I woke Malachai up before dawn, a larger feat than I thought. He seemed to hate mornings and didn’t care who knew. I put up with it, hurrying him as I wanted to have light by the time we reached Kisankoku’s entrance. I told him if we made it a quarter of the way by ten, I’d let him have some of my blood. I knew we’d be farther than that by ten, but it was something for him to look forward to. I packed my backpack and Malachai’s for the hike, and then we left without a word.

It took me a moment to find the courage to take that first step into the cedar forest. Being told to never go up there for all my life made it hard for me to convince myself it was needed. I felt the dirt beneath my hiking boots, smelled the cedar trees as we walked through them, listened to animals in the brush. Malachai squeezed my hand tight, refusing to let go as we walked. Something about forests didn’t seem to sit well with him.

We took rests every so often, leaning against trees or sitting on logs. Every old shrine I passed, I prayed for safe passage to Kisankoku, and not to be devoured by the demons that were said to reside there. I left little pieces of candy as an offering. The path was uphill and dangerous, and I often almost tripped and fell down the path, only being saved by Malachai’s insistence on holding my hand. The trees got thicker the closer to the top of the mountain we became. It was almost as if the sky knew what lived here and didn’t wish to witness its misdeeds.

There was a sign, written in large kana and almost unreadable English, was the sentence, “Pray to your gods, for you have entered the cedar valley village of the oni.” Right behind it was an old, planked bridge swinging over a gorge full of rocks and a small stream. Precariously, we walked over it, sliding more than stepping for fear of falling. I had so much more appreciation for solid ground.

I saw a mask in the forest. Painted bright red, horns protruding from its forehead, fangs extending from its mouth. It stared at me, deciding if I was worth the effort to speak. “Namae ka?” It asked, loud enough to set a few birds flying. “Name?”

I took my beanie off, letting it have a view of my own horns. “Oshia Akimiya,” I said.

I motioned to Malachai, about to introduce him when my place in space had changed. The masked figure’s hand was outstretched where I had been standing, my body now pressed against Malachai a few steps to the side. “Don’t touch him.” He dug his hands into my hips further.

The man took his mask off, revealing the horns to be a part of his head. He had three fangs, two of which were neatly aligned, the third jagged. “Do wish English or Japanese?” He sounded like a high schooler who understood the theory behind English but hadn’t had a lot of practice. Malachai answered he wished for the former, ever weary of the stranger. “Fine. Oshia-san and friend follow. We don’t eat you.”

As we followed him, more masks began to appear between the trees. All were men, some in hakama, some with katana swords by their hips. They watched us as we weaved through the trees. I felt like I had entered the spirit world, a torii gate broken and letting it all seep out. The village seemed to stop the moment we entered. Unmasked men and children, masked women all stopping to watch us. The man we were following stopped in front of a house. He slipped his waraji sandals off before stepping on the walkway of the house. He waited for Malachai and me to take our shoes off, leaving them by a stone step. He brought us to a bland room, laying out some pillows for us to sit on.

He tucked his kimono under his knees as he sat. “I am Ietake, village head.” He seemed to assess me, from my horns to uneven fangs, even my red eyes. “You look young, Oshia-san, younger than even our,” he paused, trying to find the right word, “tod…toddlers.” He somehow phrased the last part as both a question and a statement. “Is this new to you?”

I nodded. “It started almost a month ago.” Ietake pushed his black hair back, waiting for me to continue. I recounted the major points, of how this started, of what I had learned in Maine. “Ietake-san, I can’t continue like this,” I said when I finished. “How do I go back to my life?” I bowed, placing my forehead atop my hands on the floor, “Watashi o tasukete kudasai. Please, help me.”

“Lift your head, Oshia-san.” I did as I was told. Ietake held his mask out to me with both hands, bowing slightly. “I will help you. Zore o torute kudasai.” He stretched his arms out further, “Please, take it.” I took it with two hands, bowing and thanking him as I did. “Keep my face as promise I will protect you and friend while here,” he had switched back to English. Ietake stood, “Come, I will show you to a room. It is dark soon.” We followed him down a walkway, Malachai’s fingers brushing mine as we walked. He hooked his pinky around mine, removing it quickly when a young boy came running through, Ietake picking the child up in one swift motion. “Och—Tea with dinner ka?” He asked with an odd mixture of the two languages, stopping in front of a door. I glanced at Malachai before accepting. “Dinner will come soon. Please wait and relax.” He slid the door open for us, bowing slightly as a farewell and telling his son, “Say nenne to nii-san, Mototomo.”

The little boy waved enthusiastically at me. “Nenne, nii-chan,” he said. “Bye-bye, sleep well!” Ietake closed the door behind us.

I barely had time to set my things down and take a look around the room before Malachai grabbed me. My back to his chest, my wrists in his hands, his voice in my ear. “I don’t trust him.” He slid his hands to my elbows. “Why is he so willing to help you?”

He was in front of me now, arms crossed, glasses almost slipping off his nose. “Do you trust anyone?” I asked. “Do you…trust me?”

“I trust…” He pushed his frames up, “I trust very few people, August, you included.” His eyes seemed to darken, remembering something for a flash of a second. “I’ve been…hurt by giving my trust too easily.”

“Is that man who’s looking for you one of those who’ve hurt you?” He went rigid, eyes cast down.

Malachai’s mouth opened, formed into a sneer. A growl started to grow in his throat, only stopping when a blue-masked women came to bring our dinner. She apologized for interrupting our conversation. Malachai followed her movements throughout the room, watching her as she set out futon and clothing for us. Before she left, she gave directions to an outdoor spring where we could bathe.

I sat down to eat, Malachai unmoving for a long time. He finally sat down across from me, chin on his knees. “He is,” he said, hugging his knees, “I think. It’s…hard for me to…Faces have mixed and all…” He was quiet for a moment, eyes focused on the green tea on the table. “I think I…” His eyes went wide, something clicking in his mind. It didn’t take long for his expression to take on that of a scowl. “Mr. Blaga.” He bared his fangs, letting out a string of foreign words that sounded like a curse on his soul. He took a breath, calming himself. “August, I’m hungry.” With a mouth full of rice, I motioned to the food in front of him. “Human food doesn’t sit well with me if I eat too much.”

I swallowed, afraid I was going to aspirate a grain of rice otherwise. “Can I finish eating first?” He nodded, I decided to see how far I could push this. “Can we bathe first?” He sighed but nodded.

I ate his portion, as well, doing so quickly to hopefully keep him from attacking me. He followed me to the spring, almost deserted in the dark. A lantern I had found in the room was all the light we had. It had been years since I was able to soak in a hot spring. The feeling of the warm water working its way into my blood and bones was enough for me to purposefully ignore Malachai’s suspicion of everyone. He was like a guard dog, glaring at anyone who dared glance my way. No matter how many times I told him to stop, he never did.

When he started to look at me with hunger in his eyes, I decided it was best we returned to the room. We dressed in our underwear and loaner yukata, the candle from the lantern the only light in the room. It cast shadows of us against the painted shoji; every piece of paper lining the room was filled with broad strokes depicting creatures from folklore, mountains and the cedar forest’s oni village. I watched our figures as he leaned over me, forcing me on top of a futon. His head attaching to my neck, his fangs sinking deep into my skin. His form rocked ever so slightly, back arching with the smallest of movements as he gulped down mouthful and mouthful of my blood. My hand in his hair, I stared at the ceiling, at the dark shapes that occupied there. He pulled his teeth from me as the room was plunged into darkness, the candle having burned down. He licked at any drops that escaped him, planted a gentle kiss around the punctures.

He looked at me, blue eyes bright in the darkness. I didn’t have time to wonder where I’d seen those exact eyes before, his mouth on mine. I felt dizzy, the taste of iron and sugar mixing on my tongue, the scent of honeysuckle and cedar combining. I was content in that state of being surrounded in a spinning mix of scents and flavors. I wanted more, more, more, but he didn’t touch me. Hesitantly, I touched my hand to his chest, feeling his heart beating slowly. It surprised me he even had a heartbeat, even more that it was slow where mine felt like it was threatening to escape my chest.

I slid my fingers into the opening of his yukata, hitting cold skin. His hand pulled mine away, pinning it next to my head. “Touching me like that,” he said, letting go, “is not a privilege anyone is granted.” I apologized, feeling like it was the only thing I could do. “Don’t,” he said, sitting on his knees, “it’s not your fault. I’m…”

He trailed off, quiet for so long I thought he had fallen asleep sitting up. He never finished his thought, so I supplemented the silence with my own as I sat in front of him. “I don’t care about your heartbeat or body temperature,” I said. “If this is because of that.” He took his glasses off, holding an arm tightly in his hand. “If-If anything, I’m a shocked you even have one.”

“My soul is stuck.” It was utterly reticent when he finally decided to speak. “It’s all bats, bats, bats.”