Everything is possible in Japan |
“And my neighbor irritates me too. Just like Fester,” said Shorty, angrily shouting the name of the least favorite high school teacher. He did so to make himself feel better, however, this time there wasn’t that much negativity in his words. Shorty’s attention was swayed away by something else. It arrived a few days ago in a slim package from the other side of the globe.
“Soon, I will show him,” he said with determination.
Bunch, his loyal partner in crime, grinned.
“Sure. And how exactly will you do it?”
“With this!”
The sun had already set and both were looking from a window at the moon. They were shuffling through the box to be sure that the layer of foam balls and bubble wrap didn’t hide (hopefully) some issue of adult manga. The only thing they found was half of the old newspapers and some rice wicker.
It was packed very well.
“According to Japanese legends, a thing that lives for a hundred years comes to life. And this thing is originally Japanese,” proclaimed Shorty religiously, sweeping away the rest of the junk to the floor, next to four and a half pairs of socks, a few books, and a bunch of coke bottles, to make space on the table for his now unwrapped package.
“Japanese stick?” asked Bunch just to be assured, because that thing in front of him looked really just like an ordinary wooden pole.
“There is one piece missing, but that’s fine. If everything goes right, this will suffice. I know what it is and when I knowwhat it is, it is still what it is… don’t worry about it. This thing we have here is a real Japanese weapon. One… nearly one hundred years old.
“A stick.”
“Dude it’s a naginata, Japanese halberd,” explained Shorty.
It might be, however, Shorty’s knowledge of Japanese culture was weaker than further that subject was from Akihabara.
“Tonight, it will come to life, that’s certain, and I as its owner will be the one giving it orders!”
“Really? Giving orders? Even girls bullied you in elementary school, " Bunch warned with a grin.
“Hey! You’re one step from getting onto my list!”
Bunch mumbled something about where he could shove that stick and insulted, he left the room. It was all just a pose. In fact, he wanted to be ready for tomorrow, when they both would be washing away Shorty’s disappointment with alcohol.
Half-past nine. Bunch had overslept. Wrapped in his blanket he dropped on the cold floor in his bedroom and looked at his phone. Nothing. The white cloud on Skype showed that Shorty was indeed offline. Same with Facebook. That was really strange.
One hundred years of existence bring things to life. Bunch slowly began to believe it. Thanks to his own experiences, he also knew that if it really was true, there for sure would be some unpleasant side effects. Isn’t there a curse that affects the owner of that thing? His imagination came up with a few other scenarios that would be fit for the next movie in the Friday the 13th franchise. He must go to Shorty. Right now. Everything is possible in Japan, so why won’t this be the case as well??
“He’s by the Collier’s,” said a friend’s mom with a voice full of surprise and resignation. Bunch just stood there, recalling how mad Shorty was at his neighbor yesterday.
“Acting really weird,” she noticed his expression. “He did the entire house, from the cellar to the roof – then he forced himself next doors,” she shook her head.
Bunch heard enough.
Shorty’s mother seemed alive (unless she was under some kind of oriental spell that turned her into a Japanese zombie of sorts), but she wasn’t the target. At least not the primary target.
“I’m just standing there while he is possibly under the influence of some Japanese demon, slicing the entire Collier family into pieces,” this thought gave Bunch the courage to act.
He ran to the neighboring house.
Suddenly, the door opened. Standing there was Shorty, from head to toe covered in sweat, holding something, that washidden by the fence, and thus couldn’t be recognized. He slowly turned his face to Bunch. His expression didn’t look fierce.
Actually, he seemed tired.
“What about Japanese spells?” asked Bunch quietly.
“It worked. Just… it was no spear. And you were right. When I’m done here, I will stop by your place.”
Bunch was shocked. Yes, they had a little fight yesterday… but this?
“That wouldn’t be necessary.”
“I can’t help myself,” Shorty whined. His body had to mind off its own. “I must do everything this thing had done for a hundred years. It’s terrible. I don’t know if I can survive even a hundred hours. You were right, as soon as it moved it went straight for me.” sighed Shorty.
“And what was it if not halberd? The flagpole from some blood-stained banner?” asked Bunch with fear in his voice. He has to defend himself. But how?
The fluid that Shorty wiped off his forehead wasn’t blood. It was sweat.
“A broom!”
© 2013
