Drifting Woman

A tale of creeping horror set in modern-day Japan for Halloween

It’s the evening of the 31st here in Japan, so here’s a chilling fiction post. Originally published in THE BLACK STONE story anthology. As this is a fiction post in-full, I’m going to let you jump right into it. CONTENT WARNING: ADULT SITUATIONS

Art by Wombo

Drifting Woman
©2020, Made in DNA

THE city's name was rendered in archaic kanji she'd never read outside of a dusty textbook in a high school language arts class, and even now, she wasn't sure she could read it properly. A little town forever on the verge of financial oblivion that would've been dead ages ago without tourism. Shuttered mom-and-pops in their prime during the Bubble Era thirty years ago lined the shitamachi streets.

The buildings hugged each other close, in a doomed, kindred companionship, knowing the elderly owner-occupants deep within their deteriorating hearts were the only reason they remained standing. A defiant few operated limited hours, their shutters up, doors open, lights on, but not a soul stirred within the former bastions of madame fashion, kitsch souvenirs, or "prefecture famous" baked goods.

It was the modern equivalent of the castle ruins of a long dead samurai lord – kept alive by threadbare memories and desperation, crumbling with age, destined to be lost to time.

Mika considered "parking" along one of these streets to wait for a likely target to present himself, peddling his biz along the avenue, but her bike was hungry. It was still early in the day and she had plenty of time to latch on to someone. She rumbled on, the bike's growling engine the only discord along the somber thoroughfare.

Gas included, she had enough to last over the few days she expected to be here, but not much more. In the event she were unable to score here, things were not going to well after. Fortune smiled as she spied a station up the street.

He was probably in his late forties, average looking, glasses, slight deskwork paunch, and thinning hair. The epitome of Japanese businessman – from his light white button-down dress shirt rolled at the sleeves, to the handkerchief he daubed his forehead with. Stabbing a map with a finger, he was deep in a one-way conversation with a male station attendant who looked decidedly uninterested in helping.

She rolled up to the pump a second attendant directed her to and lifted her visor to speak. A sudden, light wave of dizziness passed over her. She pinched the bridge of her nose, took a deep breath, and shook it off. It had been a long drive.

Pointedly staring at the business man, "Lost tourist?"

A quizzical look passed briefly over the young woman's face before she seemed to decide a smile was the best answer. "Welcome to First Gas, ma'am. What can I do for you today?"

"2500, regular," Mika replied, dismounting her bike.

"Shall I wash the windshield?" the girl called after her.

"If you like," not bothering to turn back, her eyes focused on the businessman who was still trying to ascertain information from the first attendant with zero success. It wasn't a surprise; some townies just didn't like outsiders.

"Excuse me."

The two men turned to look in her direction at the same time. Mika removed her helmet and shook her long black hair. The smile on her face was feral.

"I hope I'm not bothering you. Normally I wouldn't interrupt..."

The attendant bowed and enthusiastically called out, "Welcome to First Gas," as he ran off to help a customer pulling in.

Bemused, Mika watched him go, before returning her gaze to the businessman. "Not very friendly."

The businessman stood mouth slightly agape, peering over the rims of his glasses, uncertain as to whether she were really speaking to him. "Uhh, sorry?"

Walking up beside him, she took one end of the map and pressed herself up against him, her leather riding overalls creaking. She didn't bother to meet his gaze, feigning interest in the map. "What establishment are you looking for?"

The businessman went taunt and was perfectly still for several moments before snapping out of his erection stupor. Mika smiled inwardly.

"I-I'm looking for a ryokan to stay the evening. B-Business in town." He stumbled over the words.

"What's the name of the place?"

"That's just it. I forgot the name and directions at the office and..." He looked down at the map, "Well, there's so many places in the area. Something like Hovering Gardens?"

She hmm'd and ohh'd over the map, half-heartedly scanning it, rubbing herself against him ever so subtly as she pretended to pour over the marked legends of inns uttering phrases like, "Is this it?" and "Guess not, slightly different name."

He dabbed furiously at his forehead, repeatedly apologizing. She could practically smell his pheromones oozing through his pores as the bulge in his thin summer trousers belied his interest.

After several minutes and a concerned look or two from the female gas attendant, Mika shrugged. "Sorry, can't find it." She handed the map back to the businessman, and walked back to her bike.

She paid the girl and started her engine.

The businessman stood looking lost – as if he had just won the lottery, but lost the ticket. Perfect, she smirked inwardly.

Easing the bike forward, she pulled up alongside him, "I have a navigation system." She punched the name of the inn into the navi, but nothing popped up.

She swore inwardly; she was going to be damned if she was going to break the line on this fish. Trying variations on the names, she scrolled through a dozen names.

Nothing.

She smiled sweetly despite the setback. "Maybe we can find you ano–"

"There is it," the businessman said excitedly.

She returned her gaze to the navi, and sure enough, where there had been nothing moments before, a red marker now bounced jubilantly. "Huh, must be a weak GPS signal." She smiled triumphantly, "Let's get you to your inn then."

TWENTY-FIVE minutes and a rather obscure road leading to a small village just inside the city limits later, they pulled up to an aging three-story affair with additional wings. The main building was a typical Showa Era family home built for four while the additions branched off it in haphazard positions and size, no doubt to fit the land parcels bought to accommodate them.

Situated directly next to the main entrance, a cramped parking lot squeezed four other vehicles into its limited space – one of which was a compact snowplow that hadn't seen use in years. The others were family-orientated, sporting out-of-prefecture numbers.

Temporarily parking in front of the other vehicles, she dismounted and sauntered over to the businessman, who had likewise parked and now stood with his briefcase, a battered thing with decades of mileage on it, just staring blankly at the inn.

It wasn't until she approached, practically blocking his view of the entrance that his expression warmed. He bowed. "Thank you. Unexpected kindness from strangers is a rarity these days."

She smiled and stepped in a little closer. They were nearly the same height; she hoped it didn't put him off. "Actually..."

A light came on his eyes, and he smiled somewhat embarrassed. He reached for his wallet. "You're so right. It's the least I can do."

She put her hand out to stop him. "No, no." Not yet, not for just this, she thought. "It was my... pleasure." She laughed shyly.

He stood, hand on wallet, not understanding.

"I'm a visitor to the area myself, and..."

The words hung in the air for several moments before a blush crossed his face. "I'm sure there's a place for you to stay. We just have to ask."

An elderly man in his 70s manned the counter. His baleful eyes locked on to Mika the moment she walked in. He followed her movements hawkishly as she purposely took time placing the couple's shoes in the designated wall cubby. The gaze wasn't scornful, but it wasn't welcoming either. His gaunt, weathered skin was blotchy, and his fingertips stained with nicotine. The sound that emanated from his throat when he spoke was a physical thing that willed her away; away from his immediate vicinity and away from the establishment.

The businessman added her to the room and paid the extra charges without fuss. The proprietor glowering after them, perhaps just a slight bit of envy tinging his aura as they headed up to their room, map in hand. Don't pull it too hard, buddy, she thought back at him, then added with a derisive smile, If you're a good boy, maybe I'll come down after company boy here leaves in the morning. Two fish for the price of one.

Like the shops in town, the inn harkened back to a time when the economy seemed unstoppable, a time before Mika's parents had even met. It wasn't at all unfamiliar to her though – the narrow, labyrinthine halls, creaky steep stairwells, and odd collection of knick-knacks, souvenirs, paintings, and house decorations from a bygone era. It was a bit like staying at her grandmother's as a kid.

They passed through a score of small areas of the inn to reach their room, all connected, and yet each one its own entity – a colorfully decorated kids' corner, a small library of aging, musty manga and novels, a shared lounge with wash basin, men's and women's bathing areas separated by floor, a shared balcony, a traditional tatami room. With all the twists, turns, and randomly placed micro-staircases, Mika thought she might need guidance getting out.

Located in one of the annexes, their room was at the end of the hall, next to an alcove with a large vase. In it a single dead flower, its desiccated form slumped and forgotten, starved for daylight in the shadow infested twists and turns of the structure.

The businessman slid the fusuma door open and stepped aside to let her in first, but the cramped space of the corridor forced her to bump the flower, sending the petals crumbling to the floor. She moved to clean them up, but the man ushered her inside, saying he'd get the owner to clean up later.

As in keeping with the style of the inn, there was no physical locks on the door; only a long thin "pole" that fit into the floor rail would prevent it from being opened. Like stepping into another world, she mused.

Art by Wombo

EVERYTHING about the man was meek, the way he walked, spoke, acted, even the way he dined, but it made for a quiet dinner at a local pub. They spoke of nothing of consequence and she was glad for it in a way. Some men liked to go on about how important their work was, as if their jobs were the only ones in the world that mattered. But this man – she still hadn't learned his name, and he hadn't asked hers – avoided most questions. She guessed he knew her game even if he didn't act like it, and was trying to keep himself as disentangled as possible. That was alright, too. She'd shamelessly go through his things tomorrow morning while he was out, learning more than she wanted to anyway.

They stopped at a convenience store on the way back, bought canned shōchū highball drinks which they drank in the heat of the private bath they reserved for the night at the inn, and upon returning to their room, had the rawest intercourse she'd ever experienced.

In the moment they came together, his meekness melted away. Every aspect of his being, from his physical frame and his voice to his movement took on a powerful aura. To be so instantly dominated by a man she didn't think capable of such a brazenly deceptive act filled her with both disquiet and delight.

He was slick with his own efforts; the sweat dripping off his brow and body, soaking her bedding. The grunting growl that occupied his throat was so deep it was primal. His muscles were taunt, his demeanor aggressive, and his presence distant.

There was an otherworldly duality to the transformation. As if the meekness was the coat he wore over his true self in a world that could not comprehend the being beneath. Psyche switches and aura flips.

She tried to read him, searching his eyes for an understanding of him, but an unsettling look crept into them. In the half shadows of the room, his pupils disappeared, replaced by inky, unblinking black pools that bore down into her own. She tried unsuccessfully to turn away, knowing she shouldn't stare into them, but could not stop herself.

It was with a deeply satisfied exhalation, the meekness returned and his powerful aura retreated once more under the cloak as he rolled off. Did he let it out often? Or not often enough?

Breathing heavily, she laid on her back, unmoving, cognizant of the man's stillness. She waited several minutes before sneaking a look at him, afraid it might not be him she saw. Her heart still raced and legs quivered from both the pleasure and the shock of his change. A nervous laugh bubbled up from her, but if he heard it, he made no indication – his eyes remained closed.

When she did finally sit up to use the bathroom, her breath caught in her throat. Through the heavy paper doors to the room, a harsh light shined in from between the gaps.

Who would be up at this hour wandering the halls of the inn? The owner? Another guest? Had they been listening to the couple?

A wave of disgust and anger passed over her. Fucking Peeping Tom! They wanted a show? She would give them one! Not one to shy away from confrontation, she rose and threw open the door with as much violence as she could put into it. It banged loudly in the quiet of the night.

Mika stepped out into the corridor, into that blinding light, unperturbed by her own nudity, prepared to use the shock value to give herself absolute control in the verbal berating she was about to unleash. But the light was then gone, and there was no one there, plunging her into a darkness only abated by the soft shaft that fell upon her from the open door of her room.

All was dark; the kind of dark expected of an unlighted empty building, not an inn with guests.

"Come back to bed." From behind her, his voice was quiet. His futon laid just outside the soft circle of illumination given off by the sleep setting of the ceiling light, enshrouding him in heavy shadow. She shivered despite herself, but otherwise did not move.

"Come," he said again. Though his voice was no louder, the words were filled with a power that pulled at her. Inadvertently, she covered herself, and the urge to urinate returned. "Sorry, I just need to go to the bathroom... Need to freshen up."

He nodded and laid back down. She could see the smile on his lips through the darkness. It was a silver sliver like weeping moonlight cut in the fabric of the gloom.

HE was gone when she woke the next morning. It was late; she had overslept. She usually used mornings to "inform" her catch that she would be waiting for them when they got back like some dutiful wife. The still-naked visage of her was usually enough that few balked and many just smiled lecherously, thanking their lucky stars.

To his credit, there was a small, unmarked envelope placed neatly on the nightstand next to her things. A true gentlemen, if such men existed. She smiled, then again, a true gentleman wouldn't have taken a strange woman into his hotel room. The envelope was meant to be a combination "thank you" and "goodbye", but she was hardly done. By this time tomorrow, she planned on tripling the amount inside.

She showered and dressed, and then began tidying the room. His bedding reeked of an odor that turned her stomach. She put it down to last night's exertion and pushed it aside, determined to have the owner replace it later that morning.

Opening the window for some fresh air, she looked out over the wooded area just the other side of the semi-residential road the inn occupied. Below, an older woman walking a small dog witnessed her in the window. Her eyes went wide and she stood in the street as if mesmerized. The dog began to bark with a viciousness that belied its size. Snatching it up, the woman moved along hurriedly, stealing worried glances over her shoulder at Mika until the pair of them disappeared around the corner two properties down.

Mika shook her head – rural cities, they never lost their local weirdness.

Spotting the businessman's battered briefcase in the corner, she picked it up and sat down beneath the open window. The average snoop would be interested in business plans, proposals, sales reports, and the like, but Mika wasn't a corporate spy. She was looking for personal information. Phone numbers, business cards, home address, wife's contact number, a lover's contact number... things of a nature that would put a man in a personal pinch. She wouldn't actually threaten him, so much as convince him that it was in his best interest that they go to a bank ATM together where he'd give her enough to make her go away without breaking his account or his balls. Mika wasn't in the biz of breaking balls, she was in the biz of rubbing them the right way, and then giving them a squeeze for a little something extra.

Three pockets in and she hit the jackpot – a rubberbanded plastic case of business cards. Now she had his name and company information, and if she was really lucky, she might obtain a few client business cards. The best catches were those who inadvertently provided her with the means to catch a string of others.

A yellowing, grimy, cracked thing, the case looked like it hadn't been opened in ages, and the rubberband broke the instant she lifted the top. She couldn't imagine any respectable businessman keeping such a thing. Maybe he just didn't need it that often.

Within sat a large lump of faded, warped cards stuck together as if they'd gotten wet and then dried as-is. The name and logo of the company were all but destroyed, and the name of her mystery businessman lover was a blotch of ruined ink. Taka... Takahashi? Takanashi...?

She pried a few cards from the top and replaced everything as she had found it. Strange that he should keep the cards. Maybe his wife had washed the case along with his laundry and he hadn't replaced them yet. Didn't matter. What she had filched would have to suffice to goad a secondary sum out of him. No point in pushing her luck.

The corridor flooring outside the room groaned perceptibly with the weight of footsteps outside the door. Startled, a cold chill shot through Mika's spine. Then with a catch of breath, she mentally thanked her lucky stars as she realized it was probably the man.

She called sweetly, loud enough to be heard on the other side. "You forgot your briefcase, didn't you?"

Picking it up, she started for the door, intent on meeting him just as he opened it, a bright smile in place.

The footsteps froze.

Mika waited.

A long silence followed during which she remained in place. She took a quiet, deep breath. Patience, she told herself. He was just surprised. He had expected her to be gone and realizing she wasn't, no doubt found himself struggling with how to approach the situation.

In her most pleasant come-hither intonation, Mika tried enticing him, "Come in."

In her years as a drifter, she'd learned that it was important that he opened the door. She couldn't do it for him. It was a mental step he had to take toward accepting that she was still there.

The door exploded in a loud cacophony of banging, the heavy paper doors shaking violently, threatening to crack in their wooden slots. The entire hallway down the length of the wall was alive with the same brutality – footsteps stomping and fists pounding in every direction at once – floors, ceiling, walls.

Mika fell back from the entrance in shock, tripping over her helmet and dropping the briefcase. The unexpected dissonance caused the hairs on her arms stand up and a chill to run up her spine. She'd never experienced anything like it.

She remained cowed on the floor, eyes wide in disbelief until finally a lump of anger welled in her chest, eradicating the impact of the initial scare.

She yelled. "What's the matter with you!"

The banging ceased as suddenly as it started, and the footsteps walked away as peacefully as they had come.

Mika leaped up and threw open the door once again ready to unleash a verbal tirade, but the perpetrator was gone. Sprinting down the narrow passage to the far-end corner connecting the other wing, her indignation ran slightly cool with confusion.

No one.

Cursing, she headed back for the stairs and went down.

A cough from a spacious sitting library to the left drew her attention, but like the hallway and corridor, it was empty. She spun, looking for the culprit. Had it really been the businessman? Seemed highly likely he would have the gumption to do something so despicable.

The hallway opposite leading to the guest rooms under theirs and the women's bath was likewise unoccupied. Down the stairs again, still eager to catch the lowlife.

Mika cased every nook and cranny on every floor, encountering nary a soul, and growing more flustered with each passing minute. Despite the visual lack of, every single space was pregnant with a fresh apparition of occupation – a cough, a movement of chair, a shuffling of feet, but never the source.

She burst into the lobby, batting the long traditional noren curtain out of the way, so certain that whomever had tried playing games with her was headed for the door. There she would inevitably find them in a hurry to put on their shoes.

No one.

The owner appeared behind the desk.

She glanced at him long enough to let him know she was addressing him and then stared out the glass front to see if she could see anyone. "Who just came through here?" Her language was curt, eschewed expected polite norms, and bordered on hostile.

He replied with his own blunt question. "What are you doing here?"

She turned to look at him. What are you doing here? Not, May I help you? She was slightly taken aback by his apparent reversal of open hostility. She knew he didn't appreciate her being here as he obviously understood her game. Yet he hadn't stopped her from staying, so his point was moot in her eyes.

She continued as if she hadn't heard him, "Someone came through here jus–" pointing toward the glass door entrance.

He interrupted her, stepping forward. "This is not a place for you."

Brushing passed him, she threw on her shoes and went outdoors, looking up and down the quaint street of older residentials, a few of which were overgrown with greenery to the point of near total obliteration.

Deserted. Not even the old lady and her stupid dog from earlier.

The owner was nowhere in sight when she returned to lodge a complaint. So she deliberately roamed the tortuous hallways, scowling, eager to unleash her indignation on any unfortunate soul she might cross paths with. Always there were whispers and slow creaks of movement just around a corner or down the stairs, but never within her visual-confirmation range. Only phantoms.

Art by Wombo

THE fight gone out her, she grabbed her helmet and jacket to step out for fresh air. She shouldn't have let the incident upset her in the first place. If indeed it had been the man, she could have blown the whole deal. She should be concentrating on her endgame, not petty nonsense. To have scored so early on had been a boon. Everything else was just the tedium of doing business. Leave it at that.

Jumping on her bike, she took a casual ride into the city. It wasn't any great shakes, but it wasn't like some of the really piss-poor rural areas she'd visited either. The mountains could be downright depressing; everything in decay, no businesses, just the memories and memorials. They were sad places too stubborn to realize that they had always been destined for obscurity.

It was hard to tell about places like this one though. They had a population and a few businesses, but they wouldn't ever attract new people or reasons to live here. They would always just be on the edge of oblivion.

She grabbed a cheap lunch at a boxed lunch takeaway place run by a couple in their 40s probably catering more to tourists and visitors than locals. It was a decent affair. They probably wouldn't do so bad in the suburbs of a major metropolis. Probably keep them going well into their 70s. But they were stuck out here, weren't they? That's the problem when societies decided planting firm roots was more important than being flexible. Well, not with her. She had decided a lifetime ago never to allow herself to grow rooted. Give her the open road and the open sky.

She finished the meal and slowly cruised for a while, stopping at a Shinto shrine devoted to "connections" of some sort or another. Didn't matter. It could have been devoted to the god of hair rejuvenation for all she cared. Mika was neither a believer nor disbeliever. She was more of a mind that if she made the effort to pay her respects, the right gods or goddesses would see her through. It paid to cover ones bases.

Around three, she headed back to the inn to establish herself before he returned. He would be less likely to turn her out if she were already there.

The front desk was unmanned, and though the other guest cars hadn't moved from their spots, the inn was unnaturally quiet. Not a single sound could be heard throughout the building where one might expect to hear a TV or conversation or even snoring behind closed doors. The stillness brought with it a growing trepidation that filled her as she drew deeper into the building.

The sun permeated the hallway from one end to the dead flower at the entrance to her room, yet there was no warmth to it. The light was cool; first pleasant, then chill enough to send goosebumps up her arm as she reached her room. She shivered as slid open the door.

The man stood directly on the other side, filling the frame completely, mere centimeters from Mika. She stumbled back, raising a clatter as she crashed into the door of the opposite room, frightened by both his looming presence and immediate proximity. A gust of cold washed over her as she slid down to the floor. He watched her, mildly detached, and then smiled as if in after-thought.

"Welcome back."

Her mouth moved, but she said nothing. Her heart pounded and her head flared in pain.

"I–" she squeaked out.

"It's okay. You are welcome. I was hoping you would stay tonight as well." He crouched down and offered a hand. "I'm sorry if I frightened you. I was just on my way down to speak to the owner about the bath."

She stared at his outstretched hand, but couldn't move to take it.

"Must have really frightened you. C'mon..." His eyes were dead things, lost and distant; colder than the air. "I promise to treat you very well before you part."

She burst into laughter in a sudden fit to control her nervous fear. "You scared me." She slapped his hand teasingly.

He blushed, the meekness reappearing. "I'm sorry. We really scared each other, huh?"

She stood and pressed passed him into the room with some effort, forcing her way in, moving to the floor-level table where the tea and coffee set sat. Folding her legs under her, she sat upon the tatami, her back to him as she absent-mindedly opened a tea bag. She was not intending to drink it, but rather needed to give herself something to concentrate on.

His voice was apologetic. "I'm sorry. The private bath was reserved for the evening. I should have gone downstairs earlier. We had better go before the shared bath lines get too long."

"Bath?" She turned toward him. He stood in the door frame as before, but on the opposite side as if he had just returned. "But we haven't even had dinner yet."

The puzzled expression on his face made her uncomfortable. "It's almost eight-thirty. We finished eating about an hour ago." His voice was soft, and he seemed embarrassed, but not for himself.

Eight-thirty? It couldn't be later than four. She'd just gotten back from in-town. The room was now strikingly dark where moments ago it had not been; the only source of light shone in from behind the man, throwing him into a deep shadow that obscured his features.

Moving to the window, she threw open the curtains. "It can't be. I just–"

The night was moonless, heavy in its absence of light. The lack of a street light made it difficult to even see the spot where the woman with her dog had passed this morning. An ill dizziness washed over her, causing her vision to blur and her feet to be unsteady.

He gripped her by the elbow, controlled strength seeping through his meek veneer, "I have you," and led her downstairs.

THE women's shared bath was on the second floor, one up from the men's. When she arrived, light was visible through the tiny circular frosted window in the corner of the door to the outer bath area indicating occupancy. Within the soft, muffled sound of water pouring and feet upon the tiles was evident. A chair placed directly in front of the outer door, crammed into the narrow passage of the hall, provided the only space to wait.

Her mind was a jumble of confused thoughts. In her hands, she held her clothing bundled in a large towel; a bundle she didn't recall preparing. It had just been in her hands when she sat down.

What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she recall the last few hours? Had she blacked out? When? If she had, surely the man would have said something, or called an ambulance, no?

A sobering thought crossed her mind. Her head! When she fell back into the door of the other room... she must have hit her head and passed out! And he didn't want her to know it because... because, why? It made no sense.

Doubt crept over her. She remembered opening the door, him standing there directly, falling back, opening a tea packet... And then nothing, really. Just him saying they needed to hit the baths. She had no recollection of actually hitting her head… or eating… the bundle…

She reached up and probed the back of her head. Nothing was sore, and there were no lumps. Hitting her head might explain her lapse in memory, and yet... She didn't feel she had missed any time. It was if moments had just... changed. None of it made any sense.

Mika sighed in frustration and looked at her smartphone. Closing on 9PM. The allotted time for guests to use the baths would end soon. If the woman within didn't hurry, Mika wouldn't get her chance to relax in it before bed. She looked up at the tiny window. The light went out.

"About time," she grumbled under her breath, expecting the occupant to step out any moment. She waited several minutes before she realized no one would.

Sitting directly in front of the door as she was, it seemed terribly unlikely Mika had somehow missed the woman coming out. She waited another minute before she knocked on the door to no answer. She opened it and instead of the wall of heat she expected, the room was dry.

"Hello?" Her voice echoed in the unlit chamber leading to the inner bath, the door to which was partially open. Flipping on the light to both the inner and outer chambers, she slowly stepped in. Unoccupied. Maybe the room was on motion sensor timers and whomever had been in here before her had left before she arrived. Mika had been waiting on an empty room the whole time.

Relax, she told herself, and started a regimen of deep breaths. Tomorrow it was all over. She'd have the money. She'd be all set for the next month. Some jobs were more difficult than others. It was a lifestyle choice. All worth it in the end. She said this to herself repeatedly between breaths.

No sooner had she finished and locked the door than she heard the soft echo of bare feet on wet tile in the inner bath.

She whipped around, stepping back as far as she could in the tight room. "Hello?"

Reaching to push open the folding shower door, she craned her neck to try and take in every angle, but her view was limited by the door itself.

She spoke loudly, trying to use the sound of her own voice to bolster a courage she did not feel "Sorry, I... I thought you'd finished already."

There was a small splash of water.

She used every ounce of courage she had to move toward the bath itself.

"Ju-Just tell me you're in there, and I-I'll–"

The rush of breaking water and a shadow across her vision. Mika turned toward the hall door to leave and screamed as a strong hand grabbed her.

"What are you doing?" The businessman's face was a mask of incensed shock.

She blustered at being frightened. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

He looked around, keeping his voice hushed. "It's well past 10:30."

She yanked her arm from him. "Get out of here! I'm going to take a bath! What's wrong with you!?"

A queer look passed over his features. "I'd say you've already finished, wouldn't you?" He shook water off of his hand.

She was completely naked, dripping wet, and standing in the middle of the third floor hallway.

Art by Wombo

THE light in the room had been dimmed, and the man was already in his futon, his back toward the door. Mika paused coming out of the small cubicle with its shower and toilet combo. She listened to the soft sound of him breathing and the confusion she felt was replaced with an overwhelming shame.

She'd made a lot of mistakes in her time as a drifting woman, but this was the first time she actually felt she screwed herself out of her own chances to advance her game. She still had his business card of course, but how to stroke him out of the bigger payoff she was hoping for after the scene in the hallway? The big payoff depended on her being able to gently coerce him into paying of his own will. If he just wanted to get rid of her, he could easily throw up a wall, ignoring her and any request she made. As for the business cards, he could just claim she just picked them up off the street. As weathered as they were, who wouldn't believe him?

Slipping under her futon, she stared at his back for a while and contemplated waking him. Most men welcomed a lively wakeup call, but she feared morning would be too late in this case. Presumably, he'd want to be free of her the moment he woke and wouldn't bother to wake her. It would be easy to leave the owner to deal with her. The bill was paid. There was nothing stopping him.

Undressing beneath her futon, she reached out to slip her hand under his futon and spoon up behind him. To her surprise and great relief, he was already undressed himself. Well, then, a proper sendoff it was, she thought.

His breathing was steady as she pressed herself to his back and reached around for his front when he began to turn over.

She scooched over to allow him space to roll over atop her and smiled until she looked up into his face to see it was featureless, bubbling mass.

His dead weight fell upon her, pinning her to the floor with a crushing weight that knocked the air out of her. She tried to scream, but his entire body lost form, weeping down over her, absorbing her.

She twitched involuntarily, physically powerless to stop the process and mentally unable to grasp the concept of being consumed in such a manner.

An otherworldly thundering split the air as an angry sphere of energy, storms of color playing across its throbbing, undulating surface, passed through the wall from the hallway beyond.

In an instant, great patches of the formless thing the man had become hissed, burning away in superheated patches of nauseating stench.

The oozing mass shifted and wrenched in attempts to evade, but the remainder of Mika's body yet to be consumed impeded any meaningful attempt. A lump of the mass stretched free, quickly slicking along the floor, up the wall, and into the corner above the door where it anchored itself. It started to vibrate, swell, and expand to gross proportions until it ruptured in a spray of globules that rained down upon the sphere. Burning black onto it, encrusting its surface with a hardened goo that dampened its field and weighed it down.

Overwhelmed, the light within the sphere sputtered and darkened, quickly reduced to an ember as it struggled against the buildup. In desperation, it unleashed great rivers of unconceived thoughts that coursed through the room, loosening the very strands that connected the space to reality.

The shapeless horror pulled itself away from consuming Mika in a long agonizing moment of disentanglement to advance its assault. Hurtling projectile growths from its mass, the thing established a firm hold on the sphere, pulling itself up to it. It swaddled itself around the sphere several-fold until the other was completely swaddled in suffocating flesh.

A thick ropey bolt of energy pierced the amorphoid from within, forcing open a gap through which spindly digits emerged. They encircled the mass and steadily collapsed in a shattering din of violence until it was no more.

CITY workers found Mika two days later after an anonymous tip regarding a possible squatter in the neighborhood. Though her pulse and breathing were strong, the young woman was unresponsive.

Prefectural fire department regulars mounted a bold, yet cautious effort to rescue her from the old condemned inn, the accursed place literally falling apart around them. One man suffered severe lacerations when the stairs rotted out beneath his step, laying him up in the hospital for a week. His comrades ribbed him good-naturedly that the musty, haunted place obviously hadn't wanted to give the lady up.

Upon hearing of the calamity, the city council voted to buy the properties along the street and raze the buildings for public safety reasons despite the heavy cost to taxpayers.

FINI

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