I ran. My shoes sloshed into puddles. Rain pelted my hood. A chill wind howled against my jacket. I did my best to protect Kojiki, the slimy git, and the book behaved by not shocking my arm wrapped around it. That was just as well because my other arm was busy carrying the bag with drinks for Sven. Is someone following? Please gods no.

I whipped my head left and right but I didn’t see anyone tailing me. No sirens, no police. People in raincoats and hoods and thick outerwear walked by on slick streets. Murmurs were drowned out in a hail of water. That was making me more tense by the second.

When my lungs burned and I heaved for breath, my thinking cleared. Don’t be a ninny. No one’s after you.

Wouldn’t the bookstore trigger an alarm? If it didn’t then it’s not a big deal. I can return Kojiki tomorrow.

Yeah. No harm done. I’ll psyche myself to face the wrath of the eagle tomorrow. Or if I’m lucky I’ll have a nicer staff member to chew me out.

Anyways you’re not important. No one gives a darn about you.

This last part succeeded in calming me. Though I wouldn’t say the truth was comforting. I exhaled. My breath formed fog.

The door to my house creaked open. “Sorry I’m late, Mom! I’ll make dinner!”

No reply. That didn’t bother me. I locked the door, sighing with relief, and set my bag and jacket by a desk in my room. I swung into the kitchen.

My cooking skills were bleh. Even I would admit it. I dashed out a chicken chili with cheese. Hopefully Mom wouldn’t complain. She often didn’t unless it was really abominable.

Dad was still at work. I passed by a picture of him with me and my mom on a mantle. He worked in the SFPD. That’s police. Detective. Was a former PI and transferred to state. Weird career path but it panned out.

I carried a bowl of chili and a spoon to Mom in bed. “Here, Mom. Chicken chili.”

“Muuuuh.” Mom’s eyes cracked open a smidgen. She was lying face-up, covered in blankets. “Hi honey.” She had a round face and soft features. Brown hair spilling about like mine. She opened her mouth. I spooned chili in.

She ate and made no comment, her eyelids fluttering open and shut.

When the bowl was almost empty, she leaned back and closed her eyes. That was my signal to put away the food.

I clunked the bowl on a table in her room. I checked her medicine. Picked up little capped bottles sitting on the desk. Inspected ingredient labels. Modafinil, methylphenidate, bunch others. Running low again.

Hypersomnia. ‘S why my mom potatoes.

Bowl went in the sink. Spoon—was it inclined just a smidge? No, no, that’s my imagination. I dropped it in—refused eye contact. Y’know, same way you treat monsters coming to your bed.

Stuck Sven’s drinks in the fridge. Dad wouldn’t mind. I had my own spot and Dad had his. I padded to my own room. Finally.

I found a pair of gloves and grabbed my evil manga.

“Owie. How are you doing that?” I’d braced myself, and I didn’t hurt as much as before through the gloves, but the sheer randomness was making me twitchy. Maybe Kojiki only zaps when I use my hands?

The book dropped back down as I realized my desk and most of the floor were already cluttered.

Aw, yeah, need to clear some space first.

They say a room is a reflection of who you are. That’s bull: a room is a free-for-all where your past and present selves battle for supremacy, and sometimes none of them win.

My quarters were strewn with half-scribbled notepads, school papers, toys, and accumulated neat trinkets. Standing out among the wreckage was an overflowing laundry basket and equally packed backpack and large bookshelf.

I’d scattered clothes on my bed for easy access. On a windowsill sat my twice-zombified succulent Peppy, who I watered either every month or every year with diluted tea, and was currently yellowing his leaves. Had a lamp on my desk for homework.

Sitting in my chair, I hastily swiped away piles of notebooks, a sketchpad, three caffeine cans, and snacks from my study area. That uncovered a small open area for the godsless book.

Grimacing, I plunked Kojiki on my desk. I jabbed a finger at the cover. “Look, buddy. I ain’t got beef with you. I’m just gonna read you. That’s it. Capeesh?”

It said nothing. Of course. Yipee.

I pried the manga open. As my fingers traced the first page, shock-free, I had a strange sense Kojiki had given out, like a battery that had drained. Cold. Silent.

Did it listen to me? Is it sleeping?

Don’t be an idiot. Whatever static stored in it just wore off. Someone must’ve touched it with a real clingy cloth. Maybe a prank.

Sure, sure, another part of my mind sneered. And spoons twist themselves. That part was fronting because in reality, it was cowering at whatever the frick was happening. More than that, I was plain curious. I felt myself shaking.

I flipped a page. Then another. And another.

The spreads showed kanji and images of two spectacular figures above a formless world. Gods, I guessed—they were drifting in robes like spirits, a gal in white, a guy in blue. Though I couldn’t read most of the characters, I got the gist from the gestures and visuals. They shaped green earth into mounds like clay and used a giant frickin’ spear to churn up the sea.

Siiiick. Is this an adaptation? I guess this is a creation myth—yikes.

Everything went downhill from there. Okay, so the two married—never a good sign—and this kid god on fire appears, but then the wife dies, and the dad kills the kid? And then he looks for his wife in the land of the dead, but then she hates him and wants to murder a thousand people every day, and then he’s like I’ll make more and also dead-land stinks yo—so he bathes in a river and has more kids?

Kojiki, wut? Bro got locked for a reason. I hope I’m misreading this. Perhaps Kojiki: Record of the Ancients was the precursor to a thousand hopeless fanfics.

I should’ve been laughing. But I wasn’t. I was too shook about everything today. My spine tingled. I knew this was only a yarn an artist had inked out—but my mind was expanding. Gods, evil, spoons, and everything in between. What if some of that wasn’t a lie?

It was creeping me out. As I read, I had a twisting in my stomach. I couldn’t stop.

I did learn what the cover was about.

Okay, so the dude had three kids from a nice bath, and one is this sun goddess, Amaterasu. And sun lady had this whole oath contest with her bro Susanno, where she spat out his sword and he hacked up her beads, and then her bro went all raging ‘cuz he won and wreaked up heaven—typical bro behavior I’ve heard—and she freaked and ran into a cave. The whole heaven and earth is plunged in darkness because the sun is, like, eclipsed.

Cliffhanger, that part. I hesitated a little before turning the page. How does the universe get out of that pickle? Then, well. I couldn’t have guessed.

Then one strong god lifts up the entrance after the other gods try luring her out with a humongous mirror—man even gods can’t resist a good beauty product—and bam, perfect picture moment. Sun lady and guy with big rock and all the gods lined up staring as bearded old dudes. Huh. Makes sense.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

That was the tipping point where I was sucked into a whirlwind of events and characters. Emperors and ordinary folks and descendants of gods crossing paths and pulling off horrific shenanigans. Ones where lots of people died or got randomly screwed over. The sheer violence, splashed in graphic detail, was making me queasy. I wavered on shutting the book.

Only, one final part stood out more than the others.

After the gods, the monsters started showing up.

A huge serpent with eight heads, with a sword in its belly. A white hare playing wingman for the descendant of a god. An eagle serving as a messenger for deities—

Forget the people. Forget the gods! I gotta see those. My eyes glued to the pages, lasering in on any non-human to find what they were up to.

They were smart as people, often smarter, and always strange—a cat attacking villages, biting flesh, savage as a mountain beast—a white tiger prowling the sky, guarding the west by controlling wind and metal—a black fox changing into a woman, mingling with men—and from them countless more creatures. A few I was familiar with from shows and manga—your kappa and tanuki and wolves and such.

As I thumbed through, my fingers caught on a hard material.

Eh?

I leafed to the spot and my mouth dropped open.

Instead of a regular page, there was a deep chasm. Multiple layers of papers had been hollowed out. In this carved-up hole sat a black container, like a rectangular slab of steel, which had caution tape crisscrossing it.

In the center was a big label below a lock, and in each of four corners, four metal clasps.

What in the name of honey-bread? I couldn’t even think as I studied the slab.

The label read, Property of the Government of Japan. Do not open.

When the wheels in my brain started spinning again, I pondered if this was a collector’s item. Like how DVD boxes sometimes had figurines or limited-edition shirts. Gods I wished I had more of those, but this was too off, wasn’t it? Unless the artist was an eccentric, who would want to ruin their own work to squeeze in an ominous case?

Do not open?

Of course I was going to open it.

Carefully, I probed a couple pages that came after the locked slab. If it’s a collectible I should find a key. That’d be cute actually. Turning the slab over and inspecting the remainder of the book, I received another, unwelcome revelation.

No way. I’ve been juked!

That is, if I’d been a regular customer, I'd have been juked. A sheaf of pages followed the slab, except they’d been torn off almost entirely, leaving a jutting, ripped spine of partial texts. Between the slab and the back cover, I estimated there was enough space to stash a second black container. Which was missing.

Dang. No wonder Kojiki was a touchy guy.

Someone had come ‘round and taken out pages before I did. Before it even arrived in the bookstore. Out-thieving the thief. Why?

Only one way to know. I flipped Kojiki back and grabbed the black box. It was wedged in, so I couldn’t ease it out of its border of manga paper. I had to open the lock, apparently. The one secured by four metal clasps.

“Aight, lessee—screwdriver? Or a paperclip?”

I’d heard you could pick locks with a paperclip but honestly I’d never figured that out. I stepped over debris and scurried to my dad’s garage, grabbing a bumblebee Stanley from his toolbox. Dad liked working with his hands.

“Mmph.” The flat-edge tip wedged against the box. Traced the edges by the clasps. There was a slit—too thin for my fat fingies—but I was hoping to at least get a glimpse of the inside of the container. I tried lifting up an opening but the screwdriver was the one most in danger of breaking. What is this thing made of? It won’t budge!

I poked the lock for good measure and immediately felt stupid. Can’t do anything without the key.

Paperclip? I gave it a shot. Bent over, fished about, and fetched one clamping together a bunch of discarded essay fragments. The thin metal wire stuck in the lock and promptly bent.

Guh! What am I doing?

I wasn’t an amateur lock-picker. Or a book-safe researcher. I didn’t have the finesse to finagle this fatboi.

That made me…boil.

I’d gone this far by myself. I wanted to at least see this through myself too.

Who would help me? My dad? Seriously, a policeman helping his kid pilfer a safe? My mom? I might get a handful of words out before she zonked. If I went to Kinokuniya, I would have to admit I’d filched out of their inventory. I’d get fined, or worse.

Gritting my teeth, I gripped the box hard and yanked. It was stupid, I knew, but I was so. Freaking. Done.

“Hrmgh! Hnnnngh!”

Clasps clicked. The box hurled open.

Silver dust flew up and assaulted my eyes and mouth. I coughed, flailing, shielding with my arms. “Ackpthgh! Kuh! Uck!”

Glitter? Tiny motes settled down on my desk like fine snow. When I deemed the air sufficiently clear, I lowered my arms. Yes, the box had opened. Its fasteners had hinged apart as if someone had undone them correctly.

“I—wha—how—?”

No answer.

I pumped a fist in the air. “Oh hecks yeah!”

Nestled in the box were a copper mirror and a bronze spoon.

“Oooh.” I picked up the mirror, holding it up near my lamp to throw it in the light. Its shape reminded me of the one I’d read earlier about the sun goddess, round with a large reflective portion. Carved on it were four island mountains, one in each cardinal direction, surrounded by crests of a sea and many animals.

I rubbed its surface. Hard and smooth. Some kind of nickel? It was bronze and exactly what some dude in archaeology might find digging out an underground palace. Despite that, polished, clean, really well-preserved. Sweeet.

As for the spoon—the scooping end was interesting, I guess. A little longer and thinner than the type you’d use to eat beans off a plate. I thought it could have uses other than slurping food. Not being silver was also a plus.

Let’s try that later. Hadn’t had a good time with spoons today.

I held the mirror up to my face, pretending I was the sun lady in Kojiki and shining it around my room. “Ooh, yeah, that’s what I’m talking about, gonna make me leave my cave here—”

My head was dizzy.

A slow pounding echoed in my temple as the mirror panned over my piles of belongings. “—Uh?”

I squinted at the toys, notepads, crammed books, and snack packaging being reflected back on me.

Has it always been this messy? My room usually got me vibing, but today it was making me a little nauseous.

The headache intensified. My skull throbbed like a sledgehammer was whacking it from inside. “Aaah!”

I bumped against a can of coffee. Knocked it down. I leaned back to focus through the pain. What is happening?

My fingers slipped. I dropped the mirror.

A loud crash jolted me from my chair. I leaped up. “Fiddlesticks!”

On the floor, the mirror had shattered in over twenty pieces.

“Aw, no, no, no!” I groaned. My headache only worsened. I winced. Scrunched my face.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” I muttered to myself. “We’re gonna close the book and get a broom.”

I plucked out the bronze spoon, stuck it on my table, and grasped Kojiki. With a grunt I shuffled across the floor like an undead re-learning to walk, only for the book to slip out and tumble.

It vanished under a pile of sheets and books and knickknacks. “Drat.”

I tried to bend down, but my head issued a violent protest. “Owww.” Forget it. Forget cleaning up either. I’ll deal with it later.

With a whine, I flopped onto my bed. “Whatta day. Why can’t someone else deal for me?”

An image of a card popped into my mind.

For a second I lay there. Struggling to think. Cleaning.

Hadn’t Vi told me something about that? Just call if you don’t feel comfortable in your house. Or get anything strange in it.

“Aw, why the heck not?” I rolled in my bed and plucked out the card from Vi on my desk.

Kuro Cleaning Services

Free Trial Home Cleaning! Perfect for Shut-Ins! Ask about our Protection Services too!

Yep. Phone number above the anime maid and the blurb.

I dialed. An automated, female voice sang out. Welcome to Kuro! What service would you like today?

“Free home clean,” I mumbled. “And an aspirin, dang it.”

Certainly! Please state your time and address if possible.

“Tomorrow morning at 7…” I trailed off. I guessed it made sense to have an automated voice for shut-ins, but I didn’t know about giving randos my house address.

The cheery voice continued. You have requested: Free Trial Home Cleaning at 7:00 am tomorrow. Please confirm!

Huh? I hadn’t given a location. Whatever. It was a stupid idea anyways. “Yeah, sure.”

Thank you! We hope you enjoy your service!

The line clicked. Guess I won’t be getting anything. Fitting for my life. I chucked my phone. It skittered across the desk.

I cracked open a can of iced tea and poured a stream out for Peppy, my potted plant. Then, head resting on my pillow, I raised the can in mock toast to the succulent and then Kojiki, at least the last place the book had run off to. “A cold one for the boys.”

I drank. I hit the hay and slept like Mom.