Your friend has been very talkative lately.
Sometimes, it's sort of nice. "That's a cool drawing," they'll say, or, "Sure, I'll read you that one." You've missed that, missed having someone to say those things to you, so you let them sit next to you and talk even when you aren't trying to imagine them.
Sometimes, though, you really wish they'd stop.
"I wonder," they say, though seemingly engrossed in the puzzle you're doing, "what would happen if you bit her."
You look up in bewilderment, and they blink at you, expression blank, and shrug.
"What? Isn't that what youkai do?"
You're not a youkai, and you remind them of this in little more than a mumble as you try to refocus on the jigsaw puzzle.
"Maybe she'd like you more if you were." There wasn't any malice in their tone, just plain speculation, and that makes it even worse to hear. Your stomach lurches, and you ask your friend, quite politely, to stop talking.
"It was just an idea, jeez," they grouse, pouting and sticking out their tongue in your general direction.
But they stop, and you feel relieved.
"I wanna color," they say one day, looking longingly at your paper and worn-down box of crayons. You look up, see them pining away at the other end of the table, and shrug, roll a purple crayon towards them.
Their hand makes a move for it, and the little crayon rolls right through it, as though it weren't there at all.
Sorry, you say, a little guilty-like, and they pout. But you can't color.
"But you can color."
They say this slowly, look at you... intently.
You begin to feel nervous.
They push themselves up onto the table, make their way over to kneel directly on top of your paper, forcing you to stop drawing and pay attention to what they were about to say.
"Let me in."
You blink.
"I wanna color."
You shake your head, equally apprehensive and utterly confused - you don't know what they mean, but it doesn't sound good. Their face falls. Goes from firm to pleading.
"C'mon, Reeeeei," their face not an inch from yours and you lean back slightly, don't like it when they say your name like that. "Please? I promise it'll only be a minute."
What will only be a minute?
"It won't even hurt."
What won't even hurt?
"Promise."
Your head is spinning and you are scared and you don't want your friend to be mad and so
"I just wanna color,"
you
"That's all."
nod.
They grin.
"Thanks," they say sweetly, their hand is on your forehead cold dry and you think you are asleep.
.
..
...
You wake up, sitting at the table, crayon in your hand, paper on the table, eyes unfocused and bleary, friend lying down legs under the table.
You look down at the drawing.
"What's that look for?" Your friend asks, irritated.
The red crayon in your hand is ground down to barely a stub.
"Hey, don't throw it away," they say, "That's my picture!"
You really, really want to throw it away.
"Just put it in the closet or something," they grumble. Are they moping? Are they sad that you don't like it?
You don't want to put it in the closet.
You feel like whatever is in this picture is much, much worse than what lives in the closet at night.
You put it in the closet anyway, under anything and everything you could pile on top of it, and your friend looks happy again.
"Stab her," they say, smiling cheerful and bright, gazing intently at the only mildly sharp metal butter knife in your hand.
You grip it tighter and stare at your friend with an intense kind of incredulity.
"She's no good," your friend continues, "Mean all the time-" a lie, "And a youkai through and through, besides."
You stare.
"You're a shrine maiden, aren't you? Like Mommy?"
Was that what Mommy was?
"And shrine maidens get rid of youkai."
Was that what shrine maidens did?
"So get rid of her already," your friend says, a red hunger in their eyes, and your mouth goes dry and your stomach turns and you drop the (harmless) knife and you run and you run and you run and you hide behind her legs, hear her shocked inquiries, and you don't care.
You see your friend staring at you not three feet away, as they always are, looking only a little bit sorry.