Hey there. It's been a while. Forgive me for taking so long with this chapter; my laptop's been malfunctioning lately and it deleted several of my chapters and such. It happened to delete this one—three times—even off of my USB. So I got really pissed, instantly lost inspiration, and decided, to hell with it, I'm not gonna write another fifty pages if it's just gonna delete it again—no way in hell. But I watched Cabin in the Woods and Dodgeball last night and decided, why the hell not? Let's get back to this!
Hello, audience, and welcome back to Ao Oni: The Black Velveteen! I'm sure at least two of you missed this thing, and I'm excited to be writing it again! I missed you all, too, thanks.
X
Horror of the Dog…And That Freak, Naoki
X
Nikoru carefully climbed over a chest someone had placed in the middle of the hallway. It was generic—small, wooden, and there was no reason for it to be there. She kicked the lid up and was disappointed to find that there was nothing inside. The first door ahead on the right was tightly shut. There was a chuck missing in the bottom right corner and the edge was cracked, as if a nail had been dragged across it.
Coincidentally, the whining was definitely coming from behind it.
"Dog," Nikoru called. "Are you there? Do—"
Bark! Whine…
That confirmed it. Nikoru looked around for something to beat the door down with. After much consideration between a hammer and her own foot, she chose her foot. She took a step back. "I'm comin' for you, dog!"
Bam.
Her foot collided against the hefty frame of the door, but it merely wiggled in its hinges.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding," Nikoru muttered in a caustic huff. She battered it again, but it would not budge. "Come on, dammit!"
Bark! Bark!
"Shut up, dog!" Nikoru exclaimed, using as much force as she could muster into her leg. The door jiggled and bounced back out at her, much to her frustration. But that was not the last it would hear from her; she was halfway there and not about to throw the towel in. With a raging war cry, she hurled herself and body slammed the door. The retaliation knocked her back against the opposite wall. "Son on a—Are you sure you can't—"
Whine.
"Oh, shut up." Nikoru dropped to her knees and tilted her head, trying to catch a glimpse of the dog through the missing chunk of door. She could just make out an old shoe on the other side, and there were tangled strands of fur that tickled her nose. It had to be the dog. Standing, Nikoru started down the hallway, her eyes peeled for assistance. An eerie creak from the very back of the cabin caught her attention. She froze for a minute, weighing the situation. After several seconds of silence, she continued again. The next door was further away than the others had been. "It can't be that bad, dog. I broke my wrist once, and it wasn't fun, but it wasn't really that bad."
Inside, there was a broom leaning against the paint peeled wall in one corner. There were pieces of ceiling scattered everywhere and the floor looked as if it would collapse at any minute. Her foot kicked something across the room and the thwack of it hitting the wall startled her. She wondered if it were a rat and listened for the gentle scurry of frantic feet. There was nothing but the faint whines of the dog. Curious, Nikoru began to searched the ground carefully.
It glimmered in the dim moonlight that peeked through holes in the ceiling. The clouds must have gone away, Nikoru thought absently. She crouched down to grab it and inspected it.
It was a collar. A dog collar, the metal engraved: Willum.
"So dog's name is Willum," she murmured. "That's a stupid name."
Another groan of the floorboards out in the hallway, this time close by, sent Nikoru into a slight frenzy. She jumped and crept into the left corner by the door. Slowly, she sunk against it and clasped her whitened knuckles around the collar. There was a ruffling noise and then a grunt.
The hair on the back of Nikoru's neck prickled. The noise was inhuman. Something crossed between a pig and a gasp of pain. Nikoru felt her heart pumping as the sound neared her. She held her breath and sat rigid against the damp wall. Something shuffled down the hallway, it heavy footsteps earthquakes upon the rotting floor—Nikoru wondered if it would fall through—until it was just outside the door. Just outside.
It was right there. Right there. So close it was killing her. If it just stepped into the room…
The shuffling continued and paused again a few seconds later. Nikoru wanted to look—she was so curious—but she couldn't, not when she had witnessed what she had that day. It might not be an oni, but it sure as hell was dangerous, she knew. But the urge was so powerful and she was only so strong.
She shifted to take a quick peek and jerked when she heard the telltale sound of a door unlocked. Apprehensive, she crawled closer to the doorway and peered out, determined to catch a glimpse. Whatever it was, it had already disappeared into the room.
Woof! Woof!
The dog bellowed aggressively. Nikoru could imagine it baring its teeth. The floor creaked and a sharp crack sent her whirling against the wall again. The dog howled and whimpered softly. Nikoru was confused, then furious. That bastard had done something to the dog!
She shoved the collar into her jean's pocket and looked around for a weapon. Finding her or hurting the dog—she'd mess him up either way! But that was only if he found her first and she had no other choice. There was no way in hell she'd challenge that thing unless she needed to.
Her hand brushed against something in the very back of the corner and she groped to see what it was. It was large, long, and jagged. Picking it up in her hands, she realized it was a drill bit. There was a rush of wind and the room became black. Not even the comfortable moonlight was there. Shaking, Nikoru crawled and peeked out through the doorway again.
The thing said something quietly, nonsensical, and a tall, deformed figure appeared in the corridor. Outside the dog's room not even ten steps away. And it certainly wasn't an oni: It's small, underdeveloped head almost reached the ceiling, its shoulders were placed lower at the base of a long neck, and its arms reached its kneecaps. Nikoru froze in terror and prayed to God the drill bit was enough to take the damned thing down.
She started to lean back against the wall again, but fell back too fast and too hard. There was that tension-filled silence again and Nikoru knew she had screwed up. She clutched the drill bit harder against her palm until it dug into her flesh and kept her eyes on the doorway, waiting. It could come any second and she had to be prepared. But she wasn't. How could you prepare for something like this? How could you be ready? She was petrified, her only thoughts of survival now, but she wanted to jump out a window or fade away into the shadows so that that thing would never find her and—
And then all hell broke loose.
The thing shrieked, a blood curdling cry, and banged on the walls until Nikoru heard the sturdier boards crack. It screamed and shouted things that were partially intelligent, but mostly ignorant and bizarre exclamations that might have made sense to it but not to Nikoru. There was a pause between beatings, and then it resumed, but Nikoru could hear a screeching chink and remembered the sledge hammer in the hallway. A hollow bang resonated as its head slammed against eroded wood, then the boards on the opposite side of the door from where she sat splintered and the entire wall was busted open—Nikoru nearly screamed when the sledge hammer's form became clear in the dark, poking out from between the cracked boards, and she pushed herself firm against the corner, boxing herself up, as it disappeared and came through to break the door frame. The vibrations rattled the walls and thundered against her back and dust and slivers of rotted wood fell from the ceiling.
Then she blinked and the hammer was gone—and she did scream when it crashed through the wall right beside her, where she had just been sitting, and tore a pulverized line all the way to the ground. There was a hand on top of the iron bar, large and ripped to shreds from splinters and sharp edges and nails, and it gushed with blood and tissue and muscle. The monster wailed and the hand reached sideways toward her, where she cowered in the corner. Without even thinking, Nikoru lunged forward and sank the drill bit right through its hand. It didn't even register when the monster howled and shrieked in agony and pulled its hand away, abandoning the sledge hammer.
Then it was running down the hall towards the entrance, its cries echoing off every surface. It strangled a sob and a sickening thump make Nikoru's bones creak. It was crying now—no, sobbing, roaring—and Nikoru covered her ears and hung her head between her knees to keep the bile from climbing her esophagus.
In some corner of her mind, she was grotesquely fascinated. It was as if it couldn't stand the thought of someone in its cabin. Maybe it assumed she was an oni, or maybe it was like Scarface and was insane. And now—was he putting himself out of its misery? She shuddered as the repulsive thump grew harsher and louder. Then Nikoru had a sudden epiphany—it was a hammer. The one she had deftly stepped over before in the entry way. She could hear the metallic clink that echoed from the force of colliding against solid flesh—its skull. It was beating itself with a hammer. Nikoru swallowed down the burning venom in her throat and shut her eyes tightly, telling herself it would all end soon. A loud thud of something hefty collapsing shook the ground. Nikoru listened through her fingers as the desperate cries grew faint and then stopped echoing all together.
She sat there in that corner for what seemed like hours until the dog began whining again, reminding her what she was there for. Slowly, Nikoru snuck out into the hallway, her body close to the ground. While her eyes adjusted, she listened intently. The front door she had removed the broom from was just in her view; she could see the slivers of moonlight that had escaped the clouded sky. It was then she realized she hadn't even remembered there being a sunset. There was a trail of blood leading outdoors and a small hammer lie abandoned on the floor. It had witnessed everything and enticed curiosity within Nikoru, encouraging her to wonder, coaxing her to pick it up and look outside.
Nikoru turned her head, disgusted.
Gingerly, she crouched before the dog's door and pulled it open inch by inch. The door bumped something with a gentle thump and was followed by an ominous whiiiish.
The lumpy, mussed gray tail was the first thing Nikoru felt as it brushed against her knee. She followed up the dog's lean body and met his piercing turquoise eyes with her own. She noted there was a small but deep gash stretched across his nose. He would have been fuzzy and fluffy if he hadn't looked like a mangled pillow, but he was lean and would have been a dog of great strength had it not been for his recent misadventures, whatever they might have been. Nikoru kneeled before him and hesitantly reached out to stroke his clumped fur. He didn't seem ferocious in the least. His wide eyes searched hers for what Nikoru knew must be solace, and she was willing to give it because she needed the same thing in return.
"You okay, dog?" She murmured, voice shaky. "You must be Willum, huh?" The dog shifted and licked his lips. "I'm gonna get you out of here, okay? You're gonna come out with me."
Her fingers brushed something slimy. There was a leather collar wrapped tightly around the dog's neck, attached to an iron hook jutting out of the ground beside him. Grimacing, Nikoru curled her fingers underneath and gasped as they were met with a liquidy warmth. A strained cry erupted from the dog's mouth and he became perfectly rigid.
"Oh, shit." Her fingers flew back. Too grossed out to check her nails, Nikoru skimmed her fingertips around the collar, searching for a latch or something that could loosen it. "Shit, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Shit—there's no—no, uh, button, or whatever. Shit, I'm sorry—" Her fingers brushed a bad spot and the dog cried out again. "—I'm sorry!"
Wiping her sticky fingers on her shirt, Nikoru stood, looking for something useful among the counter tops. She really didn't want to go back down the hallway after what had just occurred—nor did she want to leave after that, when that monster could be anywhere, even waiting for her to appear in the doorway, innocent eyes scrutinizing.
Nikoru's gaze fell upon a glistening surface and she grabbed it: a small hunting knife.
"Okay, okay, dog." She dropped back onto her haunches and pressed the blade against the soft leather. Her hand trembled. "Okay, dog, I'm gonna cut this off and then we'll get out of here, okay?" The dog whimpered. He was just as doubtful as she was. "Okay…sh—shit, let's do this."
The razor bit into the leather with minimal pressure, surprising and pleasing Nikoru. She grinned and patted the dog's head, relief washing tenderly over her and she dared to hope that the day—or night, whichever—would gradually get better. "Hey, this might not be as bad as we thought."
She rubbed the dull edge back and forth until she had made a deep incision. The fur below was matted with what Nikoru had to assume was blood from an open wound, so instead of cutting through, she took the collar between reluctant fingers and ripped through the seams. The last stitch snapped when it tore and the dog cried out again. This time, however, it was triumphant as Nikoru peeled the crusty material off of its neck.
"Holy shit, I got it!" Nikoru exclaimed vivaciously, holding up the collar between her thumb and forefinger. She smiled, excited and proud of herself. The dog pushed itself to its feet as if it were the first time in years, swaying against the cupboards and counters, still weak. Nikoru threw the collar to an abandoned corner of the room and jumped up. Legs wobbling, she stretched an arm out to rest upon one of the counter tops. "Hang on a second—I didn't think you'd be ready to go this soon! Maybe you should rest for a—"
There was a soft scuffle from the other side of the window and the dog stilled, ears perked. Nikoru dropped to her knees, thankful she hadn't been in direct eyesight from the open section of the wall. They were both quiet and still as statues for several seconds until the dog turned towards the door and gazed expectantly up at Nikoru.
She sighed. The air rattled in her chest. "You're right, dog. We can't wait."
They slowly made their way back down the uninviting hallway. Part of the floor had given in further down and there were holes and cracks in nearly every blood-stained board. Some patches were fresh, trickling and pooling under the floorboards, and others were already absorbed; disgusting red paint upon disgusting eroding walls. Such disgusting atrocities.
Nikoru wouldn't have stepped within two feet of the gaping front door if it hadn't been for Willum; at least now she wouldn't be beaten to death alone. She still felt as though she were walking off towards her malicious and excruciating death.
When they reached the doorway, Willum moved halfway through, his liquid eyes skimming. Nikoru moved back against the wall beside him and tried to ignore the horrors surrounding her. She focused on Willum instead and decided that he was a husky, what with the bright eyes and snowy fur.
"I've always wanted a husky," Nikoru whispered, trying to start conversation to distract herself from her unsettling anxiety. "I think you guys are beautiful, but mom never let me have one. You guys cost too much." Willum glanced at her reproachfully. Nikoru held her palms up. "Hey, I'm just saying, and it's true—"
The bushy, tangled tail rose over her mouth and Nikoru sputtered with a mouthful of hair. "Ew, gross!" A growl rumbled in Willum's throat. Nikoru stared at him, bewildered. "You want me to be quiet." He snorted. "Oh. Okay. Oh…"
It was several minutes until Willum finally moved away and strolled out into the open. He pranced like a show horse, moving gracefully—had he not been beaten just five minutes ago? Nikoru watched him as she crept out onto the fallen door. "You…can you understand me?"
If he could, he didn't confirm it. Instead, he sauntered off towards the large gate. An overwhelming sense of loneliness crushed Nikoru as he crawled under the fence. Maybe he had dug a hole there earlier, but was caught while investigating. Glistening silver in the moonlight, his bushy tail was the last thing she saw before he was out of sight.
"I thought you got hurt, you dumb dog. You were playing me all along, weren't you?" Nikoru rubbed her tired face. She was horribly confused; the dog had been chained up and beat and he had been limping no more than five minutes ago. Now he was suddenly walking like a boss and he'd just skipped right along out the damn door and he'd left her all alone in the backyard of the House on Haunted Hill. "At least you get to leave. I can't…"
But, God, did she want to.
There were some really risky stairs climbing up the back wall of the manor to a small porch and a door. That was the nearest route back inside. Once she went in, there would be no turning back, no leaving. Why couldn't it have been Takuro or Hiroshi who had to make this decision? Why her? She wanted to scream; if she left, she would be safe, but her friends would probably be killed. There might have been a chance of their survival, but those oni were fast and determined. There was no way they could keep outrunning them all night—at some point, they were gonna run out of luck. Nikoru didn't want to be that rational, but she knew she had to be at this point. And she knew she had to stay; her friends needed to escape, and with the front door being completely inaccessible, this back door might be the only way out, the only chance of survival.
"Got to do it," she whispered. "Ohhh, shit. I'm so skewered. Okay, be HiroshiPEN, be the ball…Hiroshi, you better thank me. A lot."
X
Takeshi had finally finished his episode just as Eve was losing patience in consoling him. Naoki hadn't even paid mind to them as he'd rushed past, shouting for Hiroshi, and Takuro was still sitting in the room with Mika, thinking silently. Takeshi's heart ached and twisted at the memory of the open wound on the back of her neck and those lifeless brown eyes he adored so much, wringing out a last tear from his dry eyes.
"I'm okay now," Takeshi murmured. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes. "Not okay, but…"
"Good," Eve said. "We need to find the books, Takeshi. Quickly, before—"
"Dammit, do you not realize my one true love is dead?" Takeshi shouted. He'd never lost his temper like that, but he needed someone to know how he felt, how his heart had fallen into his feet and cracked in two. "Eve, I've had a crush on Mika for three years. I've been in love with her that long. You—you just don't get it, do you? I love her, Eve, I love her! I don't care about those stupid books! I want Mika back—I wanted to be the one who took her place!"
Eve glared at him. "You think my death was pleasant? Do you think anybody loved me?" She shook her head. "I don't think anyone is ready for death, nor are their loved ones. Whether her death was pleasant or not, at least she is no longer miserable. Nor can she be hunted any longer. I know exactly how it feels." Her firm eyes softened. "But I don't know what it's like to be mourned. I don't know if anyone did or not, but I wouldn't have expected them to. They weren't a very cuddly family, nor a very emotional one."
Takeshi growled. "I don't care, Eve. Dammit—I don't care! I just want Mika back!"
"Sulking won't save her!" Eve snapped. "You want to save her? Then we'll save her!"
Takeshi cringed. "You…we can…she can be?"
Eve hesitated. She covered her mouth with one hand and took a few steps forward, focused on the ground. "Well, yes, it's possible. I've never tried myself, but it may be possible…"
"How?" Takeshi followed her and grabbed her shoulder. She was so cold after she had shared her energy with him, yet she was soft. Her shoulder was smooth and warm around the blade. "How can we save her?" Realizing he was touching her and sucking out some of her needed warmth, he dropped his arm. "Wait—do you think she could be here? Like, here in this mansion?"
It was almost too much to bear. "It would be possible," was Eve's simple reply. "It may be selective; I am here, yet my brother is not. But I would assume it is. But…"
"But what? You just said it's—"
"It is!" Eve exclaimed. "You must be sure you want this. This isn't a light situation, nor is it going to be easy."
"I want to!" Takeshi snapped. He stared meaningfully into her eyes, determination hard on his face. "I really, really want this, Eve. What do we do? I'll do anything to get her back."
Eve took a deep, quivering breath and nodded. "All right. Then we'll have to search the manor." She leaned against the railing. "That would be the first—but take caution of the—"
"Of course," Takeshi agreed. "Can't be too difficult. I'll go upstairs, you go down. To the, uh, to the basement." He leaned closer to catch her sightless eyes. Eve felt her breath catch; she was mesmerized with those soft, puppy dog eyes. They reflected a warmth Eve hadn't felt for so long. "Okay? Eve, is that okay?"
"Yes," Eve heaved. "Yes, that's right…But, Takeshi, what about Takuro?"
Takeshi blinked. "What about him? He can't rescue Mika, but I can. I can get her out of here!" He charged up the stairs. "We'll re-meet at the front door!"
Eve lowered her lashes. "There's much more to this house than you understand. There are many more places we have yet to explore and there's..."
But he was already gone. Eve sighed; he could have just drifted up through the floor if he'd wanted to hurry. Why the hell did he take the stairs?
X
Hiroshi was hiding in the bathroom. He was a man, he could admit that—just not out loud. He'd heard Naoki chasing after him and had no interest in speaking to him at the moment. Maybe not for a really long time. Naoki had some wild look in his eyes, like a frightened animal, and it wasn't normal.
Hiroshi had locked the door the moment he'd stepped inside. There was a crack in the door, on the bottom that was wide enough to hear everything that was happening outside. It wasn't that large, but Hiroshi kept himself quiet, just in case.
He pulled the book out of his pocket and wiped his glove over the gritty surface. The Black Velveteen, huh? What was this, some sort of spell book? He'd tried opening it several times, but the cover would never move. It was stuck in place, possibly by enchantment, though Hiroshi didn't want to look too far into it. Maybe it wasn't a book at all, just some crafted look-a-like to fool everybody, or maybe it was just an ordinary book that was glued shut.
An ordinary black book that emanated a strange and powerful aura, the sort that could knock you off your feet if you walked over it. But no matter where Hiroshi went, the thing was always pulling him. He hadn't actually noticed until he'd been sitting in the back closets. Maybe it had been what had led him to Nikoru, what had led him to Mika. What was it doing? Was enchantment possible? Hiroshi was beginning to believe the craziest things; if numerous Ao Oni existed, then enchantment could, too.
Had he found a black book…Why had Naoki asked that?
More importantly, where had his scarf gone? He had assumed it would be on the stairs where he had fled the oni, but he hadn't seen it at all. Maybe he just wasn't looking hard enough; his head was boggled with craziness and he was distracted by all the chaos.
And Satō was gone. Where the hell did he go? And what happened to him? How was he possessed and the others not? Maybe an oni had gotten hold of him or perhaps he was hiding in a closet upstairs. Takuro could handle himself even in his depression, right? Right. He was a football player. And Hiroshi couldn't help but remember the time he'd knocked a guy out with his guitar at a football game.
Hiroshi pocketed the book and sighed.
Maybe he was worrying too much. He was probably thinking too much, too. He didn't have time to worry about all this, nor could he focus when he did because when one concern came, another did, and then another, and he couldn't focus on them all anymore. The house was too weird, the occurrences were even weirder, and everything else was covered in shadow and suspicion. It was almost too much; this worrying was making him crazy. The more he thought, the more he worried, and then he felt like throwing himself over the second floor railing. It was always right after a crisis when he thought, and none of his thoughts were very positive. It wasn't doing him any good, but he couldn't just not think at all. Then he'd never keep up with everyone else and he'd never remember where they were or what they were doing and then he would never find them if he suspected they were in danger. Like Mika. Unless they kept up with themselves, then he'd be free of responsibility—but they were his friends, therefore his responsibility, and one of them had already died and another three of them were missing.
"What am I doing? HiroshiPEN, what sort of hero are you? That's right, you're not one. But we have to do our best, don't we?" He threw his head back against the wall. "Oh, what am I saying? I'm talking to myself! I thought only Nikoru did that…" He trailed off. Jaw clenched, he turned to the mirror and gripped the sink, leaning over it as he glared furiously at his reflection. Such disappointment: glasses lopsided, wild hair, pallid, bruised skin; but narrowed, blazing eyes with a grim determination. "Why did I never say anything? Well, I won't let the opportunity go next time, I swear it. I'll find you and we'll breathe together. Don't go yet—don't go like Mika. I have to say something first, I have to tell you—but dammit, it's so hard believing in you!"
Silence fell upon him, filling his ears with an oceanic rush. The waves crashed against him, harsh and calloused at first, then serene and calming. They filled him, consuming him until his reflection nodded, eyes sparkling with resolution.
No more worrying, it said. No more wondering if the others are going to be all right. We have to focus on saving them, and we can't do that when we're sitting in a closet thinking about saving them. We have to go for it. We have to let everything go and do what we know we must. Trust yourself. And trust the others or else we'll never escape this place.
"I do," Hiroshi replied hesitantly. "I must."
"Hiroshi-kun! Are you down there?"
Hiroshi took a precautionary step back from the door and watched it through narrowed eyes.
"Please, Hiroshi-kuuun! Please, I—I need help! There—there's an oni down here!"
Why is he being so desperate? Hiroshi wondered cynically. He knows I know there's no oni down here. He's being rather peculiar.
"Hiroshi! Dammit, come out! I need to talk to you—it's serious."
I think not, Naoki. Not this time. You're a little off your rocker at the moment.
"Come on, Hiroshi!" Was that a sob? "I—I need you. I need you with me. I—maybe it's the atmosphere here, but I'm scared!"
Scared. Just like Hiroshi himself was. There went all the resolution.
No, wait. Hiroshi's reflection stopped him, his hard eyes scolding. No worrying, remember? If Naoki doesn't wisen up and protect himself, he'll never leave this place alive. And what the hell's his problem, anyway? First he asks you for your book, then he runs after you, now he's begging you to come out? I think he's possessed, too. I mean, where has he been while all of this has been going on?
The bathroom door wiggled.
Hiroshi's blood chilled.
"Hiroshi! Hiroshi! Are you in there? Are you? Why is this damn thing—y—you're in the library, right? Right, you've gotta be." Naoki's urgent footsteps faded until they were all but silent.
Hiroshi crouched and peeked out through the crack. Naoki was gone, but, because of the limited sight, Hiroshi couldn't tell where.
You're going to want to run, the reflection said. Right now.
Soundlessly, Hiroshi fingered the lock and grabbed the knob, twisting it very, very slowly until the door popped forward. Wreee—Hiroshi nearly jumped out of his skin, then realized the door wasn't the source of the noise. He poked his head out and held his breath; Naoki was hovering in the library doorway. Then he disappeared inside.
"Thanks for stopping me." Hiroshi started forward.
"You're welcome."
Hiroshi stopped, eyes wide. Whirling around, his reflection mirrored his own expression of bewilderment. He thought he had been talking to himself this entire time. Had his reflection really just…?
No time, I need to go. Hiroshi bolted from out behind his shield, racing down the alley beside the stairs.
"Here we are," he murmured and began down the deserted corridor. "Those back closets seemed suspicious…why would they be there if there's nothing inside? And I could have sworn…"
A sharp wheezing startled him. Hiroshi whirled around, expecting Naoki or an oni, but there was nothing. More paranoia. There was a lot of that here.
It had to be an oni, watching him. They watched everybody. You couldn't escape them. In this theatre, the audience could not see the cast, but the cast could see Hiroshi.
Hiroshi walked faster until he had reached the open closets. The air was empty as Hiroshi stood there, waiting impatiently for something. Then, a cool draft wafted around his ankles, leaving a trail of goosebumps up his neck and down his legs. This time, Hiroshi pressed his hand against the book. It was vibrating gently, so lightly he couldn't feel it through the thick fabric of his pocket.
"Something's back there," Hiroshi whispered. "I knew it."
The inside of the closet was a jungle of shadows. One could feel the heavy breath of the watching demons, hunters toying mercilessly with their prey; cat and mouse. But Hiroshi forced himself not to think of that, he couldn't disappoint his reflection. The tip of his toes nudged the back wall just above the border, a smug knowing flashing in his eyes when the force bent it inward like plastic.
"I thought something was strange."
Once again, another hidden location in this stupid mansion. God, what he would have given to walk out the front door, leave this decrypted place and have his life back—his normal life of a normal existence in the normal world where there were no haunted mansions or demons or any Ao Oni. Fury pulsed inside his skull, raising his blood pressure, and, before he knew what he was about, Hiroshi was bashing in the drywall with an expensive dress shoe.
"This place is going to be the death of me!"
By the second kick, the hollow wall was dented, and by the third, there was a hole. By the fourth, his foot had crashed completely through.
"Got it!" Hiroshi exclaimed, excited. For once, he felt as if he really could escape the barricaded mansion. Which he hadn't yet, but he still felt accomplished. Inspired, he began kicking in another hole. "Got to get through."
"Can you let me through?"
Startled, Hiroshi fell forward and his leg slid through the hole. Palms braced against the wall, he struggled to pull himself out. His foot wiggled on the other side as he turned slightly, mentally preparing himself for whoever or whatever was there.
Suddenly, something moved through him—he was fine, then all the warmth left his body, replaced by a frigidness that seized him utterly. The blood that boiled in his veins froze entirely before his heart stopped.
It was like before, when his soul had become barren and his thoughts had evaporated. It stirred a mixture of emotion, things that it made no sense to feel. Livid brown eyes appeared in his mind's eye, beseeching him for something she couldn't express aloud.
Abruptly, his mind was blank, and then reality was lifting him, a lantern in the nothingness.
Hiroshi shook his head and blinked. Mika was gone. She was really gone. Had she even been there, standing before him? He was beginning to wonder if she'd even existed.
"Stop it," Hiroshi spat, dragging his leg out of the wall. "Don't even start with that. Don't be emotional. Do this for the others."—another hole with a single kick— "Or do it for yourself. You want to escape, don't you? Well, dammit, I'm going to get us out of here if it kills me!"
X
There was no turning back for Takuro once he stepped outside the box, either. And not just in a rhetorical way; the room he was in was box shaped.
He was going to leave Mika there and help Hiroshi. He had to. They had been best friends since forever and he couldn't back out now. Besides, everyone else was counting on him to save them. Part of him wanted to hide himself, but the dominant side knew that wasn't an option; what sort of man would he be if he couldn't even stand up beside his friends? All he stood for—everything his loving family and friends had taught him: integrity, self-respect, courage, responsibility—it would be meaningless, and so would he. How could he ever respect himself again if he chickened out when his best friend needed his help?
This was the sort of situation one would enter as a boy and leave as a man.