FIFTY-ONE
HAYAMI
PRESENT
I should bedelighted when Fenrir hands me a book.
I remember him finding it in the library only a few days ago, and I watched him read it after I told him to try reading something to pass the time, having no idea what it was.
“What is it?”I ask as I take the book from him.
His face looks haunted as he takes a breath and tells me that it’s my mother’s journal from the only time she stayed in this house, before I was born.
My mother’s journal.
My eyes swim, and my hands shake.Normally, I love nothing more than to read.I can spend hours lost in the pages of a romance.But the reason why I love to read is that I know it’s not real; it’s all just a figment of some author’s wild imagination.And no matter how much shit the author throws at the main characters, there’ll be a happily ever after at the end of it all.
This, however, isn’t going to be a light read.This hasn’t been recommended by bookish fans.Because this isn’t fiction.These are the words of my mother when she stayed in this house.Everything I’m about to read is real, and I can tell by Fenrir’s face that it’s not a happily ever after.
I give him no reaction as I take the book, open it to the first page, and begin to read.
* * *
Pins and needlescreep up my legs as I shift them out from underneath me.My body has seized up from sitting in the same position for God knows how many hours.
Fenrir has brought me cups of tea, toast and jam, and crackers with peanut butter, all of it untouched.I haven’t been able to tear myself away from the words on the page, the words of my mother.
It’s fascinating to hear inside my mother’s head because, for most of the years of my life, she has been an enigma—disguised behind a fog of pills, blurred beneath the rippling glug of alcohol, the true person never quite finding her way to the surface.But here, within these pages, is a time before all that, when my mother was Junko—when she had a personality and hobbies.She liked to make tea the traditional way, enjoyed clothes, sewing, and took walks in the woods.This was my mother.Ismy mother.
But everything is overshadowed by what else these pages contain.
By the time I reach the end, I’m numb.
I set the journal down on the bed.
Fenrir stares at me.
My legs are numb, my hands tingling from the lack of blood flow.I should move, get the circulation going again, but it feels as if my heart has stopped altogether—stalled by what I’ve just read, by what my mother believed lived within the walls of this house, by what she believed was trying to take control of her.
Kuchisake-Onna.
“Have you read it all?”I ask, biting the side of my cheek.
“Yes.”His voice is so small, I barely hear it.
“And you’re only showing me it now?”Rage brews in my stomach.
“It was never my intention to not tell you what it was,” he begins.“I just wanted to read it first to make sure there was nothing in there that would cause you harm or distress.”
The rage bubbles.
“Are you for real?”I spit.“So, what do you think I’ve just read, some light-hearted family saga?An emotional epic about a newlywed embracing the start of her married life?”
“Look, I know that contradicts what I’ve just said, but in light of what’s happening here?—”
“And whatishappening here?What do you thinkthisis?”I wave my hand over the bed, the place where, hours ago, I faceplanted onto the mattress, having been asleep two feet above it.
“I don’t know exactly, but I believe that Junko knew.”
