This will be my last entry.I’m leaving this journal here in the library.I don’t want these memories coming with me, and if anyone finds it, they’ll know what lives here.
Kuchisake-Onna.
FORTY-NINE
FENRIR
PRESENT
There’sa tremor in my hand as I lay the journal down on the bed.
The baby must have been Hayami.The timing is correct.
Fuck.
I’m not sure what to do with this information.I need to tell Hayami, but no matter how I construct the words “Your mum believed the house was haunted and her body was being possessed by Kuchisake-Onna,” I can’t seem to get over how ridiculous it sounds.
It’d probably be better for Hayami to read the journal herself, but I don’t know how she’s going to take it.She’s seemingly unaware of what’s been happening to her, her scientific brain refusing to consider the occult or paranormal as an explanation for what’s been going on in this house.
But what happens when she does?What happens then?
I need to get her out of here, but we’re snowed in, and the weather is getting worse by the second.
I smooth my hand down the side of her face and she stirs, leans into my touch, then seems to settle back into the rhythm of sleep.
What the fuck am I going to do?
The pressure in my bladder tells me I need to pee.I haven’t moved from the bed in hours.As carefully as I can, I slip from the bed and pad to the en suite, leaving the door open as I relieve myself.
Tiredness washes over me.I really need to sleep.But when?When can I let my guard down?I could wait until dawn, catch a few hours before Hayami wakes like I did the other morning, but I’m nervous after what I’ve read.Then there’s the whole reason why we’re out here in the first place—the very real threat from the outside, the gang war that Hayami has been caught in, the gang war that I instigated.Although I doubt we’re in danger from gangsters in the middle of a snowstorm, I still have to remember my sole purpose for being here.
After washing my hands, I check the weather app on my phone.The snowstorm is set for the next few days, but there’s a let-up in the snowfall coming up, which appears to last a few hours before the snow starts again.But even after the snow stops, the temperatures won’t get above freezing, which means the snow will freeze into hard blocks of ice, so it’ll be treacherous and difficult to dig out.
My phone pings in my hand, and I pause before returning to the bedroom as Willa’s name pops up with a message.
Proud mother of this little fella.He was born by C-section at 12:06 and weighs a healthy 7lb 3oz.Marta is a little sore but doing well.Love to you all, and we can’t wait for you to meet him.Name TBC, as the name we chose doesn’t seem to suit him now he’s here.I’ll keep you all posted.
It’s a generic message probably sent to all her contacts.Along with the message, there’s a photo of a scrunched-up baby that could be either gender, with a red face and closed eyes, swaddled in a thick cream blanket and wearing a hat that looks like a tea cosy.
I’m not a baby person.They all look the same to me.I like kids once they get a bit older and can answer back.I’m tempted to reply, offering my name as a suggestion, but I’m sure Willa is tired and fending off a thousand other replies from her friends and family.Besides, I have more important things on my mind right now.
Slipping my phone into my back pocket, I head for the doorway, reminding myself to tell Hayami as soon as she wakes, as she’ll want to know that Willa’s baby is here safe and sound.But as I reach the doorway, I freeze.
The bed is empty, a dent in the mattress the only reminder of where I left Hayami.But this isn’t what makes my blood stall.
Hayami is still in the room.
She hasn’t left it.
She’s floating on her back, two meters above the mattress.
I’ve never been paralysed with fear, not even when my family was burning to death.Terror usually spurs me into action, sends a jolt of adrenaline through me, the fight-or-flight mode activated.But here, now, watching her float above the bed renders me so utterly afraid that I can’t move, can’t breathe.All can do is stare at her body like it’s a hideous magic trick.
Should I speak?Try to wake her?
But what if it isn’t her?Then what?
A tingling sensation works its way up my arm and into my chest.
