The Demon 

Haruka felt a cold draft on the back of his neck and heard a high, whistling sound in his ears. Behind him, the women were screaming. A large number of the heavy, golden candlesticks had toppled over, and the room was plunged into a sudden, suffocating darkness.

In the last, dying flicker of light, he saw the Old Mistress stop her thrashing movements, her dark, ghostly green eyes staring at him with a profound, unadulterated hatred. Then, the sound of the gauze curtain falling shut, and blackness.

Haruka was not afraid. Instead, he felt a strange, preternatural sense of calm as he gripped the hilt of the silver sword and said nothing, his own breathing the only sound in his world.

The Old Mistress’s voice changed, becoming a dry, rustling whisper. “You don’t believe in demons?”

Haruka, ever cautious, sensed that something was deeply wrong. He held his breath.

“Then why don’t you look behind you?” the Old Mistress’s ghostly voice said, a taunt from the shadows.

Haruka ignored her, his eyes fixed on the darkness where the bed should be, but he heard a cold, inhuman snort in the darkness just behind his ear. His decision not to turn had been the right one.

He held his breath, his five fingers clutching the hilt of the sword. He felt the short, silver sword grow hotter and hotter in his hand. There was no sound around him, only the slow, heavy, thunderous beating of his own heart, and then, the sound of a single footstep, landing softly, wetly, on the floor.

Haruka positioned the short sword for a powerful, desperate thrust, his eyes fixed on the source of the sound. The footstep was so light that if one didn’t listen carefully, it would be missed, like the soft rustle of a pen on paper.

Haruka’s brow suddenly twitched. A faint, foul breeze was moving nearby. He felt a subtle, spidery touch on his hair, and then the thing retreated.

He didn’t dare to breathe. The short sword in his hand was so hot it felt as if it would sear the flesh from his bones. He stared intently ahead, the black gauze curtain occasionally stirring in an unfelt wind.

Suddenly, a blinding flash of lightning split the sky, illuminating the room for a single, horrifying instant.

A monster with the face of a monkey, the curling horns of a goat, and thick, viscous drool dripping from its sharp fangs was staring at him, face to face, its glowing green eyes filled with a malevolent intelligence.

Haruka was terrified. The monster instantly grabbed his neck and slammed him to the ground. His head throbbed with a blinding pain, and he couldn’t breathe, his windpipe crushed. He struggled, but he couldn’t break free. Unable to bear it any longer, he took the searingly hot short sword in his hand and plunged it with all his might into the monster’s belly. At that exact moment, a deafening crash of thunder shook the room. The monster’s strength immediately, impossibly, vanished. It went limp and was easily pushed aside by Haruka. The short sword fell to the floor with a clang, and the monster, like a deflating balloon, was left as nothing but an empty, glistening skin.

Haruka’s own limbs were weak. He sat on the floor, his mind a blank, buzzing void, as if in a dream. What just happened? he thought. What was that monster?

He heard a rustling sound behind him and, startled, he reached for the short sword on the floor, but he had no strength left.

“Are you alright, Young Master?”

Haruka heard Suzune’s voice, a lifeline in the darkness. He turned and saw a bright, flickering candle. Suzune had pushed aside the gauze curtain and come in.

He let out a heartfelt sigh of relief. “I’m fine.” He turned his head, but the skin of the monster was gone. The Old Mistress was lying peacefully on the bed. For a moment, he thought, What about the monster? Was I just hallucinating?

But everything that had just happened was too sudden, too real. It was inexplicable. Even Haruka, a rationalist, began to have his doubts about the existence of gods and ghosts.

As he was thinking, Suzune helped him to his feet. He looked up and saw the electric lights slowly, hesitantly, coming back on. He pushed aside the gauze curtain and saw Kiyohime, her face pale and full of anxiety, and Lady Murasaki and Momozawa Ai, their expressions unchanging, though a flicker of concern had passed through their eyes. The other guests were all standing nearby, waiting.

Fujiwara Hitomi asked the question everyone was thinking: “Young Master, is the evil spirit gone?”

Haruka was still in a daze himself. He shook his head. “I’m not sure. I only remember stabbing a monster with the short sword.”

The old miko’s face was pale, beads of sweat on her wrinkled brow. “The ‘monster’ is dead. The Old Mistress is safe now.”

Lady Murasaki’s face was calm. Hitomi quickly rushed behind the curtain and, a moment later, came out. “The Old Mistress is still alive.”

From behind the curtain came the Old Mistress’s voice, a thin, reedy wail of despair. “Why am I still alive! Why am I still alive!”

Lady Murasaki let out a soft, almost inaudible laugh and called out, “As a daughter, it is only natural that I would wish for my mother to live a long and healthy life.” She turned and saw the flickering, uncertain expressions on the faces of the few remaining supporters of the Old Mistress. She nonchalantly asked the old miko, “After the exorcism, will my mother have any lingering effects?”

“The Old Mistress has been possessed by the monster for many years,” the miko answered truthfully. “Her illness is deep-seated. Even with the evil spirit gone, she will likely be bedridden for the rest of her life. Not to mention…” She hesitated.

“Speak freely. I will not blame you.”

“I’m afraid the evil energy has entered her mind. Her moments of lucidity will be few. She likely does not have many days left.” The miko looked at Haruka. “If we were to use the holy water from the shrine to prolong her life, the Old Mistress might be able to hold on for a little longer.”

Haruka understood that the old miko was hinting that he must go to the Ise Shrine. After what had just happened, he was no longer so resistant to the idea of gods and ghosts, but his heart was still full of a deep, profound doubt.

“Mother,” Lady Murasaki said in a loud, clear voice, “I will not let you die so easily. I will send someone with Miko-sama back to the mountain to fetch the medicine at once.”

Hearing the miko’s words, the last few supporters of the Old Mistress knew that all hope was lost. It wouldn’t be so bad if Lady Murasaki took over, they thought. Who knows when the Old Mistress will collapse again?

And with that, the last of the Old Mistress’s supporters moved to stand by Lady Murasaki’s side.

“Are you trying to torture me to death?” the Old Mistress wailed from behind the curtain.

Most of the people, separated by the gauze, didn’t understand the situation. They just thought the Old Mistress had truly gone mad. What was so bad about living? Only a few understood: Lady Murasaki was deliberately keeping the Old Mistress alive to torment her.

Momozawa Ai was one of the few who knew the truth. She held her pen, wondering how to record this event in the family register. After a moment’s hesitation, she wrote: In the autumn of the tenth month, the Old Matriarch suffered from hysteria. The Young Matriarch, under the pretense of an exorcism, soothed her, and the illness was thus cured.

Haruka himself was still in a daze. He slipped back behind the curtain. On the floor was only the short, silver sword; the monster’s skin had vanished. He looked up at the Old Mistress. Her strangely distended belly had flattened, returned to normal.

Seeing Haruka pick up the short sword from the floor, the Old Mistress said, in a voice that was both a plea and a threat, “Little bastard, kill me.”

Haruka felt a pang of pity for her. He shook his head and turned to leave, only to find Lady Murasaki standing right in front of him.

She hugged him with a look of profound satisfaction and whispered in his ear, her voice a triumphant caress, “You acted your part very well. Mama is very pleased.”

So Lady Murasaki didn’t believe in gods and ghosts either. She had secretly conspired with the old miko, using superstition as a grand, theatrical stage to convince the old guards that the Old Mistress was finished, and to win their unwavering support.

Haruka’s mind was still in a fog. He felt a soft pressure on his forehead. Lady Murasaki was stroking his hair with a doting look. “Don’t think about it anymore,” she whispered, her red lips exhaling a warm, victorious breath.

“Mm,” Haruka said, but in his heart, he was thinking that he had to ask the old miko the truth. But when he went out, he found she was already gone. Hitomi said that the old miko had suddenly started vomiting blood outside and had been taken away by the servants.

“I have had a banquet prepared to celebrate my mother’s successful exorcism,” Lady Murasaki said with a brilliant smile. “Everyone, please take your seats.”

The guests happily abandoned the Old Mistress, and even the servants were given a share of the celebration.

Haruka desperately wanted to find the old miko and ask her what had happened, but he was the key figure in the banquet, the hero of the hour, and was swept along by the crowd. He had no choice but to give up for now.

The Old Mistress was left alone in the room, ostensibly to “rest.”

When Fujiwara Yukina arrived, she didn’t see a single servant attending to the Old Mistress, only a bodyguard standing guard at the intersection.

Yukina pushed open the door. Without turning on the light, she pushed aside the gauze curtain and went to her mother’s bedside, staring at her for a long time.

Suddenly, the Old Mistress opened her eyes. “Who are you?”

Yukina ignored her and turned to leave.

“Yukina!” the Old Mistress struggled to say. “You are Yukina, aren’t you?”

Yukina ignored her. She heard the sound of the blanket falling to the floor.

She stopped. She sighed inwardly, a sound of weary resignation, turned back, and put the blanket back on the Old Mistress. Without a word, she walked out, still hearing the Old Mistress’s reedy voice behind her, “You must be Yukina, you must be Yukina…”