Penn Island, which resonated a nauseating hum of tension through Tim’s mind, floated out beyond the shore and bathed in long strands of sunlight. It was not too big, though the amount of trees and other vegetation certainly created the illusion of it being more expansive. At this distance, it was unsure of what was there, yet there was always this assumption of it being inhabited by many magical creatures. Tim the Printer Guy surrendered to its influence and remained perfectly still, reflecting on his many failures the island lay witness to. He hung his head in shame, and felt a breeze move through his chemise. The delicate article of clothing remained torn and full of dirt from the chase. It was once a relic of intricate and delicate beauty, yet it now clung to his body in a mess of loose strands. His tube socks were also full of holes and black with filth. Tim knelt down on the small beach and began to weep—victim, again, to the distress of his situation and fully allowing the emotions to flood his eyes. There was no hope before him and though he decided to forgive and protect the Adonises, Tim was reminded of their rejection. Last night with Mikeal and Octavian proved to be a disaster, as they had found muses of their own, who Tim knew were more trouble than they looked.
Just when the tears stopped, and Tim the Printer Guy felt he was finished with the anxiety, he could hear the sound of trees rustling. Fred was still pursuing him, and he seemed to be getting closer. Though Tim the Printer Guy was wary of the island and all its supposed evil, he plunged into the water and began to swim towards it. He just needed to hold out for a while, until Fred was gone. Not looking back, he dove under the water, to avoid being seen by Shudnow, who Tim could only assume was sifting through the trees along the shoreline. He held his breath and paddled as fast as he could until he reached the base of the island. Popping his head to the surface, he saw a large bush by the edge and jumped behind, feeling safe under the cover of its impenetrable brush.
Tim the Printer Guy peered back at the shoreline, now on the opposite side of the lake, scanning for Fred. Luckily, he was nowhere to be seen, so Tim breathed a sigh of relief and then turned to look back at the mysterious land he was setting foot on. Just above the treetops, Tim could see the sunlight touch the leaves and branches, but it did nothing to extinguish the protrusive darkness that invaded each crevice of the forest floor. The trees were tall and menacing, watching over the printer guy, as he stepped further into the woods. Large stumps were overturned and rotted, while many dead branches littered the ground, twisting upward. They grabbed and rubbed against Tim the Printer Guy’s ankles like long wooden fingers. A chill ran down his spine.
Another sound trickled in from atop the trees, and soon enough Tim the Printer Guy noticed raindrops hit his arms. The rain gradually got more intense, yet Tim could still see that the sun was still bright just past the foliage.
“A sunshower?” Tim the Printer Guy asked himself, in awe of this momentarily magical occurrence.
Tim’s mother told him stories of sunshowers, to which his father would also share in the fascination with the folklore. He recalled that they both had stories of experiencing such a phenomenon, calling it the “Wedding of the Foxes.”
The tiny droplets tickled his skin, which bore through his mangled chemise. They were warm and calming, sending reflections of the sun down into the overwhelming darkness. Tim the Printer Guy kept moving forward into the shadows, finding comfort rather than fear. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see something move out of a bush and dart through the forest. He then could hear a distant sound of a flute and drums, providing long, droning tones and slow, hypnotic beats. The music rose and gradually became more melodic. Tim the Printer Guy felt the music and then the sounds of footsteps coming toward him, so he hid behind a fallen tree. Carefully, he listened and watched for the approaching force, getting louder and louder with each second that passed.
Soon, a small procession of what appeared to be people slowly walked out of the darkness and through a sliver of sunlight. Tim watched as they stepped in unison, following the drumbeats, which triggered a skip or turn of the head. The line was made up of maybe 20 to 30 people, walking in pairs and stretching deep into the forest. A small anxiety sat in the pit of his stomach as their carefully coordinated movements mimicked a ballet, of some sort, though possessed the execution of a form of martial art. They all had on matching, dark blue kimonos, except for two—a man, and what seemed to be a woman in traditional marriage attire, black and white. Tim the Printer Guy could also see that they were all wearing masks of what appeared to be the face of a fox.
“This is it!” he thought.
The Wedding of the Foxes was happening before his eyes. It was true that this island was magic, or gave him access to the spirit world; however he was unsure on what that meant. Tim was intruding upon something—forcing himself to see the unseen. His heart started to beat rapidly, yet his focus could not break from the hypnosis of the wedding. The masks were white and orange, depicting a wild face that displayed fangs and piercing eyes. The procession was a traditional Shinto wedding as each person wore long saucer hats, with the exception of the bride, who had a white, domed headpiece that almost looked like a hood. The two in the front, leading the ceremony were each holding lanterns, glowing a warm orange-ish hue. The soft sound of the flute got increasingly louder, never changing from the constant, droning tone—simulating a cicada. Tim was frozen in anticipation, relishing in the beauty of it all. Each drumbeat would signal a pause and then a calculated move that everyone would repeat in unison. They all seemed like one entity, sharing a brain as the pauses and movements were slightly different each time, yet no one slipped from perfect conformity.
Tim crouched down, hoping that he couldn’t be seen. The fox people sauntered closer, periodically pausing and striking a pose. In a matter of seconds, they made their way by the tree, to which Tim the Printer Guy was hiding under. The beat began to rise, in a chatter of mallet strikes, coinciding with the ferocity of Tim’s heart. Then a loud blast of sound from the drum, followed by a pause. Their heads hung over the fallen tree and Tim the Printer Guy’s head. Everything stopped, including the wind in the trees and the ambience of the forest. Tim turned away, to try and stay hidden, hoping that they would just move away but the music refused to continue. He closed his eyes tightly, as maybe this could all be a dream, but it wasn’t. Fear compelled him to run, so he did.
Tim the Printer Guy jettisoned away from the foxes and back the way he came, stumbling over twigs and rocks. They surely saw him as he jumped from his hiding space and awkwardly tried to stay on his feet. A cool sweat enveloped him as he ran through the woods. Branches and shrubs swiped, and clawed at his body, slowly ripping apart his chemise entirely. Eventually he collapsed to his knees with exhaustion and held the tattered remains of his once treasured possession. He sobbed intensely and let out a burst of anger, in the form of a wavering yell.
“Why?!” he screamed.
The rain poured, yet he could still see the sun gleaming in his face. Tim looked up to the sky, hoping to wash away his tears in the downfall. He meditated on the overwhelming sadness of it all—losing his beautiful chemise to the mud. Where could he go now? Tim the Printer Guy was nude wearing nothing but socks, with no friend and no car. His body was ravaged by exhaustion and the humidity. Tim was a sweaty heap of a man, lost in this magical world.
“I see you have come to your senses,” said a familiar voice in his ear.
Tim the Printer Guy turned around to see the yōkai, Bandaged Cage in full form, standing behind him.
“Where were you?” asked Tim, solemnly turning away to again reflect on the melting chemise.
“I was always with you.”
“Then you saw me suffer, and did nothing?”
Bandaged Cage paused for a moment. “You underestimate your own abilities,” he said.
“Why couldn’t you have given me a sign? To let me know you were still there. Instead, I was subjected to nothing but fear and anxiety. It is a miracle I evaded his grasp,” said Tim.
“But you are free… What is left for you now?”
“I guess, I will continue to watch over those Adonises and protect them from the evils of the world. Beauty is meant to be cherished, at any cost…” said Tim the Printer Guy.
“Mikeal and Octavian seem to have found companionship. What do you think of them?”
Tim was confused by that question. He turned around to confront the yōkai: “you told me that Mikeal was under the spell of a dangerous creature—the kawahime! Now, Octavian has stumbled upon someone who I can sense danger as well and, at this point, I don’t trust either of them. They don’t need those females in their lives, only for the inevitable heartbreak.”
“Good,” said Bandaged Cage. “I sensed for a while that you were becoming swayed by the kawahime and its trickery. Those supposed females are nothing more but that. They mean to do harm to those boys and nothing else.”
Tim the Printer Guy hung his head, solemnly accepting his failure to act. “Well, then I have no choice but to smite them.”
“Your mind was plagued by that Fred Shudnow, who only wanted you for himself. I tried to warn you early on, but you had to realize it for yourself.”
“Now I know he is full of evil. He walks in the same shadows as Adem and Skeeter,” Tim said, then realizing a great pain. “Oh no—Jamir! He has been corrupted by ProSales and I am not there to save him. I wanted to leave my failure and move on, thinking that Fred was my future, but now…” Tim cried again. “And poor Cage,” he whined. “What has become of him? That Adem will surely continue to corrupt his soul and I am not there for any of them!” Tim the Printer Guy collapsed in a mess of tears.
“There is still time,” said Bandaged Cage. “If you want to leave your failures in the past, then pick yourself up and continue to do right.”
Tim got up from the ground and wiped his tears away. “You are right, I am free again to focus my efforts on them,” he said. “But how would I even begin to destroy those evils?”
“Follow the foxes!” Bandaged Cage shouted, before vanishing into thin air.
“What does that mean?” Tim asked, but it was no use. Bandaged Cage was gone, leaving Tim the Printer Guy alone once again, to the whims of the spirits.
He picked himself up, and swallowed his pride—taking a deep breath to extinguish the fear. A small, listless breeze began to sift through the trees again, rattling the leaves and the branches. Tim did not see any sign of the procession, so he decided to retrace his steps. The air around him was calm and Tim the Printer Guy could feel the dirt, insects and worms of the forest floor tickle his feet and turn his socks into a deep shade of black. What did he need to find? Bandaged Cage it seemed had not yet led him astray. At this point, Tim was ready to devote himself blindly to the helpful yōkai, though he continued to question his methods.
Bandaged Cage reminded him of the possibility that a beauty such as Cage, could fall victim to disfigurement—and what would Tim do then? He could not let beauty die, or he would die. Tim the Printer Guy would kill before he puts the Adonises in harm's way.
* * *
After walking through the woods, tracing each step of his harrowing escape from those fox people, Tim found himself back to the tree stump that he hid under. No one was around, and there was not even a sign that the wedding had even occurred. Tim the Printer Guy was at a loss, but not completely discouraged. He pushed back the branches and leaves for any sign of footprints, or something tangible that he could use to track them. Tim then sniffed the ground for a scent, not knowing what that would give him, but mimicking the characteristics of a dog thinking that it would bring something to the investigation. Moments passed by and Tim was still with no indication of how he was supposed to follow them. There was nothing—no tracks or masks left behind.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Where did you go?” he whispered to himself, calling to the spirits.
Just as he got back to his feet, Tim the Printer Guy saw a curious sight out of the corner of his eye. Far back into the woods was an old shack. It was made of a very dark, auburn wood—shabbily built, but even more dilapidated by time. Tim got closer to the structure and noticed more of it was missing or falling apart. There was no glass on the windows, though Tim could see shards in the frame. Holes were all over the sharp, a-frame roof which allowed light and vegetation to creep its way inside. The door was still standing, and the hinges surprisingly held it tightly shut. Tim the Printer Guy had to repeatedly shove his shoulder against it to force his way through. There, inside, he found an assortment of old tables, cabinets, and chairs. Nature devoured everything in the room, though Tim could still make out tattered posters on the walls of retro, pinup models and old Japanese planes and cars. There was even a WWII era propaganda poster, depicting a heroic Samurai warrior standing in front of a Japanese flag.
Soil and dirt covered everything. Tim cautiously glided his hand along a large table in the center of the shack, to move some of the dirt out of the way. There, he discovered a piece of metal, almost coin shaped, covered in dirt. Upon closer inspection, wiping away most of the grime, Tim the Printer Guy found that it was an imperial, military tag covered in kanji. He read the words and dropped the tag onto the floor.
“Nakadai, Miyamoto,” Tim shakily whispered, tears welling up within his eyes. He grabbed the edge of the table for balance, feeling pressure in his stomach and face. That was his father’s name.
A familiar scent then filled the air and Tim the Printer Guy looked around to see empty jugs of sake, all throughout the corners of the room. This place was a sanctum or den that was claimed by his father to hide away from his family. He could not remember his father or mother ever mentioning this shack, which only led him to the realization why Tim the Printer Guy was always scolded if he ever mentioned this island. It was a home for secrets, and by the looks of the sake, a refuge from the harsh punishment of life. Everything turned into a puzzle piece of his father’s life; something Tim the Printer Guy was desperate to unravel, but hesitant as to what he might find out. He slowly opened a drawer on one of the brittle cabinets in the shack. It contained an assortment of photos depicting his father and his mother when they were younger. They all seem to be taken at the same time and in the same location, standing in front of what appeared to be Red Flow Lake. They looked happy and smiling, while locked in a loving embrace.
Tim the Printer Guy moved onto the next drawer, which contained only a curious set of documents. These appeared to be his adoption papers. Tim was astounded, as he was always told they existed—reminded by his father, that he was never their own—but he had never seen them before. This part of his life was always hidden from him, so his mouth watered in anticipation to know the name of his real father. Why were they here? Was it a calculated move by his adopted father to keep Tim from his own life? The punishment he took lasted long enough, he had to know.
Tim the Printer Guy read, “In the matter of Timothy Nakadai, I, Miyamoto Nakadai, join with my spouse in this petition for adoption…”
He looked at the paper thoroughly, but could not seem to find the names of his birth parents. What he had was just some legal filings for his adopted parents, but nothing more. Tim the Printer Guy pulled out more documents, rummaging through the entirety of the drawer and saw a small scrap of notebook paper fly out and rest on the table like a dainty feather. He picked it up and read, “Amos and Eva Drucker, 30 W. Cooley Street.”
This must be what he was searching for. Tim ecstatically jumped up in the air and reveled in his triumph, twirling around, thinking he achieved a grand realization. He stopped when his eyes caught sight of one of the pictures he had left out on the table. He saw that same couple smiling back at him: the young Miyamoto and his wife, Tim’s mother. He turned over the photo and read a message, in his fathers handwriting: “For Haru.”
Tears overwhelmed his eyes once more, and he fell to the ground, seizing with emotion. Tim the Printer Guy knew deep in his heart he had only one mother and that was her. Haru Nakadai was his muse—his light and love. Truly, her influence shaped him more than any person ever could. To celebrate the possibility of a new mother would disgrace her name.
Tim clenched the paper in his fist, containing his possible lineage. There had to be something in this shack he could cover himself with, like a robe or shirt. Tim the Printer Guy opened a tall cabinet which contained an old tattered kimono and some wooden sandals. Taking the kimono from the closet, he also stumbled upon an ornate carrying pouch Tim knew to be a sagemono from the old country. It was placed overhead on a ledge, and had a beautiful blue and gold design. Tim the Printer Guy took the sagemono and opened it up to reveal another curious artifact. All it carried was a folded piece of paper, yellowed with age. Unraveling the paper, Tim saw his father’s handwriting again, in a collection of kanji that he did his best to understand:
Dear Timu,
I write this now, as you take your first steps. The sun is shining on us all, and we are very proud to welcome you to our family. As your new mother and I look upon you, I realize how precious time can be. Once, we were nothing but a lonely couple, escaping hardships and arriving in a land that gave little to no hope. I toiled at life and had little to show for it. I had left what I thought was wealth to pursue love, and through that have had to struggle in order to maintain my own health and sanity. I felt a sadness that I had never felt before. But now we have you. You made me believe what time can give. Now I watch you take your first steps out into life’s unknown challenges and it worries me.
I want you to understand that though life can give you beautiful things, it can also take away everything. Along with myself, your mother, my beloved, knows this. She wanted a son more than anything and I had to do what I could to give it to her. If anything were to happen to you—if life ever were to snatch you away from her—and I did nothing to prevent that. Then I would have failed her above anything else. During my time in service to my country, I was taught the importance of honor and strength. We must fight for every second in this world, or we fall victim to life’s changes. Each day must pass for a new one to follow, and a human life is truly as fragile and fleeting as the morning dew.
I want to promise you that I will prepare you for those changes. You will grow and be strong, because you will one day need to care for your mother who loves you. She needs a son who knows how to handle a sword and will vow to slay any evil that threatens her. If you fail then I fail…
Tim the Printer Guy folded the note, not wanting to read any further. His father, from the beginning had a plan for him and it was ultimately to protect his mother—Haru. Miyamoto believed in his heart that the only way to protect his love from any form of turmoil was through aggression over others. Yet, Tim the Printer Guy was an artist and knew deep down that his mother did not need that, or want that. She and Tim shared a desire for aesthetic beauty—her laugh, each time Tim the Printer Guy completed a work of art, gave every indication of that. It also must have, in turn, filled his father full of misery, knowing that his ways were wrong. Miyamoto could not rely on Tim to protect his love, as he knew that Tim the Printer Guy could steal her away.
He felt the wrinkles and tears of his father’s kimono and slowly stepped into the wooden shoes. It was time he came back to his family, to show his father he was no longer afraid, and to prove to his mother that he was a success, that he found a way to live his dreams. As he began to turn away from the cabinet, he noticed one last thing. There was a large box sitting just beside the cabinets and the tables. It was decorated in fine silvers and golds, that still glistened despite the dust and age. Tim knelt down and opened the top to reveal another sword. His eyes widened as he could hear the words of Bandaged Cage echo in his mind. Tim’s mother never needed the blade, but there was something in his soul instructing him to take it for the Adonises. They were lost and Tim was done failing them. Shōgun no Fukushū was thought to be the only way he could save Mikeal from that ebony succubus. He picked up this sword and unsheathed the blade, wanting to just feel it—wondering if it was still necessary. Adem was still out there, as well as the kawahime and this new yuki-onna. Tim the Printer Guy saw the name carved onto the handle—Shinayaka Shojo.
He sheathed the blade and decided to keep the weapon because of the security it offered. Whenever Tim held a katana, he could not deny that it made him feel powerful; however, the last time he wielded Shōgun no Fukushū, it made him act out with a frightening rage. This blade was different—it was as if it were calling to him. There was a light around it and a feeling that he could do good with it.
Tim got back up and walked out of the shack. The sun still gleamed through the trees, yet the rain continued to fall in sparse amounts. Tim took a deep breath and made his way back into the forest, changed. He then saw a glint of orange out of the corner of his eye—a lone fox. This wasn’t one of the figures he saw before, but a single, brightly colored animal, standing still and staring at Tim. He froze, not wanting to startle the creature, but then slowly crouched down below the bushes and tall grass. Tim the Printer Guy inched his way forward, and soon enough the fox raced back into the woods, compelling Tim to chase it. The two furiously weaved their way through the forest floor. Twigs and leaves flew into Tim’s face, yet he was determined to catch the fox.
Finally, they both got to a clearing in which Tim the Printer Guy could see the wedding procession again. The figures, still in dark blue kimonos and masks watching the bride and groom’s ceremony. Everyone was eerily silent and still, as Tim crept through the rows of figures and made his way up to the altar. The fox stood at the front, watching over the ceremony and at Tim, who slowly walked around the couple.
“What is this?” he asked the fox.
“What does it look like,” bellowed a voice from behind.
Tim turned and saw Bandaged Cage, who was walking towards the altar. He silently made his way in between the couple and with an eyeless gaze, stared at Tim the Printer Guy.
“We are here to join these two in marriage,” said Bandaged Cage, holding his arms up.
“Who are they?” asked Tim.
Bandaged Cage but his arms over the couple. “Why don’t you show him what is yet to be,” he said to the two.
The groom unveiled his face and Tim the Printer Guy was met with the stunning visage of Mikeal. His long golden locks poured out from the saucer hat and messily drooped over his eyes. Tim was astonished. Was this the real thing—an Adonis, so lovely, in front of him. Then, the bride removed her headpiece and mask to reveal the dreaded kawahime, Racquel!
“No, you can’t!” Tim screamed and reached back for his sword.
Bandaged Cage stepped back, allowing Tim the Printer Guy to move in front of Mikeal, pointing his katana at the beast. His heart pounded and sweat oozed from his face, straining with rage.
“He can’t marry this villain!” Tim continued to yell.
Everyone remained still. The silence deafened Tim the Printer Guy, who was aching to slay the creature before him. Her face was stuck in a sadistic smile that enraged him with each passing second. Tim’s palms were greasy in sweat and his arms shook with tension—eventually, he raised his sword. Tim the Printer Guy screamed a warrior’s scream and plunged Shinayaka Shojo into Racquel’s heart.
“Begone demon!” Tim shouted before Racquel evaporated into sand.
A cool sweat dripped down Tim the Printer Guy’s cheek as he thought that he had finally slain her. He then turned to Mikeal but he was no longer there. Only another pile of sand lay where he stood.
Bandaged Cage flew high above Tim’s head and perched on one of the branches. “Finish what you started!” he yelled.
Tim stared at the spector, then turned back to the wedding procession and everyone was turned around, viewing another wedding on the opposite side. Tim the Printer Guy saw another bride and groom, wearing the exact same garb. He ran up to them and slowly removed the groom’s mask to reveal Octavian! With tears in his eyes, he then walked over to remove the mask of the female. Cindy, the supposed yuki-onna, who he had just discovered last night, was the fateful bride. Tim the Printer Guy took his blade and sliced at her neck, turning her into a pile of sand. He then collapsed, weeping—realizing that at this moment they were slipping through his fingers.
“Just let me hold onto them—just one more time!” Tim vented. “I cannot bear to see them wed these beasts.”
“Will you do the unthinkable?” asked Bandaged Cage, still perched on the branch—looking down on this spectacle.
“Yes!” Tim called out through his tears.
Another bride came out of the crowd, wearing the same mask, kimono and headpiece. She stood in the center of the figures, staying silent.
“Not another!” Tim the Printer Guy screamed. He picked himself off of the ground and stared the bride down. His blood began to boil, finding the rage which frightened him. He heard Bandaged Cage call out to him.
“Attack!”
Tim the Printer Guy closed his eyes and focused all his anger into the sword. He yelled at the top of his lungs and ran at the bride, sticking the tip of the blade through her chest. This time, Tim did not feel her evaporation or fall, turning into sand. The sword stayed imobile, stuck in her heart. He opened his eyes and saw nothing around him but woods. There was no Bandaged Cage in the trees, or fox people, or bride… Fred Shudnow stood before him, pierced by Shinayaka Shojo and covered in blood. Tim’s hands shook as he let go of the handle, watching Fred fall to the ground in a heap of gore. The sword, still jammed through his body, was soon coated in blood which splattered outward and onto Tim’s hands. He watched as life left Fred’s bulging eyes. He made one last gasp for air, and then everything went silent. This was no test, Tim the Printer Guy had slain his enemy..
Coldness took over Tim’s body as he continued to stare at his hands. He had never felt death before, not like this. Fred Shudnow was nothing more than a pile of skin and bone—soon to decompose and be gone forever. Was this what was necessary? Tim the Printer Guy felt betrayed by Shinayaka Shojo, as there was nothing good about this. He knelt down and touched the body, knowing it to be true. Tim pulled the blade from his chest and dropped it again, unable to touch the handle.
“My god!” he shouted. “What have I done?”