A Boy and his Dog CH 1.1

My name is Kenji Taylor, and my peaceful life ended on a Saturday.  I’m half Japanese, so my hair is more dark brown than black and my eyes are rounder, but I still resemble my mother more.  She was fourth generation Japanese and she died when I was five.  I didn’t understand what had happened at the time, I didn’t know what death was back then. My memories of her are faint at best, but I do remember the day she died.  Me, my dad, my grandparents and several of Mom’s friends from town, were all gathered around her hospital bed.  I remember holding her hand and I remember her speaking to me in a soft, gentle voice, repeating over and over, “Don’t worry Kenji, he will keep you safe.  He will keep you safe.  He will keep you safe.”  She must have been talking about Dad because I remember that he kept saying to Mom that he would.  I remember Mom’s hand going limp and thinking that she had fallen asleep.  She died of leukemia on October 13, my birthday, and it was the day after, a Saturday, that my life fell apart.  
I was riding my bike home from school when I saw the dog.  James Henry Public High School is only five minutes away from my neighborhood by car and while some kids would take the bus or be driven by their parents I rode my bike.  Most of the kids in my neighborhood did.  Dad told me that it saved on gas and was good exercise for me.  “Two birds” as he always said when he found a solution to more than one problem.  
I was coming back late from school because I had forgotten some of my books and, remembering halfway home, had rushed back just in time to retrieve them before the building was closed.  The high school, like the rest of downtown Fallcreek, sits in a bowl of the landscape with most of the residential areas situated in the hills surrounding it.  I had just finished pedaling my way up the first hill for the second time that day when I saw the dog.  It was sitting at the corner of Piedmont Ave. where it joined the Mainway, which is what everyone called the road that bisects the entire town from southeast to northwest.  It had no collar, and looked like a white husky or malamute, with a dark stripe along its spine and a spot above each eye.  The eyes themselves were yellow and fixed on me as I came over the crest of the hill.  It cocked its head to one side as dogs do, when I pedaled right past it.  I didn’t give it a second thought.  
My mind was occupied with tonight’s memorial/celebration.  Every October 13 it was the same old routine.  Dad and I would go to my grandparent’s house for dinner, after which we would have a brief memorial service for Mom.  Grandfather would bring out the incense and place the offerings of food next to the small shrine where Mom’s picture stood.  Then Grandmother would bring out the sweets and the birthday celebrations would begin.  It always seemed odd, to be sad for Mom’s death one moment, then to be happy because I had one more year of life under my belt.  Dad always said that it was fine to miss Mom, but that she wouldn’t want her death to stop us from trying to be happy.  I believed that sometimes.  Other times I thought about the other kids at my school, the ones who had complete families.  These thoughts ran through my mind as I pedaled past the familiar landmarks of the Fallcreek suburbs.  
Over the shallow wooden bridge across to river by Kings Street, and a left onto Mulberry Drive, right past the high chain-link fence surrounding Hobart Tersson’s house.  As I went by I could hear Hobart’s enormous black dog Wolf roaring at me.  Wolf never barked, I have never seen him with his mouth closed and even as I passed by the fence, I could see him.  Wolf lunged against his chain in my direction, his mouth forever hanging open to show his knife-like teeth and drool constantly falling from his tongue.  The chain was made of heavy steel links and nailed to a rock the size of armchair, in middle of Hobart’s backyard.  
I passed by that and several houses and had just braked to turn right onto Berkshire Blvd. when something made me look behind.  There was the dog from earlier, sitting on the sidewalk, looking into Hobart’s backyard.  It’s ears twitched, as if it were listening to Wolf.  Wolf couldn’t actually be talking to him of course.  I learned on the Discovery Channel that canines communicate through body language instead of vocalizations.  Even as I looked at it, the dog turned to look at me with its yellow eyes.  Then, rising to its feet, it trotted towards me.  
“Shoo!” I waved a hand at it.  “Shoo!”
The dog ignored me, trotting up to me until we were both standing on the corner.  The dog looked up at me.  If dog’s can look bored and condescending at the same time, this one did.  Then it turned right and trotted off down the street.  I watched it go for a moment, then sighed in resignation and pedaled after it.
Was I surprised when the dog followed me the whole way to my grandparents house?  Not really.  It did make me nervous though, I don’t like weird things.  And the dog was weird, no doubt about it.  It was silent for a start, it didn’t pant, bark or make any noise as it moved.  Also, normal dogs are curious, when I see a neighbor walking their dog, it’s always running this way and that, sticking it’s nose towards any new smell that interests it.  This dog did no such thing.  All my protests and attempts to shoo it away were wasted.  It followed me, silent and unwavering, up the driveway where Dad had parked his car to the doorstep.  
My grandparents house is all one story, but the area is twice as big as that of normal house because Grandfather’s shop takes up half the space.  My grandfather’s name is Yamato Senzaemon, (Japanese naming conventions put the surname in front of the given name), he’s third generation Japanese and he likes to collect antiques.  His shop is full of artifacts and junk, mostly Japanese, but from other parts of the world too.  He sells them sometimes, but he mostly buys them, either traveling himself to auction, or hiring people to do the procuring for him.  Like I said, he rarely sells anything so I have no idea how he makes his money.  
I looked at the dog, now sitting calmly at my side, staring at the door.  Then it looked up at me and I swear it was with impatience.  For just an instant the blood froze in my veins.  I know it sounds strange but for a fraction of a second I felt an overwhelming terror.  Then it passed and I could swear the dog was smirking at me, not with its mouth, but with its eyes.  Shaking my head I knocked on the door.
My dad answered.  He’s Caucasian with light brown hair and sad-looking blue eyes that clash with his smile.  “Ah Kenji!  What took you so long?  I was starting to worry.”  Then he noticed the dog.  He looked up at me with a questioning expression.
“Left some books at school.”  I said.  “As for the dog, it just followed me here.  Do you think it belongs to someone?”
Before Dad could reply my grandparents came into the entrance hall.  My grandfather is a short, thick-set man with a thin mustache and a forehead so wrinkled it looks like plowed field.  He also has, what the Japanese call ‘sanpakugan’, which means three white eyes.  His irises are really small so you can often see the eye white on three sides and this gives him a menacing look.  Put him in a kimono, shave his scalp and give him a ponytail and he could pass for a samurai lord in his castle.  My grandmother, Sakura, on the other hand, looks anything but frightening.  She’s thin and a little bent over because of a bad back, but she has, dare I say it, an aura of tranquility surrounding her.  Just being in the same room gives you a sense of peace.  She was wearing a muumuu printed with butterflies and blossoms and was carrying a tray of sweets with her.  I noticed the tray because she almost dropped it when she saw the dog.  At the time I thought it was with surprise that there was a dog on her front step at all.  Grandfather gripped her shoulder tightly and Grandmother seemed to recover herself.  
“W-where did you find the dog Ken-chan?”  Chan is a Japanese honorific used mainly for girls and small children and I guess even if Grandmother lived to see me as an old man she would still think of me as little Ken-chan.
“It just followed me here.”  I said, looking at the dog, who in turn, was looking at my grandparents.  Then, it lowered its head and I almost thought that it was bowing to them.  
Grandfather had a stony look on his face but he raised an eyebrow and spoke in a slightly forced tone.  “Well, he seems to be a polite guest, if an uninvited one.”  He must have thought that the dog was bowing too.  
“I guess so Ji-san.”  Like Grandfather I spoke in Japanese.  Grandfather spoke English to everyone else, including Dad, but he always insisted that we, my grandmother and I speak to him in Japanese.  “This is a good country,” he always said, “but we should never forget where we come from.”  He taught me Japanese when I was learning to speak at all so I was bilingual even as a kid.  He used to tell me bedtime stories about the Shinto gods and monsters.  My favorite, back when Mom was still alive, was the story of how Susanoo, god of sea and storms, had killed the eight-headed serpent.  
“And so Susanoo took his sword and chopped off all their heads!  One head.  Chop!  Two heads.  Chop!  Three heads.  Chop!”  With each “Chop!”  Grandfather would tap my neck with the side of his hand and I would giggle and try to get away.  
“Well, come on in.”  Grandfather said gruffly.  “And bring your new friend too.  We can leave him in the back until we find out who his owner is.”
The dog seemed to understand Grandfather because it walked right in.  Dad looked confused.  “It is staying?”  He asked.
“Yes.  For now.”  Grandfather said in English, then he turned to his wife.  “Please make something for our guest.”  Grandmother nodded, a little stiffly and shuffled off to the kitchen.  
Leaving my shoes by the doormat I followed the others inside into the living room.  The living room takes up the majority of space in the house, the remainder being taken up by two bathrooms, a bedroom and kitchen.  A huge Persian rug covered the floor with several small couches and armchairs pushed against the walls that were hung with pictures.  In the center was a large kotatsu table.  A kotatsu is a low table with a thick, heated blanket or cloth thrown over it.  Most are electrical, but my great-grandfather was very traditional, like his son, and had made a small pit in the floor for burning charcoal with a metal grate set over it.  The days were still warm so the fire was cold and the blanket was absent.  
Even after being married into a Japanese family for eighteen years Dad has not been able to develop a taste for Asian food.  Although I suppose that might be because Grandmother sometimes likes to pull a prank on him by, for example, adding extra soy sauce to his portion of fried rice, or mixing some extra wasabi, pepper or ginger into his food.  I don’t think Dad’s ever caught on.  Still he makes the effort to enjoy what my grandparents serve.  In return Grandmother has learned to cook Western food for him when she’s feeling merciful towards her son-in-law.  Today was such a day, and among the bowls of rice, pickled greens, miso soup and platters of yakitori, and nizakana, was a bowl of mashed potatoes and a platter Dad’s favorite dish, sausage, bell peppers and onions.  
Everybody ate well, even the uninvited dog.  Grandmother gave him some raw diced beef in a small bowl, which was set out on the backyard porch.  Dad and Grandmother carried most of the dinner conversation, mainly because Grandfather preferred to talk after he had finished eating, and partly because I still felt nervous about the dog which, after finishing it’s meal, sat on the porch staring at me.  Still I tried to answer any questions that was asked of me, what happened at school that day and if I had any upcoming tests.  Grandmother asked me teasingly if I had asked Jane out yet and I turned scarlet.  Grandfather, who had finished his meal already, noticed my reaction and snorted.  “How long have you been mooning over this girl?  Over a year now?  You need to move quicker boy or someone else will get her.”  
I scowled resentfully at the old man.  He was right of course but that didn’t mean I liked admitting it.  He didn’t understand how hard it was for me to approach Jane when my tongue kept sticking to the roof of my mouth whenever I tried to talk to her.  I was about to respond when I heard a loud snorting noise.  My eyes flicked over Grandfather’s shoulder to see the dog on the porch.  Its head was lowered as if it were looking at the ground.  But its shoulders shook a little and I could swear it was trying not to laugh.  Again the chill ran down my spine.  Normal dogs don’t have a sense of humor.  Grandfather looked over his shoulder at the dog, his eyes narrowed.  Then, turning back and seeing that everyone was done eating, got up from the low cushion he was sitting on.  “It is time.”  He said in English and went to get the incense.  
My Grandfather claims to be a follower of Shinto, but the memorial ceremony he has every year for Mom is mainly a Buddhist tradition.  This is because in the Shinto faith, all dead souls, virtuous or otherwise, go to Yomi, the dark and gloomy land of the dead and Buddhism has a friendlier kind of afterlife.  Grandfather opened the wooden doors of the little shrine set on a cabinet against the far wall.  Inside was a small picture of Mom atop a small stepped platform.  Grandfather lit the incense, which he placed in a small bowl on the bottom step.  On the other’s he placed a bowl of rice and a small platter of wagashi, small Japanese sweets, that Grandmother had made, and were my mother’s favorite.  Then everyone knelt in front of the altar and observed a long moment of silence.  Dad is not a particularly religious person but he does observe these things out of respect for his wife’s family.  I’m the same way.  At least half of the families in Fallcreek are secular, although there is a Catholic school downtown and at least five different churches and a synagogue.  I don’t need a formal ceremony to think about my dead mother.  I do that at least once a day.  As the pungent incense smoke wafted through the air I looked at the dog on the porch.  It too was facing the altar, silent as ever, staring fixedly at the picture of Mom.  Again I felt a shudder running down my spine.  This dog was weird, too weird.  The sooner we found and returned the dog to its owner the happier I’d be.
Grandfather straightened, turned to face me, and smiled.  “Tanjobi Omedetou Kenji.”  
“Yes, Happy Birthday.”  Dad said, smiling.  
Grandmother chimed in too and so the annual right angle turn from mourning to celebration came once again.  I could never really manage it, but I tried, this time convincing myself that Mom would not me to be sad on my birthday.  “Thanks.”
Grandmother brought out the tray of sweets.  Rather than a cake, the cookies, and sweet mochi dumplings were arranged into a large number 16.  Each mochi was impaled by a burning candle.  Grandfather remained silent as Dad and Grandmother sang the birthday song and the tray was placed in front of me on the table.  I closed my eyes, wished for the confidence to ask Jane out, and blew out the candles.  
I received four presents this year, which was unusual.  Normally I got three, one from Dad and one from each grandparent.  Occasionally one of Mom’s old friends would send me gift card.  But this year was different.  Dad gave me a copy of The Three Musketeers.  Dad always gave me books.  He believed that books were the best kind of gift because you can always learn from the stories they told as well as enjoy them.  It was one of the few things he and Grandfather agreed on.  They did like each other, but their interests were just too different.  My traditionalist Grandfather seemed to be allergic to new things and had an abhorrence of technology.  The most advanced thing in the house was an old television set.  Dad on the other hand, though he tolerated Grandfather’s obsession with history, traditions and antiques, had little interest in understanding them.  “The past is the past.”  He always said.  “It’s always better to focus on what’s ahead than to be constantly looking back.”  But books and stories was the one exception.  Both agreed that stories taught the most important lessons.  
From Grandmother I received a homemade Yankee’s jersey with my name on the back and Grandfather smiled approvingly.  Grandfather, Grandmother and I loved baseball.  When I was eight, my Grandparents had taken me to a game at National’s Park in DC.  I no longer remember which teams were playing, but during the game a fly ball had sailed into the audience and smacked into the baseball glove that Grandfather had bought me.  I had raised the glove to protect my face from oncoming ball, but in that moment, as I felt the ball smack into the leather I knew that I wanted nothing more than to play the game.  Grandfather always liked to say.  “Americans invented the game, but the Japanese were the ones who mastered it.”  And he would tell the story of how a group of high students from what is now Tokyo University beat a team of American sailors 29 to 4 in the first international baseball match in Asia.  
To go with Grandmother’s jersey Grandfather gave me a new baseball bat.  In keeping with his traditionalism, he disdained metal alloy baseball bats in favor of wooden ones.  He said that the bat he gave me was made of hickory.  “They say it is heavier and slower than ash or maple.”  He told me.  “But more weight means more power and with good timing, you will not need to worry about speed.”  Here he paused, looking uncertain and that alone was strange.  Grandfather was always a decisive man.  He made his choices quickly and stuck to them, even, according to Grandmother, when he was completely wrong.  However the moment passed.  Grandfather got up and left the room via the door that connected the house to the antique shop.  
I looked at Dad, who seemed just as puzzled as I was.  Grandmother on the other hand, was staring into her lap.  Her smile was gone.  Grandfather was gone for only a few minutes and returned carrying a long object wrapped in cloth.  He placed it in front of me on the table and went back t his former position, opposite me.  The dog was on its feet now and the yellow eyes had an air of expectation about them.  That look almost stopped me from unwrapping the object.  But my hands moved automatically and removed the cloth to reveal a rusty length of metal.  It took me a moment to realize that it was a sword.  When you think of Japanese swords you think of the katana, the slightly curved, single-edged sword used by the samurai.  But this sword was straight and double-edged, and it was so corroded that it looked like it couldn’t cut warm butter.  Grandfather’s face was stony now.  Grandmother kept staring at her lap and the dog was staring at the sword, their expressions sent another chill down my spine.  Somehow I had impression that Grandfather had given me something more than just an unusual birthday present.  
Dad was oblivious of course.  “Where did you get this Senzaemon?”
Grandfather looked up.  “This artifact was found by an American soldier in Kyushu during the occupation.  His son put it up for auction in San Francisco and one of my contacts acquired it for me.”  He turned to me.  “Keep it close to you.  You may need it.”
Dad smiled uncertainly.  “What would Kenji need a rusty old sword for?”  That was the very question I had wanted to ask, but the creepy feeling I’d been getting since I saw the dog had prevented me from asking.  
Grandfather shrugged.  “For good luck.”
The dog sat down, and wagged its tail.  Grandmother and Grandfather smiled and I breathed an inner sigh of relief.  Good luck, yes that was all it was.  My old-fashioned grandfather just gave me good-luck charm.  A big, rusty, useless good luck charm, that was all.  
“Ken-chan.”  Grandmother said.  “Would you and Richard like to stay the night?”
I used to sleep over at the old house when Dad went on the occasional trip for business, but as I had grown older and more responsible, he left me at home to watch the house.  He still insisted that I should call my grandparents number if something non-life threatening was wrong.  There was no real need to say yes and besides, the dog still creeped me out. Still, it had been a while and, even after Mom’s death, my grandparents house had always given me a warm, comfortable feeling.  
“Sure.”
Dad chimed in that he would stay too.  Grandmother smiled and got up to make some tea and coffee.  The rest of the evening passed by quietly and that night, Dad and I flopped onto the couches with spare blankets over us and I drifted off to sleep.  
The old clock hanging from the opposite wall showed that it was 9 in the morning when I woke up.  I blinked yawned and snuggled deeper into the cushions.  
“Oi.”
I blinked again, my eyes flicked around the room.  Nothing.
“Oi bozu.  You up yet?”
There it was again.  I grunted, shifted onto my back and craned my neck.  And saw the dog’s head protruding from my chest through the blankets.
“And how are we feeling this morning?”  It spoke with an amused look in its eyes.
I screamed.

I felt a little sorry for the kid but I just couldn’t resist.  The look on his face was priceless.  His eyes bugged out of his head, his face went as white as a yuki-onna and I swear his hair stood on end for an instant.  I submerged back into his body as he rolled off the couch and struggled with the entangling blankets.  He jumped to his feet and began spinning around in place, eyes desperately searching for me.  I decided to make it easy for him and walked out through the seat of his pants.  
“Your father left for work an hour ago but try to keep it down will you?  You’ve already woken Senzaemon and Sakura, we don’t need to drag the neighbors into this too.”  
The boy spun around and stared at me.  His mouth hung so low a hamster could have used it for a swing.  I could hear his grandparents waking up in the bedroom; hopefully they would get in here before Kenji panicked and did something stupid.  
“W-w-wha!?”  The kids jaw flapped as he tried to speak coherently.  Again I took pity on him.  “What am I?  Is that what you’re trying to say?”
The kid flinched at my words and stared at me as though I were some gore-splattered monster from one of the horror movies American teens like so much.  I decided to answer my own question.  
“Well, my name is, actually I’ve quite a few over the years, but you can call me Higemaru.  I’m an inugami and you are my new master.”
The kid’s face remained blank, he was probably still coming to terms with the whole talking dog thing.  Honestly.  I’ve been around modern humans for several decades now and you’d think with all the stuff they put into their movies these days a talking dog would rate pretty low on the incredibility scale.  But no, the boy just couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea.  
Senzaemon and Sakura walked in a few seconds later.  Both of them had aged in the last sixteen years.  Senzaemon’s hair was completely gray now and the laugh lines around Sakura’s mouth had deepened.  The kid practically jumped into their arms, trying to cling to something he could understand most likely.  
“Ji-san!  The dog!  The dog is talking andI thinkitwas insidemeandthenitcameoutand.”  He kept babbling faster and faster in Japanese until the old man put a hand over his mouth.
“Calm down Kenji.”  He said sternly.  “Sit down and we will explain everything.”  
The kid seemed to relax slightly under the commanding town, but only a little.  He nodded, Senzaemon removed his hand from Kenji’s mouth, lead him to the kotatsu and practically pushed him down into a sitting position.  I walked over and sat on the opposite side.  I attempted a friendly smile and the boy shuddered.  The two oldsters sat down to either side of us, and Senzamon looked at me reprovingly.  “There are gentler methods of introduction Higemaru.  I doubt frightening my grandson half out of his wits will help reconcile him to his new circumstances.”
I lowered my head a little sheepishly.  “Sorry Senzaemon.”  And I meant it.  “But you should have seen his face when he saw me, I tell you it was priceless!”  Well, mostly.  Sakura smiled and ruffled my ears, but the kid still looked dazed and terrified.  “Ji-san, Ba-chan, what’s going on?”  He spoke weakly, sounding like a little kid.
Senzaemon stoked his mustache, a habit when he thinks.  “Tell me Kenji, have you ever heard of the saying ‘what you believe will be?”
The kid frowned.  “Isn’t that some old Buddhist proverb?”
Senzaemon nodded.  “It is indeed.  Although I doubt that even Buddha himself could have known just how literal that statement is.  The age of science and knowledge has only existed for roughly two and half centuries.  People have believed in magic and the supernatural for at least five thousand years if not longer.  You would be amazed what human belief can achieve.  An athlete for example, can be near the end of a race.  He will have reached his physical limitations but if he truly believes that he can run that much faster that much longer, then he can.  Doesn’t Coach Barkley say something similar?  ‘Half the game is in your head?’”
Kenji nodded slowly and the old man went on.  “That is a minor example of what human will and belief can do.  One person’s belief can affect himself, many people believing the same thing can affect the world around themselves.  People have believed in supernatural beings for thousands of years.  Call them gods, monsters, ghosts, etc, but there are people who believe in them to this day.  What’s important is that after centuries of ‘existing’ in story and song, some supernaturals have actually manifested themselves in the physical world.”  
He gestured to me.  “Inugami, like Higemaru have existed for centuries in Japan, they and many other kinds of yokai, but only because many people believed in yokai and some still do.”  Yokai, is a generic term referring to supernatural monsters in Japan, though some people use terms like obake, mononoke or ayakashi.  
“And so I exist.”  I spoke this time, in case the kid had forgotten I was there.  For a moment the kids face remained blank and I had the impression that his grandfather’s lecture had gone right over his head.  Suddenly his face relaxed and a slow smile spread across his face.
“Nice try Ji-san.  You actually had me there for a minute.  I didn’t know you could do ventriloquism.”  
Senzaemon and Sakura looked at each other.  My tail twitched with annoyance.  Apparently Kenji was in denial.  He went on.
“You really expect me to believe in ghosts, monsters and talking dogs?  I’ll admit it was really convincing, but it’s jus not possible.  Dog’s can’t talk and supernatural stuff doesn’t exist.  The dog was just lying on top of me and I was half-asleep so I thought it was coming out of me.”
I’d had enough of this.  “You think I’m not real huh?”  As I said this I placed my front paws on the table.  As Kenji turned to look at me I lunged forward and entered his body.  I wasn’t going to hurt the boy, I had promised Ichiko I would protect him.  Besides, Senzaemon and his family have been good to me, but it was time the boy gave up his blindfold.  
“Where’d he go?”  Kenji’s voice echoed around me now as I arranged my essence or youki, as the Japanese call it, to my satisfaction.  Then I took control.  “You still wanna tell me I’m not real?”  I spoke inside his head.  At the same time I used his mouth and larynx to speak aloud.  
Kenji yelped and clapped his hands over his mouth.  “What if I do this?”  As I spoke into his thoughts I took one hand away from his mouth and began picking his nose with it.  Kenji squealed with terror.  “Stop it!”
“Ready to believe in me now?”
“This isn’t happening!”  Kenji protested desperately.  “This is a dream!  Just a bad dream.  Any moment now and I’ll wake up.”
I poked him in the eye with his right hand.  “You awake yet?”
His fear increased dramatically.  “This isn’t happening!”  His mind insisted.  “This isn’t happening.  This.  Is.  NOT.  HAPPENING!”
“It’s happening all right.” I said wickedly.  “And I know just how to prove it.”
I made him go onto all fours and crawl out into the back yard.  His panicking brain fought against me, but I have a lot of experience possessing humans.  I made him bark a few times, and then I walked him right up the fence that enclosed the yard and lifted one of his legs.
“Ah!  I see there’s a little in your bladder left.  More than enough, here we gooo.”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!  Nononononono! Please No! Please!”
“So you believe in me now?”
“YES!  Yes, I believe! I believe!  Just GET OUT!!!”
Chuckling I popped out through his back and Kenji collapsed onto the ground panting like, well, a dog.  Finally he looked up at me and I showed all my teeth in a friendly smile.   “That’s good to hear.  I’m looking forward to working with you.”
The kid crouched on the ground, panting and staring for a moment.  Then his eyes rolled back and he passed out.
“Ah.  Maybe that was a little too much for him.”

What a nightmare, being possessed by a dog.  Fortunately the bad dream was brief and I soon slept peacefully.  When I woke up I felt as if I hadn’t slept a wink, it was around 1 in the afternoon and Grandmother was hovering over me anxiously.  “Are you all right Ken-chan?”  I blinked at the bright sunlight coming in through the windows.  “I’m all right Ba-chan.”  I pushed my self off the couch, and on instinct, glanced at the porch.  The dog was gone.  For a moment I wondered if the dog had been nothing but a part of the dream. “A man came by this morning and picked the dog up.  Don’t worry Ken-chan, I’m sure it got home safely.”  Grandmother said, noticing my look.
I wasn’t worried about the dog.  In fact I was glad the thing was gone.  Even without the creepy dream, the way the dog had acted last night had bothered me.  Then my stomach rumbled and I realized I was ravenously hungry.  Grandmother and Grandfather sat down with me to lunch and inhaled most of what they put in front of me without really tasting the food, or even noticing what it was.  Throughout the meal my grandparents picked at their food without enthusiasm.  Grandfather looked ever sterner than ever.  Grandmother’s customary smile was nowhere to be seen.  I was too tired to take notice.  Despite sleeping in, my eyelids still felt heavy as lead and as soon as I got home, I collapsed onto my bed.  

It was seven at night when I awoke to the sound of my phone buzzing.  Groaning with exhaustion despite having spent most of the day asleep I groped for the cell and saw that it was a text from Dad saying he was going to be late home tonight.  Then I realized that I had taken in the mail when I got back.  It was a stupid thing I know.  Why not wait until tomorrow?  I was tired and wanted to sleep again.  But you know how sometimes something small and insignificant continues to poke at you no matter how much you try to ignore it?  This was one of those times.  After a mental wrestling match between my persistent brain and uncooperative body I finally got up, slipped some shoes on and shuffled out to the mailbox.  The streetlamps were on even though the sky was not entirely black with night just yet.  The first stars were beginning to appear as I grabbed several letters and a magazine and turned back towards the house.  
Something out of the corner of my eye caused me to turn around.  The man standing in the pool of light from one of the lamps could have walked right out of a Humphrey Bogart film.  He wore a heavy trench coat, leather gloves and wide-brimmed fedora that shadowed his face.  He was also carrying a walking cane, which seemed strange as he didn’t seem to need it.  When I first saw him he seemed to be pointing the cane at me.  
“Uh, can I help you?”
The man brought the tip of his cane to his face and I could swear he was sniffing at it.  Then he lowered it and walked towards me.  As he got closer I could see a little of his face, which was nut brown and wore a friendly smile.  “Sorry.  I’m afraid I’ve gotten lost.  You mind telling me where the nearest hotel is?”
“Sure, there’s a Hilton just off the Mainway on West Bank Avenue.  You just keep going that way-“
I turned to point in the indicated direction.  As I did I thought I saw a dark blur moving towards me at speed.  At that exact moment, a blur of white fur and slashing claws erupted from my side to crash into the stranger.  I turned back and saw the dog crouching over the man in the trench coat.  He had thrown up the arm holding his cane to protect himself and the dog was worrying at it with his teeth.  At the same time he was savaging the man’s front with his back paws.  For a moment I was too stunned to do or say anything.  The dog had come out of my body like the chestburster from Alien, only when I numbly felt my side there was neither hole nor blood.  
This isn’t happening.  This can’t be happening.  It’s not normal so it can’t be happening.  Then the man gave a great heave and threw the dog off so hard that it crashed into me.  My head slammed against the mailbox hard enough for me to see stars.  It took my vision a few seconds to clear, then I felt the throbbing pain in the back of my head where I had hit the mailbox.  Instinctively, I reached for the spot and my hand felt a small wet patch.  When I brought the hand to my face, there was a spot of blood on the fingers.  My blood.
“Kenji, do you have the sword?’
The dog had clambered off of me and was standing again.  Standing between me and the man, already on his feet.  I could see that his sleeve and the front of his coat were in tatters, but the flesh beneath looked completely unharmed.
“KENJI!  Do you have the sword?”
I realized Higemaru was talking to me.  Through the fog of terror, I managed to stammer out a yes.  The rusty sword Grandfather had given me for my birthday was in my backpack in the bedroom.
“Go get it.”
“But-“
“Just Go!  I’ll hold him off until then.  He’s not really strong but I can’t get through his skin.  We need the sword for that.”
I saw that his paws were bleeding.  The man had retrieved his cane.  He finished dusting off the remnants of his clothes and smiled.  His fedora had fallen off revealing a face that looked Native American, except the skin had a grainy quality that looked more like rock than flesh.  
“Your confidence is admirable dog.”  His smile broadened, a row of fanglike teeth.  But do you really think I’ll simply let the boy escape?”
“What?”  Higemaru sounded surprised.  “A famous monster like you?  I doubt you could stop him if you tried.”  There was a sneering sarcastic tone in his voice when he said famous.  A tone that I didn’t understand, but apparently it struck some sort of nerve in the stone man.  His features contorted with anger.  He raised the cane and Higemaru leapt towards him, claws extended.  
“GO!”
A blast of wind erupted from the cane.  At the same time Higemaru expanded until he was the size of small bus.  Digging his claws into the asphalt he was blown back a yard, then stopped, then he began to advance on the enemy.  
I ran for the house.  I didn’t seem to care about the fact that there were two monsters fighting in the street or the realization that what had happened that morning had been real or anything else.  I just ran.

I hoped Kenji wouldn’t take too long to get the sword.  I was already losing patience with this guy.  When he saw that his windstorm wasn’t going to stop me for long he turned his damn cane into a stone telephone pole and threw it at me.  I managed to swat it aside but in the fractions of a second it took to accomplish this he was already dashing across the front yard after Kenji.  It’s times like this that I’m almost grateful to the little shit who sawed my head off eight hundred years ago.  My neck extended at lightning speed and my jaws closed on the enemy’s middle just as he was about to grab Kenji and pull him out through the front door.  I didn’t bother biting down as that would only break my teeth, so I spat him out and instead flattened him into the pavement with my tail.  
“Why don’t you just lie there quietly.”
The stone man just smiled and there was a sudden impact and blinding pain in my right eye.  The bastards cane!  Instinctively I flinched away, allowing my enemy to regain his feet.  The cane flew into his hand and he raised it again in readiness.  I positioned myself in front of the house to keep him from pursuing Kenji.  So much for the opening gambits.
The fight quickly degenerated into a game of “kill the cockroach”.  I tried demon fire, and poison but the former only burnt his clothes and his skin was too impermeable for the latter.  In turn the stone man’s attacks did nothing but irritate me.  
In principal the more well known a supernatural is the stronger it is.  This is especially true when the supernatural is in its’ native land, but really, as long as there are enough people who know your story you’ll be just fine.  This is why the America’s make good a home for supernatural beings from all over the world.  Almost everyone who lives here, came from somewhere else and so stories from across the globe gather together, especially in the US and Canada.  Japan is my homeland, but there are enough people of Japanese descent who remember the stories that my power is not so greatly reduced.  Ironically, for most Native American supernaturals the situation is the reverse.  There are very few such people in the east and, because in the previous centuries the whites went to great pains to stamp out the native cultures, most of the beliefs and legends are all but forgotten.  As a result most supernaturals of this kind are pretty weak. There are exceptions of course, but I’m not going to go into that now.  Suffice it to say that if it weren’t for my enemy’s thick hide I would have torn him to shreds in the first attack.  
There was sudden panting noise and I head Kenji come up behind me.  “I’ve got the sword!”
“Excellent.”  I smiled at the stone man one last time and before either he or the kid could react I retracted myself back into Kenji’s body.  As before, the boy’s mind panicked as I tried to take control.  “Just relax and let me do the driving.”  This time however, probably because he was half-expecting it this time, the brat tried to fight me!  The stone man charged, cane extended and when I tried to go forward and attack the idiot tried to retreat.  The stone man swung his cane and, realizing there was not enough time to recover, I went along with Kenji’s retreat, causing him to fall over backwards.  The cane missed his thick head by inches, which instead banged against the doorframe.  The shock and pain the rippled through his mind, distracting him and I seized my opening.  As I swore at the brat in Japanese I kicked out with his legs, catching the stone man in the middle and sending him flying back into the yard.  The stone man looked winded, he had lost his cane.  I held the sword high and lunged.

This was the second time in my life and I already hate possession.  Watching your body moving around at the will of another and knowing that you have no control over yourself is both terrifying and humiliating.  But then, I had no real choice in the matter.  Without Higemaru I would have died beside the mailbox only minutes ago.  It already felt like months had passed.  I could only watch, from inside my mind as my body lunged forward, arm raised to smash the ancient, rusting sword onto the monster lying prone in my front yard.  I didn’t see how the rusted piece of junk could help, in fact, when the stone man raised his arms to defend himself I expected the blade to snap.  To my surprise the old sword made a loud clanging noise as it struck the upraised arm and remained intact.  
As Higemaru drew my arm back for another blow the stone man rolled aside and scrambled to his feet.  But Higemaru, or me I suppose, it is MY body, was too fast and struck him again, and again, and again.  Blow after blow of the old sword reigned down on the stone man’s arms and head.  They had absolutely no effect, but Higemaru kept on pounding away.  He drew back my arm for yet another crushing blow and froze.  I could not control my own body and it felt like I was watching a movie in my head, except that I could also smell and feel as well as see and hear.  There was a whirring noise in the air coming from behind me.  Higemaru ducked and felt the wind of the monster’s cane passing over my head as it flew back into his hand.  
The stone man smiled smugly at me.  Or rather at Higemaru.  I should add confusing to reasons not to like possession.  “Your sword has failed you dog god.  I’d pick something sharper.”
There was a pregnant pause.  Then Higemaru used my lips to smile.  “I’d say it worked well enough.”  
The stone man looked puzzled, but Higemaru kept on smiling, and raised my left hand.  Then I saw something just below the stone man’s wrist.  A crack in the rock-like skin.  At the same time, the stone man noticed it as well, but it was too late.  Higemaru made a strange gesture and dark blue flames instantly appeared on the monster’s arm.  The stone man screamed as the flames licked at his arm.  He dropped the cane and beat at the flames with his other hand, to no avail.  Smaller cracks began to appear in the stone man’s body.  Smoke began to pour out from these cracks, followed by jets of flame.  The stone man continued to scream as the fire, contained within his stone hide consumed him from the inside out.  The screams ceased, jets of flame burst out from his mouth and eyes and suddenly the entire body was engulfed in blue flames that burnt brightly then went out.  All that remained was a pile of ash, a strange-looking rock, and lump of something that looked like putty.  
You know that feeling when you get when you doze off without realizing it, then you jerk awake?  Suddenly this feeling washed over me, I blinked and realized, as I looked at my hands, that I could control my body again.  
“Well that wasn’t so hard.”  The white dog was sitting beside me on the front step, wagging its tail and looking indecently pleased with itself.  It looked up at me and smiled.  “Let’s start over shall we?  Hi, my name is Higemaru.  I’m an inugami, and I’m here to protect you from things like that.”  He gestured at the ash, rock and putty.  “Still, I didn’t think they’d start so soon.”  He shrugged.  “Ah well.  Go pick up the spoils and let’s go back inside.  We’ve got some talking to do tomorrow.”
My name is Kenji Taylor, I’m half-Japanese and this is the story of how my peaceful, ordinary life was utterly destroyed.

A man in a business suit sat at his desk in a New York high rise, staring into a glass ball resting lightly on the dark walnut.  The blinds were up and the globe was perfectly clear, yet it did not reflect the lights of late night Manhattan, instead it showed him an image of a boy stooping over a pile of ash.  
The man was slightly irritated.  He had expected the attacks to begin, but he had hoped that the first one would have been stronger than Nun’Yunu’Wi.  Now his enemies would be on guard against the others.  However the man soon chided himself for his irritation.  He knew that he could not act out his vengeance himself, he had to rely on other, more powerful entities to do the job for him.  
Responding to his will, the glass ball darkened again, and filled with images.  They crowded together like hungry koi fish in a pond.  A dark haired girl carrying two wooden poles, with what looked like a tall man standing behind her.  A shadow with reaching arms.  A horde of glowing eyed figures.  A man with a lance.  A great bird.  A hulking, fanged giant.  A golden haired beast with many tails.  
The man smiled.  And so it begins.  

TO BE CONTINUED. . . . .