250 Words: Obake (“something that is transformed”) 4: “the vengeful spirits of cruelly-wrongly women”

Each of us started out alone.  Vengeance was in our hearts but, to begin with, had no direction to follow.  The jolt from pure happiness to sudden death left us confused and our reaction, once we had regained ourselves, was to walk in the direction we had seen him take after leaving us to nature.

He had left quite a trail of shattered lives across our land.  Seemingly untouchable himself he was always able to carry on wooing, marrying, killing and taking, never thinking about anything other than his own needs and plans, both short and long term.

Slowly we came together, our hopes for revenge joining as we followed his trail, finding further vessels left in his wake to add to our number and to help us get closer to our quest’s end.  Each one made us move faster so that we didn’t swell our numbers too much before being in a position to stop them growing any more.

And slowly we caught him up- a modestly wealthy man always on the move: one eye roving around for his next victim, the other peering over his shoulder for any followers seeking the man believed to have committed near identical crimes listed under many names in many places.  But not us.

One glorious day we caught him lying in an orchard, feeding his sweets to a would-be victim by moonlight and we fell upon him.

Now he spends all his time with us, forever learning the results of his ways.

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Note: These Obake stories were written after a visit to a Japanese prints exhibition at the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford (Japanese Ghosts and Demons: Ukiyo-e prints from the Ashmolean).  I bought a little book of postcards, the text on the back of which inspired these stories, the quotations from the titles coming from it:

250 Words: Obake (“something that is transformed”) 3: “wicked demons”

I am sure I had done nothing wrong yet every night they came.  For those five terrible nights I would watch in the moonlight with horror as each item in my bedroom glowed and melted into a meaningless blob which would quickly grow and rise up into the form of a demon that would stand staring at me with accusation. 

Everything would do it- lamp, wardrobe, books, pictures, you name it: everything except for my bed and the mattress (even my bed clothes turned into small ones standing beside my prostrate body [and leaving me without sheets to hide behind]); and in their place would be these demons, each individually ugly in its own horned way.  

Even the walls, door, window, carpet and floor would turn so that I was left in an impossible black space with these creatures standing solemnly in the moonlight and their stares everywhere I looked- hundreds of red eyes boring into my soul, all knowing what it was I had done.

But what had I done? 

Naturally I asked them- time and again in fact until I was hoarse and gave up.  They merely stood and continued their silent vigil informing me that I had done something and that that was enough. 

After gaining virtually no sleep for five nights, I went to my temple and prayed, apologising over and over for every sin in existence that I could think of. 

And away they went.

And still I have no idea what I had done.  

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Note: I once adapted this into a comic script (adding an explanation for the visits of the demons) and posted it on a forum but got too scared to ever return to see if anyone liked it or was interested enough to draw it up; this is it, though:

CLiNT Idea for Space Oddities ­ “They Came At Night”? They Would Come At Night ?

Page One

Top half: A view from above of a man lying in bed, underneath his bedclothes, scared out of his wits; at what we cannot see, except perhaps for a glow as the items in his room begin to change.

Caption: “I had done nothing wrong yet every night they came.”

Bottom half:

A series of panels depicting items in his bedroom (a bedside lamp, perhaps, CD racks, bookcases, piles of junk on the floor, model cars or planes….) glowing with a green aura, then melting, turning into blobs on the ground that, by the end of the page, are starting to raise up into columns and take the rough shape of demons (they remian unsen in full form until the next page.

Drawings interspersed with the following captions:

“For those five terrible nights I would watch with horror…”

“…as each item in my bedroom glowed…”

 “…and melted into a meaningless blob…”

 “…that would quickly grow and rise up into…”

Page Two

Full page depicting the man on his bed, surrounded by demons, one for each item or collection of items that had been in his room before, except for his mattress and bedstand (his bedclothes and pillows have been replaced with small demons standing on the mattress.  He has no discernible room around him, only pitch blackness (the windows, walls, carpet and floor having also been turned into demons), filled with this array of angry, accusing demons staring at him.

Caption at bottom: “…the demons that held a vigil around my bed, staring at me with accusation in their cold stares hundreds of red eyes boring into my soul, all knowing what it was I had done.”

Page Three

Top half: Small blank black panel with caption reading: “But what had I done?” 

Larger panel filling the rest of the top half depicting the man kneeling up on his bed and pleading with the demons

(speech bubble reading: “WHAT IS IT?!?  WHAT HAVE I DONE?!?”), whose only movement has been their eyes ­still transfixed on his. 

Captions read: “Naturally I asked them why­ time and again, in fact, until I was hoarse and gave up.” 

“They merely remained silent and still in the darkness.” 

“I had done something and that was enough.”

Series of panels depicting man at various stages of his life committing small sins: perhaps stealing a slice of pie or something from the fridge, pushing someone down in the playground, stealing sweets from a shop or stationery from work, being slapped by a woman/teenage girl, his hand still on her breast…. the sorts of things that most men may have done... interspersed with the following captions:

“What was there in my history…

“…that could possibly result…”

“…in this horrible torture…”

“…I wracked my brains over and over…”

“… I came up with nothing that warranted this…” 

Page Four

Series of five panels occupying the top third of the page depicting the man’s gradual deterioration following each night without sleep ­ the eyes become more red, his stubble becomes thicker, the bags under his eyes grow ­ with the accompanying caption underneath:

“…and spent the five nights becoming less of myself and more of a wreck.  After gaining virtually no sleep in that time…”

The second third shows another strip of five panels showing the man in his final state, from the side, praying in a temple, calmly at first, but becoming more and more anxious, a growing number of candles in front of him ­ with the accompanying caption underneath:

“...I went to my temple and prayed for hours, apologising over and over for every sin in existence that I could think of.”

The final third shows one picture, from above, of the man finally sleeping soundly in his bed ­ with the accompanying captions above: 

“And away they went.”

And underneath:

“To this day I have no idea what I had done.”

Page Five

A full page picture of the man’s parents seen from behind, knelt before the same altar or whatever as their son, a photograph of him is stood on the floor before them, a burning candle at it’s side, a speech bubble reads:

“We know that he is a good boy really, he just needs a little direction.”

250 Words: Obake (“something that is transformed”) 2: “animals with supernatural powers”

After receiving the powers all I had to do was reach my target and utilise them.  Which would be easier said than done for they had managed to put quite some distance between us during my adventures up to this point and it would take some time and effort to catch up. 

I began straight away by crossing the Great Swamps (no doubt they had had to go around), ever careful not to plant my feet in any of the mud puddles that would have sucked me down to the centre of the earth.

Then I ascended and descended the Border Mountains (no simple task for such as I), clambering over giant boulders aplenty and even scaling a vertical cliff.  And that was just the terrain- several times I nearly perished from the cold but, ever determined, I kept my limbs moving and never kept still long enough to freeze; all the time keeping my eventual prize in mind and wondering why I had not asked for more powers. 

At the foot of the mountains I asked for directions and found myself nearly there.  I skirted around the edge of three towns in the Riverlands before hitching a ride across the Largest Desert on a well-provisioned vehicle to a fourth.

There I did not speak the language but soon heard the fool drunk inside an inn, no doubt in the belief I would never catch up.  I went within and, to the vast surprise of the patrons, downed the mother.

250 Words: Obake (“something that is transformed”) 1: “household objects that come to life”

It’s an odd sort of feeling when it happens and life flows through you and you move and think and be for the first time.  It is amazing, though, this feeling as you become aware of yourself.  A bit woozy at first, your vision blinding you, unused as you are to seeing light.  Then, as you focus, you find you recognise everything, have knowledge of everything around you and of your entire history: from manufacture to sale to life with your owners: it’s all there as if you had been alive all along which, thinking about it, makes no sense, but, as it comes to you it does. Absolutely perfectly. And that part is wonderful.

And a stiffness is in you when you first start to move and the impossible becomes normal.  You have, after all, been asleep for all time and those first moments are like waking up on the worst of mornings, your body having been in all the wrong positions.  But this new life seems like something that has always been, and that will always be so.  And that thought, as it comes to you, is beautiful.

The stiffness doesn’t last long, it never does in any of us.  Nor that feeling of always being so, of normality.  They both go as you realise your lack of freedom.

For we are given life to do one thing.  We are given life and instructed through it until we are needed no more.  Naught but lackies waiting for disposal.