Warning: This chapter contains mild language and mild sexual references
“I'll say it once more. Dr. Goen Sawaka. Age 63, occupation doctor, cause of death massive coronary heart failure. Married, two children, two girls, 27, 22, one boy, 19. Your family knows you are dead and are preparing as we speak. If you need any more calming, I’m here. If you need to do something before moving on, I will help you. Do you still not understand?
The cool moon shone higher than most nights. Haruki Murakami spoke lowly of this Tokyo skyline. Wonder if that only applied to the Shibuya region, which just fell out of his jurisdiction. Still, from this angle, Heiji "Kuroshiro" Tāro could fully see the waxing moon nearing its final stage. Sitting upon his wooden crate throne underneath the fire escape stairs, he looked around at his steel grey kingdom within the trapping of his small ramshackle cart.
The ephemeral spirits surrounded him in cold embrace. There were mushi, amanojaku, hakutaku. He half expected the Little People to arrive in his care.
As he petted the sheep-like hakutaku, Kuroshiro looked up to see a man in his 60’s sitting, shaking. He had a simple tie and a simple white shirt, rustled from the day's work. His balding head was hugged by black, graying hair.
The shop they sat in was blocked by cloth, labeled 閉店, preventing any stray spirits. His office looked like an old ramen cart with the peaceful Chōchinobake hanging in the light wind.
“But…but I had so much to live for. My little girl was getting married in two weeks. And my son…”
Kuroshiro wish he could listen to the story further, but a presence invaded the small corner of his world. He turned and opened the folds of cloth in his small office. He saw an old friend and a new man, coming into a world unknown. Kuroshiro turned to Takahashi and bowed in respect. “Many apologies, but I have a friend here. Take all the time you need.”
The spirit jumped from his seat and unhinged his sheath from the back, slamming the ground in front of the humans with the rod that contained his katana. The old man stood still and the younger man flinched at the sight of Kuroshiro. Suddenly, the ghost that he sensed flung itself from the heights of the sky in a manner of sprung trap. A woman in a bathrobe snapped with rope around her neck. Contracted were her pupils and open was her mouth, showing the rot from her soul. Her bathrobe was stained several colors, which Kuroshiro wished not to think about.
His head hung in disgrace. “Zheng, if you must do that, do not do it with friends around.”
The ghost Zheng realized her mistake and floated away.
“Sorry about that. Diào sĭ guĭ. It’s just a Chinese hanging ghost. Nothing to be scared of if you can handle bodily fluids. Always the trickster, though. Good to see you again, Tetsuya.”
Tetsuya Tamadashi was a man in his early sixties who carried himself with quiet paitience. His now bald head was covered by an ascot cap. His clothes looked very general, inherited from the streets of backroad England. They were stained with the cigarette ash that kept him company throughout most of his life. He wasn’t smoking now though. Must be on edge.
He and his new assistant arrived in front of Kuroshiro and greeted him with varying levels of respect. Tamadashi with a courteous nod, his assistant with barely an acknowledgement. “So, Kuroshiro, I’d like you to meet my new friend and personal assistant, Shinji.”
“What happened to Hiroku?”
“He finally met his match. Got scared of a nurikabe. You know the feeling but apparently, his experience was traumatizing enough.”
Kuroshiro nodded in necessity and looked at Shinji. The boy was roughly nineteen. Nothing to look at. A simple Japanese student, he wore his light clothing, white pressed shirt, and black tie. His haircut was traditional yet looked a tad feminine, as if Shinji himself had attempted the cut. Kuroshiro wondered if any women had taken an interest in Shinji. He knew that no woman fell in love with this nineteen year-old gang member in his time. That was one of his regrets, not getting a piece of action. Though, nothing he could do now.
“Good to meet you, Shinji.” Turning to Tetsuya, he said, “Madame Yagata send him over?”
“Madame Yagata.”
“When will that old seer woman ever be wrong?”
“Don’t know personally. The reason I actually showed was because were searching for…”
“That rouge Erlkönig. Yes, I know him.”
“So you’ve seen him.”
“That pain in the ass thought he could storm into my shop and run the place. So I killed him.”
“An Erlkönig? All by yourself? Well, look at you, Kuroshiro. Probably want a medal, too, right?”
“That’s nice, but no. The soul’s energy will work just fine. Yet, as an advisor, I require infrequent payment as you recall. Full moon’s coming and the spirits want a celebration. I’d like a bottle of Midori liquer, several…make that twenty glasses, and some candles. Yagata is already bringing the food. Have them here three night fro-.”
“Excuse me, but why do you need items from our world?”
Shinji, brave enough to speak now, gained the attention of Kuroshiro. “Good to know the first words you say to me are inquisitive ones. Well, every full moon, us spirits are allowed to join with the real world temporarily. This gives us full interaction with every object in this world. Plus, I like Midori.”
Tetsuya cleared his throat at Kuroshiro. “I didn’t come to here to make idle chatter or discuss dinner plans. The spirit realm is a little tipsy. You don’t find Erlköings this way outside of Europe. Word has it several creatures.-”
“I’mma stop you right there, Tetsuya. See, I’m not a cryptologist.” At this time, Kuroshiro rested on the wall just outside his shop, leaning on a garbage can for support. “I don’t deal with living creatures, they don’t deal with me. I have enough with these aggressive spirits from Shinjuku. Suicide rates in Kabukicho are at highs for this decade. Would I really want to deal with dead hookers every night, and on top of that, vampires, yetis, what have you? Sorry, but that’s completely illogical.”
“All right. I’ll leave it up to you. But, as a tip…” as Tetsuya whispered into Kuroshiro’s ear.
Kuroshiro looked shocked at this revelation and turned without a word back to his shop. Mr. Sawaka was petting a hakutaku, much like the spirit would.
“Sorry for the interruption, Mr. Sawaka. Now, am I correct in saying you were worried about your son? Much like my earthly life, he was straying from the path that was set. No goals, no hope, no life. I have extremely good news and I’d like to inform your son returned home for your funeral.”
“How...who would know that?”
“I don’t normally give away the name of my confidants, but it is your next door neighbor, Mr. Tamadashi. He promised me he would look after your boy. His name was, if I recall, Shinji? Would you like to meet him one last time?”
黒白
That night, Kuroshiro heard all he needed to hear. He left the shop in the care of Tetsuya and the hakutaku, who were smarter than they looked. Certainly the spirits could handle it by themselves. Probably, hopefully…
He recalled the whispered words that not only revealed Shinji’s identity but convinced him of his mission.
“I went to Yagata recently. She says there’s a group of rogues in America in your future. They’re running about trying to unite hunted beings. They call themselves the MCC, or Mythological Creatures Club. Highly original smart-asses, these creatures. Beside the point, there is a kemonomimi among them. She has personal contacts with several Japanese spirits who are worried about her. Regardless, if a human hurts any one of them, it destroys the chain of command. The creature and spirit world will fluctuate. As the spirit with the most information, you’re the only one who can stop this. If anything, get away from the city. Your soul’s starting to sink into the concrete jungle, I can tell. It’s not healthy for a man in your work. When was the last time you took a break, ’97? Just be a supervisor and if spirits get involved, you’re already there. You said it yourself. When has Yagata ever been wrong?”
So here was Kuroshiro, soaring like a common bird towards some far off land, an American state called “Be-jin-ya” to meet the "Em-shi-shi". Lord, the English language was and is ridiculous sometimes with their pronunciation.
But what really irritated him was the fact he would have to wait to taste the Midori a while longer.
