I guess I should explain. I'm not exactly your typical sixteen-year-old
girl.
O, I may seem normal enough, I guess. I don't do drugs, or drink, or smoke- well okay, except fro that one time when Dumber caught me. I don't have anything pierced, except for my ears, and only once on each earlobe. I don't have any tattoos. I've never even dyed my hair. Except for my boots and leather jacket, I don't wear an excessive amount of black. I don't even wear dark fingernail polish. All in all, I am a pretty normal, every day, Japanese teenage girl.
Except, of course, for the fact that I can talk to demons.
I probably shouldn't put it that way. I should probably say that demons talk to me. I mean, I don't go around initiating these conversations. In fact, I try to avoid the whole thing as much as possible.
It's just that sometimes they wont let me. The demons, I mean.
I don't think I'm crazy. At least not any crazier than you average sixteen year old. I uses I might seem crazy to some people. Certainly the majority of kids in my old neighborhood thought I was. Nuts, I mean. I've had the school counselors sicced on me more than once. Sometimes I even think it might be simpler just to let them lock me up. But even on the ninth floor of Bellevue-, which is at home where they lock crazy people-, I probably wouldn't be safe from the demons. They'd find me.
They always do.
I remember my first. I remember it as clearly as any of my other memories of that time, which is to say, not very well, since I was about two years old. I guess I remember it about as well as I remember taking a mouse away from our cat and cradling it in my arms until my horrified mother took it away.
Hey, I was two okay? I didn't know then that mice were something to be afraid of. Demons, either, for that matter. That's why, fourteen years later, neither of them frighten me. Startle me, maybe, sometimes. Annoy me, a lot. But frighten me?
Never.
The demon, like the mouse, was little, gray and helpless. To this day, I don't know who she was. I spoke to her, some baby gibberish that she didn't understand. Demons can't understand two-year-olds any better than anybody else. She just looked at me sadly from the top of the stairs of our apartment building. I guess I felt sorry for her, the way I had for the mouse, and I wanted to help her. Only I didn't know how. So I did what any uncertain two-year-old would do. I ran for my mother.
That was when I learned my first lesson concerning demons: only I can see them.
And I see all demons. All of them. And let me tell you, that is a lot of demons.
I found out the same day that I saw my first demon that most people- even my own mother- cant see them at all. Neither can anyone else I have ever met. At least no one who'll admit it.
Which brings us to the second thing I learned about demons that day, fourteen years ago: it's really better in the long run, not to mention that you've seen one. Or, as in my case, any.
I'm not saying my mother figured out that it was demon I was pointing to and gibbering about that afternoon when I was two. I doubt she knew it. She probably thought I was trying to tell her something about the mouse, which she had confiscated from me earlier that morning. But she looked gamely up the stairs and nodded and said. "Uh-huh. Listen, Kagome. What do you want for lunch today? Grilled cheese? Or tuna fish?"
I hadn't exactly expected a reaction similar to the one the mouse had gotten- my mother, who'd been cradling a neighbor's newborn at the time, had let out a glorious shriek at the sight of the mouse in my arms, and had screamed even harder at my proud announcement, "look mommy. Now I've got a baby too." Which I realize now she couldn't have understood, since she didn't get it about the demon.
But I had expected an acknowledgement of the thing floating at the top of the stairs. I was given explanations for virtually everything else I encountered on a daily basis, from fire hydrants to electrical outlets. Why not the thing at the top of the stairs?
But as I sat munching my grilled cheese a little later, I realized that the reason my mother had offered no explanation for the gray thing was that she hadn't been able to see it. To her, it wasn't there.
At two years old, this didn't seem unreasonable to me. It just seemed, at the time, like another thing that separated adults from children: Children had to eat all their vegetables. Adults did not. Children could ride the merry-go-round in the park. Adults could not. Children could see the gray things. Adults could not.
And even though I was only two years old, I understood that the little gray thing at the top of the stairs was not something to be discussed. Not with anybody. Not ever.
And I never did. I never told anyone about my first ghost, nor did I ever discuss with anyone the hundreds of other ghosts I encountered over the course of the next few years. What was there to discuss really? I saw them. They spoke to me. For the most part, I didn't understand what they were saying, what they wanted, and they usually went away. End of story.
It probably would have gone on like that indefinitely if my father hadn't suddenly up and died.
Really. Just like that. One minute he was there cooking and making jokes in the kitchen like he'd always done, and the next day, he was gone.
And, people kept assuring me all through the week following his death- , which I spent, on the stoop in front of our building, waiting for my dad to some home- he was never coming back.
I, of course, didn't believe their assurances. Why should I? My dad, not coming back? Were they nuts? Sure, he might have been dead. I got that part. But he was also part demon and was definitely coming back. Who was going to help me with my math homework? Who was going to wake up early with me on Saturday mornings, and make Belgian waffles and watch cartoons? Who was going to teach me to drive, like he's promised, when I turned sixteen? My dad might have been dead, but I was definitely going to see him again. I saw lots of demons on a daily basis. Why shouldn't I see my dad?
It turned out I was right. Oh, my dad was dead. No doubt about that. He'd died of a massive coronary. My mom had his body cremated, and she put his ashes in an antique German beer tankard. You know, that kind with the lid. My dad had always really liked beer. She put the tankard on a shelf, high up, where the cat couldn't knock it over, and sometimes, when she didn't think I was around, I caught her talking o it.
This made me feel really sad. I mean, I guess I couldn't blame her really. If I didn't know any better, I'd probably have talked to that tankard too.
But that, you see, was what all those people on my block had been wrong about. My dad was dead, yeah. But I did see him again.
In fact, I probably saw him more now than I did when he was alive. When he was alive, he had to go to work most days. Now that he's dead, he doesn't have to do all that much. So I see him a lot. Almost too much, in fact. His favorite thing to do is to suddenly materialize when I least expect it. It's kind of annoying.
My dad was the one who finally explained it to me. So I guess, in a way, it's a good thing he did die, since I might have never known, otherwise.
Actually that isn't true. There was a tarot card reader who said something about it once. It was at a school carnival. I only went because Eri didn't want to go alone. I pretty much thought it was a crock, but I went along because that's what best friends do for one another. The woman- Madame Zara, Psychic Medium- read Eri's cards, telling her exactly what she wanted to hear: oh you're going to be very successful, you'll be a brain surgeon, you'll marry at thirty and have three kids, blah, blah, blah. When she was done, I got up to go, but Eri insisted Madame Zara do a reading for me, too.
You can guess what happened. Madame Zara read the cards once, looked confused, and shuffled them up and read them again. Then she looked at me.
"You," she said, "talk to demons."
This excited Eri. She went, "oh my God! Oh my God! Really? Kagome, did you hear that? You can talk to demons! You're a psychic medium too!"
"Not a medium," Madame Zara said. "A miko."
Eri looked crushed. "A what? What's that?"
But I knew. I'd never known what it was called, but I knew what it was. My dad hadn't put it quite that way when he'd explained things to me, but I got the gist of it anyway. That's the only way I can think to explain it. I don't know how I got so lucky- I mean, I am normal in every other respect. Well, almost, anyway. I just have this unfortunate ability to communicate with demons.
Not any demons, either. Only the unhappy ones.
So you can see that my life has really been just a bowl of cherries these past sixteen years.
Imagine being haunted- literally haunted- by demons, every single minute of every single day of your life. It is not pleasant. You go down to the deli to get a soda- oops, demon on the corner. And all you wanted was a soda.
I'm the miko. I tell you, it is not a fate I would wish on anybody.
There isn't a whole lot of payoff in the miko field. It isn't like anyone's ever offered me a salary or anything. Not even hourly compensation.
For the most part, the demons are friendly. Sometimes though, they can get rough. I mean, they try to hurt people. On purpose. That's when I usually get mad. That's when I feel compelled to kick a little demon butt.
Which was what my mom meant when she said, "oh Kagome, not again." When I kick demon butt, things have a tendency to get a little... messy.
Not that I had any intention of messing up my new room. Which is why I turned my back on the demon sitting on my window seat and said, "Never mind, mom. Everything's fine. The room is great. Thanks so much."
I could tell she didn't believe me. It's hard to fake out with my mom. I know she suspects there's something up with me. She just can't figure out what it is. Which is probably a good thing because it would shake up the world, as she knows it in too major a way. I mean, she's a television new reporter. She only believes what she can see. And she can't see demons.
I can't tell you how much I wish I could be like her.
"Well," she said. "Well I'm glad you like it. I was sort of worried. I mean, I know how you get about... well, old places."
Old places are the worst for me because the older a building is, the more chance there is that a demon's there, and that he or she is still hanging around there looking for justice.
"Really mom," I said. "It's great. I love it."
Nobunaga, hearing this, hustled around the room all excitedly, showing me the clap-on, clap-off lights and various other gadgets he'd installed. I followed him around, expressing my delight, being careful not to look in the demon's direction. It was really sweet, how much Nobunaga wanted me to be happy. And I was determined, because he wanted it so much, to be happy. At least happy as it's possible for someone like me to be.
After a while, Nobunaga ran out of stuff to show me, and went away to start the barbecue, since in honor of my arrival, we were having surf and turf for dinner. Dumber and Dumberer took off to "hit some waves" before we ate, and Dumb, muttering mysteriously about an experiment he'd been working on, drifted off to another part of the house, leaving me alone with my mother... well, sort of.
"Is it really all right, Kagome?" my mom wanted to know. "I know it's a big change. I know it's asking a lot of you-"
I took off my leather jacket. I don't know if I've mentioned this, but it was pretty hot out for January. "Its fine, mom." I said. "Really."
"I mean, asking you to leave grandpa, and Eri, and New York. It's selfish of me, I know. I know things haven't been... well, easy for you. Especially since daddy died.
My mother likes to think that the reason I'm not like traditional teenage girls, like she was when she was my age, is that I lost my father at such an early age. She blames his death for everything, from the fact that I have no friends- with the exception of Eri- to the fact that I sometimes engage in extremely weird behavior. And I suppose some of the stuff I've done in the past would seem pretty weird to someone who didn't know why I was doing it, or couldn't see who I was doing it for. I have certainly been caught any number of times in places I wasn't supposed to be. I've been brought home by the police a few times, accused of trespassing or vandalism or breaking and entering.
And while I've never actually been convicted of anything, I've spent any number of hours in my mother's therapist's office, being assured that this tendency I have to talk to myself is perfectly normal, but that my propensity to talk to people who aren't there probably isn't.
"Well," my mom said, "I guess if you don't want help unpacking, I'll go see how Nobunaga is doing with dinner."
Nobunaga, in addition to being able to build just about anything, was also an excellent cook, something my mother most definitely was not. I said, "yeah, mom, you go do that, I'll just get settled in here, and I'll be down in a minute." My mom nodded and got up-but she wasn't about to let me escape that easily. Just as she was about to go out the door, she turned around and said, her blue eyes filled with tears, "I just want you to be happy, Kagome. That's all I've ever wanted. Do you think you can be happy here?"
I gave her a hug. I'm as tall as she is, in my ankle boots. "Sure mom," I said. "Sure, I'll be happy here. I feel at home already."
"Really?" my mom was sniffling, "You swear?"
"I do." And I want lying wither. I mean, there'd be demons in my bedroom back at home too.
She went away, and I shut the door quietly behind her. I waited until I couldn't hear her heels on the stairs anymore, and then I turned around.
"All right," I said to the presence on the window seat. "Who the hell are you?"
A/N:
I know I told you there'd be a confrontation between Inuyasha and Kagome.... But I promise it'll be in the next chapter... I have tons of stuff to do for school tomorrow including writing a speech and memorizing it by Wednesday.
The nest chapter, I'm afraid, is going to be very, very short...
Too much stuff going on.
If you're waiting for me to update my other stories, I'm sort I haven't gotten around to it yet! But I will sometime!
( cya layaz!
O, I may seem normal enough, I guess. I don't do drugs, or drink, or smoke- well okay, except fro that one time when Dumber caught me. I don't have anything pierced, except for my ears, and only once on each earlobe. I don't have any tattoos. I've never even dyed my hair. Except for my boots and leather jacket, I don't wear an excessive amount of black. I don't even wear dark fingernail polish. All in all, I am a pretty normal, every day, Japanese teenage girl.
Except, of course, for the fact that I can talk to demons.
I probably shouldn't put it that way. I should probably say that demons talk to me. I mean, I don't go around initiating these conversations. In fact, I try to avoid the whole thing as much as possible.
It's just that sometimes they wont let me. The demons, I mean.
I don't think I'm crazy. At least not any crazier than you average sixteen year old. I uses I might seem crazy to some people. Certainly the majority of kids in my old neighborhood thought I was. Nuts, I mean. I've had the school counselors sicced on me more than once. Sometimes I even think it might be simpler just to let them lock me up. But even on the ninth floor of Bellevue-, which is at home where they lock crazy people-, I probably wouldn't be safe from the demons. They'd find me.
They always do.
I remember my first. I remember it as clearly as any of my other memories of that time, which is to say, not very well, since I was about two years old. I guess I remember it about as well as I remember taking a mouse away from our cat and cradling it in my arms until my horrified mother took it away.
Hey, I was two okay? I didn't know then that mice were something to be afraid of. Demons, either, for that matter. That's why, fourteen years later, neither of them frighten me. Startle me, maybe, sometimes. Annoy me, a lot. But frighten me?
Never.
The demon, like the mouse, was little, gray and helpless. To this day, I don't know who she was. I spoke to her, some baby gibberish that she didn't understand. Demons can't understand two-year-olds any better than anybody else. She just looked at me sadly from the top of the stairs of our apartment building. I guess I felt sorry for her, the way I had for the mouse, and I wanted to help her. Only I didn't know how. So I did what any uncertain two-year-old would do. I ran for my mother.
That was when I learned my first lesson concerning demons: only I can see them.
And I see all demons. All of them. And let me tell you, that is a lot of demons.
I found out the same day that I saw my first demon that most people- even my own mother- cant see them at all. Neither can anyone else I have ever met. At least no one who'll admit it.
Which brings us to the second thing I learned about demons that day, fourteen years ago: it's really better in the long run, not to mention that you've seen one. Or, as in my case, any.
I'm not saying my mother figured out that it was demon I was pointing to and gibbering about that afternoon when I was two. I doubt she knew it. She probably thought I was trying to tell her something about the mouse, which she had confiscated from me earlier that morning. But she looked gamely up the stairs and nodded and said. "Uh-huh. Listen, Kagome. What do you want for lunch today? Grilled cheese? Or tuna fish?"
I hadn't exactly expected a reaction similar to the one the mouse had gotten- my mother, who'd been cradling a neighbor's newborn at the time, had let out a glorious shriek at the sight of the mouse in my arms, and had screamed even harder at my proud announcement, "look mommy. Now I've got a baby too." Which I realize now she couldn't have understood, since she didn't get it about the demon.
But I had expected an acknowledgement of the thing floating at the top of the stairs. I was given explanations for virtually everything else I encountered on a daily basis, from fire hydrants to electrical outlets. Why not the thing at the top of the stairs?
But as I sat munching my grilled cheese a little later, I realized that the reason my mother had offered no explanation for the gray thing was that she hadn't been able to see it. To her, it wasn't there.
At two years old, this didn't seem unreasonable to me. It just seemed, at the time, like another thing that separated adults from children: Children had to eat all their vegetables. Adults did not. Children could ride the merry-go-round in the park. Adults could not. Children could see the gray things. Adults could not.
And even though I was only two years old, I understood that the little gray thing at the top of the stairs was not something to be discussed. Not with anybody. Not ever.
And I never did. I never told anyone about my first ghost, nor did I ever discuss with anyone the hundreds of other ghosts I encountered over the course of the next few years. What was there to discuss really? I saw them. They spoke to me. For the most part, I didn't understand what they were saying, what they wanted, and they usually went away. End of story.
It probably would have gone on like that indefinitely if my father hadn't suddenly up and died.
Really. Just like that. One minute he was there cooking and making jokes in the kitchen like he'd always done, and the next day, he was gone.
And, people kept assuring me all through the week following his death- , which I spent, on the stoop in front of our building, waiting for my dad to some home- he was never coming back.
I, of course, didn't believe their assurances. Why should I? My dad, not coming back? Were they nuts? Sure, he might have been dead. I got that part. But he was also part demon and was definitely coming back. Who was going to help me with my math homework? Who was going to wake up early with me on Saturday mornings, and make Belgian waffles and watch cartoons? Who was going to teach me to drive, like he's promised, when I turned sixteen? My dad might have been dead, but I was definitely going to see him again. I saw lots of demons on a daily basis. Why shouldn't I see my dad?
It turned out I was right. Oh, my dad was dead. No doubt about that. He'd died of a massive coronary. My mom had his body cremated, and she put his ashes in an antique German beer tankard. You know, that kind with the lid. My dad had always really liked beer. She put the tankard on a shelf, high up, where the cat couldn't knock it over, and sometimes, when she didn't think I was around, I caught her talking o it.
This made me feel really sad. I mean, I guess I couldn't blame her really. If I didn't know any better, I'd probably have talked to that tankard too.
But that, you see, was what all those people on my block had been wrong about. My dad was dead, yeah. But I did see him again.
In fact, I probably saw him more now than I did when he was alive. When he was alive, he had to go to work most days. Now that he's dead, he doesn't have to do all that much. So I see him a lot. Almost too much, in fact. His favorite thing to do is to suddenly materialize when I least expect it. It's kind of annoying.
My dad was the one who finally explained it to me. So I guess, in a way, it's a good thing he did die, since I might have never known, otherwise.
Actually that isn't true. There was a tarot card reader who said something about it once. It was at a school carnival. I only went because Eri didn't want to go alone. I pretty much thought it was a crock, but I went along because that's what best friends do for one another. The woman- Madame Zara, Psychic Medium- read Eri's cards, telling her exactly what she wanted to hear: oh you're going to be very successful, you'll be a brain surgeon, you'll marry at thirty and have three kids, blah, blah, blah. When she was done, I got up to go, but Eri insisted Madame Zara do a reading for me, too.
You can guess what happened. Madame Zara read the cards once, looked confused, and shuffled them up and read them again. Then she looked at me.
"You," she said, "talk to demons."
This excited Eri. She went, "oh my God! Oh my God! Really? Kagome, did you hear that? You can talk to demons! You're a psychic medium too!"
"Not a medium," Madame Zara said. "A miko."
Eri looked crushed. "A what? What's that?"
But I knew. I'd never known what it was called, but I knew what it was. My dad hadn't put it quite that way when he'd explained things to me, but I got the gist of it anyway. That's the only way I can think to explain it. I don't know how I got so lucky- I mean, I am normal in every other respect. Well, almost, anyway. I just have this unfortunate ability to communicate with demons.
Not any demons, either. Only the unhappy ones.
So you can see that my life has really been just a bowl of cherries these past sixteen years.
Imagine being haunted- literally haunted- by demons, every single minute of every single day of your life. It is not pleasant. You go down to the deli to get a soda- oops, demon on the corner. And all you wanted was a soda.
I'm the miko. I tell you, it is not a fate I would wish on anybody.
There isn't a whole lot of payoff in the miko field. It isn't like anyone's ever offered me a salary or anything. Not even hourly compensation.
For the most part, the demons are friendly. Sometimes though, they can get rough. I mean, they try to hurt people. On purpose. That's when I usually get mad. That's when I feel compelled to kick a little demon butt.
Which was what my mom meant when she said, "oh Kagome, not again." When I kick demon butt, things have a tendency to get a little... messy.
Not that I had any intention of messing up my new room. Which is why I turned my back on the demon sitting on my window seat and said, "Never mind, mom. Everything's fine. The room is great. Thanks so much."
I could tell she didn't believe me. It's hard to fake out with my mom. I know she suspects there's something up with me. She just can't figure out what it is. Which is probably a good thing because it would shake up the world, as she knows it in too major a way. I mean, she's a television new reporter. She only believes what she can see. And she can't see demons.
I can't tell you how much I wish I could be like her.
"Well," she said. "Well I'm glad you like it. I was sort of worried. I mean, I know how you get about... well, old places."
Old places are the worst for me because the older a building is, the more chance there is that a demon's there, and that he or she is still hanging around there looking for justice.
"Really mom," I said. "It's great. I love it."
Nobunaga, hearing this, hustled around the room all excitedly, showing me the clap-on, clap-off lights and various other gadgets he'd installed. I followed him around, expressing my delight, being careful not to look in the demon's direction. It was really sweet, how much Nobunaga wanted me to be happy. And I was determined, because he wanted it so much, to be happy. At least happy as it's possible for someone like me to be.
After a while, Nobunaga ran out of stuff to show me, and went away to start the barbecue, since in honor of my arrival, we were having surf and turf for dinner. Dumber and Dumberer took off to "hit some waves" before we ate, and Dumb, muttering mysteriously about an experiment he'd been working on, drifted off to another part of the house, leaving me alone with my mother... well, sort of.
"Is it really all right, Kagome?" my mom wanted to know. "I know it's a big change. I know it's asking a lot of you-"
I took off my leather jacket. I don't know if I've mentioned this, but it was pretty hot out for January. "Its fine, mom." I said. "Really."
"I mean, asking you to leave grandpa, and Eri, and New York. It's selfish of me, I know. I know things haven't been... well, easy for you. Especially since daddy died.
My mother likes to think that the reason I'm not like traditional teenage girls, like she was when she was my age, is that I lost my father at such an early age. She blames his death for everything, from the fact that I have no friends- with the exception of Eri- to the fact that I sometimes engage in extremely weird behavior. And I suppose some of the stuff I've done in the past would seem pretty weird to someone who didn't know why I was doing it, or couldn't see who I was doing it for. I have certainly been caught any number of times in places I wasn't supposed to be. I've been brought home by the police a few times, accused of trespassing or vandalism or breaking and entering.
And while I've never actually been convicted of anything, I've spent any number of hours in my mother's therapist's office, being assured that this tendency I have to talk to myself is perfectly normal, but that my propensity to talk to people who aren't there probably isn't.
"Well," my mom said, "I guess if you don't want help unpacking, I'll go see how Nobunaga is doing with dinner."
Nobunaga, in addition to being able to build just about anything, was also an excellent cook, something my mother most definitely was not. I said, "yeah, mom, you go do that, I'll just get settled in here, and I'll be down in a minute." My mom nodded and got up-but she wasn't about to let me escape that easily. Just as she was about to go out the door, she turned around and said, her blue eyes filled with tears, "I just want you to be happy, Kagome. That's all I've ever wanted. Do you think you can be happy here?"
I gave her a hug. I'm as tall as she is, in my ankle boots. "Sure mom," I said. "Sure, I'll be happy here. I feel at home already."
"Really?" my mom was sniffling, "You swear?"
"I do." And I want lying wither. I mean, there'd be demons in my bedroom back at home too.
She went away, and I shut the door quietly behind her. I waited until I couldn't hear her heels on the stairs anymore, and then I turned around.
"All right," I said to the presence on the window seat. "Who the hell are you?"
A/N:
I know I told you there'd be a confrontation between Inuyasha and Kagome.... But I promise it'll be in the next chapter... I have tons of stuff to do for school tomorrow including writing a speech and memorizing it by Wednesday.
The nest chapter, I'm afraid, is going to be very, very short...
Too much stuff going on.
If you're waiting for me to update my other stories, I'm sort I haven't gotten around to it yet! But I will sometime!
( cya layaz!