The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Death and Demons
by Naching T. Kassa 

Dawn began with thoughts of death and demons.

Memories returned to haunt me.

Again, I saw my daimyo die upon the battlefield, his blood seeping into the soil, his flesh torn asunder by the Oni. It stood above him, glaring at me with one eye, the horn in the center of its forehead gleaming in the pale light. It had torn my daimyo’s head from his body before fleeing up and over the hill.

I should’ve died in that moment. I should have withdrawn my blade from its sheath and thrust it into my stomach, should’ve spilled my intestines over the ground beside the headless body. I would’ve done so, had my master’s cold fingers not taken hold of my wrist and stayed my hand.

Without lips or tongue, he could not speak. And so, he drew the words into the dust before me. He bade me find his head and give him peace.

I only turned back once during my journey away from him. A glimpse revealed his headless form, sitting cross-legged in the dirt awaiting my return.

Two years had passed since that fateful day. Two long years.

A Torii Gate rose before me as I trudged along the road, its wooden form a comfort in this strange land. Beyond the gate, lay a village and a shrine. It seemed sacred.

A man stood at the base of the Torii. Clad in a Kimono of fine, black silk, he watched my approach with glittering eyes.

“Hello, traveler,” he called to me.

I nodded.

“Going to the village?”

“Perhaps.”

“They won’t let you in.”

“Why?”

He did not answer.

The breeze stirred my hair and the hem of my kimono. It also brought a voice to my ears. One which called my name. Miyamoto. I paused and listened. The voice came again, closer this time.

Miyamoto.

I stared at the man before me. His mouth did not move but the sound seemed to emanate from him.

“How do you know my name?” I asked.

“I don’t know it,” he said. The smile he wore grew broader.

“Then why did you speak it?”

“I didn’t.”

Slowly, my fingers strayed to my Kitana.

“Blades which taste blood are not allowed in the village.” The stranger said, holding out his hand. “Give it to me.”

I stared at his empty hand. “Can you hear it?”

“I hear nothing.”

My blade slid from its sheath. It sliced the air and the bone of the stranger’s wrist. He screamed as a gout of black blood erupted from the wounded limb.

The Kitana slashed again, across his chest and the sash which held his kimono. Something tumbled out.

The head of my daimyo lay upon the ground. The eyes had sunken deep into the cavities of the skull and the tattered flesh hung from the bone. To my horror, the jaw moved and the dried tongue spoke my name.

The stranger roared and tore the kimono from his body. A horn grew from his head and his eyes blended into one.

I struck and they became two once more. Black blood sprayed and the Oni fell to either side of me.

“Miyamoto?” the head asked.

I lifted my daimyo and looked into the caverns which had once housed his eyes.

“Return?”

I nodded and cradled the head gently in my arms.

.

Fiction © Copyright Naching T. Kassa
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

More from Naching T. Kassa:

Sherlock Holmes and The Arcana of Madness: A Horror Mystery

Discover the untold mysteries of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson in Sherlock Holmes and the Arcana of Madness, a trilogy that unveils three captivating cases intertwined with the mystical allure of tarot cards, designed by the renowned, yet infamous artist, Richard Dadd.

A collection of manuscripts, meticulously penned by John H. Watson M.D., is unearthed in 2019 amidst the restoration of Broadmoor Hospital, found inexplicably in the grave of Richard Dadd. The manuscripts’ concealed journey and their remaining unpublished raise a myriad of questions, enveloping them in a veil of mystery.

Available on Amazon!