I pick up the remote to press the subtitle button, then stop. The TV is bright white, but blank. “What the hell …? Come on, NHK, don’t do this to me now.” It’s happened. They’re onto me. They’ve cut my cable after all these years. No. It’s the TV itself that’s the problem. Or maybe the remote? I look down at the buttons and realize I can’t read any of them. The buttons that used to have numbers and Japanese are all squiggles and wiggles.

“Great. Now, I can’t read. What’s next?”

I get up to turn the TV off manually. My arms and legs feel heavy, sluggish, and it takes some time to get to my feet. I feel unsteady. My knee crashes against the kotatsu against the wall. Too much food. Too much peach tea. “Well, now I’ve done it. I’m too big for my apartment. Great, Cybelle.”

The room is suddenly way too bright. No, it’s my face almost pressing up against the light fixture when I turn my head. I stagger, try to block the light with my hand. No such luck. I stumble around until I feel my hand run against the wall and flick off the light. “That’s better, I guess …” There’s still a bright source of light nearby. The lampposts outside, maybe? I can see them through the open curtains. That’s got to be it.

With one reach of my arm I draw the curtains open. The night sky is alive with dragons and monsters and bird-like creatures, all glowing neon pink, purple, green, and bright.

“Whoa …” Must have been one hell of an earthquake. Did the centre of the earth open up? Have the demons of old been unleashed?

I slide the window open and begin the arduous process of squeezing through it. Only one way to find out.

sixteen

THE CRIME COMES LAST OF ALL

鬼の居ぬ間に洗濯

When the cat’s away the mice will play

It is long past the sunset hour, when monsters and demons emerge from their places of slumber to visit upon the human world. Now they are alert and active and wide awake. The Yokai watches in awe as they parade down the street, drumming and singing, leaping from rooftop to rooftop with the agility of gazelles, swinging from electric cables by their monkey-like tails, clawing up and down buildings, gleefully knocking over trash cans and prancing with the goodies they find inside: egg sandwich crusts, fish bones, umeboshi pits, and Ghana bar wrappers with bits of chocolate still stuck to them. There must be hundreds. Many demons the Yokai does not recognize; yet they all shout passing greetings to her as if to an old friend:

“Well, well, look who’s here!”

“Baku-sama, konbanwa!”

“Hisa-bisa, Baku-sama!”

“Good to see you again!”

“It’s been ages. Where have you been?”

“Welcome!”