《Yokai Reversal》 Spoon-Bending and Evil Manga The day my life changed I bent a spoon with my mind. No, I''m not a hack! I wish I was but I¡¯m way, way worse. Listen I¡¯m not selling you anything. But! I gotta tell you life¡¯s been really weird since then. I¡¯d been out of a job for months. Mooonths. Man, I counted stars we owned our house, but how was I going to save up for college? Bing, bing, another auto-rejection on my phone. I did the usual ritual¡ªdragged my feet, shoved my hands in my pockets, and inspected the pavement for nonexistent tectonic activity. When I huffed, cold mist drifted out my mouth like a tepid dragon. Then I trudged to my preferred hangout to drown every thought in sensory overload. Japantown. Great place, isn¡¯t it? At least I think so. Not that I could read much kanji, or speak Japanese, or heckin¡¯ forbid write it, but heritage has to count for something, right? I sludged into the west mall to escape the chill, huddled up in a jacket, and was instantly blinded by fluorescent lights and wood panels. A proper slap in the face for disappointing your Asian ancestors. You got your usual¡ªart galleries, plastic sushi on stands luring customers into bento bars, cute shops carrying kitsch¡ªI love the umbrellas with sword handles¡ªand good ol¡¯ Daiso for the shopanistas. Also more restaurants, lotta those. I stuck my hand on a black railing and crossed a little walkway as crowds bustled past. Busy night tonight. Artificial cherry blossoms glowed neon pink and I admired them as I passed. No one would mistake them for the Real Thing (?) but they stood tall and raw and didn¡¯t give a darn. My stomach rumbled so I pulled up at a cafe tucked in a corner. I guess it counted as a boba shop, too, since it offered quite a few items. The long-haired woman at the register smiled at me. ¡°Hello, Cecelia. The usual?¡± Despite my general sense of being a glob, a grin of my own crept up. ¡°Hey-o, Vi. A grass jelly-taro-boba-oolong tea, 50% ice.¡± Vi had a soft and mellifluous voice¡ªbig word, I know, but if you don¡¯t use it ya lose it. Sliding my credit card, I felt a lesser term didn¡¯t quite capture how her greeting rolled over me, a gentle foam-tossed wave. My shoulders were relaxing already. She could cook an asmr channel or some wiz. Yaaay, SAT prep. Shut up, brain, I told myself. ¡°Sure thing. Would you like me to make something for Sven, too?¡± ¡°Huh.¡± I thought a couple beats. I did plan on meeting Sven before school tomorrow. ¡°Yeah, why not?¡± I tapped a finger against the counter. Maybe a green matcha. No ice, no sugar, no nada. My dude likes only the plainest of liquids. Ooh, or honey green tea? Just for kicks. I made up my mind for the matcha. Vi slipped me the receipt before I could tell her. ¡°Thank you!¡± The tips of my ears warmed. I could sense a young family shifting behind me along with a whooole line of people. Fudgesticks. No good making everyone wait. I plopped into a seat. Checked the paper. Number 389, and Vi had scribbled ¡°matcha¡± below my order. Zero sugar or ice. Oh. Did she decide for me? Lucky we thought the same thing. With some relief I ran my fingers through my hair. I couldn¡¯t throw off a sinking pit in my stomach, though. I decided to go to Kinokuniya after this. Grab twenty manga and chill. Or wander around browsing the shelves. I wasn¡¯t picky at the moment. Vi stopped at my table. She set down my drink as well as a bag with Sven¡¯s order. The package was bigger than I expected. Then Vi pushed a plate of French toast with a dollop of ice cream and syrup towards me. ¡°For you.¡± My face flushed. For a while now I suspected Vi was not only the cafe¡¯s server, but also the baker, and also the barista. How¡¯d she manage? I didn¡¯t know why she chose to give people their food when they could just pick it up. What I mean is little broke me was shrinking in on herself and my hands were getting clammy. I stammered. I wiped them against my jeans. ¡°Thanks. You¡¯re awful talkative today.¡± ¡°And you¡¯re quiet.¡± ¡°Touch¨¦.¡± I groused. I looked at her face, which looked no older than late-twenties, framed by a sweep of hair in front and curtains of long bangs. ¡°I like your eyes. Are you sure you were born in Hokkaido?¡± Another person would¡¯ve taken offense but she only smiled. Her irises were sky blue. She was also tall, though she had all the features of an East Asian. My comment had been a running joke since my parents and I started going to Vi¡¯s place. I couldn''t remember the first time. She answered with a variant of her tried-and-true reply. ¡°I have been to many places in this world, but Japan feels closest to home.¡± ¡°This ain¡¯t the Rising Sun, my dude.¡± I forked the toast and took a bite. She had provided a metal spoon for the ice cream too. Vanilla. Darned stupid at business, I thought, thinking about how much cash she was sinking simply standing here making conversation. ¡°Home isn¡¯t a place, Come back before closing and I can give you seconds. It¡¯s on me.¡± ¡°Whoa¡ªseriously?¡± My eyes bulged. ¡°No, no, It¡¯s cool!¡± She waved off my protests. ¡°How are things? Are you doing okay?¡± I chewed a piece of piping hot, yummy toast and swallowed. ¡°Neh. Unemployed, same as always. Worried about Mom. Maybe I won¡¯t even get to college at this rate.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that. Here.¡± She reached into her waitress apron and handed me a business card. ¡°I know a company. They offer a free trial for a cleaning service. In case you need it.¡± ¡°Uh, thanks?¡± I took it. The card had black lettering reading Kuro Cleaning Services and a phone number. At the bottom was an advertising blurb next to a picture of a cute anime maid. Free Trial Home Cleaning! Perfect for Shut-Ins! Ask about our Protection Services too! ¡°How¡­funky.¡± Not exactly a company I¡¯d apply to, but I might call them up in a pinch. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry about working for them.¡± Vi must¡¯ve caught me gawking. ¡°I mean cleaning. Having a clean home is very nice and refreshing.¡± ¡°Well. Yeah. I guess?¡± At least she is concerned about my¡ªliving conditions? ¡°I have to go now.¡± She motioned to other tables. ¡°Just call if you don¡¯t feel comfortable in your house. Or get anything strange in it.¡± ¡°Yup-yup. Later.¡± I scarfed down the meal and hefted my to-go bag, shoes echoing on the tiled floor, chest lighter as I swerved to Kinokuniya. Not as many people as I¡¯d assumed. Mostly high schoolers teetering my age. That left me with the giddy wonder of staring at books, books, books. Magazines on stands, craft books propped open, paperbacks stacked up, picture books in cubbies, a tight history section, you name it. The plushies and charms were neat too. Cozy. I went downstairs and to the manga section. Maybe I¡¯ll run into classmates here. Ugh. That reminded me. My package was dangling too heavy in my shrimp arms. ¡°Gosh, I hope Sven got the right order.¡± I rummaged into the bag. With a small jolt, I realized Vi had placed an additional cup of milk next to Sven¡¯s drink. She¡¯d also written on the matcha¡¯s receipt. Incident Report PC962 83912. Tell Tommy to drop it and leave by 1. 91%. ¡°Wha?¡± I scratched my head. Did she put that on accident? We did have a Tommy at school. But I didn¡¯t think Vi or Sven knew him. Vi was a busy adult and Sven was, well, kind of not the most approachable guy. Incident report? Looks important. I guess I¡¯mma let Sven deal with it. I wanted my unholy cartoon binge and no way would I let a stupid piece of paper stop me from that sweet sweet manga juice. And so. I traipsed the aisles like a dummy, sat my stupid butt down, and read like a maniac until it was getting dark. A sensation prickled the back of my neck but I did my best to ignore it. Tonight is off. That was what my body was telling me. I convinced myself that was ridiculous. The note¡¯s message had merely melded with hyperactive mental faculties. You need to stop reading horror manga. Or watching those video reviews. It¡¯s paranoia. Paranoia! Footsteps faded into silence. Mid-way through devouring an action shojo title, I lifted my head, to see the place was almost deserted. A cart filled with manga and history books rolled my way. One of the store staff, an elderly lady with a gray hair bun, pushed it on squealing wheels. I winced and craned my neck away. A door in the shop¡¯s back had creaked open, revealing darkness. Eh? Closing already?Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. ¡°Hey!¡± I scrambled to the cart and peered at its contents. ¡°I haven¡¯t bought anything yet! Do you have that new action manga about the dude that¡¯s way too into birds? Hikaru Shifter or what¡¯s-its-face?¡± The bookshop worker crinkled her face in a scowl. Her nose was a tad long, which, together with pulled-back gray locks and weathered skin, made her resemble a vulture. This bird was ready to peck my eyes out. ¡°Next time instead of loitering, come prepared!¡± Sheesh. She even shrieked like one. ¡°Aight, calm down homie. Can I at least take a peek?¡± The avian stuck her neck out. She spat, ¡°Fine. Make it quick. I have important deliveries tonight.¡± ¡°Yes ma¡¯am.¡± I ransacked the cart as she tottered off grumbling under her breath. She¡¯d gone to fetch another cart as I poked my head up from the pile. Those old ladies loved their efficiency. The volumes were good, but none of the covers screamed at me. ¡°Meh. Meh. No. Read it. Hrmgh.¡± I put back as many as I picked up. Definitely no new titles, certainly not the one I had mentioned. The texts were used and worn in places. That was weird. Probs for the older crowd. Collectors and the like. There¡¯s gotta be gems here somewhere! Hol¡¯up. The backend. My chest pounded. An invisible string attached to my body was tugging me straight to the back door. I mean, the door was open, and the entrance was all black, but the cart had been squeaking that way. There had to be treasure in that new stock. Any goodies in there were on sale, right? I mean, it had to be. This was a freakin¡¯ bookstore. A place where people came from across the Bay no less. Squeak, squeak, squeak. My heart rate shot through the roof. I blamed the book lady. I scanned, hand shielding eyes, like a pirate searching high seas. Yep, at my three o¡¯clock, a hawkish crone was slowly trudging in my direction. Oh shoot. My sneakers had placed themselves at the very edge of the door, between the shop¡¯s dim lights and the backroom. The fact the staff member hadn¡¯t seen me yet jumped the pounding in my chest to overdrive. If she saw me now I¡¯d get swooped on. My nerves jittered and I had trouble breathing. I freaked. Which was scarier? A geriatric Asian matriarch who might kick me outta a store? Or a pitch-black, suffocating space I knew nothing about, where I might get lost and/or cramped up in a closet of books and get locked in? Obviously the old lady. In I stumbled, performing a beautiful, majestic, motion-picture worthy fall as I tripped over a hard metal bar. I saved myself by slapping my hands down and barely avoided banging my head against a mound of books. Ow. Need a light. I found a lamp, which was great, except it was on a shelf above me. Not for the first time I cursed being short. On my stomach, I fumbled with the books I had almost collided with. Piles of hardcovers and softcovers. I was swimming in it. Pages fluttered and flapped. I did a worthy impression of a poor old lady in one TV ad who had fallen and couldn¡¯t get up. Happily some covers had English matching kanji titles. I squinted and ogled. Most had weird names, like Shishuo Xinyu: A New Account of the Tales of the World. I was pretty sure the name was Chinese¡ªobvs the characters were the same¡ªbut at least it followed a time-honored tradition of the overly-long light novel title. That one had a sick cover of a calligraphy scroll backgrounding two dudes, who were fighting in dresses and fun hats. Another was titled Nihon Shoki featuring a male and female deity in green and pink kimono, towering over seas and mountains. Yooo. I¡¯ve never seen this! My visual biblio-radar alighted on one thicc softcover manga that stole alll my attention. Kojiki: Records of Ancient Matters. Its cover had a long-haired woman with the freakin¡¯ sun shining behind her back, and a muscle-bound dude holding a giant rock for no discernible reason, and these old bearded guys sitting and chilling staring at the lady¡ªin fancy robes by the way, and also a big round mirror on the side, and I had no idea what the fudge was going on but I had to have it. My hand snatched Kojiki and a sharp sting went up my arm like a snake had bit me. ¡°Yeowch!¡± I waved my wrist. Static shock? Figures. I reached and gasped as I got zapped again. I grumbled. ¡°C¡¯mon Kojiki, work with me here.¡± A squeaking cart and footsteps were approaching. The drumbeat against my ribs quickened. I tugged up my jacket sleeves and scooped up my bootie like a loot digger. Kojiki shocked me through the fudging sleeve! I couldn¡¯t believe it. It was like a live wire had run sixty volts into my innards. For a second I lay grimacing at the current. Apparently the book didn¡¯t play nice. It was an evil manga. That¡¯s what I decided it was. What kinda manga hurts its wannabe readers? I shoved the book in a jacket pocket, clambered onto my feet, and rushed back. Luckily the book didn¡¯t protest as it banged against my side. I grabbed Sven¡¯s bag and peeked out the hall. The old bird lady was winding a corner just out of eyesight. Thank the constellations, she had her back turned to me. I slipped out the door and tiptoed a good distance from the back so she wouldn¡¯t suspect anything weird. In no time at all the staff member was approaching me, my malevolent manga, and the back door. I raised a hand to wave her over and ask about the price. Unfortunately, the senior book pusher gave me a scathing glower. I dropped the hand and chickened out. I thought about returning the book. Or paying at the counter. All reasonable ideas I was sure. But! I¡¯d been through an awful lot to get this book. Plus if I showed Kojiki, the woman¡¯d know I went in the backrooms. She¡¯d yell at me! I didn¡¯t want a woman with a vulture face screaming into my ears. I¡¯d heard horror stories of similar events from classmates about their grandparents and sometimes Mom. She wasn¡¯t paying attention to me yet. The old woman grumbled as she strained her cart with creaking joints. ¡°Stupid rich snobs, tearing into our best books for their stupid auction.¡± Her nostrils flared. ¡°Working me to the bone tonight, for what? I bet they won¡¯t read a single page of what they buy. No respect for the arts.¡± I halted at that. Scratched the back of my neck. Gosh. I¡¯d hate giving books to people who won¡¯t even try them. She¡¯s got a point there. Must¡¯ve worked with books a while to get a job in Kinokuniya. She¡¯d mastered the librarian dagger-glare for sure. And nobody liked rich snobs. I decided she wasn¡¯t really a vulture and more like a brooding eagle. As if delivering karmic justice on my enlightened thoughts, the eagle swept up to me, loose fabric flapping from her arms. ¡°Well? Finished?¡± She jammed a finger at the counter. ¡°I, uh, didn¡¯t buy anything.¡± This was technically true. Kojiki in my pocket felt like heavy lead. Her lips curled up, showing teeth that were a little sharp. ¡°Then, leave. Please.¡± Ah, the magic P-word. Honestly I was impressed she could stay that polite when her face was growing redder and redder. ¡°Yes ma¡¯am sorry ma¡¯am thank you!¡± I fled from her presence half-expecting her to latch onto my shoulder with a talon. ¡°Whew! Close one.¡± I gasped for breath and leaned against a pillar. My fingers slid against Kojiki and the evil manga zinged. ¡°Guh. Lay it off, won¡¯t you?¡± The weather was getting dark. I glimpsed rain pelting from the mall¡¯s sliding doors. Should I head home? Yeah. Unhhh. It¡¯ll be a pain to walk. What about dinner? I chose to stop by Vi¡¯s place again. Sorta risky carrying contraband but a girl¡¯s gotta eat. I fidgeted and cleared my throat as I arrived at the counter, however, Vi merely motioned me to follow her and lead me to a table. The cafe was otherwise empty. I had to say it was a good meal. The sweet sense of victory combining with creamy vanilla and golden dough. I shoveled bites in with my spoon. A clatter made me look up but I was further blessed with a plate of chicken, eggs, and potatoes. ¡°Thanks, homie. You a real one.¡± I did my best not to glance down at Mr. Evil Manga, nestled out of view between my jacket and a table leg. The corners of Vi¡¯s lips tugged but she made no reply, heading to the back. Unseen pots and pans banged. A sink faucet gushed. The ruckus sounded as if Vi was cleaning in multiple places at once. How¡¯d she do that? I glanced at my reflection in my spoon. Short, tousled brown hair. Face a bit mousey. Lot of people mistook me for a middle-schooler. I was grinning like one at least. If I was honest with myself, I¡¯d never felt very accomplished in life. This here, this elation snagging a little book, was the best I¡¯d felt in a long time. Kinda sad thing to be proud of now that I thought about it. My mouth drooped. I wished I could be capable enough to help run a cafe. Heck I wished I could scrounge a minimum wage. And yeah my stomach was twisting, and yeah the high would run out, and yeah I¡¯d probably either return Kojiki or hide it away in shame like an ugly Christmas sweater. Still I wanted to savor what I had before it was snatched away. I had a sudden urge to fling my spoon away. Sabotage myself on my own terms before my luck dipped by itself. Why does Vi bother with me anyways? Probably thinks I¡¯m a hard worker or some bull poop. Probably feels sorry for me with my parents¡¯ situation. She¡¯s an idiot. I¡¯m a slacker. I¡¯m a freeloader. I¡¯m not even a real nihonjin or whatever. More of a Japanophile than a Japantowner. A faker. Yeah I got born in a certain household, whoop-de-doo. I can¡¯t do shizz. Sven¡¯s got his scholarships and Chuji¡¯s got his pool competitions. I¡¯m one of those psychics tricking everyone to fork over their money. I gripped my spoon hard. Stared it down like the utensil was my most hated enemy that I wanted to set on fire. I wanted it to snap in half, or bend over like ninety degrees, just so I had some way to let my server know that, hey, maybe she shouldn¡¯t gimme grub next time¡ª The spoon bent. Not the part I was holding¡ªthat would¡¯ve made a tad more sense¡ªbut the upper half caved. It looked like one of those hanging lamp posts you see in the suburbs. ¡°Shiiiiiitake mushrooms!¡± I gasped. I barely caught my tongue from screaming out obscenities. Grandpa wouldn''t¡¯ve wanted me cussing. Maybe that didn¡¯t matter if I was a devil-cursed shaman or something? That spoon bent on its own! What the happystack? I knew in my head I¡¯d wanted this, but nooo way was I prepared now that it happened! Is this utensil a defect? Is that a thing¡ªdefective spoons? Can you fail making spoons? Truly one of the world¡¯s most important and unanswered questions. Flustered, toast stuffed in my mouth, I shoved the spoon below my remaining food. Barely enough to cover. I hastily scraped a pile over it like burying a dead body. No sooner had I finished when a pair of heels clacked. I tightened up. Vi drifted over. ¡°How old are you, Cecelia?¡± ¡°Mrph¡ª¡± I swallowed. ¡°¡ªTurned sixteen a couple days ago.¡± She murmured to herself. ¡°Ah. About time, then.¡± ¡°Huh?¡± I placed an arm over the plate holding my crooked spoon. Super casual-like. Extra protection. Vi wasn¡¯t looking at the spoon, though. Nor the part of my jacket hiding Kojiki. She brushed her apron and tapped her fingers together. Her body swayed. ¡°Ah. It¡¯s not my place to tell you. That¡¯s up to your parents. You¡¯re growing into an adult. Do you know what that means?¡± ¡°Oh.¡± My mouth hung open and stayed that way. I totally did not expect this. ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°It means your body is going through changes¡ª¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± I waved her off. ¡°I know that. We learned in science class.¡± She blinked several times. Silence. ¡°I don¡¯t think your class can prepare you for this. What I mean is you have inherited unusual traits from your parents, and your mom in particular¡ª¡± ¡°I got it, I gotchu!¡± I half-yelled. Geez, I was glad no one was around. I rose up from my seat fast. There was probably a good reason my parents didn¡¯t have Vi chaperone me as a kid. Small business owners be wack. I spun off, calling out, ¡°Thanks for the food! Catchu in another diurnal cycle!¡± Vi muttered, ¡°I should¡¯ve rephrased that.¡± Breaking Out Collectibles I ran. My shoes sloshed into puddles. Rain pelted my hood. A chill wind howled against my jacket. I did my best to protect Kojiki, the slimy git, and the book behaved by not shocking my arm wrapped around it. That was just as well because my other arm was busy carrying the bag with drinks for Sven. Is someone following? Please gods no. I whipped my head left and right but I didn¡¯t see anyone tailing me. No sirens, no police. People in raincoats and hoods and thick outerwear walked by on slick streets. Murmurs were drowned out in a hail of water. That was making me more tense by the second. When my lungs burned and I heaved for breath, my thinking cleared. Don¡¯t be a ninny. No one¡¯s after you. Wouldn¡¯t the bookstore trigger an alarm? If it didn¡¯t then it¡¯s not a big deal. I can return Kojiki tomorrow. Yeah. No harm done. I¡¯ll psyche myself to face the wrath of the eagle tomorrow. Or if I¡¯m lucky I¡¯ll have a nicer staff member to chew me out. Anyways you¡¯re not important. No one gives a darn about you. This last part succeeded in calming me. Though I wouldn¡¯t say the truth was comforting. I exhaled. My breath formed fog. The door to my house creaked open. ¡°Sorry I¡¯m late, Mom! I¡¯ll make dinner!¡± No reply. That didn¡¯t bother me. I locked the door, sighing with relief, and set my bag and jacket by a desk in my room. I swung into the kitchen. My cooking skills were bleh. Even I would admit it. I dashed out a chicken chili with cheese. Hopefully Mom wouldn¡¯t complain. She often didn¡¯t unless it was really abominable. Dad was still at work. I passed by a picture of him with me and my mom on a mantle. He worked in the SFPD. That¡¯s police. Detective. Was a former PI and transferred to state. Weird career path but it panned out. I carried a bowl of chili and a spoon to Mom in bed. ¡°Here, Mom. Chicken chili.¡± ¡°Muuuuh.¡± Mom¡¯s eyes cracked open a smidgen. She was lying face-up, covered in blankets. ¡°Hi honey.¡± She had a round face and soft features. Brown hair spilling about like mine. She opened her mouth. I spooned chili in. She ate and made no comment, her eyelids fluttering open and shut. When the bowl was almost empty, she leaned back and closed her eyes. That was my signal to put away the food. I clunked the bowl on a table in her room. I checked her medicine. Picked up little capped bottles sitting on the desk. Inspected ingredient labels. Modafinil, methylphenidate, bunch others. Running low again. Hypersomnia. ¡®S why my mom potatoes. Bowl went in the sink. Spoon¡ªwas it inclined just a smidge? No, no, that¡¯s my imagination. I dropped it in¡ªrefused eye contact. Y¡¯know, same way you treat monsters coming to your bed. Stuck Sven¡¯s drinks in the fridge. Dad wouldn¡¯t mind. I had my own spot and Dad had his. I padded to my own room. Finally. I found a pair of gloves and grabbed my evil manga. ¡°Owie. How are you doing that?¡± I¡¯d braced myself, and I didn¡¯t hurt as much as before through the gloves, but the sheer randomness was making me twitchy. Maybe Kojiki only zaps when I use my hands? The book dropped back down as I realized my desk and most of the floor were already cluttered. Aw, yeah, need to clear some space first. They say a room is a reflection of who you are. That¡¯s bull: a room is a free-for-all where your past and present selves battle for supremacy, and sometimes none of them win. My quarters were strewn with half-scribbled notepads, school papers, toys, and accumulated neat trinkets. Standing out among the wreckage was an overflowing laundry basket and equally packed backpack and large bookshelf. I¡¯d scattered clothes on my bed for easy access. On a windowsill sat my twice-zombified succulent Peppy, who I watered either every month or every year with diluted tea, and was currently yellowing his leaves. Had a lamp on my desk for homework. Sitting in my chair, I hastily swiped away piles of notebooks, a sketchpad, three caffeine cans, and snacks from my study area. That uncovered a small open area for the godsless book. Grimacing, I plunked Kojiki on my desk. I jabbed a finger at the cover. ¡°Look, buddy. I ain¡¯t got beef with you. I¡¯m just gonna read you. That¡¯s it. Capeesh?¡± It said nothing. Of course. Yipee. I pried the manga open. As my fingers traced the first page, shock-free, I had a strange sense Kojiki had given out, like a battery that had drained. Cold. Silent. Did it listen to me? Is it sleeping? Don¡¯t be an idiot. Whatever static stored in it just wore off. Someone must¡¯ve touched it with a real clingy cloth. Maybe a prank. Sure, sure, another part of my mind sneered. And spoons twist themselves. That part was fronting because in reality, it was cowering at whatever the frick was happening. More than that, I was plain curious. I felt myself shaking. I flipped a page. Then another. And another. The spreads showed kanji and images of two spectacular figures above a formless world. Gods, I guessed¡ªthey were drifting in robes like spirits, a gal in white, a guy in blue. Though I couldn¡¯t read most of the characters, I got the gist from the gestures and visuals. They shaped green earth into mounds like clay and used a giant frickin¡¯ spear to churn up the sea. Siiiick. Is this an adaptation? I guess this is a creation myth¡ªyikes. Everything went downhill from there. Okay, so the two married¡ªnever a good sign¡ªand this kid god on fire appears, but then the wife dies, and the dad kills the kid? And then he looks for his wife in the land of the dead, but then she hates him and wants to murder a thousand people every day, and then he¡¯s like I¡¯ll make more and also dead-land stinks yo¡ªso he bathes in a river and has more kids? Kojiki, wut? Bro got locked for a reason. I hope I¡¯m misreading this. Perhaps Kojiki: Record of the Ancients was the precursor to a thousand hopeless fanfics. I should¡¯ve been laughing. But I wasn¡¯t. I was too shook about everything today. My spine tingled. I knew this was only a yarn an artist had inked out¡ªbut my mind was expanding. Gods, evil, spoons, and everything in between. What if some of that wasn¡¯t a lie? It was creeping me out. As I read, I had a twisting in my stomach. I couldn¡¯t stop. I did learn what the cover was about. Okay, so the dude had three kids from a nice bath, and one is this sun goddess, Amaterasu. And sun lady had this whole oath contest with her bro Susanno, where she spat out his sword and he hacked up her beads, and then her bro went all raging ¡®cuz he won and wreaked up heaven¡ªtypical bro behavior I¡¯ve heard¡ªand she freaked and ran into a cave. The whole heaven and earth is plunged in darkness because the sun is, like, eclipsed. Cliffhanger, that part. I hesitated a little before turning the page. How does the universe get out of that pickle? Then, well. I couldn¡¯t have guessed. Then one strong god lifts up the entrance after the other gods try luring her out with a humongous mirror¡ªman even gods can¡¯t resist a good beauty product¡ªand bam, perfect picture moment. Sun lady and guy with big rock and all the gods lined up staring as bearded old dudes. Huh. Makes sense.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. That was the tipping point where I was sucked into a whirlwind of events and characters. Emperors and ordinary folks and descendants of gods crossing paths and pulling off horrific shenanigans. Ones where lots of people died or got randomly screwed over. The sheer violence, splashed in graphic detail, was making me queasy. I wavered on shutting the book. Only, one final part stood out more than the others. After the gods, the monsters started showing up. A huge serpent with eight heads, with a sword in its belly. A white hare playing wingman for the descendant of a god. An eagle serving as a messenger for deities¡ª Forget the people. Forget the gods! I gotta see those. My eyes glued to the pages, lasering in on any non-human to find what they were up to. They were smart as people, often smarter, and always strange¡ªa cat attacking villages, biting flesh, savage as a mountain beast¡ªa white tiger prowling the sky, guarding the west by controlling wind and metal¡ªa black fox changing into a woman, mingling with men¡ªand from them countless more creatures. A few I was familiar with from shows and manga¡ªyour kappa and tanuki and wolves and such. As I thumbed through, my fingers caught on a hard material. Eh? I leafed to the spot and my mouth dropped open. Instead of a regular page, there was a deep chasm. Multiple layers of papers had been hollowed out. In this carved-up hole sat a black container, like a rectangular slab of steel, which had caution tape crisscrossing it. In the center was a big label below a lock, and in each of four corners, four metal clasps. What in the name of honey-bread? I couldn¡¯t even think as I studied the slab. The label read, Property of the Government of Japan. Do not open. When the wheels in my brain started spinning again, I pondered if this was a collector¡¯s item. Like how DVD boxes sometimes had figurines or limited-edition shirts. Gods I wished I had more of those, but this was too off, wasn¡¯t it? Unless the artist was an eccentric, who would want to ruin their own work to squeeze in an ominous case? Do not open? Of course I was going to open it. Carefully, I probed a couple pages that came after the locked slab. If it¡¯s a collectible I should find a key. That¡¯d be cute actually. Turning the slab over and inspecting the remainder of the book, I received another, unwelcome revelation. No way. I¡¯ve been juked! That is, if I¡¯d been a regular customer, I''d have been juked. A sheaf of pages followed the slab, except they¡¯d been torn off almost entirely, leaving a jutting, ripped spine of partial texts. Between the slab and the back cover, I estimated there was enough space to stash a second black container. Which was missing. Dang. No wonder Kojiki was a touchy guy. Someone had come ¡®round and taken out pages before I did. Before it even arrived in the bookstore. Out-thieving the thief. Why? Only one way to know. I flipped Kojiki back and grabbed the black box. It was wedged in, so I couldn¡¯t ease it out of its border of manga paper. I had to open the lock, apparently. The one secured by four metal clasps. ¡°Aight, lessee¡ªscrewdriver? Or a paperclip?¡± I¡¯d heard you could pick locks with a paperclip but honestly I¡¯d never figured that out. I stepped over debris and scurried to my dad¡¯s garage, grabbing a bumblebee Stanley from his toolbox. Dad liked working with his hands. ¡°Mmph.¡± The flat-edge tip wedged against the box. Traced the edges by the clasps. There was a slit¡ªtoo thin for my fat fingies¡ªbut I was hoping to at least get a glimpse of the inside of the container. I tried lifting up an opening but the screwdriver was the one most in danger of breaking. What is this thing made of? It won¡¯t budge! I poked the lock for good measure and immediately felt stupid. Can¡¯t do anything without the key. Paperclip? I gave it a shot. Bent over, fished about, and fetched one clamping together a bunch of discarded essay fragments. The thin metal wire stuck in the lock and promptly bent. Guh! What am I doing? I wasn¡¯t an amateur lock-picker. Or a book-safe researcher. I didn¡¯t have the finesse to finagle this fatboi. That made me¡­boil. I¡¯d gone this far by myself. I wanted to at least see this through myself too. Who would help me? My dad? Seriously, a policeman helping his kid pilfer a safe? My mom? I might get a handful of words out before she zonked. If I went to Kinokuniya, I would have to admit I¡¯d filched out of their inventory. I¡¯d get fined, or worse. Gritting my teeth, I gripped the box hard and yanked. It was stupid, I knew, but I was so. Freaking. Done. ¡°Hrmgh! Hnnnngh!¡± Clasps clicked. The box hurled open. Silver dust flew up and assaulted my eyes and mouth. I coughed, flailing, shielding with my arms. ¡°Ackpthgh! Kuh! Uck!¡± Glitter? Tiny motes settled down on my desk like fine snow. When I deemed the air sufficiently clear, I lowered my arms. Yes, the box had opened. Its fasteners had hinged apart as if someone had undone them correctly. ¡°I¡ªwha¡ªhow¡ª?¡± No answer. I pumped a fist in the air. ¡°Oh hecks yeah!¡± Nestled in the box were a copper mirror and a bronze spoon. ¡°Oooh.¡± I picked up the mirror, holding it up near my lamp to throw it in the light. Its shape reminded me of the one I¡¯d read earlier about the sun goddess, round with a large reflective portion. Carved on it were four island mountains, one in each cardinal direction, surrounded by crests of a sea and many animals. I rubbed its surface. Hard and smooth. Some kind of nickel? It was bronze and exactly what some dude in archaeology might find digging out an underground palace. Despite that, polished, clean, really well-preserved. Sweeet. As for the spoon¡ªthe scooping end was interesting, I guess. A little longer and thinner than the type you¡¯d use to eat beans off a plate. I thought it could have uses other than slurping food. Not being silver was also a plus. Let¡¯s try that later. Hadn¡¯t had a good time with spoons today. I held the mirror up to my face, pretending I was the sun lady in Kojiki and shining it around my room. ¡°Ooh, yeah, that¡¯s what I¡¯m talking about, gonna make me leave my cave here¡ª¡± My head was dizzy. A slow pounding echoed in my temple as the mirror panned over my piles of belongings. ¡°¡ªUh?¡± I squinted at the toys, notepads, crammed books, and snack packaging being reflected back on me. Has it always been this messy? My room usually got me vibing, but today it was making me a little nauseous. The headache intensified. My skull throbbed like a sledgehammer was whacking it from inside. ¡°Aaah!¡± I bumped against a can of coffee. Knocked it down. I leaned back to focus through the pain. What is happening? My fingers slipped. I dropped the mirror. A loud crash jolted me from my chair. I leaped up. ¡°Fiddlesticks!¡± On the floor, the mirror had shattered in over twenty pieces. ¡°Aw, no, no, no!¡± I groaned. My headache only worsened. I winced. Scrunched my face. ¡°Okay, here¡¯s what we¡¯re going to do,¡± I muttered to myself. ¡°We¡¯re gonna close the book and get a broom.¡± I plucked out the bronze spoon, stuck it on my table, and grasped Kojiki. With a grunt I shuffled across the floor like an undead re-learning to walk, only for the book to slip out and tumble. It vanished under a pile of sheets and books and knickknacks. ¡°Drat.¡± I tried to bend down, but my head issued a violent protest. ¡°Owww.¡± Forget it. Forget cleaning up either. I¡¯ll deal with it later. With a whine, I flopped onto my bed. ¡°Whatta day. Why can¡¯t someone else deal for me?¡± An image of a card popped into my mind. For a second I lay there. Struggling to think. Cleaning. Hadn¡¯t Vi told me something about that? Just call if you don¡¯t feel comfortable in your house. Or get anything strange in it. ¡°Aw, why the heck not?¡± I rolled in my bed and plucked out the card from Vi on my desk. Kuro Cleaning Services Free Trial Home Cleaning! Perfect for Shut-Ins! Ask about our Protection Services too! Yep. Phone number above the anime maid and the blurb. I dialed. An automated, female voice sang out. Welcome to Kuro! What service would you like today? ¡°Free home clean,¡± I mumbled. ¡°And an aspirin, dang it.¡± Certainly! Please state your time and address if possible. ¡°Tomorrow morning at 7¡­¡± I trailed off. I guessed it made sense to have an automated voice for shut-ins, but I didn¡¯t know about giving randos my house address. The cheery voice continued. You have requested: Free Trial Home Cleaning at 7:00 am tomorrow. Please confirm! Huh? I hadn¡¯t given a location. Whatever. It was a stupid idea anyways. ¡°Yeah, sure.¡± Thank you! We hope you enjoy your service! The line clicked. Guess I won¡¯t be getting anything. Fitting for my life. I chucked my phone. It skittered across the desk. I cracked open a can of iced tea and poured a stream out for Peppy, my potted plant. Then, head resting on my pillow, I raised the can in mock toast to the succulent and then Kojiki, at least the last place the book had run off to. ¡°A cold one for the boys.¡± I drank. I hit the hay and slept like Mom.