Howlie couldn’t fall asleep no matter how much he tried. He could see the eyes of Yuri in the blackness of the room of which he shared with his fellow brothers and sisters.

The darkness always aided Howlie’s mind in creating the worst possible things. The yokai, a Japanese monster that came in many varieties, was never shy to poke itself into his imagination to torment him.

He felt disappointed in himself. A 21-year-old man who still woke up drenched in sweat after a nightmare induced encounter with a yokai. This only happened to children, not adults, and certainly not shinobi. Thankfully, the doctor through his many painful tests never was able to pull this secret out of Howlie.

Where’s Shadow, Howlie wondered. Usually, he tries sneaking in at this time.

Five years ago, when hunting in a nearby forest, Howlie heard the squeaking of something small. He tracked the sound in hopes of an easy meal, hopefully he’d caught a squirrel in one of his handmade traps.

But what he found was no squirrel but a small puppy, a runt by the looks of it. Its fur was jet black with pointy, stark white ears. Howlie remembered drawing his bowstring, about to give mercy to this unwanted pup.

The eyes of the puppy opened, maybe even for the first time. It noticed Howlie and stopped its whimpering. It waddled its way over, resting its small head on his mudded boot. Its tail wagged softly as Howlie released the tension on the string.

The second biggest mistake of his life was picking up the puppy. The worst mistake was naming it.

Shadow.

The name turned out to be a perfect match as Howlie raised Shadow in the woods secretly. The pup grew quickly, losing all the characteristics of being a runt while adopting those of a magnificent beast.

Shadow was muscular yet small and limber enough to sneak its way into the crowded room of sleeping shinobi. Howlie remembered about having a heart attack the first time Shadow let himself in as he woke up to the quiet licks to the face.

This was the first living thing to ever successfully enter onto the dojo grounds without Sensei finding out. Although the man slept, his ears were always working.

Shadow would continue this habit, not every night of course. Somehow the dog knew this wasn’t a good idea. But every other day or every third day Shadow would use his nose to slide the shoji door open and make his way in.

He would give Howlie a few licks and vanish soon after. It was as though the dog were checking up on him, making sure he was still alive.

The creaking of wood brought Howlie out of his memories and back to his terrible reality. He listened to the sound of multiple feet making their way to his cot. Some quieter than others.

So this is why Shadow hasn’t come in, Howlie thought, He knows people are awake.

Unfortunately for Howlie, he knew what his fellow shinobi brothers and sisters were up to. He’d taken his beatings before and never said a word. He was the top student and this meant he was a target. He’d accepted this long ago.

Weaken the enemy at night and watch them struggle in the day. One day they may even fall.

So far, they’d been unsuccessful. Their pillowcases filled with soap bars left his body with plenty of lumps but this never got in the way of his talent with the sword, nor his martial abilities.

Howlie wore a jinbei that night which was a traditional pajama from early Japan. Not only did he like the history of the clothing set but he also preferred it for the amount of breeze it let in. Out of spite, he lifted his shirt piece revealing his pale, yellow-skinned stomach and chest to the ceiling. They hated this. They despised his bravery.

Dark faceless figures loomed over him now. They didn’t carry with them the pillowcases which Howlie found odd. If not the soap bar beatings then what? They’d tried waterboarding, small cuts to his flesh, and even the ripping off of a nail. Nothing ever worked.

Howlie never screamed or shouted although he very much wanted to. To make such noise would reduce his status as head student. The Sensei knew very well what went on at night and almost encouraged it. This kept the brothers and sisters from creating strong bonds with one another. A healthy, if not deadly, competition.

No one could be trusted. You must always be watching over your shoulder and sleeping with one eye open.

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A figure at Howlie’s feet bent as did a second person. Howlie felt something cold pressed against his foot followed by the hammering of a nail, the sound dampened with a cloth medium. Still, Howlie knew the other students were wide awake, listening, and hoping for a shout or a cry.

Howlie bared his teeth, grunting loudly as the first nail entered the bottom of his foot. It tickled the bone but went no further. Hands fell upon his arms and legs to keep him still. Howlie may have been shinobi, but no human body could withstand such agony without trying to stop it.

As he struggled against their combined strength, a face was kissed by the moonlight. Howlie wasn’t surprised to see Jinto, the Sensei’s son, glaring back at him. His mouth turned into an evil smile as they completed the job.

The figures stood, the rustling of the fabric of their pajamas being the only noise in the room. They made their way back to their respective cots and fell asleep.

Howlie rose like a mummy, forcing himself to take in the damage. The darkness made this nearly impossible as the moon had hidden itself away.

It too was against him.

Howlie felt the bottoms of his feet and just by touching the object nailed to his foot made him want to scream.

After a slow and agonizing analysis, he discovered four thick nails driven through a block of wood, one for each foot. The nails must have been precisely measured so as not to keep him from walking the next day which would have sent Sensei over the edge. The violent competition may have been purposely overlooked, but damaging his goods enough that they couldn’t be trained meant death.

Nearly everything meant death.

His blood dripped down the wooden blocks staining his white blanket, his only real possession. Focusing on the pain until it was just a vibration in his mind, Howlie began the removal process. This couldn’t wait until morning. He couldn’t have the nurse aid him. He couldn’t be seen as weak.

This was his only option.

His fellow students knew using the blocks meant Howlie would have to remove all four nails at the same time. He wouldn’t be able to twist the nail making it an easier extraction. No, he would have to yank them out in one fell swoop.

Howlie pulled a piece of his shirt into his mouth before plucking the first block from his right foot. He did it as fast as possible, like ripping off a scab. Pain broke through his mental defenses causing him to shriek into his jinbei.

It was the loudest he’d ever been. He swore he heard a snicker somewhere in the room.

The next block was much worse as one of the nails had been stuck further into his bone than he anticipated holding it tightly to his foot. It took four tries with four times the strength to remove the remaining wooden block.. He carefully placed the bloodied wood and nails beneath his cot and lay back for a few minutes, taking in deep shuddering breaths.

No matter how much he tried he could not ignore the striking pain. He knew he couldn’t make it to the bathroom to clean the wounds but would still need to bandage them with pieces of his blanket.

Counting to three, Howlie raised himself once more to begin his work. He was startled when two yellow eyes stared back at him.

Shadow, Howlie thought, That means everyone must be asleep.

‘Good dog,’ is what Howlie wanted to say but he couldn’t speak. He never used the word dog just in case Sensei was listening. Instead, Shadow did all the talking by carefully licking his wounds, trying anything to help. Once he was done, he walked around the cot for his payment.

Three head pats. Ich’. Ni. San.

Good dog, Howlie thought as it was the best he could do. He hoped Shadow understood. Good dog.

Shadow disappeared into the night, blending into the darkness and escaping the dojo without the slightest of peeps.

***

Howlie stood on a tatami training mat which extended across the room in one large rectangle. His fellow shinobi sat on each side awaiting his performance. Even though it was daytime and the room came installed with automatic led lighting, only candles lit the training room. Their flames danced around the walls as if celebrating Howlie’s pain.

Sensei looked up and down the two lines of students, hoping to find a worthy opponent for Howlie.

But who was he kidding? No one could best the best.

Howlie wasn’t shocked when Sensei nodded to his son. A fine selection but still not enough. Jinto’s envy for Howlie made him sloppy which made him a weak opponent.

Jinto stood himself, his right knee swinging outward which kept his back perfectly vertical as he rose. His posture was magnificent, Howlie had to give him that.

Jinto moved across the room, bowing to his father before retrieving a wooden sword called a bokken. He made his way onto the sparring mat, staring at Howlie as if nothing had transpired the night before.

“You may begin,” Sensei said softly, hiding his hands in the wide sleeves of his black and white kimono.

Howlie took a fighting stance, one of the worst ones he’d ever presented in front of an opponent and Sensei. Pain crept up both of his legs, begging him to step off the mat and take a seat. However, this wasn’t an option, both Howlie and his feet knew this.

The two shinobi drew their bokken from their belts and stepped toward the other with graceful caution. Howlie’s wounds reopened themselves, his blood spilling through the poorly wrapped cloth sheets around each of his feet.

He left a red trail behind him.

Just before striking distance, one of the students on the sidelines stuck out their leg in front of Howlie. For the first time in almost ten years, Howlie stumbled in combat. Jinto took this chance, swinging his weapon down onto his opponent. However, his aim wasn’t to tap Howlie or even wound him.

No, the weapon was directed for the side of Howlie’s exposed neck.

A death blow.