2007 ~ 2012 |
A NEW CAMPUS AND THE BIRTH OF SASS
village. The monster had returned, but this time, it
had found a new craving – in the flesh of the children
stolen from under their parents’ sleeping gaze. from its chest. But instead of the look of malice I had
feared to see, the mask she wore was one of fear and
sorrow.
There were prayers for the dead and too much
mourning in the days that followed. And just when
everyone thought it was finally over, another chorus of
wailing would start all over again. There were no more
celebrations, and greetings exchanged were nothing
more than a hostile glare before slinking away. Even
amongst the livingstock, I saw fear in their eyes, as
though they knew their days were numbered. Perhaps it was because she had seen me, and I her.
She told me that it was in her nature to play tricks.
Was it also in her nature to lie? If she was to blame, I
had to know for sure.
108
We had not met for three days. On the third night, I
was the first to arrive at our moonlit stream. I held my
breath. Why did she not come, unless she did not
want to admit the truth? Then I spotted fox tracks
– leading away from the glade and into the forest. I
followed them with a heavy heart, praying that my
hunch was wrong.
The trail stopped at the entrance of a hut, the one
closest to the village outskirts. All I could see was the
candlelight glowering behind the paper screens. So I
waited, watching as the lights slowly dimmed down
and plunged into darkness. When nothing happened,
I thought it best to return to the stream – maybe she
was already there to greet me and apologise for
her lateness.
Then the gates of hell broke loose. There were
screams. A loud crash. A rip in the paper screen.
The sounds of necks snapping and the crunching of
bones.
Then silence.
Terror gripped at my nerves. The calm that came after
the violent storm lingered before the doors of the hut
burst open. Something leapt out.
It was my painted fox! The blood on her snout was not
mine, yet she might as well have ripped my heart out
She let out a pitiful whimper, then turned tail and
vanished into the darkness.
I had heard enough stories to know that most affairs
with foxes would end the same way: with betrayals,
broken hearts and empty promises. And yet, I was
stupid enough to think that I could spend the rest of
my life with a fiery spirit.
I could have warned the villagers. I could have spared
them the need to conduct some sacrificial ritual that
would only end up with more bloodshed. And what
would become of me? I imagine they will erect some
shrine in my honour, and then make up some silly
songs and dances about me.
The truth is, I never wanted to be given such praises.
So I made a pact with myself – that I would be the
one to put an end to this mishap. And then, perhaps
I could be at peace with myself, and with her.
The sky was swarthed in a blanket of stars by the time
I took my place beside the hut; now filled with the
stench of death. There was no reason to believe she
would return, but I had my instincts, and I knew the
tales. As a storyteller, that was good enough to
rely upon.
The night dragged on.
About an hour of waiting, I finally saw it – there was a
rustling in the trees as they parted to allow something
through. The ground trembled. I thought about our
moonlit stream, the place where all my troubles could
be washed away. But until my painted fox was in
sight, I would stay; confront her if I must.
I wanted answers. No more tricks. No more lies. Just
the plain truth.
Then, from out of shadows and into pale light, the oni
appeared.