The sky was inky by the time Masuta entered through the shoji door, bringing his ever-present scent of charcoal and flames. I knelt on the floor with my back to him, trying to keep my anger tamped down. I knew he was only trying to help, to do something good, but this was not the way.

“Tadaima,” he said, closing the door behind him.

“Okaeri,” I replied short and controlled.

I could tell he knew something was wrong. I heard the light sigh escaping his lips, and his careful steps over the tatami. He only ever tread softly at these times. As he padded over, stepping into my view, I ached to embrace him. But I couldn’t. Not yet.

“What’s wrong, dear wife?”

That stung. I didn’t want him to try and pull me close with sweet words, reminding me I was his. I wanted to stay angry!

“I am angry with you. Did you not think I’d find the shrine you’d started? It took me a few minutes to figure it out, but I know what you are doing.”

Masuta joined me on the floor, choosing to face me. “I was not hiding it from you.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me about it!”

“Rika…”

“And that toy, it was new! But it was too late to have brought it last night. You’ve been planning this.”

I stared at him, his black eyes watching my every move carefully. Light wrinkles weathered his face, they deepened as he frowned.

“I thought it would help. Give you company… More than Hitomi as I know her sons sometimes make you ache deeper for your own.”

“And so you thought I’d want spirits instead?” I bore my eyes into his. “Replace my real children with ghosts.”

Masuta reached out for my arm. “No, Rika. I’d never want to replace them—”

“But you would be!”

Tears stole his face from me, rolling down my cheeks. I batted his hand away.

“I’m sorry,” he said, hurt filling his wonderful deep voice. “I thought—”

“No you didn’t. If you had…”

The rest of my words were drowned in the sobs which burst forth, my heart spilling from my mouth. I couldn’t look at him, even his tear-blurred silhouette. Jumping up, I ran to bedroom, needing to be anywhere but around him.

I had already laid the futons out, part of me knew the evening would end up like this. So as I rushed inside, I collapsed down on my futon, wrapping myself up in the blanket. It soaked up each tear which continued to fall. I’d kept them locked away all day and now I couldn’t stop them. I felt like I was crying out every last feeling trapped away, every last bit of energy my body clung onto.

Sleep starting to pull at my mind, coaxing me to let go and fall away. I fought it. I didn’t want to sleep. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to hurt. I’d hurt for so long…

My tears had stopped by the time the door slid open. I couldn’t tell whether I had finished crying or if my body just couldn’t cry any more. A great numbness stole my body, but did not steal my pain.

“Rika,” Masuta said softly, sitting down on his futon. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to hurt you. I want to see you smile again, properly. I thought…” He was quiet for a moment. “Zashiki warashi bring good luck. I thought if we could bring one here, it would comfort you and… maybe give us luck for a real child.”

He waited for an answer, but I didn’t give him one. I didn’t want to crack open the wound which had just stopped flowing.

“I saw you removed the food and the toy… Please don’t get rid of them. If one has already found us, it’ll take it as a sign to move on. It’ll bring us bad luck. You’ve heard the stories of zashiki warashi who have left and the family is taken ill and perished. We can’t have that.”

I bit my lip to stop any words coming out. He was being unfair. This was cruel.

Masuta leant over and brushed my hair with his warm fingers. “I love you, dear wife.”

The wound cracked. Tears rolled from the corner of my eyes. I jammed them shut to try and stop it, but it was too late.

Beside me Masuta lay down, and before long he slipped away into a sleep I couldn’t have. Instead, I lay there trying to stop the tears again, waiting and also not wanting for the sun to rise.

Masuta left earlier than normal. He’d quietly uttered a goodbye before leaving me laying on the tear-soaked futon. Eventually I’d pulled myself away and started the chores of airing the futons; mine especially needed it today. I tried not to think about anything, focussing on each step. As I folded Masuta’s futon, I held it close. It smelt of him, his warmth, and I desperately wanted his comfort.

Tears started to well once more, and I shook my head. I was determined to make it all morning without another tear. Instead I placed the futon down and head into the kitchen. I tried to not think about the shrine which I knew still sat beckoning a zashiki warashi. The disgust crept in and wormed deeper and deeper, making my skin crawl, as if insects were eating me alive. Would I then be buried under this very kitchen too?

I knew it wouldn’t stop until I went to the shrine. It was a farce thinking I could just stand here in the kitchen, pretending it didn’t exist, pretending the day was just like any other. Sighing, I made my way over. The table stood as it had yesterday, bowl sat neatly filled with fresh slices of peach, ofuda laid out carefully beside it. The toy bird hadn’t returned or been replaced, however. I’d given Shinji the one I had found, he’d appreciated the gift, promising to keep it with him when he was a fully grown samurai.

My hands ached to grab the bowl again, throwing the peach slices out for the birds once more. It would be so easy to do. I rested my hands on the table edge, fingertips running against the wood. One move, something so simple, and our lives could be changed. The bad luck would only happen once the zashiki warashi was here, however even I knew how dangerous it would be to even test it. Spirits were fickle, it didn’t take much to anger them, especially children. And how much more bad luck could we survive? I could imagine pulling omikuji fortunes from the city shrine, all covered in one word: misfortune. Even folding it and tying it to the pine tree nearby would stop nothing. Instead, the tree would continue to gain more and more omikuji, all mine.

I let go of the table. I would not disturb the shrine.

Instead, I returned to the pile of half-written haiku I’d left out. Perhaps… Perhaps the zashiki warashi would like one. I’d need to write a new one, however. Bringing the ink stone out, I started to think of the words which would please a spirit. My mind was far too fuzzy to think of much, exhaustion still pulled at every fibre of my body.

My life has been hard

but perhaps if you arrive

things will be happier

I clamped my eyes shut. Fear. It was fear grasping hold of my heart. Every child so far had been taken from me. I couldn’t face it again. It would break me into a hundred pieces more, shattered all over the tatami.

Sleep called to me, sat there, eyes closed, heart hurting. It pulled me out of the thoughts, into a dark nothingness. It would be easy to let it take me, to give me respite from the pain. It wasn’t even much of a choice, not really. All I had to do was lay my head down on the tatami.

Eyes open again briefly, the room blurry from exhaustion and tears. The floor did look very inviting. I’d rest for just a moment, that would be fine.

As I lay down, head resting on my arm, I could hear the strangest noise. I almost got back up to investigate, but the tendrils of sleep gripped tight, keeping me tied to the floor. Again the noise came, like soft footsteps on the tatami... Too light to be Masuta, it sounded like… a child…

The house was quiet when I woke. At first I could only hear my own breathing, and then muffled sounds from Hitomi’s house next door. It was still day time, the sun filtered through the shoji screen, creating light squares on the tatami. I reached out and traced the edges, feeling the warmth. Sleep had been what I needed. My mind felt clearer, my heart lighter.

I sat up and pulled my kimono back in place, in my hand—

In my hand was the bird toy. The one I had given to Shinji. Had they come to visit while I was asleep? I should go over and check.

Clambering to my feet, I started to head towards the door, groggy and disorientated. Why hadn’t they woken me up? It wasn’t the first time they’d appeared while I was sleeping. When the heat became too much to handle, I tried to sleep through it. Sometimes it worked, other times I lay, sweating, hoping for cool air to flow through the house.

I stopped.

Right in the entranceway were grey outlined footprints, and bending to check them closer, I realised it was ash. Perhaps Masuta had been back instead? Although they were far too small—

“Konnichiwa.”

“Ah!” I spun around. A young girl stood in the entrance to the kitchen. “Wha—Who—”

She giggled in response.

I stared at her. She looked around seven, clad in a pink-patterned kimono with short bobbed hair. What was she doing here?

“Can I have my bird?” she asked, pointing to the toy in my hand.

“Uh… S-Sure.” I held it out and she hurried over, picking it up with joy. “I… I don’t know why I have it.”

She giggled again. “Because I gave it to you.” With her free hand, she reached out and took hold of mine. “Now we are connected.”

“We are?”

“Yes.” She beamed and held on to me tighter.

Warmth came from her hand, and a familiar ache pulled at my heart. If one of my children had survived, they’d be around this age now. And it’d be far too easy to believe she was. I looked at her face, how her chin followed the same contours as Masuta’s. She looked just like him.

“What’s your name?”

“Aiko.”

My breath caught in my throat. Ice filled my veins. I’d named one of my children Aiko, taking the word of love itself, ai, to fill her name.

“Do you like my name?” Aiko asked, looking up at me with big black eyes.

“I… I love it,” I said, grief rising up my throat. It clamped it shut, barely letting words escape.

“I’m happy, and now maybe you’ll be happy again too.”

I didn’t need to ask who she was anymore. Those words alone answered it for me. Zashiki warashi. Masuta had managed to encourage one here after all. I wanted to stay angry, be hurt for what he did… but Aiko… She smiled at me brightly, with a warmth I’d always wanted to see. How could I be angry when she… she was here.

I thought back to the piles of haiku, to all the thoughts I’d committed to paper.

“Aiko,” I said reaching out to stroke her soft black hair. “Would you like to see the haiku I wrote for you?”

Sparks appeared in her eyes and she jumped up and down. “Yes please. I want to hear them all.”

Together we walked hand in hand to my table, and as I sat down on the floor, Aiko climbed on my lap. I paused. I’d never had a child sit on my lap let alone…

“Which one should we read first?” she asked, excited.

“U-Um. Let’s see. Well we could start with this one I wrote today—”

“Yes yes!”

Wrapping an arm around her, I held Aiko close as I started reading out the words from my heart.

It was an inky night again as Masuta came home, no doubt smelling deeply of charcoal and sweat.

“Tadaima,” he called out, voice full of weariness.

“Okaeri,” I replied, face resting on Aiko’s shoulder.

“Okaeriiiiii!” Aiko added, loud.

Heavy footsteps rushed into the room and Masuta stood staring at us. “I-Is…”

“Konnichiwa, I’m Aiko.”

“A-Aiko…” He collapsed down to his knees, tears rolling down his cheeks. It wasn’t pain which spilled the tears, however. A wobbly smile broke across his face. “Of course you’re Aiko.”