The One That Got Away

This story was the first assignment I wrote for my undergraduate degree in autumn 2012. It was published in Vortex, the University of Winchester’s creative writing journal, just before I graduated in 2015.

Yuki-Onna Toriyama Sekien
Yuki-Onna by Toriyama Sekien. Image in the public domain – source

The One That Got Away

Each day you can admire the moon, the snow and the flowers.

Yet, flowers seldom bloom when it snows, and what if it’s the time of the dark moon? There is no beauty in winter. Once the sunlight and sakura leave, the countryside is rendered drab and austere. I am sure the trees watch us as our car passes; glaring into our wake, envious of our freedom to move. Our tyres grind their amber-coloured leaves into the road, a forced burial without ceremony.

Ryota insisted that we visit his okaasan. Apparently we need some ‘family time,’ which only ever seems to happen when it suits him. If we were at home, I would be hanging omamori from the lamps and on the thresholds. Kaori would be watching, and pestering Hisao to lift her up to get a closer look. I would be standing by, envying the innocence of my children.

One omamori never gets hung up. It stays with me, in my purse, or tied onto my keys or the zip of my bag. Now it sits in my lap, and I twine the frayed string around my fingers as my head rolls towards the car window. This one is a yakuyoke, for protection. Yes, winter can be charming. And we all know to be afraid of charm. I learned that when I met her.

She has many names. Some say she is a goddess, or a spirit. Others describe her as a hag. Many names, many faces. It’s all the same. To me, she will always be a demon. Yuki-Onna, who brings death with the snowfall. I remember her pallid complexion, that seemed to be made of mist. There but also not, obsidian hair the only fully visible part in the white landscape. She hummed a lullaby as she scooped me up from the frozen ground. I can still hear it…

I don’t remember falling asleep, but then I am waking as tyres jolt over the ramp covering the little irrigation canal and the car stops on okaasan’s drive. I shove the omamori into my bag and climb out, steadying myself against the door as a wave of nausea overtakes me and my legs shake.

Breathe. Calm down.

I smile at Ryota over the roof in an attempt to hide my uneasiness. He will be displeased if he sees me like this; I am supposed to be getting better.

We all trudge into the house where okaasan fusses over Ryota and clicks her tongue at how much Kaori and Hisao have grown. If my own mother were still alive she would probably do the same. We sit around the kotatsu and share tea and senbei. I let Ryota do the talking.

The afternoon passes in this way, and when darkness arrives I rise to help okaasan arrange our futons. She waves me away.

“Spend some time with Ryota. Make the most of him, while he’s not at work.”

So I go back to the kotatsu and we sit there, the children between us. After a moment, Kaori rises and goes to the window; presses her chubby palms against the glass.

“Look!” she calls, so the rest of us get up and join her. Outside, the sky is growing dark both from dusk and the heavy clouds. The air has that translucent glow it gets before… before it snows. Then I see it. A speck of white floating down, down. Kaori watches it, enchanted.

When I see the first snowflake fall, I do not just see a snowflake. I see blood, and the stiff corpse of my father staring up at me with glassy eyes. My mother’s lips, cracked and rimmed with frost. I smell their blood as the wind stirred it, and see my messy footprints as I run away. I escaped. I am sure the demon has not forgotten. Back then, I was too young to be afraid of beautiful strangers. Now I know better. Watching that first feathery snowflake drift down from the portentous clouds and hit the windowsill, I turn to Ryota and tell him we have to leave. Irritation flutters across his eyes, eyes I once lost myself in.

“It’s just snow, Hanako.”

His tone is weary; he doesn’t believe in Yuki-Onna. I am shaking again.

Stop shaking!

I order the children to go with okaasan and get ready for bed. They obey, to my relief and regret. Okaasan frowns at me as she ushers them to the bedroom. She will probably tell me later what I already know, that I should look after them myself. But sometimes I just need them out of the way.

My hands flit between my scraggy ponytail and the omamori, now in my pocket, as I check the window locks. Two presses on each catch until I am satisfied. Curtains drawn, because too many times I have gazed out into the night and seen her face staring back.

Ryota goes to retrieve our bags from the genkan. I want to help, but it’s so near the front door, and the front door is so near the snow… I cannot get the image of Yuki-Onna out of my head. A thread of the omamori comes loose. Ryota returns, as if he read my thoughts. I force another smile; it feels as worn and frayed as an old blanket. He drops the luggage and places a hand on my arm.

“You can get past this. You’ve been doing so well recently, even your therapist said so.”

“I know. I just… had a moment. I’m fine now.” I smile at him again, because it’s all I can think of to do.

“Good. Don’t push me away again, Hanako.”

I nod and pick up my bag.

*

Sleep evades me. I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, whispering to the malignant shadows in the corners of the room. They don’t listen. They never listen. Eventually, I tumble into delirium. Of course, Yuki-Onna is there. Waiting. Always waiting.

When I find my way back to reality, it is morning. The bedroom is empty. Ghostly daylight creeps through the shoji, leeching all the colour from the room. I get up and go to the living room, where I find okaasan sitting.

“Hello, Hanako,” she says, handing me a cup of tea.

“He’s good with the children. You shouldn’t worry so much.” She sweeps her thin arm towards the window. “Take a look.”

Slowly, I turn to face the snowy world.

You’re okay, there’s nothing there.

Ryota, Hisao, and Kaori are outside, their booted feet making untidy dents in the white dusting on okaasan’s garden. I watch them scoop up handfuls of it and toss them at one another,  and try not to imagine an ivory-skinned woman watching them, too. Ryota laughs when a snowball catches his leg; a wondrous sound my ears cannot remember hearing for a long time. Kaori throws herself down on her back, moving her arms and legs from side to side to make the shape of an angel. Hisao beckons to me…

I don’t bother to put my coat on, or fully lace up my boots. This way I won’t be able to stay outside for too long. They all turn to look as I slip around the front door.

“Morning,” Ryota calls. I wave, and Hisao takes advantage of the distraction and tosses another snowball at his father. Kaori laughs and pushes herself to her feet to join in. I hover beside the house, arms folded, toes brushing against the snow but not quite touching it. The white ground makes the trees at the edge of okaasan’s garden look dark and insidious; a perfect hiding place for a demon…

“The children will get cold, I’m taking them inside,” I tell Ryota, lunging forward to grab Hisao. Kaori evades me, though. She is already running towards the trees, giggling. Before I know what I’m doing, I have let go of Hisao and I am running as well. With each step, my boots make a crunching noise that seems too loud. Kaori keeps running until the trees swallow her. By the time I reach them, my feet ache and my face and arms are numb. I call her name, a frantic warble and wisp of breath, which both dissipate immediately as if I have not spoken. Branches snag at my clothes, like frozen fingers. Leaves rustle like the swish of ebony hair.

She’ll catch you, keep going!

I part my lips to call again, but then I catch sight of Kaori’s purple coat bobbing around a tree trunk. I hurry towards it, and find her crouched in a small clearing, patting handfuls of snow into tiny balls. And there is Yuki-Onna. Every bit as wickedly beautiful as I remember. Standing over Kaori, my snow angel. I shake my head, trying to eliminate the demon. Maybe she’s not real. Ryota doesn’t think so. I trust Ryota.

Then why can you still see her?

Kaori remains huddled on the ground, unaware of the danger. Yuki-Onna bends towards her.

No, she’s not real!

“You’re not real!”

I throw myself at Kaori, crushing her pile of snowballs and encircling her in my arms.

“Leave us alone!” I scream. “Leave, leave…” I clutch Kaori tighter, burying my face in her coat as she wriggles in my arms. I know I must take my daughter indoors, get her warm, but I cannot move. If I close my eyes then maybe the demon will disappear. Failing that, I won’t see her strike. I begin to shake from the cold.

Frozen bodies, found in the woods. A young girl, found wandering…

“No! It’s okay, we’re safe. She’s not real.”

“Who’s not real, mama?”

“Shhhhh, my angel.”

Blood, and snow. A young girl, found wandering…

I barely notice when a warm figure presses against my back and a hand starts stroking my hair. Ryota. He pulls us close, and I lean against him.

“She’s not real,” I whisper.

“I know, Hanako. Come inside.”

He pulls me to my feet and keeps hold of my hand. I grab Kaori’s with my free one, and she reaches for Hisao who was watching from the edge of the trees. I glance over my shoulder; the woods are empty. As we cross the garden, we create four sets of footprints in neat lines.

I glance over my shoulder. I have admired the snow, but there are still no flowers and no moon. There is also no fifth set of footprints heading back into the trees. Only my own as I ran after Kaori. No flash of a porcelain face. Just my own skin, pale from the cold.

 

The following two tabs change content below.
Amelia Starling is a writer and folklorist. She graduated from the University of Winchester with a degree in Creative Writing, and is Senior Editor for Folklore Thursday. She loves travelling and collecting stories, and spent 15 months living in Japan doing this alongside teaching English. Currently she is living in Scotland and studying for a masters degree in Ethnology & Creative Writing. Amelia blogs about folklore and fairy tales at The Willow Web. You can follow her on Twitter @amyelize.

Latest posts by Amelia Starling (see all)