October 31, 2017
10 Months Before Death
Your name is Yukimura Kikuko. You are an average high school girl, alive and well, albeit a bit absentminded. You love to draw, but you've opted out of joining the art club; you have little interest in dealing with other people and even less interest in dealing with one person in particular.
However, there is one social gathering relevant to your school life that you've been looking forward to with genuine excitement rather than apathy or dread. As an excuse to exercise your other big passion, the Halloween party is an interesting time where your mundane fellow students briefly transform into an interesting menagerie of supernatural creatures and popular manga and anime characters. You love seeing what people come up with, and it's an excellent opportunity to exchange tips and ideas with sewing club members without being pressured into joining.
But what has you most excited is the costume competition. You've put perhaps a little too much thought and effort into yours, in fact to the point of hiding how much thought and effort went into it. You grin again, feeling the bundled fabric in your bag. You're ready for this.
It's early evening, the sun having just sunk below the horizon, so the sky is still bright. Students are filing in the front doors; some already dressed while others have yet to change. The contrast between fantastical and mundane is more surreal than the fantastic elements on their own, and you struggle to comprehend the sight of the school's top baseball player chatting casually with a red-skinned Oni, and similarly bizarre juxtapositions.
Deciding that the crowd is too much for you, you turn away to loop around to the back entrance. A few others seem to have gotten the same idea, though you quickly see why it isn't being as used nearly as frequently; leaning against the wall a little ways down, cigarette burning bright against the long shadows, is Akashi Hotaru. The delinquent doesn't seem to notice or care as students occasionally sneak by to get to the doors as if stealing from a dragon's horde, but you see her eyes tracking everyone that passes.
There is one surprising exception to the rule, however. "No costume, Akashi-san?" Some scrawny boy addresses her, his boldness and vaguely insulting tone offset by how he keeps several feet of distance between them.
Hotaru just grunts. "I'm the scariest thing here, Daido-san, and we all know it." The boy just laughs, unphased. He quickly
becomes phased when she jolts toward him, and he stiffly speeds away back to the main crowd. Hotaru watches him go with a sneer, giving you an opening to slip past.
And
that's why you didn't join the art club.
However, with that ordeal done, you successfully make your way into the shoelockers and quickly change yours; then, it's upstairs to find one of the classrooms unlocked for boys or girls to change in. It takes a bit of searching, but you manage to find one with only a couple of girls present, (half-dressed and swooning over a photo of a boy on their phone, to your confused amusement) claiming the opposite corner to unfurl your minimalistic masterpiece.
You'd decided to use your naturally pale features to your advantage, sewing together a white dress with carefully hand-ripped tattered sleeves and bottom edge, that subtly shifts towards pale grey at the collar. It's actually comprised of three layers of extremely thin, translucent fabric, thus your reluctance to risk wear and tear by wearing it on the walk, but the effect is worthwhile, giving you an ethereal appearance. Each layer also has stitched patterns in narrow purple thread; abstract independently but which come together just right to give the impression of blowing winds and snowflakes. A more noticeable embroidery runs along the bottom edge of the dress, a Celtic pattern in thick violet thread. For the finishing touches, you're wearing grey stockings and elbow gloves beneath, and have put on makeup to make your face ever so slightly paler than it already was, and purple lipstick and eyeshadow to bring out your eyes. You consider tying your hair up, but decide to leave it loose, brushing some of it forward to hide your face a bit, but otherwise no changes are necessary, letting the natural silver coloring do all the work.
Stopping to admire yourself in the reflection of the windows, you suppress a grin at how the other two girls are now staring at you in awe. All in all, you think you make a perfect phantom.
~~~ .oO◯Oo. ~~~
After that, it's back downstairs, and into the indoor gymnasium situated on the far end. The party passes in a blur of loud music, sugary drinks, and trying to show off your costume without actually talking with anyone too much. You're already feeling a headache coming on, tired from the constant stress of interactions, so you finally decide to duck into the Haunted House for a breather.
Hosted in what's usually the gymnasium's equipment storage, the members of an… occult club? have somehow transformed the wide space into a dark and claustrophobic maze, with all sorts of legitimately disturbing sights and scares waiting around every corner. You're not sure you have it in you to make the run, frankly, but you hope you can at least find a decently isolated corner and just
sit for a little while.
You step carefully through the darkness, but it isn't long before a decaying zombie shambles out to block your way, with worm-infested intestines spilling from a slashed gut. You jump in surprise and shudder at the convincing outfit, but when you try to pass, the clammy hand that lands on your shoulder feels a little
too real.
"Yes, you're very frightening. Now please excuse me…" The zombie doesn't let go, and now you're starting to feel legitimately scared. "Okay, seriously, stop."
Instead, it takes a step forward, pushing you back a bit. "What are you doing?" Your heart is pumping a little too fast, breaths short and sharp and misting in the chill air. "Please, stop this now, it's not funny anymore!" The zombie just continues to advance, looming over you more and more. You try again to brush around it…
A moment later you collide with the black divider wall, roughly shoved back by the monster. You charge forward, but an outstretched palm pushes you down on your rear. Looking up at the tall creature of undeath, suddenly noticing how very detailed it's decaying appearance is, and that the maggots in it's guts are squirming individually, you do the only thing you can think of - scream.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! NOOO, DON'T EAT ME!"
The zombie stops abruptly, head tilting, before it sheepishly sighs. "I went too far, didn't I? Sorry about that…"
Even under your makeup, all color drains from your face as you stare up, stark terror giving way to something else entirely. "
What."
~~~ .oO◯Oo. ~~~
"So yeah, that's basically what happened," the zombie explains, shame written across her now-unmasked face.
"I'm sorry about this, once again," Hanako says to you, giving said zombie a light smack on the forehead for emphasis. "This is after I
specifically told you, Miyako-san, not to go overboard with the scariness. We want this to be
fun, and most people don't have the same tolerance for that kind of thing as we do. Ugh, I
knew the animatronic intestines were a mistake."
You're sitting around a table, in a small part of the haunted house set aside for the club members to take breaks from the maze. Mikuru Hanako, your upperclassman and the occult club's leader, is a dark-haired girl wearing a somewhat scandalous-looking vampire costume, (and confusingly, a cute kitty-ear headband that clashes in tone with the rest of the outfit) while the zombie is Miyako, an auburn-haired girl with a well-known interest in the macabre even outside the confines of the club.
At least she has the grace to look apologetic, though, the pitiful expression undercutting your anger just enough to keep you from saying anything regrettable. You remain stubborn, though, arms crossed as you glare over your upturned nose at your assailant. "So
why did you go that far?" You demand harshly, ignoring the pang of sympathy as she flinches.
"You're always so… distant, and cold, so when I saw you coming, I guess I figured it might do you some good to loosen up a bit. I didn't mean to start pushing you around, though. I just wasn't really thinking, went overboard with it. I really,
truly am sorry!"
You hold your position for a moment longer, before finally relenting. "I guess I have no choice but to forgive you. My dress didn't get ruined or anything, so it's fine."
Miyako sighs in relief, and Hanako looks on with a grin. "Thank you for understanding. Feel free to hang out here as long as you need."
"Actually, I'd better just get out of your hair now, if that's okay. I don't want to miss the costume contest."
"Alright," Hanako says with a nod. "Just follow me, then." You retrace the path out of the maze, Hanako avoiding any further jumpscare spots. You wouldn't find them nearly as effective now, honestly, but neither do you have the patience for any further shenanigans, so you don't say anything about the handholding approach.
"Good luck with the contest," Hanako says out of the blue. "I saw some really good costumes earlier, so it's going to be a close one." You hmm in acknowledgement but don't respond otherwise, and she scrambles to fill the silence. "Yours looks really good, though. Ghost, or a Yuki-Onna?"
"A little bit of both," you admit. "And... thank you, for this whole… thing."
"Don't worry," she says, placing a hand on her chest proudly. "I may not be good at much, but I can at least look out for my kouhai."
Another turn later, and you're back at the entrance, the muffled noise of the crowd growing more intense again. Hanako gives you a parting wave and a smile, and you nod in response. As you head back into the fray, you find yourself wondering what's with her kitty headband…
~~~ .oO◯Oo. ~~~
After some further mingling, you take another break, this time in the more sensible location of a set of bleachers along one wall, opposite the stage. There's only one other person there, and you chuckle in amusement; the costume consists of a basic bedsheet draped over them, with small holes cut through for eyes and a mouth. Underneath the sheet they have a pair of cheap sunglasses to hide their eyes. The mouth hole, meanwhile, has some pinkish stains around it, and the cups of punch stacked beside them provide the likely cause.
"Looks good," they say apropos of nothing as you take a seat a few feet away. "Your costume, I mean."
"Thank you," you say. "Yours… isn't bad either. Simplicity has its charm, right?" Ugh, that was stupid, why did you say that? They could probably
smell the awkwardness in your tone.
"Honestly, if I had the means, I would have done something fancier," the other ghost replies. "I'm envious of those with yen easily on hand for this sort of thing."
"My family is hardly rich or anything," you protest. "I had to work over the break in order to afford all of this."
They just sniff dismissively. "Don't care. You live on this side of the railroad tracks, you're rich, to me."
"Well, I'm
sorry," you say, feeling a little defensive. "Maybe I could help you make it together, or something, would that be better?"
Though you meant it to sound like a dumb suggestion, they lean their head back, looking somehow melancholy through those cheap sunglasses. "Wouldn't that be something," they mutter wistfully.
You don't know how to respond, so you simply opt not to, and silence falls between you two, as you watch the milling crowd. The bedsheet ghost takes another sip of punch. You want some, but you don't want to ruin your makeup, and it somehow feels rude to ask in the first place after what they said.
"I wanted to go as Kairi Takahashi." They say again, abruptly. "the
Voyager Kairi, that is." You already knew. "Unfortunately, even setting aside money concerns, it could never happen. I just… don't cut the right figure for that sort of thing."
You eye them. Under the bedsheet it's impossible to tell for sure what they look like, but it clings just enough that you can tell they're on the more slender side. "I don't know, it's probably not as bad as you think. Not that it should matter whether you're thin or not, anyway."
"That's not what I meant," they retort, but don't say any more than that. Another silence descends, broken this time when some boy runs up to hand you both little slips.
"Here, to vote for your favorite costume. Just write down who wore it, and hand these in at the stage."
After he leaves, your companion speaks up again. "Your name is Yukimura Kikuko-san, right?"
"Uhh, yeah." you mutter. "Why?" They wave their slip in the air, your name written on it when you weren't looking. "Oh, thank you."
"I don't think you'll win," they add, conversationally. "You've made it very clear the spotlight just isn't for you, and this is at least as much a popularity contest as it is about skill."
"Then why are you voting for me?" You ask, not sure how to take their words.
"Because if we're going by skill alone, you deserve to win."
You shift self-consciously, fiddling with your slip, before remembering you have to fill it out. You turn back to them, looking over the ratty bedsheet, the cheap sunglasses, and the stains from drinking punch through too small a mouth hole. "What's your name?" You ask, pen poised to write.
"Actually, I need to use the restroom," they say, standing up to leave. It was hard to tell before because of their slouch, but
wow are they tall. "Drank too much punch." The excuse is solid, but their tone betrays the lie. You're not even sure they were trying to hide it.
Still, you simply nod silently, mildly disappointed but not much more than that. They begin picking their way down the bleachers, only to turn back toward you for a parting word. "By the way, all that stuff about being poor was a lie. I really just didn't care enough to put in any effort."
"Alright," you say, and watch as they finish their descent and bob through the throngs, in the direction of the stage rather than the hallway. On the way, they pass by a green-haired girl on the edge of the crowd, dressed as some sort of dark elf or dark fairy, who you realize is looking back up at you. You meet her gaze and tilt your head questioningly, but she just turns and vanishes into the crowd as well. Weird.
You mull over the conversation in your head, trying to think of who it may have been you were talking to, but eventually you have to admit you're not familiar enough with most of your fellow students to say for sure. Their voice was kind of husky, so you're not even sure if they were a boy or a girl.
Whatever.
The contest winners are announced a few minutes later, and true to prediction, you aren't even in the top ten. You do have to admit a couple of the winning costumes are genuinely impressive (a highly detailed mecha costume made from carved cardboard; and some angel with huge purple wings, a red dress, and white hair in a sidetail, whose giant size was achieved with stilt-boots under the dress) but most of them are merely okay, winning on account of who they're worn by.
It's disappointing, but you suppose you should have made more effort to talk to people earlier. Maybe you were a little
too subtle with things, too... You drift off, already making plans for next year.
