The Stone of Kuromori. Jason Rohan
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‘Kenny! Over here!’
Kenny Blackwood pushed the cafe door shut and wove his way between crowded tables to where his classmate Stacey Turner sat, ensconced in a booth by the mirrored wall.
‘You’re late,’ she said, narrowing her eyes before Kenny had even slid into the seat opposite. ‘And don’t tell me the train was delayed – trains are never late in Japan. Let me guess, you missed the stop. No? Forgot something? How many times –’
‘I came out of the wrong exit, that’s all,’ Kenny said. ‘It took me a while to realise and I had to double back. You should have told me it was the south exit.’
‘And you should have checked first.’ Stacey blew a rubbery pink bubble and ran her finger down the coffee-shop menu. ‘What are you having? My treat.’
Kenny leaned back and laced his hands behind his head. ‘You’re being unusually nice. What do you want?’
‘Kenny Blackwood, I am shocked that you would think such a thing,’ Stacey said in mock horror. ‘I’ll tell you in a minute.’
She raised a finger to summon the waitress, who glided in to take their order.
‘I’ll have an American coffee and a slice of green-tea cheesecake,’ Stacey said. ‘And a royal milk tea for him.’
‘So what’s the big mystery?’ Kenny asked, once the waitress had gone. ‘We could have had a coffee at school. Why here?’
Stacey picked up the menu again and pretended to read it more closely. ‘It’s haunted.’
‘Huh?’ Kenny’s eyes swept the coffee shop. It was bustling with college kids and high-school students.
‘It’s true,’ Stacey said, lowering her menu shield. ‘You know me. When have I been wrong?’
‘Well, there was that time –’
‘It’s a rhetorical question. Anyway, check this out.’ Stacey delved into her backpack and extracted a slim folder, which she handed to Kenny.
‘I can’t read this,’ he said, flipping through the newspaper cuttings inside. ‘My Japanese is still nursery level.’
‘I know. That’s why I translated it for you. Look in the back.’
Kenny knew better than to argue with Stacey. His classmate was top of the year in everything, including self-esteem.
By the time he had finished reading the dossier, Stacey had drained her coffee and was demolishing the cheesecake. ‘Well?’ she said, chasing an escaped chunk round her plate. ‘What do you think?’
‘I’m thinking you have some weird reading habits. Two guys commit suicide in the restroom of a bar. Why is that something you want me to . . .? Wait. You think this is the same place? It’s not.’ Kenny opened the folder to a crime-scene snapshot. ‘The layout is totally different.’
Stacey sighed. ‘Kenny, Kenny, Kenny. When will you learn not to doubt me?’ She leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘After the first guy killed himself, things went quiet for a while, but then business started to come back. When the second death happened, people stayed away and the bar eventually closed. Then these guys bought it, remodelled it and relaunched under a new name. It’s the same place all right. I checked the address and the deeds of sale.’
‘You did? You’re even more nuts than I thought.’
A pink bubble popped in reply. ‘Here’s what I think is happening: two years ago, on this same day, at 16:44, Mr Kishibe went to the toilet. Furthest cubicle on the end. Six hours later, at closing time, the owner saw that the door was still locked and forced it open. He found Mr Kishibe.’
‘I read that, yeah.’ Kenny sipped his tea and tried not to picture the grisly scene.
‘Last year, same day, same time, a Mr Moteki went to use the bathroom. He also went into the same end stall, locked the door and was later found dead.’
‘And the police said both cases were suicides. So why are we here?’
‘Kenny, who kills themselves in a pub toilet? Besides, they didn’t find a blade . . . either time, so how could they have done it?’
Kenny tilted his head. ‘You think there’s a rogue yokai in there?’
‘I know there is. Now, since you’re one of the few people who can see these things, are you going to do your stuff and deal with it, or do I have to call in your friend Sato?’
‘Shh.’ Kenny looked around and leaned in close enough to touch foreheads. ‘You know you’re not supposed to talk about that,’ he whispered.
‘Oh, please. Like anyone’s taking any notice of us. Listen, it’s your job, isn’t it, to stop these things? You’re like a one-man yokai police force.’
‘It’s not only me –’
‘We don’t talk about her.’
Kenny fumbled for his phone. ‘I should check with Kiyomi first.’
‘Can we just leave your psycho girlfriend out of this?’
‘She’s not my girlfriend.’
‘At least you didn’t say she isn’t psycho.’ Stacey tapped her watch. ‘It’s 16:38. You’ve got six minutes, so get in there and hold that stall. If any monster comes in, you can teach it a lesson.’
‘No way.’ Kenny finished his tea and stood up. ‘Thanks for the drink, Stace. If I knew this was what you had in mind, I wouldn’t have come. You have no right getting involved in this stuff.’
‘Kenny, people have died. Think about it. If I’m wrong, then nothing happens: no harm, no foul. But if I’m right and you walk away, then anything that goes down is on you. You want to read about some dead guy tomorrow, knowing you could have stopped it?’
‘All right, all right,’ Kenny grumbled. ‘I’ll go have a look.’
Stacey smiled her approval. ‘I’ve saved you a bite of my cheesecake. That’ll be your reward.’
Kenny took a deep breath and stepped into the narrow toilet cubicle which housed a traditional squat toilet.
This is so stupid, he thought, closing his eyes and shaking his head. I can’t believe I let Stacey talk me into this.
Ever since she had uncovered Kenny’s secret life as the bearer of a divine sword and a warrior sworn to keep monsters in check, Stacey had been itching to find ways to get involved, searching for unusual news stories and trawling the internet for urban myths, much to Kenny’s annoyance. He checked his watch: 16:43. A minute to go.
Even though he was pretty sure this was a waste of time, he could at least take advantage of where he was. Kenny unzipped his fly — and an ice-cold hand clutched his shoulder while a voice breathed in his ear.
‘Will sir be wanting the blue or the red option?’ it purred, its breath as foul as an open sewer.
‘YAAH!’ Kenny jumped, sploshing one trainer into the toilet and spraying his jeans. He hastily zipped up and whirled round, to see nothing but a blank wall.
Two hands grasped his shoulders and the voice asked again, ‘I repeat, which option will sir be having, the red or the blue?’ There was a harder edge now, clearly demanding an answer.
Kenny staggered round in a circle, but the thing, whatever it was, remained unseen. ‘What are you?’ he said. ‘Show yourself.’
The air seemed to condense into a vaguely human form, outlined by the drape