At a light jog, Michael and I made our way through the junkyard, looking for a good place to hide. Out of the three groups, I had specifically ensured our direction lead back the way we came in a desperate hope that we’d come across the exit, but so far, no luck. No matter how long we ran, hills of trash stretched as far as the eye could see, accented by the odd rusted car or large appliance.
“Hey, what about that?” Michael pointed to an old brown station wagon, the totaled front chassis leaving little doubt as to what caused it to end up here.
“I dunno.” I looked it over doubtfully. “It kinda cuts off our escape routes in case something happens. Getting trapped in a car is usually fatal in horror flicks.”
“Oh, right, “in case something happens”.” Michael laughed. “Well, tell you what. I’ll hide in the thing, you can hide beneath it. Stack up some trash underneath it to give you some cover. If anything happens to me, you can sneak out later.” He chuckled at his own words.
Sure, laugh it up. If anything DOES happen, don’t think I won’t abandon you in a heartbeat.
Following his advice, I crawled under the station wagon on my elbows, pushing dirt and cans ahead of me as I went, forming a little wall under the vehicle and partially obscuring me from sight.
With an ear-grating creak, Michael opened the backseat door and crawled in. The car shook a little above me, but thankfully the shocks were seized up enough that I didn’t get flattened.
“How’s the weather down there?” Michael whispered, poking his head down next to me.
“Trashy.” I joked, earning a grin.
“Hey, did you notice the counting stopped?” He asked, his eyes alight with excitement.
As a matter of fact, I had. That was part of why I was not too keen on getting trapped in the station wagon with him. You never could be too careful.
I nodded.
“I wonder what’s gonna happen now.” He mused, more to himself than to me. “It’s probably some big prank Yvonne’s in on. Did you see that weird mask she pulled out? What’s the deal with that?”
“I mean, it’s hardly the first thing she’s done I didn’t understand.” I shrugged. “If you ask me…”
“Hey, shh-shh-shh.” Michael shoved a hand in my direction.
Well geez, if you didn’t want my opinion, don’t ask for it.
“Do you hear that?” He dropped his voice to a whisper.
Hear what? We had literally just established the counting had already stopped. Just in case, I strained my ears, shifting so I was facing out into the junkyard.
Wait… what was that?
Singing. Or from the meter, maybe it would be more accurate to call it chanting.
I looked at Michael, and he nodded back at me. He was hearing the same thing. Hardly daring to breath, we strained our ears to pick up the words, as the chant grew progressively louder.
Or maybe it was just getting closer?
“Circle you, circle you
The solitary bird in the cage
When, oh when will you come out?
At the twilight of dawn
Both the crane and the turtle stumbled
Who is it behind you now?”
The eerie six-versed stanza repeated again and again, its meaning unclear to me. Was it some kind of nursery rhyme? Scripture? I wasn’t too familiar with either.
“Hey, I recognize this!” Michael whispered. “It’s an old Japanese children’s song, Kagome Kagome!”
I blinked. “Gosh Michael, I thought you were Chinese!”
He blinked back. “You thought right. When my parents bought that mansion, they found the attic was filled with old documents about the town, including a chest filled with diaries, notebooks and stories in Japanese. Fortunately, they stole their character system from us, so I was able to read most of them.”
“Hold up.” Things were not clicking together in my mind. “Why the hell would the Marlowe mansion have Japanese stuff in it? I’ve lived in this town ever since I was born, and you’re the first Asian family to move here.”
Michael gave me a pitying smile which genuinely made me want to throttle him. “You do know things happened before you were born, right?”
I bit my tongue and waited for him to continue.
“Being on the West Coast and all, I guess we used to have a large Japanese populace back in the day.” He explained. “Take Rosinski’s Laundromat. It used to belong to a family named the Gotos.”
“Well then where the hell are they all, then?” I asked.
“Gosh, you’re dumb. Didn’t you learn history?” He sighed. “After Pearl Harbor, they got sent to internment camps. Apparently our town was one of the first to round up our Japs and ship them out, taking over their stores afterwards.”
Funny how I never heard about that, I thought to myself.
“Anyway,” He continued “Kagome Kagome’s an old children’s song that’s usually sang while playing the accompanying game. Everyone holds hands and circles a blindfolded kid, singing the song. When the music stops, they have to guess who’s behind them.”
“Huh.” I shrugged. “You think maybe Yvonne read about that song too?”
“I’d be surprised.” Michael frowned. “The Marlowe’s were pack rats, so I can see why they kept all those old books; they kept everything. But the rest of the town didn’t seem that keen on saving that part of their history. Plus, how would she be able to read Japanese?”
We both turned back to the direction the chanting was coming from. As it repeated, I turned the lyrics over in my head, trying to make sense of it.
“Hey, what do you think the crane and the turtle represent?” I asked Michael idly.
“Well, in Eastern mythology, they represent good fortune and long life.” Michael explained. “Them taking a tumble would signify impending bad luck and death.”
“Cheery.” I replied. Then, something else struck me.
“Hey Michael, that part where it says “at the twilight of dawn”.” I started. “Those are two opposite times of day, sunset and sunrise. They shouldn’t be able to exist at the same time.”
He mulled it over.
“I mean, I suppose you’re right.” He conceded. “It kinda makes it sound like a nonsense time, like Octember.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat, my voice seemingly choking the words as I spoke them. “And what time would you say it is now?” I asked.
“Well, we met up at 7:00, and I wager it’s been a good twenty to thirty minutes since then.” He shrugged. “Hard to tell by the sun…” He stopped.
“Michael.” I whispered. “Where is the sun?”
His eyes widened. “Is this…is this the twilight of dawn?”
We both looked back out at the orange-dyed landscape, trying to find some hint of the sun, or even what direction it had sank in.
But no matter which way we looked, the whole yard was bathed ubiquitously in the same orange glow.
And then, in the corner of my vision, something moved.
“Michael!” I whispered in a hoarse voice. “What is that?” I pointed nervously at the thing making its way towards us.
*******
“I think something supernatural may in fact be afoot.” Alexander said calmly, surveying the orange twilight-dawn skyline.
“This from you?” Brodie laughed derisively. “Aren’t you supposed to be the doubter-type, trying to reason things out to the bitter end?”
“That may be how you see me,” Alexander shrugged “But part of rational thinking is knowing when to accept your preconceptions were mistaken. After all, “When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth”, right?”
“Who said that?”
“Sr. Arthur Conan Doyle.”
“Never heard of him.” Brodie shrugged, picking up a split baseball bat. “I was going to guess Sherlock, myself.”
Alexander game him a befuddled look. “You really aren’t that smart, are you?”
“Careful what you say to the man with the weapon.” Brodie shot back, eliciting a smirk from Alexander.
The two walked on a little ways in silence, Alexander leading the way, Brodie lagging behind, watching over his shoulder as he made practice swings at the air.
“Hey, if something supernatural is going on, how do we even get out of here?” Brodie asked eventually. “Do we just rot here until we starve or what?”
I won’t pretend to know the rules of the supernatural,” Alexander responded, not looking back “But I’m sticking to my original hypothesis; A game of hide-and-seek has started, so let’s play it out to the end and see.”
“But if it really is hide-and-seek, who’s “it”, then?” Brodie asked.
“Likely whoever is behind all this.” Alexander mused. “When something supernatural occurs, that leads one to think of some dark source, a demon, a witch, or maybe some kind of a cult.”
“Lovely.” Brodie quipped. “Hey, if this is hide-and-seek, doesn’t that also mean there’ll only be one winner?”
“Unless we're running on the time-limit rule.” Alexander countered. “However, seeing as how time does not appear to be passing normally, I’m not counting on it. Chances are, Yvonne knew exactly what she was doing when she ran off and left us behind.”
“There’s a movie in this somewhere.” Brodie commented wryly. “But you know, if it really is going to be down to one survivor, my money’s on someone like Yvonne who had us all dancing in the palm of her hand, or Martin, who could just fight his way outta any situation.”
“Oh? Not going to include yourself in the standing as some dream combination of brains and brawn?” Alexander smirked.
“Hell no, I know my role.” Brodie replied. “In horror movies, extras like you and me are just there as fodder for the real monster. It always comes down to the final girl and/or the tough-guy hero.”
“In movies, granted.”
“Don’t you ever wonder why in the movies, the extras never give up?” Brodie continued, knocking over a street sign with his bat. “Like, they’re facing some slasher psycho or dream demon, and they’re just some high school kid, but they carry on like they really believe they have any kind of a chance.”
“Well, I suppose at the end of the day, everyone wants to survive, and if you don’t believe you can, there’s no way you will.” Alexander returned philosophically. "Further, I don't imagine anyone truly considers themselves an extra."
“But at the end of the day, only one of us gets out.”
“Perhaps.”
“’Aint that something.” Brodie gave a soft whistle, nonchalantly approaching Alexander from behind, baseball bat gripped tightly in both hands. “Only one survivor, only one wish.”
He raised the bat.
*******
“Six players left.”
The voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere at once, causing Baxter to squeak in panic, jumping at his own shadow.
“Oh-oh-ohm’gosh Martin, someone got whacked!” He stammered, grabbing onto the burly kid’s arm.
“Get the hell off me before I wack you myself.” Martin growled, causing Baxter to instantly release his arm and skitter away. “Only one person got caught, and we’re all in pairs, right? Maybe it was Yvonne.” He spat vehemently. “Good riddance.”
“I hope so…” Baxter looked unconvinced. “But she planned this whole thing, I dunno if she’d go down that easy.”
“All the plans in the world won’t stop a fist.” Martin replied ominously, slamming one into his palm.
Baxter shuddered. “Hey, by th’ way, I was reading a book the other day.” He tried to change the subject.
“You already lost my interest.” Martin replied.
“Aw, but get this; it was saying we only see the true nature of people once they’re facin’ death.” Baxter continued. “Once their end seems certain, all the little lies fall away and y’ get the real person underneath.”
“Better hope that doesn’t happen to you.” Martin growled. “You’re, like, 90% lies. If those fall away, you’ll probably disintegrate.” He chortled at his own joke.
“Har har.” Baxter shot back, scowling. Then, something made him pause. “Hey, is that what I think it is?”
Before Martin could say a word, his companion had scampered over to a large wooden pillar sticking out of a nearby junk heap.
“The hell’s that?” Martin scowled, following him reluctantly.
“I think…” Baxter muttered, throwing trash this way and that as he excavated the faded-red object. “Yeah, I was right! It’s a torii!” he exclaimed.
“A what now?”
“I read about them when I was looking up mythology and urban legends!” Baxter explained, his fear stifled by his excitement. “They’re used in Shinto shrines and temples as entryways. They’re supposed to represent the boundary between the mundane and the supernatural world!”
He pushed aside a final sheet of metal, revealing a 12-foot ornate doorway, painted a faded red. The object was completely plastered with ripped and torn strips of cloth, which were tied to it at every interval.
“A temple doorway?” Martin looked skeptical. “You’re trying to tell me our town used to worship some kinda mythical deity? You’re talking outta your ass, Bax.”
“Well, judging by these, it likely wasn’t a deity.” Baxter pointed to the torn strips of cloth covering the torii, mystical runes inscribed across them in faded ink. “Those are ofuda talismans, which are used to seal away evil. Normally they’re made outta paper, but I guess whatever was sealed here, they really didn’t want it getting out.” He shrugged. “Of course, it looks like they’re all pretty busted up now.”
“Heh. Well, what’d they expect, trying to use cloth. If they wanted to keep something in, they shoulda just sealed it in iron and dropped it in the ocean.”
Baxter looked at Martin with pitying eyes. “Looks like someone still doesn’t understand supernatural forces need supernatural measures.”
“Pffft, a wall of steel stops anything, man or monster.” Martin scoffed. “Hey, what’s that?”
Reaching down, he pulled out a small wood crate, barely bigger than a cigar box. Its lid was missing, revealing it to be completely empty. That wasn’t what caught his eye, however. If the toriis had been plastered with talismans, the box was painted in them. Not a fraction of wood showed on the outside, as the layer upon layer of protective cloth seals around it nearly added a quarter-inch to the box.
“Well, I think you found whatever they were trying to seal.” Baxter quipped. “Looks like it got away.”
“What were they keeping in here, a squirrel?” Martin shook the box upside down.
“Maybe it was, like, the severed head of something bigger?” Baxter suggested.
“Oh, right, a head.” Martin slammed the crate over the top of Baxter’s skull. “Idiot, your tiny head wouldn't even fit in this."
“Well, maybe a severed hand, then.” Baxter tried to knock Martin’s hand away. “It’s been done before, you know. The…” He stopped suddenly, turning to look at Martin, eyes wide with panic.
“Oh come on, get a grip, nerd.” Martin scoffed. “You don’t expect me to buy that, do you?”
“No…not that.” Baxter whispered hoarsely. “B-b-behind you, Martin!”
Martin turned around.
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