Tim the Printer Guy carefully looked at the blank canvas in front of him—it was difficult to conjure inspiration, especially on this particular morning. There were so many potential scenarios that crossed Tim’s mind as his typical, anxiety-inducing realizations about himself collided together, creating excruciating tension. The canvas stared deep into his soul and provoked him, making him question everything he ever believed in. Tim picked up the paintbrush and began to construct a beautiful, feminine face. Her skin was a porcelain white, while her hair became dark, black strands that cascaded down around a pale, stoic expression. Behind her eyes, there was a sense of longing for appreciation and worth—a feeling that brought tears to Tim the Printer Guy’s eyes. Painting was such a profound escape for Tim, yet it did not always bring him absolute happiness. Sometimes he was subjected to certain truths that were channeled through his art, forcing him to confront the hardships he tried desperately to avoid. This face represented all that Tim the Printer Guy wanted to be: beautiful, genuine, and fearless. Yet she represented everything that Tim was not, and all he thought Mikeal deserved.
Tim the Printer Guy set down his brush and succumbed to the tears that overflowed from his eyes as he sat down and took out his phone. There were many pictures of the Adonises all throughout his gallery, but Tim focused on a picture of Mikeal with his long blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. He was surely the Adonis of beauty.
“You need me,” he whispered to himself, as he stared longingly at the picture. Tim the Printer Guy stood back up and—with brush in hand—started to paint another face. This presence was that of a demon. It had scarlet red skin, a wild mane of hair and an equally rough beard. It had sharp teeth and a long tongue that intruded on the delicate female’s cheek. Tim saw her expression become frightened as the demon licked the side of her face. His creation became tainted by the presence of this horrifying beast, so he took his paintbrush and stabbed the canvas, right through the demon's eye.
“I will save you!” Tim the Printer Guy yelled at his art, angrily.
There was a large black leather box that Tim had kept under his bed for many years—an heirloom from his father. For years, his father would sulk and drink incessantly from his many jugs of sake, fantasizing about stories of samurai. This period of Japanese history thrilled Tim’s father, as he wished to belong to a family of warlords that fought on horseback. In his later years, alcoholism sent his father further into the romantic delusions of samurai. So much so that he started to believe he was a great samurai warrior, teaching his progeny the traditions of their forefathers.
Tim the Printer Guy did not believe in many of his father’s stories, though they certainly controlled his life and the relationship he had with both of his parents. His father had this obsession with physical strength and superiority. After coming to America, his parents experienced so much disrespect directed towards Japanese immigrants. The stereotyping, jeers, and sheer racism, perhaps, made Tim’s father delve deeper into the rooted philosophies of his home country, while causing him to drift from reality. To his father, feudal Japan was simple and different from the greedy, sleazy ways of the United States. It intrigued him to go back to a day when men had to prove themselves in battle to obtain land, wealth, and honor. Tim, though, could not keep up with his father’s obsession and, throughout his life, was unsuccessful with the intense and—at points—mind-altering training he was forced to endure. Tim the Printer Guy was taught archaic ways of fighting, mainly with swords while wearing karuta armor. Young Tim was taken out of school to study martial arts, all so that he could feel subservient to his drunken, psychotic, non-biological father who one day wished to return to Japan and restore the Shogunate to its rightful glory.
Tim the Printer Guy’s dream was to become a famous painter, wowing the public with his eye for beauty and attention to detail. At the age of twenty, Tim denounced his father’s reign over his life and ran off to enroll in a private arts college out of state. This did not end well, and soon Tim began shilling printers with Skeeter and ProSales. He became stuck in a corporate nightmare, deprived of his ability to create.
But prior to that, before he left home, Tim’s father gave him this in the hopes that he would restore honor with his family—a final plea to stay and follow the way of the warrior. He opened the box, and gazed upon a katana. Tim the Printer Guy picked up the sword from Japan and read its name, which was engraved on the blade: Shōgun no Fukushū. Tim remembered the wishes given to him that if he was to return home, this blade was to be adorned with an enemy’s blood.
“I need to save Mikeal,” he reminded himself as he clutched the handle tight.
Tim the Printer Guy stood up and looked in the mirror; he was wearing a dainty chemise and his usual underwear. For weeks he hadn’t been able to wash his clothes or take showers, so he was covered in the grease and grime of the summer. The chemise was white-lace, women’s lingerie covered in little pink flowers. It was a garment that he’d found abandoned in his apartment long ago from when he first moved in. It felt good on his skin, and made him feel special. The chemise reminded him of beauty and brought him closer to the form he aspired to have. Behind him, his apartment was like his car—in shambles. Art supplies, used and abused, covered the floor, stained the walls, and accumulated in piles, along with dirty clothes. Tim the Printer Guy had to reuse paper plates throughout the weeks. The smell was putrid, yet he had grown accustomed to it. He took a deep breath and felt the flavor of his failures ignite his motivations. He was finally ready to act.
Mikeal would need something to sway him from this so-called “girlfriend”, so Tim needed to disguise his appearance to represent something more attractive. There was another heirloom in his apartment, another box adorned with gold trimming and ornate depictions of dragons. It stood out amongst his meager possessions as it was far nicer than anything else Tim would ever own. This was a remnant of Tim the Printer Guy’s mother, whom he loved dearly, and who always thought of him as her little ‘plumb-bottom’ boy. As he opened the box, he was met with a breathtaking kimono—far more beautiful than his chemise. It had been the first time in a long while since Tim had seen this. It was bright red, embroidered with designs of rose petals and cherry blossoms. This was his mother’s furisode, designed to catch the eye of a suitor. Putting on the furisode, he decided to also paint his face with traditional white makeup, lipstick, and eyeshadow for the occasion.
Tim the Printer Guy was quite familiar with Red Flow Lake and Penn Island, as his father and mother would take him there many times in his youth. Properly adorned, he started up his car and meditated—reaching back into the past. He saw himself in a memory by the lake in the middle of a lush forest, far away from town. Within that body of water was Penn Island, a patch of forest that floated far from the beach. It was named for an explorer that found the area. Over time they added little suburbs around the lake, but the island never seemed to change. It remained this mysterious world to Tim, as his father would tell him to never swim or boat towards it. Tim’s father would always remind young Tim of how the island was home to evil, talking endlessly of its supposed magical properties.
After an hour on the road, Tim the Printer Guy found the large forest from his memories, but he could not see any signs or indications of Red Flow Lake or Penn Island. He was sure that he was in the right place, but could not find the final path to Mikeal. As Tim was about to break into the pinnacle of frustration, he realized that he was running low on fuel. He was alone in what appeared to be a campsite centered in a secluded wood, far from civilization or any stray gas stations. Tim the Printer Guy stopped his car and started to sulk once more, as it seemed he was at the point of failure. He cursed in the air and hit the steering wheel, collapsing into tears. Looking at the floor he saw another bottle of the medication the Doctor prescribed to him. There were plenty of bottles all throughout his car, as the Doctor had given him plenty to last, though Tim was continuingly taking more and more. He lifted the bottle to his lips and scarfed down the rest of what was inside.
Just when the tears began to cease, he heard a rustling in the trees. Tim the Printer Guy got out of his Ford Focus to investigate the sound of movement, which emanated from the thick of the forest. His heart was beating fast as he inched closer to the noise, the long furisode dragging behind him, sweeping up the dirt and twigs. The sun was setting fast, and shadows and darkness started to swallow his surroundings, making Tim the Printer Guy feel truly alone and at the will of evil. However, as he peered into a patch of trees and shrubbery, he saw a figure standing with their back to him. It appeared to be a person dressed in a black kimono similar to those worn for marriage, but with something covering their head.
“Who are you?” Tim the Printer Guy called out in fear.
The figure turned, and Tim was met with sight of what appeared to be a gaunt Cage under bloody bandages that were wrapped around the top of his face and head, covering his eyes.
“Cage?! What happened to your face?!” cried Tim.
“Shizukani shite kudasai,” said the bandaged Cage.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Your face! It is my fault. I could not protect you!”
“Stop your shameful whimpering! I am not the Cage you speak of!”
“What do you mean?” Tim asked.
“You are seeking guidance, are you not?”
“I am,” Tim the Printer Guy said, frozen in fear. He stared at this horrid vision of Cage and became mesmerized by his eyeless gaze. A sudden calmness then permeated his body.
“Relax and feel the energy run through you,” said the bandaged Cage.
“Energy?” Tim the Printer Guy asked.
“The energy that surrounds your failures, your desires, and your inner peace. Understand how they coincide with each other and flow side by side.”
Tim the Printer Guy stopped and closed his eyes. He began to ponder the influences which brought him out into the woods to find Mikeal. Why did he need the beauty of the Adonises so much? After all that Tim went through as a slave to the corporate world, he needed something to remind him of the love of art he lost so long ago. Tim had formed a strange bond to these men he worked with, so he needed to protect them and make sure they never stopped believing in their own loveliness.
“What should I do with this girlfriend of his?” Tim asked the bandaged Cage.
“You are not in the form to seduce! The only way is to use the Shōgun no Fukushū and smite her,” said Bandaged Cage.
Tim the Printer Guy knew that was the only way, but he secretly hoped that Mikeal would come running to him while he was dressed in the furisode, and find some attraction in Tim’s efforts to make himself seem less repulsive. Unfortunately, Bandaged Cage was correct that the attempt appeared foolish.
“What is this thing that threatens Mikeal? Why am I so jealous of his girlfriend?” asked Tim the Printer Guy.
“You were right to be worried. This vixen that threatens his mind is a kawahime—a succubus from the water that lures men to their deaths,” said Bandaged Cage.
“Then I can just slash it with my katana?”
“It is not so easy,” Bandaged Cage said. “The kawahime is a precarious creature and possesses strong magic. Its clothing can render your sword useless. If you attack and miss, then you might not have another chance to strike. Be careful and make your actions count.”
“Where do you suppose I go?” Tim asked. “How will I find them?”
“You already have.” Bandaged Cage extended his arms and flew to the treetops.
Tim the Printer Guy looked up and saw that the figure had vanished. He then heard some more noise coming from further into the trees: a light wind, some water splashing, and two people laughing. Tim readied his katana and peered through the trees once more. There was Mikeal standing on the beach, watching someone else in the water, shirtless and wearing short swim trunks. Mikeal was slender but still muscular, as Tim could see the ridges of his physique gleaming in the moonlight. There was another with him, who emerged from the water. This figure had the form of a female, who slowly appeared from the surface of the lake. Her skin was like a dark chestnut, while her hair was as black as the night sky. Her figure, silhouetted against the moon, was slender yet curvaceous, and as Tim the Printer Guy saw her, he understood why Mikeal was so enticed.
“Do not let her put thoughts in your mind,” Tim told himself. “Her beauty is nothing more than common trickery.”
Tim the Printer Guy lifted the Shōgun no Fukushū and held the handle tight. He closed his eyes and thought about his mission as the cool, night air blew through his kimono. Tim was going to take a strike and hope that he would not miss, hope for swift elimination. His breathing became faster as his heartbeat quickened. Seeing his chance, Tim the Printer Guy, with all his might, pushed his sword out of the trees and slashed the air around him. He opened his eyes, hoping to see the fallen succubus, but realized that the two had vanished. Tim was alone, listening to the sounds of the wind, the water, and the chirping crickets. He looked out at the lake and saw Penn Island, watching him. The pit of darkness that floated out beyond the beach started to reverberate in his mind.
“I am not a failure, you hear me father!” Tim the Printer Guy shouted.
Voices started to become heard back in the forest. Mikeal and the kawahime were still close by.
“What was that?” said a distant female.
“Maybe it was someone else, I don’t know,” said who Tim knew to be Mikeal. “C’mon let’s go back to the cabin.”
Tim the Printer Guy quickly jumped back into the brush to avoid any possible gaze from Mikeal. There was a state of panic as the two drifted away, leaving Tim unnoticed. He needed to slow his breathing and balance the fears that were going through him. Looking out, he saw that no one was there, so he stumbled back out and tried to evaluate where they could have gone. He heard rustling and movement from the beach, so Tim the Printer Guy moved in the direction of the noise. He could still hear them talking, but the words were incoherent, the chattering rapid and varied in loudness. After walking for a few minutes, Tim came upon a suburb lined with houses that were all similar in style and size. They seemed very nice and expensive, but they were not too big. Each property was complete with its own backyard and driveway. He found a large tree to hide behind and scanned the area for Mikeal.
“This must be where his parent’s place is,” Tim said to himself. “Why would they let their son just run off with this temptress?”
Tim spotted Mikeal as he and the female were going up to a house on the far side of the suburb. Tim also spied that dreaded Jeep that he had seen him ride off in, parked in the driveway. He got out from behind the tree and started to make his way towards the house. At this time, light from the streetlamps was low and scarce, creating patches of shadows to snake through without detection. Though his clothes and makeup made it hard for Tim the Printer Guy to conceal himself in darkness, he was swift, gliding down the street with calculated and precise movements. Soon, he found a way to jump into the backyard of the house he was targeting. There was a large, sliding glass window that showed the inside. Mikeal was sitting on the couch, alone with the wretched kawahime.
His muffled voice could be heard through the glass. “Is there anything you want to watch, like a movie or something?”
“Is there anything interesting that’s streaming?” replied the kawahime.
“I don’t know, we can just look at what’s new. I don’t know what I’m in the mood for right now,” Mikeal said as he stood and turned to the window.
Tim the Printer Guy quickly hid as Mikeal walked up to look out at the backyard.
“I think it's going to rain. I guess it’s good that we got back inside,” said Mikeal.
“It will be nice to get cozy and dry off,” said the beast.
“I think I am going to take a shower,” said Mikeal, walking out of sight.
The kawahime was now all alone. She turned on the TV and started to watch a program. Tim the Printer Guy saw his opportunity, and he wasn’t going to let it slip away. He slowly approached the window, readying his blade. He heard the crackle of thunder and grimaced as rain began to pour down, making his makeup run. Water droplets fell from his katana as he maintained his stance and inched closer into the light emanating from the window. He contemplated the plan and studied his victim. Fear, exhilaration, and passion all coursed through his heart and his brain, culminating in the anticipation of violence.
A dog started to bark incessantly at Tim the Printer Guy, breaking him of his concentration. He turned and saw a small mutt from the neighbors yard howling at him.
“Shut up you, disgraceful creature!” Tim shouted at the dog, attracting the attention of its owner, who was peering at him with a feathery annoyance.
Tim turned back and saw that the kawahime, now startled, was also looking at him. Her eyes were wide with dread as Tim the Printer Guy, then caught a glimpse of his own reflection. He looked like a gruesome, bald yōkai or oni in the stance of bloody murder. The darkness made his eyes look duller, more black and evil. With his long furisode and smeared white makeup, he had a ghostly presence. There was something wild, unhinged, and menacing which possessed his soul—this kawahime brought out a savagery that Tim did not wish upon himself nor did he feel he ever had.
“Mikeal!” yelled the kawahime.
Tim the Printer Guy could not bear to have an Adonis see him like this, it would break his heart knowing that Mikeal witnessed an act of brutality. The neighbor with the dog began to take out his phone and it seemed like he was going to call the cops—Tim had to run away. He tripped and fell on the grass, getting mud in his face and his clothes, and the Shōgun no Fukushū fell from his grasp. Tim lost it in the dark, but there was no time to find it now, as Mikeal was approaching the window. Tim the Printer Guy got back on his feet and began to run into the trees. He was lost in the brush without his katana and with no idea where to go. Tim looked back and saw Mikeal was standing in the backyard holding his sword, looking confused as he comforted the kawahime.
His mission had been a failure once again.
After wandering aimlessly through the forest, Tim the Printer Guy found his car, covered in dirt and twigs. Dawn was approaching, and the sun was starting to shine through the treetops. Tim was tired. He dropped into his car with overbearing shame and saw that he had left his keys on the driver’s seat. After starting the engine, Tim just sat there, stewing in his sadness and defeat.
“You sure are a disappointment now,” he said to himself. “Your father was right, there is no hope for you.” Something inside Tim the Printer Guy snapped, and he began to scream in anger. He needed to purge his frustration in a primal yell and a display of wild, passionate gestures. “WHY! WHY! WHY!” he yelled, rubbing his face and his scalp, getting the makeup all over his hands and arms. He beat his steering wheel and eventually collapsed on the dashboard in tears. Tim was broken.