someone has to be here to explain why you’re either dead or a prisoner in that house. You don’t have a weapon, or anything else to distract the Hannya aside from your incredible stupidity.”

Mai shot her a furious, withering glance, spun on one heel, and raced across the road. Sakura receded once more into the shadows of the alley and watched Mai run up alongside Miss Aritomo’s house and then disappear around the back.

Guilt filled Sakura as she worried what might happen to Mai, or what the Hannya might do to Miho and the others when Mai broke in, if they really were imprisoned within those walls. But she stayed put. Without the bells, on her own, she’d be no help to anyone.

Only after the heavy potted plant left her hands did Mai fully consider the danger she might be in, but by then it was too late. The pot shattered the window with a terrible crash, followed by an almost musical noise as broken shards hit the floor inside. She backed up, glanced around, and hid behind a tree that grew in the stone and flower garden that Miss Aritomo must have spent all of her free time grooming.

Mai held her breath and waited, but no lights went on inside the house. Faintly, she thought she heard that voice from inside, but somehow it seemed even more muffled back there.

Her mouth had gone dry and her whole face seemed to throb with every beat of her skittish heart, but at last she bent to pick up a small, decorative stone and went to the window, where she used the stone to knock out the fragments of glass that jutted from the frame. Without hesitation-for she knew if she hesitated again she would never go in-she boosted herself up onto the window frame, swung one leg over, and stepped inside.

The glass crunched beneath the soles of her shoes as she crept through what appeared to be a sort of artist’s studio, complete with canvases stacked against the wall and a fresh one atop an easel, covered with a sheet. Tempted by the urge to unveil the painting, to see what a woman possessed by a demon might paint, she pressed on instead, wanting to search the house and be gone before Miss Aritomo came home. But with every step, she regretted not having looked at that painting, and knew she would always wonder what image the canvas might have revealed.

Though it was not a small house, it was sparsely furnished, and it took Mai only a few minutes to peek into every room on the first floor and make her way to the second. While she moved swiftly through the art teacher’s immaculately neat bedroom, she heard a thump above her head. And then another. Stopping to listen, Mai heard a voice again, and this time there was no mistaking it as anything other than a cry for help.

She raced to the end of the hall, where narrow back stairs led up to what could only be an attic. Mai’s own house had no such space-most modern homes did not-but they’d be more common in an old prewar building like this.

The narrow landing at the top of the steps was dark, and she wished she had searched for a switch before coming up. She tried the door, found it locked tight, and threw her weight against it. Again someone shouted from within. Was there a note of new hope in that voice?

“Wakana?” Mai cried, throwing herself against the door again. But that was getting her nowhere.

Carefully, she hurried back down the steps, hands searching for a light switch. When she found it, a dusty old fixture flickered to life up on the landing. Heart pounding, aware every second of the possibility of Miss Aritomo’s return, she hurtled up the stairs and stared at the door.

Two locks. One was simple enough, a deadbolt, which she threw back instantly. But the other required a key.

Mai sagged backward, racking her brain. The heavy lock would not be easily forced.

“Think, think,” she told herself. Frustrated, she slapped the wall.

Something jangled right next to her. She turned to see a hook, upon which there hung a key. Mai grinned at the luck. The old metal key might have hung there for years, even decades, with Miss Aritomo having little need of it.

Now she snatched it up, pushed it into the lock, twisted it and heard the tumbles fall. With a surge of hope, she shoved the door wide. The light from the old fixture on the landing spilled into the pitch-black attic.

Something moved in there. Mai blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust, and recoiled at the horrid odors that wafted from the attic.

“Who is it?” said a weak, rasping voice.