Demon Stories

Saya: Mother, 1610, Japan

Saya
Mother
1610, Japan

My Mother was a beautiful woman. Chosen for her beauty and good family, my Grandfather arranged for her to marry his son, my Father the doctor and first born son. But then disease came, and my Father was the only man in the family left, so bitterly he left his noble life of medicine, and took over the family business of tending to rice and selling rice. Our family was one of the best producers of rice at the time, we were by no means poor or desperate. Our house was grand, enclosed by walls from those who would disturb us. But it was us who were disturbed. 

I was only ten years old at the time, and already spoiled rotten. Any food I desired would appear before me, anything I wanted to play with would be magically in my hands. There was only one thing I did not like about my life, and that was being taken into the rice fields with my Father, who I have no doubt now wanted to teach me the ropes so he could stop doing his job as quickly as possible. He was still bitter, and whenever I showed any sign of disrespect for my fate, he would first smack me, then start to angerily shake me so hard my head flopped back and forth like a ragdoll. 

Then there was the part of my life which frightened me more than even my time in the rice fields. A part so beyond fear, it can not be called fear any longer. My Mother. The silent beauty who never said a word after the disease came. I didn't know what caused her to lose her voice, or what caused her to stand silently in the hallways, staring and staring. Going down the long hallway at night was a heart stopping experience, for every corner was a fearful exercise, peering around the corner to see if she was there, standing like a ghost. She was so mentally disturbed, she had her own servant just to guide her along. A strange girl of about fourteen years, I would have thought. Unlike my mother, the girl was warm and kind. She truly seemed to care for my mother, tending to everything she would have needed with a never ceasing gentleness and ease. She would take her outside most evenings, and would even feed her in her room. 

And she would play with me. I liked her, because when she would hold me close I could smell her hair, and it had the most wonderfully calming smell: it smelled like the world smells when it is raining, the wet dirt and the water hanging in the air, but also something extra that I could not quite put my finger on. Something which smelled faintly like the way your hands smell after you have held coins for a long time. And her smile. It was like a little white flower. I wanted to hold it in my hand and keep it safe, because she kept me safe. 

But she kept me safe in a different way one night, the night of when I was ten. The night I learned the truth about my Mother. The night that scarred me forever and still haunts my dreams.

It was a raging storm filled night. I did not want to go to the outhouse to relieve myself. But I had to go. Full of dread, I rose from my bed and walked to my door. I slid it open slowly, peering out, and looking to the right and left fearfully. There had been no footsteps near my room in this last hour in which I had to go, but still I had to check to see if my Mother was in the hall. She wasn't there. Sighing in relief, I raced into the hall, careful not to make loud footsteps of my own. It was agonizingly slow, peering around every corner. But luck was with me, because she was not there. In fact, she didn't seem to be in the house at all. I found this odd, but a new dread filled me because I started to wonder a new thing. What if she was in the outhouse? What would I do then? But then I breathed calmly, because I remembered that the girl would be with her and therefore there was nothing to be afraid of. 

I rounded another corner, and saw something odd. The door to garden was gaping open. Who had left it open? And then my stomach did a flip flop and I realized my Mother must have done it. That must be where she was, in the garden somehow. Somehow escaped from the young girl's watchful eye. I felt bile rising in my throat as I realized that I had to be the one to bring her back to the girl. It never occurred to me to just go get the girl to bring her back. But then I found out that would not have helped me either, for when I rounded the bend to exit the door, I was met with the most horrifying sight of my life.