—dip the cloth into the indigo dye again. It would be the last commission of the morning before a break. I needed to take some food to my brother, Takayuki, who was out in the fields. He was late this morning due to a thick fog which had worked its way through the town. Our neighbour had worried about strange noises in the night, but patrols had gone out to check. I hadn’t heard anything myself, however I knew better than to dismiss such claims. I had seen a lot in all my years. Nobody made it to my age without seeing blood, battle, or crazed beasts. As a child I’d even caught a procession of yokai down the very streets I walked even now. A kitsune had called them close; I’d peeped out of a gap in a window late at night to watch.

I hung the last of the dyed cloth up to dry and dried my hands. I had started my life like my siblings, picking the leaves and working the fields, until I started to experiment with the dye we made. Mother had spotted it first, the patterns I made with the white fabric dipping it in the indigo. She’d encouraged me to continue, and started selling the items I made alongside our dye. At first I started with small pieces, making patterned furoshiki cloth for samurai to wrap their belongings in. They soon began to be popular enough that I could also move onto dying obi for the kimono makers. I often wore them myself, showing it off in the town.

Now I dyed whatever was asked of me. We could afford to take slower commissions thanks to the wealth gained over the years. We’d been lucky to live in a town samurai chose to stop in during their travels. Many of them rested their horses and spent days here before moving on again. Every business here boomed and in turn, we’d all profited.

Taking a small basket, I filled it with food for my brother, wrapped in a furoshiki I dyed just for him. He would be leant over the short plants now, muttering about his hands which had curled with overuse. However, he was too stubborn to listen to me, his older sister, and let someone else take over.

I slipped a few coins in for myself and a pot of dye to share, I’d promised myself a slow walk through the town, stopping to look at the wares.

I left my house behind and started down the main street. People had overcome their fear and started working again, merchants wandered, shops opened, and I could hear horses nearing. I stood aside to let the samurai pass, his gaze far from us walking the streets.

The red painted bridge was full of people today, stopping to glance down at the refreshing deep stream below. One of the men who patrolled the town stood frowning.

“I can’t find her anywhere,” one of the women, Hikaru-san, cried. “Do you really think she would run away?”

Another woman patted her arm. “Love makes us do strange things.”

“Mikumo-san,” the guard said. “I am sure we’ll find her soon.
I stepped closer. “Who is missing?”

Hikaru-san hurried to me, taking my hands. “Okina, I haven’t seen her since last night. Has she been to you? I know she was going to buy an obi from you.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “She’s not come to see me yet.”

“Perhaps Iga-san has seen her. He patrolled out early this morning. I haven’t seen him yet, though.”

Hikaru-san nodded in defeat. I felt for her. The young made spontaneous decisions at the strangest times. I didn’t dare voice the strange noises that people had heard in the night, no doubt she already connected them.

“I can ask my brother if he’s seen her,” I offered, lifting my basket. “I’m about to bring him some food.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m going to check the shrine again. If she’s not there, maybe the gods can guide me.”

I left Hikaru-san and followed the path onwards from the town and out to the wide open fields. The stream flowed down here too, and a small group of trees grew nearby. Often I’d find Takayuki resting in the shade. Sometimes children would be with him, usually ones he’d tried and failed to employ to help him pick the leaves. He wasn’t as fast as he used to be, and he’d lost his only son years ago to sickness.

The sun was too bright and I had to shield my eyes to try and spot him in the green field, but he wasn’t there. I’d check the trees first, and leave the furoshiki there if he was not. I was too old to be wandering up and down the fields in search of my younger brother. When I found him, I’d scold him again. He’d apologise, begging for forgiveness, and I’d roll my eyes and forgive him. Tomorrow he’d do exactly the same, disappearing off where I can’t find him. As was our way. I’d stopped being angry with him long ago, but enjoyed our routine now.

I frowned as I crossed the path, closer to the shady oak trees. The last of the fog hadn’t lifted after all, some still wrapped itself around the dark trunks, masking the trees and stream beyond from view.
“Takayuki?” I called, not expecting an answer. Nobody would choose to be in that.

The whole area was eerie, even the birds stopped their happy songs. Looking at it sent shivers down my spine. Reaching for a low branch of an outer tree, I slipped the handle of the furoshiki over the end; it hung graciously on the sturdy branch. Takayuki would see it up there as soon as he paused for a break, I always left it here for him.

“Takayuki?” I tried a second time.

The air returned a whispering giggle, but not that of my brother. A sudden chill surrounded me, sinking deep into my skin. Even covered in my yukata, I could feel the hairs on my arms standing tall. There was no mistaking the fear that clawed at my belly, the same fear I’d felt as a child, peering out of my window at the procession of grotesque yokai.

Despite knowing I needed to leave, my feet were rooted to the spot. The fog swirled around me, reaching out and urging me closer. Along it brought the tell-tale stench of death.

Flash. The fog bloomed a bright blue.

And I knew. Oh, I certainly knew.

Onibi.

I was sure of it. Demon fire, they called it, born from death itself. And now they were after me.

I bit back a cry. Someone or some thing had to be dead in there. Had my brother been lured into their embrace too? I couldn’t let anyone else fall to them. Eventually they’d fade away without a new body to feed from but…

The fog surrounded me now. I had only one moment to act.

From my basket I pulled the pot of dye and let the rest drop. I forced my legs to move back until the dirt path lay under my geta and opened the pot. Dye dripped and splashed in quick movements, spreading out as wide as I could.

おにび

Onibi.

Snappy winds blew against me, but it was too late. The dye soaked deep into the brown earth, the word clear to see.

Giggling. They were closer now. I glanced to the dye pot in my hand. Within it sat fire, dyed blue with indigo. It rose higher, dripping dye. I screamed and threw it all onto the grass. An iciness spread in my chest. I couldn’t breathe.

But I wasn’t done, not yet.

I ran. Panting, gasping for any air. My legs felt numb, so numb. I wasn’t sure how I was still standing. I just knew I had to.

The air bubbled and giggled in my ears. And still my feet carried on. The indigo field was close now. Far enough away from town, from the other fields.

I would stop them killing again.

Exhaustion hit. Pain lanced my chest. Dirt filled my vision as I fell. Indigo plants surrounded me, I couldn’t see the onibi yet but I didn’t need to. They would find me.

I hoped I was far enough away.

I hoped Takayuki was alive.

I hoped it would be quick and—