Podioracket Presents - Glimpses

  "Tell me about the ghost."

  The four men stared at one another in confusion. "Ghost? Asaka-sama, many apologies, but there is no ghost. Our troubles come from a demon," Gendou said.

  "Several people have seen it," Taka added. "They all described it as a monster."

  The oldest of the four leaned forward. "All the signs are there, great lord. It began months ago with many bouts of lighting and horrid storms. We tried to appease the demon as our ancestors did in ages past, but it didn't work. People have been attacked in their sleep." The old man's voice shook. "Our livestock have been hurt or killed. The walls holding the water for our crops were damaged so we very nearly lost everything. It is why Taka was sent to seek your help. We are most desperate." He bowed to the floor, his hands clasped together in supplication.

  Ietsugu stared from one to the other. Could it be they truly didn't know? Isolated as they were, might it be possible? "The actual harm to the village, when –"

  A piercing scream cut off his words. As one, they rushed outside.

  A young man in traveling clothes stood in open-faced shock, a woman unconscious at his feet. Several men of the village rushed him and grappled him to the ground.

  "Do not hurt him!" Ietsugu took the lead, the crowding villagers parting at his approach. "We need to ascertain what has occurred here first."

  A heavily bent old woman pushed through the crowd from the side, poking stomachs and elbows with her gnarled staff. She knelt beside the fallen woman. "She still breathes. It looks as if she may have only fainted." She cackled with harsh humor.

  Ietsugu couldn't fathom what she could possibly find amusing about the situation. There was a puzzle here and it would be unraveled. "Stand him up."

  The men holding the newcomer jerked him to his feet. The young traveler's eyes went wide when they settled on Ietsugu's swords.

  "Who are you?" the samurai said.

  "My, my name is Daisuke, sir."

  Ietsugu nodded. "Tell me what occurred here."

  The young man opened his mouth but no words came out. He swallowed hard and tried again. "I just came into the village, sir, and called out a greeting to Izumi-san. But when she saw me, she screamed and fell dead away to the ground. I don't understand it."

  "So you have been to this village before? You are known here?" Ietsugu felt a tendril of dread as a dark suspicion itched for his attention.

  "Yes, sir."

  Gendou bowed his way forward. "That is correct, Asaka-sama. He spent a short time with us during the winter before last."

  "Yes!" Daisuke nodded quickly. "I'd meant to come back much sooner – just as I'd promised. But a long illness befell me and only recently was I well enough to travel again." The young man gazed at the gathered faces around him. "Where is Haruka-chan?"

  The crone patted the face of the unconscious woman, her other hand holding tiny leaves to Izumi's nose. She cackled again. Everyone grew strangely silent their gaze anywhere but on the young man or the samurai. The men holding onto Daisuke's arms released him.

  "Asaka-sama, I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding – nothing to concern yourself about. We will take care of it." Gendou placed himself between Ietsugu and the traveler. "Why don't we go inside so we can continue with our meeting?"

  Ietsugu stiffened, his previous sense of dread growing. He sensed Mitsuo doing the same. Something wasn't right here. "I haven't finished, Gendou-san." He put as much disapproval into his tone as he could.

  Gendou instantly bowed and stepped aside, his face hidden.

  "She's coming around now." The crone helped prop Izumi against the side of the well.

  The woman moaned, her hand rising to cradle her head. Then she snapped up straight and her gaze locked with Daisuke's. Her face paled and tears sprang to her eyes. "Oh ohhhhhh."

  "Izumi-san?" Daisuke pushed forward and knelt beside her. "Are you not well? And where is Haruka-chan?"

  Izumi would no longer look at him, turning her face away and hiding it behind her sleeves.

  Looking baffled, the traveler rose to his feet and stared about him as if never having seen any of them before. "Where is Haruka-chan?"

  "She's dead." Gasps rang all around as Ietsugu answered his question.

  "What? How can that be?" Daisuke turned to face the samurai.

  "That is something the village will need to answer. All I know is that I have seen her angry ghost with my own eyes. She is now an onryo."

  Several villagers fell to their knees, groans echoing around them. Daisuke's face paled, even as he stared at Ietsugu with incomprehension. "A vengeful spirit? Why would she be a vengeful spirit?" He turned on the villagers. "What have you people done?"

  Ietsugu turned merciless eyes in Gendou's direction. "Yes, Gendou-san, tell us what was done."

  The village leader groveled on the ground, his face in the dirt. "This cannot be. It cannot be." He shook his head. "You must believe us. We saw the signs! An offering had to be made."

  "What did you do?" Daisuke shook where he stood, obviously fighting for control.

  The answer didn't come from the leader, but from Izumi. Her low voice sounded lifeless. "You hadn't returned. We didn't believe you would. And she was the loveliest and most pleasing… The one most likely to satisfy the demon and therefore save the village."

  "No. No, no, no no no. Haruka!" Daisuke slumped to the ground and covered his face with his hands.

  "Ignorant peasants."

  Ietsugu didn't acknowledge Mitsuo's soft voiced comment though at the moment he totally agreed. "What was actually done with the girl? How was she offered to your imagined demon?" He held back none of the disgust he felt from showing in his voice.

  The adults cringed. Several small children cried out, sensing the distress of their parents.

  The older of the four men who'd come to hold council that morning, crawled forward. "There, there is a cave on a cliff not too far from here. It is where our ancestors left offerings in the past."

  "You will take us there. Now."

  * * *

  High on an exposed side of the mountain, the cave appeared as nothing more than a dark depression in the wall. A narrow ledge offered a ready grip for a grapple and rope.

  Of the villagers, only Gendou and Taka were allowed to come and show the way. The rest were to wait at the village. Diasuke trailed behind them, looking lost and numb.

  The basket procured from behind a set of bushes, contained a rope ladder. After several halfhearted attempts, the two villagers secured it to the ledge.

  "The two of you will remain here." Ietsugu said. Mitsuo watched them coldly, his hand resting on the pummel of his sword, making a promise of what would be their reward if they decided to disobey the order. Both men stared only at the ground.

  Ietsugu took hold of the ladder, and after testing it, climbed up. Mitsuo and Daisuke followed.

  Sunlight only penetrated a foot or so into the cave. Cold air emanated from the interior. Mitsuo lit a lamp and handed it over to Ietsugu. Making sure the sacred papers his father had obtained for him before his journey were still safely tucked within his sleeve, Ietsugu held the lamp before him and turning sideways, shuffled inside.

  Daisuke followed him, with Mitsuo remaining to guard the entrance outside.

  The cave was narrow for several arm lengths then widened. The cold rose in intensity and the stench of rotting flesh grew cloyingly close.

  The diffused light parted the darkness. An ancient shrine sat on the left, hasty repairs and more recent offerings of food and incense evident.

  The back of the cave went deep. Yellowed, brittle bones and bone dust covered the floor there like a bed. Nestled in the middle of it lay the decomposing body of a young woman. Bindings were tied around her ankles and wrists, dried blood staining them from her struggles to get loose. A gag was set firmly in her mouth.

  Ietsugu frowned, knowing this to have been a dishonorable and agonizing death. Worse, it was done to her by her own people. The anger he'd been hol
ding back so fiercely glowed a little brighter. His knuckles turned white on the hilt of his sword.

  "Haruka!" Daisuke lunged past him to fall on his knees beside the decaying body. "Oh, my beloved Haruka!"

  The already low temperature plunged. Their breaths frosted before them.

  "Daisuke…"

  A cloud of mist formed above him, taking on the shape of the dead woman on the floor.

  "Haruka-chan!" Daisuke's gasp was filled with both exhilaration and horror.

  Moving incredibly slowly so as to not attract attention, Ietsugu set the lamp on the ground behind him.

  "Beloved… You've finally come for me." Her ghostly arms extended toward the young man. "I've waited so long." Her face peeled back into rows of jagged teeth. "You've come just in time to join me in death!"

  Daisuke screamed as he was bodily picked up off the floor and flung the length of the cave. Ietsugu rushed forward and slashed at the apparition with his sword to no effect. The blade slid cleanly through Haruka's floating body, not slowing her in the least.

  "Come, Daisuke, prove your love to me. Give me your life." She glided forward affection and hate warring over her features.

  The traveler struggled to stand, holding his right arm tight to his body.

  "Stop! He is not the one who did this to you!" Ietsugu tried to get between them.

  With only a flick of her wrist, Haruka sent him flying back onto the bed of bones. Something sharp and hot pierced Ietsugu's hip, making him grimace with pain. The scent of blood wafted around him.

  "Beloved. Please!"

  The ghost enveloped Daisuke. His eyes bulged, his left hand rising to his throat.

  Ietsugu used his sword to pull himself up to his knees. He reached inside his sleeve for one of the folded papers with the almost unintelligible cursive script.

  As if sensing the item in his hands, a shrieking wind swirled in the space with brutal torrential force, pushing Ietsugu to the floor and sliding him back toward the entrance.

  Flailing for purchase, he stabbed his katana into the ground to keep from being pushed away farther. With gritted teeth, he removed his wakisashi, keeping the ofuda pressed tightly between his hand and the short sword's hilt.

  Struggling against the wind, and grimacing at the use he was putting his swords to, Ietsugu used the blades to drive them ahead of him into the dirt and loose shale to pull himself back toward the dead woman's body.

  Risking a glance in the ghost's direction, her entire attention appeared to be riveted on her strangling lover. Ietsugu pushed to move faster, knowing she wouldn't be diverted forever.

  By the time he made it to the corpse's side, his arms and body shook from the strain of fighting the wind.

  Sending a prayer to Buddha and Amaterasu, he let go of the wakisashi and slapped the blessed papers onto the forehead of Haruka's physical body.

  Her ghost form screamed as the two made contact, light flashing from the corpse. Her keening wail forced Ietsugu to cover his ears in pain.

  Haruka's form expanded and expanded until she seemed to fill every nook and cranny of the cave. With a final shriek, there was a sudden release of pressure, and she was gone.

  Daisuke dropped to the ground, coughing. As Ietsugu labored to stand upright, Daisuke seemed to realize the ghost was truly gone. His face scrunched up in pain and unashamed tears poured down his cheeks. "Beloved!"

  "Asaka-sama!" Mitsuo squeezed into the room, his sword drawn. Spotting him, the weeping Daisuke, and no one else, he hurried to his master's side confusion warring with the need to make sure his young charge was well.

  "I'm all right." Ietsugu waved him off. "We should leave this evil place."

  * * *

  Ietsugu stared at where the cave entrance had once stood, full of satisfaction. For four days the villagers were pressed into service to mine rock from the mountain so the cave could be filled and then sealed.

  Taka had been sent back to the city with a note to summon a priest and monk. For the last day, the Shinto monk and Buddhist priest had done their best to lay those within to their proper rest and also make sure no demons or spirits were still tied to the place.

  Every villager would go through rituals of purification and pay penance through prayer for their part in the misdeed and also help build a proper shrine and housing for a monk. The errors of the past would not be repeated.

  Ietsugu removed his gaze from the thick woven rope and lightning shaped papers draped about the closed entrance and stared with some pity at Daisuke. The young man no longer looked quite the same. Lines of sadness and of the things he saw marked him.

  The samurai had already decided the young man would go back with them. The sooner he left this place, the faster he might become himself again. Perhaps one day Daisuke might even forget Haruka and the betrayal perpetrated on her by her own people.

  https://podiobooks.com/title/in-the-service-of-samurai

  Good Luck

  Casey S Townsend

  The sky lit up in a soft glow from lightning exploding through the dense clouds a few miles away. It flashed in stereoscopic strobe effects, some bursts lasting longer than others, some brighter, some dimmer. The storm was all around. The rain beat the reinforced metal chassis of the helicopter as violently as any weapon fire, then collected and ran off the sides, dripping in long streaks to the earth far below.

  Corporal Greg Covey sat in the back with five other soldiers, half of his squad. The other half was in the next helicopter, cruising a hundred yards to their left. They were getting dropped somewhere in the pine forests of southeastern North Carolina where a small Roth base was set up. It wouldn't be a difficult mission, but the rain put everyone in a bad mood. It would be a long couple of days.

  Covey was the poster image of a rebel soldier: thick, stocky and muscular with crew cut sandy-blonde hair. At thirty-eight, he should have still had a young, vibrant look to him. Instead, he was aged and worn considerably more than someone his age should be. He was homely and unattractive anyway, but this war was like a hot cattle iron on his body, claiming him as its own.

  His T4 assault rifle was resting butt-down on the floor and he twirled the weapon mindlessly in his hands. His right hand held the top of the barrel and he stared at the nubs where his fingers used to be. He was grateful to still have his trigger finger and thumb, as well as the middle for wordlessly expressing displeasure, but he hated how the loss of the other two made him look. He tried not to focus on it. The missing fingers were a constant reminder of things he'd much rather not think about. As long as he could fire a weapon, nothing else mattered anymore.

  And at least he couldn't see the worst of his disfigurations as long as he stayed away from mirrors. A narrow miss from a shotgun blast had left several gashes and holes on the right side of his face. He stopped spinning the rifle and put his two remaining fingers from his right hand against his face and felt the scars. They felt like a hideous, fleshy mountain range of peaks and valleys complete with his own personal Grand Canyon. That had been over five years ago now. Back before this was a war. Before his whole life went straight to hell. Before…

  The private next to him was singing.

  "Ay, ay, ay, ay, Canta y no llores,

  Porque cantando se alegran,

  Cielito lindo, los corazones."

  "Would you kindly shut the hell up, Sanchez?" Covey yelled over the roar of the helicopter blades thumping and the crashes of thunder in the sky overhead. His voice sounded particularly gravely and rough when he had to raise it.

  "What?" Sanchez shrugged at him. "Singing is good luck. You should try it. I bet you have good singing voice, Corporal."

  The other privates chuckled softly and looked away to hide their grinning faces. Sanchez just beamed.

  Covey utilized the surviving finger on his right hand. "I can make this mission a lot more miserable than it already is, Private," he growled at Sanchez.

  Sanchez put his hands up in surrender, but he was still grinning mischievously. Cove
y broke his threatening gaze and went back to mindlessly staring at his weapon. Sanchez waited a few seconds, then began singing again a little softer.

  "Ay, ay, ay, ay, Canta y no llores,

  Porque cantando se alegran,

  Corporal Feo, los corazones."

  Another of the soldiers let out a single explosion of laughter and quickly slapped his hands on his mouth to stifle any more.

  Covey glared first at the private who laughed then at Sanchez. He had no idea what was so funny, but he suspected it was at his expense. "If you sing one more word I'm going to kick you in the throat."

  Sanchez mocked a hurt look. "I tell you I sing for good luck. Don't you want good luck?"

  Covey's teeth clinched and he looked down at the rifle again.

  "There's no such thing as good luck."

  * * *

  Covey walked in the front door of his home and closed it behind him.

  "I'm home," he called.

  He set a black, cloth duffel bag down on the floor in the living room, collapsed into an easy chair, and began unlacing his boots.

  Covey's wife, Leigh came into the living room. He looked up at her and smiled. She had short, styled auburn hair and a smile that lit the world on fire. She was thin, sometimes Covey thought, too thin, but she could keep up with Covey at the gym so she must be doing something right. He knew he was lucky to have her because what free-thinking, elementary school art teacher would ever marry a cop?

  "Hey Babe," Covey said.

  She strode over and wrapped her arms around his neck and sat down on his lap. He hadn't finished taking his boots off, but he didn't care. She kissed his smooth, unblemished face.

  "Hey yourself," she said.

  Covey held her with his left hand while he reached into his jacket with his right and pulled his pistol out of the holster and set it on the table.

  "You're not going to leave that there are you?" Leigh chided.

  "Wouldn't dream of it," Covey said. "I was just tired of wearing it."

  "Rough day?" she asked. "You're late, even for you."

  "I got called in to see the Captain," Covey said, a little irritation at the memory coming out in his tone. "I might end up getting suspended."

  "What happened?"

  Covey patted her, indicating that he wanted to stand, and she obliged. They both moved to the couch and sat down.