Thomas Randall - Spirits of the Noh

“That should be long enough,” she whispered.

Sakura and Ren had gone around the back of the house, following Mai’s path. However she had gotten in, they would as well. Which only left the front door.

“Ready?” Hachiro asked softly.

Kara nodded, and he reached into the cloth sack that he had taken from the art room and withdrew one of the Noh masks that Miho had made, handing it to her. Kara stared at it. The visage seemed almost genderless, a white-haired, grimly pale expression permanently fixed upon it. A villager or a monk, she thought. As she watched, Hachiro pulled a second mask from the bag, this one with a thin tangle of beard marking it as male. Surely it must be one of the monks.

Hachiro donned his mask, fitting the string behind his head. Kara took a deep breath and did the same. Ren and Sakura had taken their masks with them. There were two others in the bag-the one they’d brought for Mai to wear and another that Kara feared might have been a mistake to bring along. That fear gnawed at her, but they would know soon enough.

Kara looked at Hachiro, hating the way the mask obscured his features, but his eyes were still there, soft and kind. She nodded and pointed at the door.

“Let’s go.”

Hachiro took a deep breath. He had the sack grasped in one fist and in the other he clutched a small iron bell. Kara reached into her pocket and pulled out her own bell, two fingers inside it to keep it silent until the right moment.

This is insane, she thought. They didn’t really know if any of this would work. It was all pure conjecture. But in her time in Japan, reading folklore and Noh plays-and from their brush with Kyuketsuki-she had learned that somehow, over time, the stories themselves seemed to have rejuvenated some spirits. The supernatural beings that survived in Japan were no longer worshiped, and so drew their remaining vitality from the stories and plays about them. The stories had reshaped them, in some way.

And if the stories could shape them, then wearing the masks of the monks who destroyed the Hannya in Dojoji would give them a certain power over the creature. It would almost expect them to defeat it, and that would give them an advantage.

Or so Kara now believed.

In moments, she would discover if there was any truth to that theory.

The bells, though, were different. There were so many instances in Japanese legend of the sound of bells warding off or weakening evil, even destroying it. The masks might give them an advantage, but the bells could actually be a weapon. If they were lucky. If they were right.

Hachiro stepped up to the house and slammed his foot against the door, just beside the knob. Grimacing, he launched another powerful kick, striking the same spot. In quick succession, he struck the door twice more, and the lock gave way with a splinter of wood. The door swung inward and Hachiro didn’t hesitate. He burst into the house, and Kara followed.

Her father and Miss Aritomo were standing at the bottom of the steps. It looked like they had been about to go up, belatedly responding to the scream from the attic. Rob Harper had a heavy lamp in his hand, apparently to use as a weapon, and Miss Aritomo held a long kitchen knife. They both looked startled, and if Kara had not seen the Hannya slipping into the art teacher with her own eyes, she would never have thought that Miss Aritomo was anything but terrified at that moment.

At the sight of her and Hachiro in the masks, Miss Aritomo screamed. Kara’s father came toward them, wielding the lamp.

“Dad, wait!” Kara said.

“Kara?” he muttered, too confused to be angry yet.

“Get away from her, Harper-sensei!” Hachiro barked, sliding away from Kara, watching Miss Aritomo closely.

Maybe the Hannya’s not here, Kara thought. That could be, right? It’s not in her now.

“Hachiro, it might be in the attic. That’s why Mai was screaming.”

“Mai? What is Mai doing in my attic?” Miss Aritomo asked. “What is going on here? Why are you wearing those masks? You have a lot of explaining to do!”

Sakura and Ren appeared from a hall that led toward the back of the house. They moved slowly into the living room, fanning out so that the four students had Miss Aritomo surrounded, with the stairs to the second story her only route of escape. They had also donned their masks, and clutched iron bells in their fists.

“Shut up, demon!” Sakura snarled at Miss Aritomo.

“No, Sakura,” Ren said, staring at their teacher. “Look at her. I don’t think she knows it’s in her.”

Kara thought he was right. The expression on Miss Aritomo’s face made it clear-she really didn’t know. Somehow the Hannya had gotten into her and used her body as a host. Perhaps it influenced her from within, but she had no idea she had been possessed. When it left her body to prowl the world, it somehow lulled the teacher into unconsciousness, as Kara had seen with her own eyes.

Her father put the lamp down on a small table and stared at his daughter. He spoke in low, measured tones. She had never seen him so furious. “Kara, you’ve gone much too far now. This is… it’s too much. It’s going to change everything.”

Guilt and doubt surged up in her and she started to flush, averting her eyes. For several seconds, she almost crumbled under his gaze. What could she do? Call it off and apologize? Run from the house?

No.

“I know what I saw, Dad. This is real. We’ve been to Yamato-sensei. He believes us. He’s talking to the police right now. But if you won’t believe your own daughter-if you really think I’d take it this far on some crazy whim-all you have to do is go up to the attic and find out what Mai was screaming about.”

He hesitated, obviously confused, and Kara knew she’d finally gotten through to him. Her father turned to look at Miss Aritomo, but even as he did, the art teacher’s eyelids fluttered and she began to collapse. He caught Miss Aritomo before she could fall, but she lay limp in his arms, arms akimbo, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The kitchen knife she’d been holding fell from her hand and skittered across the wood floor.

“Yuuka?” her father said, alarmed. He knelt down, laying her gently on the floor, still cradling her head and upper body. “Yuuka, what’s wrong? Wake up!”

He twisted to look at Kara. “Call an ambulance.”

“They’re not going to be able to help,” Hachiro said.

“Please, Harper-sensei,” Sakura began. “Get away from her.”

He glared at her, then at Kara.

“Move back, Dad,” she said. “You don’t understand.”

“Call an ambulance, goddammit!” he snapped, then turned back to Miss Aritomo. He slapped her lightly on the cheek. “Yuuka. Yuuka!”

With a scowl of frustration, he cradled her head with one hand while, with the other, he fished out his own cell phone.

“Dad!” Kara shouted. “Get back!”

For Miss Aritomo’s head had lolled back in his grasp. Her mouth opened wide and a darkness formed deep in her throat. Yellow eyes peered from the inside of her distended lips, and then the serpent slid out, all rippling shadows and hateful glare. It hissed, the sound filling the room until it seemed to come from every corner and from beneath every piece of furniture.

Rob Harper must have heard the noise, for he turned to look. At the sight of the Hannya emerging from its host, the woman with whom he was falling in love, he dropped his cell phone with a clatter on the floor, and yanked his hand away from Miss Aritomo. Her skull thunked down and he tried to scramble away, but too late.

The serpent darted toward him, fangs sinking into his wrist.

“Dad!” Kara cried once more.

Her father tried to stand, but already the demon’s venom began to slow him. It blossomed from horned snake to horned demon, growing in an eyeblink into the hideous visage that hung on the wall in Miss Aritomo’s classroom. But this was no mask. The Hannya wrapped its arms around Kara’s father and hauled him upward until his feet were dangling several inches above the floor.