The Otherwordly

[ 01 ]

It was Hajime's turn to lock up the store. He'd been working as a part-timer there for a few months now, since he'd begun his second year at university. Before that he'd worked in the back of a warehouse, driving a forklift around he couldn't say he enjoyed customer service any more than that. The pay was better though, and so were the hours; he'd rather work late at night than get up at four before volleyball practice.

He shut the shop before any other customers could wander in and closed the till. Now he just had to take out the trash.

The skip, just outside the back door, smelled foul, and overlaid the scent of cigarette smoke. His manager, Ukai, came out here to smoke on his breaks.

Today there was something else underlying even that. Something faint and acrid and deeply, subtly, disturbing.

Hajime shivered and tossed the bag in the skip. He listened to the crash of glass bottles and plastic packaging and the like for a moment, and then turned to hurry back inside - or at least, he planned to.

The light spilling out from the door of the store didn't reveal much, but from the corner of his eye, Hajime caught a flicker of movement further down the alleyway.

Against his better judgement, he brought out his phone and turned on the flash light. It illuminated a figure hunched against a wall.

This could not be good.

Perhaps it was a discarded mannequin from the clothing store... one that moved of its own accord and – yeah, that wasn't much better.

At the light, the person turned, and Hajime found himself looking into a pair of eyes, squinting in his direction. They reflected the light oddly, almost shining yellow.

"You good?" Hajime asked. A dumb question, he realised, as he approached and caught sight of the dark blood staining the strangers clothing. He hurried to them and knelt down. "I'll call someone."

The stranger looked on, his eyes unfocused. It must be the blood loss - or he was stoned. Both, even. A hand closed around Hajime's wrist as he typed in the passcode and he flinched.

"I'm going to call the hospital." He said as calmly as he could manage, "could you tell me where you're bleeding?"

The stranger shook his head, "no... Hospitals."

Hajime snatched his hand away, "whatever shit you've gotten yourself involved in isn't more important than your life."

"I'll be fine, I just need a couple hours." The tried to sit, and winced, "and some bandages, maybe."

Hajime placed a hand on the strangers uninjured shoulder in some attempt at comfort. He was giving off heat like a space heater, and his skin was pale, as if there wasn't a single blood vessel underneath the surface. His eyes were locked on Hajime with a strange, uncomfortable intensity. In the dark he couldn't pick out their actual colour.

He went to press the call button.

The stranger lunged, and knocked the phone from his hand. It hit the ground with a thud which told Hajime he'd have to at least replace his screen protector again.

That wasn't the predominant issue here, of course.

"You're going to bleed out." He said, and reached for it. Perhaps he should just run instead.

The stranger gripped his left bicep. A sharp pain burned Hajime's arm through his shirt and he yelped and jerked away. Without his support, the stranger slumped back against the wall.

"You can't." He rasped, and then grinned, showing off bloody teeth.

Hajime drew back, because this person was all wrong. There was something off about their form, and their eyes, and that smile. That smile was large and sharp and utterly cold.