Kisuke was a lively child who lived with his parents in a modest little village in a valley. Since the valley was surrounded by the mountain forest, Kisuke was often warned by the elders never to go into the woods at night, and certainly not during winter. They told tales of wolves and malicious spirits who lurked out of sight, and that any woodland sprite would leap at the chance to devour a human child.

It was not out of fear why Kisuke listened to his elders; it was more because it was expected of him to do what they said. At least for the most part Kisuke never had to worry about heeding the warnings, for when he played with his friends, the other village children, they ran through the village and along the fields. Very rarely did they ever make it to the woods.

During the winter Kisuke would stay indoors, huddled up near the hearth in the sunken floor next to his mother. His father would taken a warm blanket and wrap all three of them up like a moth’s cocoon. Those nights Kisuke’s mother or father would tell stories of the past, about how they’d met and married and their life before having Kisuke.

It was fun to listen to his parents’ stories, Kisuke thought. He would often wonder if one day he should tell his children about his past. Of course, at that point in Kisuke’s life there wasn’t much to tell.

Then one winter Kisuke’s father went into the woods with two village men to chop firewood. Kisuke’s mother making sandals from straw that day, biding her time until it was time to start preparing dinner.

That winter had been harsh, and the village was close to starving, so they made due by rationing their food and supplementing with the occasional frozen roots and other plants. Sometimes Kisuke’s daily chores would involve scouring the snow-covered fields with his friends to find leftover grains to eat.

When dusk fell that night and the men did not return Kisuke’s mother called on the wives of the other men who’d gone into the woods, each who had children of their own. They, too, were worried about their husbands, fearing some terrible fate had befallen them, but they said nothing to the children just yet.

In the depths of winter humans want to hold onto hope, so it would be rather despairing if they spoke of death without considering all possibilities.

What if, for instance, the three men had merely gotten lost on their way home? What if they’d found temporary shelter for the night?

Not every absence on a cold winter’s night means that someone has died. At least, one out of twenty times for the valley villagers.

The elders were informed that three of their own had gone missing in the woods. Kisuke’s mother sent him to stay the night with a friend of his while she and the other mothers waited together by the hearth. They’d chosen to keep their children with them, but they were much older than Kisuke, old enough to understand the fragility of life and death.

Kisuke knew the woods were dangerous at night, but it’s not right for a young child to need to fear death just yet. That’s what Kisuke’s mother told herself, anyway.

The said friend of Kisuke, a short boy called Takeshi, was the son of a farmer, who welcomed any friend of his son to spend the night. Takeshi had two older sisters, neither of them married yet, and a younger sister. They were called Aya, Michiru, and Kasumi, respectively.

The three girls knew of Kisuke, but the eldest ones didn’t have time to play. Kasumi was the only one of the three who had ever played with Kisuke, Takeshi, and the other village children.

To help them fall asleep Takeshi’s mother told them the story of the mountain wolf spirit, the one who waits for you to trip and fall in order to attack you. It’s a story many children hear to warn them away from wild animals and to not doddle on the road. Kisuke had heard that story several times from the elders and from his mother, but nonetheless listened well. Eventually, he fell asleep beside Takeshi on a bed of soft hay.

In the middle of the night Kisuke woke to the sound of Takeshi’s sisters’ mumbling. It was the youngest girl, Kasumi, who slept on Takeshi’s opposite. She was making quite a racket with her muttering that Kisuke was surprised she hadn’t woken anyone else yet. Though he couldn’t make out anything she said she seemed to be distressed, as though she was having a nightmare.

The boy crept out from under the blanket and crouched at Kasumi’s head. He wasn’t sure what to do at first, and it would be rather impolite to wake her up. Then it dawned on him to do what his mother always did when he had trouble sleeping.

With his hand, Kisuke gently stroked the top of Kasumi’s head. He felt her smooth hair under his fingers like fine, cool silk. Her mumbling resided and her breathing slowly steadied. The girl breathed softly and went silent again.

Satisfied, the boy crawled back to his bed and nestled himself under the covers. He closed his eyes to go back to sleep, but just as he was about to doze off he heard an eerie voice screeching in the howling wind outside.

Had it not been so late at night he might’ve gone to investigate. But as I said, it was midnight and the boy was exhausted, so he let the strange voice slip from his mind, eventually falling from memory as he fell back asleep.

Come morning Kisuke woke midday to find himself alone in the straw bed. Takeshi and his sisters had woken early, their parents having told them to let their guest sleep longer.

Takeshi’s mother was sitting at the hearth feeding kindling to the flames. Beside her her two eldest daughters sat huddled together making sandals out of straw. Takeshi and his father were gone, out into the woods while it was still daylight to gather more kindling.

Kisuke sat up to find Kasumi crouching at the end of the bed, her chin resting in the palms of her hands, her elbows balanced on her knees.

She gazed at him thoughtfully, as though she knew what he’d done the night before. Neither of them said a word, but some sort of understanding flickered between them. Kasumi pushed a bowl of hot stew toward the boy, and Kisuke accepted it.

As Kisuke drank there came commotion from outside. The sound of wailing echoed across the valley. A human’s cry. A woman’s. Kisuke almost choked on his stew, praying it wasn’t his mother's voice he’d just heard.