Ten years ago.
The dusting of the flour covered the air in fine flakes as Mother kneaded the dough on the wooden counter, her humming merging with the fine crackle of the morning fire. Sunlight streamed through our small kitchen window, dropping golden squares on the waxed floorboards where Ayaka sat cross-legged, weaving grass into small crowns.
"Renji, don't play with those berries," Mother said without glancing at me, though I could hear the smile in her voice.
I hunched forward and took one more blackberry from the bowl and shoved it into my mouth, the tart-sweet taste exploding on my tongue.
"Got you!" Ayaka shrieked, throwing herself on top of me with her half-finished crown. We crashed onto the grass in an arm and leg pile, her dark hair rubbing against my lips as we fought.
"Children, please," Mother laughed, wiping her hands on her apron.
I stuck my tongue out at my six-year-old sister. "Ayaka started it."
"Did not!" She teased, poking my shoulder. "You were picking berries."
Mother's laughter echoed through our small home like silver bells. Our house wasn't large, two rooms and the kitchen, furniture patched and repaired—but it was home. Warm. Safe.
"Renji, get out the dishes," Mother ordered, working the dough into loaves. "Ayaka, get out your crowns as well."
I was reaching for the wooden plates when it started.
The first shriek tore through the morning quiet like a knife cutting silk. Mother's fingers locked on the dough, shoulders tensing.
"Mama?" Ayaka's voice shook, the grass crown falling from her little hand.
Mother rushed to the window, face pressed into the panes. Her gasping filled me with fear.
"Oh, gracious gods," she whispered.
The sky was different. Where previously it had been blue, a jagged, ripped tear now filled the heavens above the town square. Behind the impossible tear, inky darkness flowed like water. And from the darkness, things began to spill.
They were moving wrong, too fast, too smoothly, a shadow full of ill intent.
Demons.
Mother pulled her face away from the window. Her face was pale. "Children, we're going to play a hiding game." Her tone was strained in serenity, like naked fear.
There were screams in the street, closer now.
"I don't want to," Ayaka shuddered against me.
"This is no choice, little star." Mother dragged us to the kitchen cupboard, her hands shaking as she stripped shelves bare. "You will get in, and you will not come out until I say you may. No matter what you hear."
The pantry was barely large enough for the two of us. Mother jammed us in, shoving Ayaka first, then me behind her. The wooden slats of the racks groaned against my back, and the dried herbs filled the musty air.
"Mama..." I started.
"Shh." Flour-covered hands pressed over my lips, brown eyes shooting with frantic affection. "You take care of your sister, Renji. Whatever it is, you keep her safe. Promise."
I nodded, my throat constricted too tightly for speech.
"I love you both," she whispered, kissing our foreheads. "More than all the stars in heaven."
The cupboard door closed, and we were alone with dusty shadows.
Outside our sanctuary, I could hear Mother hurrying, the creak of furniture, the jangling of kitchen knives being returned.
Ayaka's delicate fingers curled about mine in the blackness, her cold, trembling fingers clinging about mine. I held on, trying to be brave even as my heart pounded in my chest.
The door burst open.
The blast shook our whole cottage. Something crashed onto the floor— furniture? or perhaps the door torn from its frame.
Then the sounds that haunted my nightmares for years.
Abnormal voices speaking in tongues that scarred my ears. Slipping, wet noises as whatever it was crawled across our floors. Scuttling wood on claws, deep scratches.
"Back away!" Mother's voice was a little tense but firm. "Get back now!" she spat
A crashing glass sound interrupted by wailing sounds, and something roared back—no vocal cords, just rage.
The battle raged on and on. Mother was a wolf trapped in a corner, each boom and crash ringing out that she wasn't yielding to it.
I pulled on the cupboard door, wanting to rush to her and help her, but my vow held me back. Guard Ayaka. Protect her even when our world was burning.
The war screams reached a crescendo. Breaking glass. Clanging metal against something that sounded like hit stone. Mother's labored breath came in short, wracked gasps.
Then the sound that shattered my twelve-year-old heart.
The mother's shriek was not a yell of fury, but a shriek of agony so unmitigated that it seemed to tear the air in two. It reached a high note that felt impossible for the human voice to attain, and then was instantly lopped off with ghastly suddenness.
Silence was a shroud.
Ayaka wept on my shoulder in the blackness. I gritted my teeth so hard that my mouth tasted blood, not daring to utter even a whimper. I shook all over, but held my sister below me, covering her mouth with my hand.
There was tomb-silence in our hut for hours. Screams on the streets had reduced to mere, distant wails, then complete silence.
In the dimness and close quarters, sobbing on the part of Ayaka ceased. Her tears left salt marks on my neck where they came into contact, and she breathed the light pulse of wearied slumber. My legs ached from having remained huddled the same, and splinters from the wooden shelves raked across my back.
The smell of dried herbs had grown overpowering in the still air. The lavender and sage, which once brought me solace, now oppressed me, together with the metallic smell drifting through the cupboard door—a smell I was too young to name.
Time crept like taffy in darkness. Hunger rumbled my stomach, but food made me sick to my stomach. The cottage creaked softly except for occasional shifts of the wood.
Maybe they were gone. Maybe the devils had gotten their fill of our town and returned to wherever hellish world they'd originated.
Footsteps.
My blood ran ice water in my veins. Ayaka moaned into me, and I clapped a hand over her mouth before she could make a sound. The steps were slow and stealthy, not the crazed rampage they'd employed earlier, but something purposely paced.
They'd come back for us.
The feet stepped over our broken home with horrid patience. A chair leg scraped on the floor. Something metal clanged out. Each sound seared new jabs of fear into my heart.
Ayaka's eyes had opened to blackness, wide with fright. She understood. Whatever murdered our mother was still within, still seeking, and we were hiding.
The footsteps were near where we huddled. Slow. Deliberate.
I took slow breaths until my lungs smoldered, holding count of the pounding heartbeats that beat so wildly I was certain they would give us away. Ayaka trembled like a shredded leaf at my side but remained silent.
The footsteps came to a halt inches from the cupboard.
This was it. Hours of lying in wait, hours of hearing our world tear itself apart in shrieks and blood, and we'd been found out. I shut my eyes and hugged Ayaka even more tightly, wanting to protect her from whatever was coming our way.
The latch creaked quietly.
Our refuge was illuminated by light as the door creaked open. I had my eyes shut so tight, anticipating claws and teeth and the end of everything.
"Oh, my babies."
The sound was human. One I recognized. Trembling with relief and grief.
My eyes sprang open to the sight of Grandmother standing in the doorway, her creased face running with tears, as a trembling smile crept across her face despite the terror that surrounded us.
At her back, I could see the destruction of our home—furniture turned over and gouged into the walls, stains I hadn't even seen. The monsters weren't there, but Grandmother's arms reached out wide to welcome us with desperate hope.
"Come here, my little warriors," she whispered, summoning us from our place of concealment into the ruins of all that we'd ever known. "Come to Grandma. You're safe now. You're safe."