The hum of the bus engine was the only thing keeping my mind from wandering too far. The sky outside was dark now, the storm clouds casting heavy shadows over the countryside. The earlier excitement of the trip had died down, and the students around me were either asleep or engrossed in their phones. I sat stiffly in my seat, staring out the window but not really seeing anything.
Something was off.
The memory of the falls lingered in the back of my mind, murky and fragmented. I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd missed something important. Kenji, sitting next to me, was unnervingly quiet. He usually couldn't keep still, always bouncing his knee or cracking jokes. But now he just leaned back with his arms crossed, his eyes closed like he didn't have a care in the world.
Then I heard it.
A faint whisper, like someone murmuring just out of earshot. I turned my head, scanning the bus, but no one else seemed to notice.
"Kenji," I said, nudging his arm.
"Hm?" He opened one eye lazily.
"Do you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"That… voice."
He sat up straighter, his brow furrowed. "What voice?"
I hesitated, listening again. The whispering grew louder, words tumbling over each other in a chaotic mess. It seemed to come from above us, from the roof of the bus.
"Never mind," I said quickly, sinking back into my seat.
Kenji gave me a long look before shrugging and leaning back again.
The whispers continued, persistent and sharp, like the rustle of dry leaves in the wind. My heart began to race as I tilted my head back, peering up at the edge of the bus's ceiling.
That's when I saw it.
A spider, no bigger than a coin, scuttled along the edge of the roof. Its legs moved with a delicate precision, almost hypnotic. My stomach churned, a deep unease settling in as the whispers grew clearer, forming actual words.
"The fly struggles, oh, how it struggles," the voice crooned. It was high-pitched and raspy, like an old man's whisper. "Caught in my web. It will be over soon, little one. Just a bit more."
I froze.
The spider paused, its tiny body shifting as if it could sense my attention.
"You're my next meal," it continued, the words slipping into my ears like venom. "Struggle all you like, little fly."
My breath hitched. "You've got to be kidding me," I muttered under my breath.
The spider turned toward me—or at least, I thought it did. Its tiny body twitched, and the whispers sharpened. "Oh? Someone's listening?"
I bolted upright, my legs trembling. "Kenji, we're getting off at the next stop."
Kenji opened both eyes, frowning. "What? Why? We're almost back."
"Because," I hissed, "there's a spider… and I think it's talking to me."
Kenji stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "You feeling alright, Meiko?"
"No," I said firmly, gathering my things. The spider's voice rang in my ears, a mixture of laughter and muttering. I couldn't take it anymore. "I'm leaving."
Kenji sighed but didn't stop me as I hurried off the bus at the next stop.
---
The walk home was worse.
The whispers didn't stop. If anything, they multiplied. Shadows flitted at the edges of my vision, strange shapes twisting and writhing in the dark. The longer I walked, the clearer they became.
A figure loomed under a flickering streetlight, its limbs too long and thin, its head tilting unnaturally as I passed. Another sat crouched on the roof of a convenience store, its glowing red eyes following my every step.
"Yokai," I whispered, my throat dry. They were everywhere—watching, whispering, moving in the periphery of my vision.
My heart pounded as I broke into a run, my bag slamming against my back. I didn't stop until I reached the familiar gate of my grandmother's house. The porch light was on, its warm glow a sharp contrast to the darkness pressing in around me.
I burst through the door, gasping for air.
"Grandma?" I called, my voice trembling.
She appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. My grandmother was in her mid-50s, her hair streaked with silver and black but her soft brown eyes sharp and alert. She was wearing a floral patterned yutata with an apron covered with food stains. She had always been a grounding presence in my life, a constant source of comfort.
"You're home late," she said, frowning. "What's wrong?"
I didn't answer. Instead, I threw my arms around her, burying my face in her shoulder. She smelled like incense and herbs, a familiar scent that usually calmed me.
But tonight, it didn't.
She stiffened slightly, her nose twitching. "Meiko," she said softly, pulling back to look at me. "Your aura… it's different."
I blinked at her, confused. "What do you mean?"
She didn't answer right away, her gaze lingering on me like she was searching for something. Then she smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Nothing. Go wash up. Dinner's almost ready."
I nodded, too tired to argue, and headed to my room.
---
As I changed out of my uniform, I spotted another spider.
It sat on the edge of my desk, its spindly legs twitching as it watched me. I froze, my heart thudding painfully in my chest.
"Well, well," it said, its voice high and sharp. "You can hear me, can't you?"
I swallowed hard. "No," I muttered.
The spider chuckled. "Liar."
"What… what do you want?" I asked, my voice barely audible.
It tilted its tiny body, almost as if it were shrugging. "Curious, that's all. You're… different now. How odd."
I stepped back, shaking my head. "I'm leaving. I'm not doing this right now."
The spider didn't reply, its laughter following me as I bolted from the room.
---
At dinner, my grandmother set a steaming bowl of miso soup in front of me. I ate in silence, my appetite faint at best.
"Your birthday is in two days," she said suddenly, breaking the quiet.
I stiffened, my chopsticks pausing mid-air.
She didn't press the subject, but the weight of her words lingered.
After dinner, I returned to my room. The spider was still there, waiting patiently.
"Why are you still here?" I asked, sitting on the edge of my bed.
It tilted its head. "Why do you think?"
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "I don't know what's happening to me. And I hate my birthday because it's the day my parents died."
The spider was silent for a long moment. "I see," it said finally. "Perhaps that's why you're different. Loss has a way of… changing people."
I didn't respond, lying down and staring at the ceiling I looked at the picture of me with my parents happy next to my bed. My thoughts drifted to my parents, to the yawning emptiness their absence left behind. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I let them fall silently as sleep pulled me under.