Category: Stories

Company

~ Yanagi Studios

By A. O. Wallat

Gordon sauntered along the giant green bamboo that he had decided was his favourite viewing spot. The landscape never changed from other vantages but at ninth hour the light from where he now stood streaked through the canopy turning the dull wooden city into the many shades of sunset.

Although the cityscape reflected reds and yellows quite cheerfully he didn’t feel the same. Sad wasn’t exactly what he felt because he never felt it like this before. The wooden folk were always too busy to think or even worse talk about feelings.

Gordon sat down with a clunk. The giant bamboo had no backrest, and he had clearly forgotten about that. His wooden frame tumbled backwards from the canopy end after end, clonk after clunk, and with a dull thud he hit the floor. His bark was split, his head was cracked. Little pieces of splinter embedded the soil and all manner of sap was dripping onto his head.

Gordon woke in pain. Wincing, he crawled towards the nearest tree as though an anchor weighed him down. He had no memory of the moments just passed and looked down in search of the missing time.

Fear trickled down into the pit of his stomach.

Two standard log lengths before him was another body slumped in the same way he was. It looked just as broken as he did. In fact he looked exactly the same. Bathed in an orange glow, the two Gordons sat facing each other. He wasn’t sure if he was dead. But when Gordon tried to leave –

“Don’t go,” it said.

Its frame hadn’t moved, its eyes didn’t move but it had definitely spoken.

The shadows turned from orange to red. Gordon had managed to sit upright. While he rested, the sap in his cracks and breaks hardened and slowly healed. He looked at his double. The corners of its mouth were turned down. Gordon spoke without thinking.

“Come on. Let’s get home.”

In the Shadow of the Sun God

~ Yanagi Studios

By Thomas Caterer

Tamil watched his father unload their pack beasts with a fierce determination in his eyes. He was nine years old now, almost a man. The night before they had set out, their donkeys loaded, their horses watered, he had wandered off from the camp and made a little bonfire. He had thrown his wooden horse upon it along with his archers and spearmen. His brow furrowed, his eyes looking on intently. He smiled broadly, proud of his own commitment to becoming a man, and throwing away all such childish things.

Bagdor, a broad shouldered man with a long black beard walked over to Tamil, a proud smile set in his face. Today was an important day for a father and a son. The wind swept sand into Tamil’s eyes, he lifted his hand to his face and squinted as the merciless sun beat down upon him. Hator, the Sun God was with them today, this most sacred of days; the start of their pilgrimage. The first step to Tamil becoming a man.

As Bagdor reached his son, he offered him a wooden bowel to drink from. Tamil greedily lapped up the mixture of ice, milk, and honey that had been offered to him. So sweet, so refreshing. Bagdor’s men started to prepare the camp, set the yurts into the ground, lead the horses to water. Bagdor and Tamil sat upon a rock together, Tamil continued to drink. Bagdor looked to his boy, his eyes brimming with warmth.

“The gods have given Man countless gifts” intoned Bagdor. Tamil turned to meet his father’s eyes. He always enjoyed hearing about the gods, even the stories he already knew.

“But among them there are six which are considered the ‘great gifts’. Do you know what these are, Tamil?”

He shook his head. He thought he knew at least three, but didn’t want to interrupt.

“The ‘great gifts’ are women, horses, water, fruit, mushrooms… and music” he said the last word with an especial reverence. “What do you think of that Tamil, do you agree?”

“Of all the many gifts the gods have given us, it surprises me these should be the ‘great’ six, father” replied Tamil. He spoke slowly, considering his words carefully. He wanted his father to look to him for support and advice, and for assistance in combat, the way he did with his warriors; Hagar, and Tagudai. As such he always took care with choosing his words when speaking to his father.

“How so, son?” Bagdor beamed a wide smile with his mouth opening to reveal the missing and crooked teeth that make up the smile of a warrior.

“Well I can understand why we need water; to live, and horses are what make us warriors and conquerors. Fruit is sweet and nourishing, and music unites the tribes in merriment. But I don’t understand why women and mushrooms are important”.

Bagdor laughed uproariously, rising to his feet as he did. His face flushed red in the midst of Hator’s kiss. “Well son, the importance and joy of women may become clearer to you, when you are older. I think you would understand more of their importance now, if your mother had survived your birth. She would have loved you so dearly, and been so proud to see what a brave, and wise man you are growing into. As for the mushrooms, well they are the food of the gods, which they deign to share with us mortals. Upon eating them we can dream whilst awake, and we can see the realm of Hator, and his seven sisters, and of all the gods and goddesses”.

Dream whilst awake. His father’s words stayed with Tamil that night.He wondered if his father had simply been referring to daydreaming. But he knew he must have meant something different, something special. Tamil lay in his yurt, his woollen blankets covering him. He still felt the crisp cold of a night spent sleeping on the steppe as the wind caressed his face. The winds passing through the yurts made the sounds of wolves or other such howling creatures. Tamil closed his eyes and saw the form of a great wolf, the wolf reached its claws to pull off its own face, and beneath it was the face of a woman; young, beautiful, and enchanting. In a flash, with the blink of his eyes, her face turned old and wizened like that of a crone. But not a witch Tamil thought. No, she is a wise woman, beautiful in a different way. Tamil’s eyes closed and without any effort at all sleep overcame him.

The pilgrimage to the Red Temple of Hator would confirm Tamil’s passage into manhood. He would finally be allowed to braid his hair. On the day of his ceremony, his wrist would be emblazoned with the tattoo of his tribe; two green serpents copulating on a field of blood red. Only the very vilest of criminals and traitors had their tattoos burned off. Most men would sooner be castrated than lose the mark of their tribe. Tamil had no intention of suffering such a fate. He would be a fierce warrior, a fair leader, and a kind father and husband. All the things his father was and which had made him respected amongst all other warriors.  The six great gifts his father described all had a part to play in the pilgrimage. The journey was by horseback of course. The Red Temple was surrounded by a great moat which you could bathe in. Everyone would eat blackcurrants, strawberries, and cranberries whilst drinking wine as Tamil was tattooed, and the ritual performed by a high priestess. There would be the playing of strings, and drums, and there would be singing and dancing.

The sun was high in the sky, as Tamil and Bagdor rode at the front of their caravan. Bagdor drank water from his flask lustfully. Every little thing he did, he seemed to relish, everything was there to be enjoyed. Tamil observed him coolly. He knew his father made the people around him feel good. It was a gift he hoped he might have too one day but he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t know yet how his father always smiled. Even when talking about mother, he was never sad. He would always make some jest of how lucky Hator and the other gods were to have her now, and simply move on.

“So how will the six great gifts be represented in the ritual? Do you know?” Bagdor turned to Tamil, his eyes wide, his brows arched.

“Well, we are riding horses now, the moat is for the water, the berries and wine for the fruit, musicians will play for my ceremony, and the high priestess is for women. I just don’t know about the mushrooms”.

“Hmm very good. You guessed more than I did when I was your age. And you’re smarter than your uncles too!’ laughed Bagdor. ‘However though it is true this temple has a high priestess, some have high priests, so she does not represent women in the ritual. You guessed four out of six. But the mushrooms are simple. After the ceremony you will eat a Dream Mushroom for the first time. The part which represents women however… well…” Bagdor’s face broke out into a huge infectious grin. Hagar and Tagudai who were riding close by started chuckling too. Tamil flushed red. They all know something.

The Red Temple of Hator finally came into view after many days of riding. It shimmered like a mirage but solidified as they drew closer. The red bricks of the temple were like nothing Tamil had seen before. And the moat was clear and inviting. As the horses were tied up, many young girls aged between eight and twelve came scurrying up to Tamil and his father’s men offering them plates with berries on them. Their mothers and older sisters watched from the distance, waving and smiling. Tagudai grinned broadly and winked at one of these older sisters, who covered her mouth to hide her laughter as she buried her face in the shoulder of another of the women. Tagudai turned red and Hagar slapped his back jovially. Tamil laughed and took a handful of blackcurrants from a plate offered to him by a girl with feline features. Well she kind of looks like a cat.

“May the gods bless you this day, Tamil” said the cat girl, blushing as she spoke.

“Thank you, what is your name?”

“Amarte”

“Which tribe are you from Amarte?”

“Please Tamil, don’t worry about the tribe, you should pick a girl who has fire in her eyes!” she exclaimed before pausing as Tamil returned her look with narrowed eyes, biting his lower lip. Finally she added “and I do Tamil, I do!”

Tamil didn’t understand what she was talking about, although for a split second he did feel that he saw flame burst in each of her pupils. Maybe Hator was trying to tell him something?

“Pick a girl for what? I don’t dance anyway…” Tamil shrugged his shoulders and shovelled more blackcurrants into his mouth. Amarte raised an eyebrow in curiosity. He was a strange boy after all but… not bad necessarily.

Tamil winced with pain, his flesh burned. The high priestess stood above him speaking the tongue of their ancestors which he could not understand. She was more singing than speaking now. The transition had been seamless. Naked men and women danced around the fires in the centre of the temple. Stringed instruments were plucked as drums were banged, and countless voices lifted into the sky to join the chorus of the priestess’s song. Tamil’s head was thick with pain. He couldn’t cry or scream. He would never dishonour father like that. Never!

But it did hurt, as the tribe’s sigil snaked its way up his wrist until finally he was made a man. In the corner of his eye he could see Hagar and Tagudai eating berries and drinking wine with the warriors of other tribes. And finally he could see his father smiling and nodding at him. He fell to his knees; he felt strong, he felt free.

The part of the ritual which represents women soon became clear. Today Tamil was expected to choose the girl who would be his first wife. As Hagar and Tagudai smiled encouragement at him, his father lead him by the hand to where various daughters of other tribe leaders and proud warriors had been assembled in a line in front of him. He recognised many from that morning, when the greeting gift of fruit had been presented.

“A word of advice from an old man” said Bagdor. Tamil looked up to his father.

“We all feel strong at times, weak at others. A strong body, wealth and treasure, youth and beauty, these are all forms of power. And they are all dangerous to become addicted to. They are all blown around like sand in the wind, they all fade, or rot like meat left on the bone. None of that lasts. The greatest power is found in love, wisdom, kindness. The real treasures of Hator”.

“Why did you choose mother?”

“For the same reason I never took another wife… the fire in her eyes” Bagdor squeezed Tamil’s shoulder as he said these last words.

Tamil looked up and found he was looking into the feline features of Amarte once more. She smiled back at him.

A dream mushroom tastes much like any other mushroom, Tamil concluded upon finishing his that evening. Although as time went by he felt himself begin to swing unwittingly in time with the drums and the strings. He felt like he was really hearing the music for the first time. Like he had never heard it before. It felt wonderful, he didn’t know how to describe it, it was just different somehow. And everything looked and felt a little more… more real, more vivid. As Tamil watched the naked dancers, they began to shapeshift before his very eyes. Some took the forms of foxes, or wolves, others were horses, or antelopes, some became birds, and others fish. Soon the dancers were embracing each other, some started to make love, others sucked upon the manhood of other’s as though drinking from a fountain. Some licked in between the thighs of women, and some bit deep into the flesh of their dancing partners, so as to draw blood. And where blood spilled upon the floor, all those who saw it threw themselves to the ground to lap it up as if it were honeyed milk. Tamil stared on in wonderment.

Once more he saw the old crone, she was stood calmly leaning on her stick in the heart of all the chaos. She smiled at Tamil, and he felt relaxed like everything would be fine if he just held her gaze. Before his eyes her face transformed again, into the young woman he had seen in his dream. She had feline features and her brown eyes burst with flame. Lastly he was looking into the face of a great wolf. He reached his hand to the plate by his side and filled his mouth with blackcurrants. He looked down at his wrist and the two serpents. He felt an immense rush of pride and joy.

He was sad to leave Amarte behind but the day of their wedding would not be until after she had bled. Reluctantly he bid farewell to the Red Temple, and it’s clear and brilliant moat. In the cool, crisp morning sun, Tamil dutifully rode behind his father, back to their home. But the final test had not yet been passed.

“A man must know how to feed himself. A man cannot live off fruits and seeds alone” Bagdor told him. “Today you will kill your own dinner”.

They had hidden amongst the bushes, after tracking a herd of antelope. Tamil was nestled beneath his father’s arm. Bagdor steadied his bow and readied his aim. Only to demonstrate. Tamil followed the example. He had always been a quick learner. The antelope he had chosen was in his sights. He pulled back on his arrow and felt the bow tense. He released, and the arrow flew through the air, cutting a path to the antelope, and finally burying itself in the creature’s neck. As Tamil and Bagdor approached it, Tamil felt faint, he felt outside of his own body as if he was watching himself from a distance. As they approached the antelope, Tamil let out a wail in shock. He was looking down at his own maggot infested corpse, his manhood was pointing up, his bum and hips drowning in his own excrement, and a vulture was pecking out his eyes.

Bagdor looked at him concerned, he had no idea what was troubling his son.

Then the image he saw changed, he saw a woman’s face, half was the beauty from his dreams but the other half of her face was that of the wise crone. Her body was gone, and replaced with the body of a wolf. Dead and rotting wolf cubs suckled on their mother’s nipples.

Finally the dead antelope was back where it should be, and Tamil saw the bright and fiery eyes of Amarte in his mind’s eye. He turned with an expression of fierce determination to his father. His father who was always laughing and smiling, always the joker, he turned to him and finally he asked…

“Is mother really with Hator, father? Is she not just gone, is she not just nothing now?”

“I don’t know” replied Bagdor. “I don’t know if she’s with Hator, but everything changes, like how this antelope will change into our energy, and how flames change into ashes. So I don’t think she is nothing. But I don’t know for sure”.

It seemed strange to Tamil that after trying so hard for so long to appear strong in front of his father, the first time he ever cried in front of him was after he became a man, after the tattoo, after the ritual, and after he chose a bride. The tears rolled down his cheeks, and into his mouth, they tasted salty.

Salt, why isn’t that one of the great gifts?  thought Tamil.

Confession of a Drainer

~ Yanagi Studios

By Thomas Caterer

I heard once about a drainer, she was an old acquaintance of mine. A failed romantic interest, if truth be told. Our kind live long enough to adopt a wildly distorted view of time. I probably hadn’t seen her for centuries, but it felt like decades. She was the adventurous type. Off gallivanting somewhere, I figured. Truth is, she’d died. She’d drained someone, at the end of her most recent Jade Cycle. Little did she know, the kid was meant to be hit by a bus a week later. So she only lived out the last couple of days of her previous vic, and then the next seven added on. She was dead in nine days. Makes you wonder, is one drain every few months often enough to keep topping up? Or should I do more? But the more bodies you pile up, the more likely you are to be sniffed out.

I write this now on a notepad I took off this little cherub. Emblazoned with a Disney princess or some such thing. A dead-eyed creep straight out of the uncanny valley, if you ask me. I miss the old style animations. This girl is a sweetheart, a trusting little thing. No suspicion in her eyes. Such sweet naiveté. Her papa is tied up, already dead. He hangs upside down, all the blood drains to his little red head. A needle in the artery of the neck is connected to an artery in my wrist via a clear plastic tube. I’ve made a couple of blood smudges on the page, I do apologise.

I write this now, well for two reasons. Firstly, it’s fun. Someone will find this, and someone should know about my exploits. But also I write this for the ages. A first written account of draining, a first historical document to capture the culture of my people. This will be a prized artefact one day. These hallowed pages will be viewed behind bullet-proof glass, the museum all rigged up with invisible lasers, CCTV, an armed security guard, you name it sonny!

The girl stirs. A precious little doll in her chair. Her eyes reluctantly open. Mine would be reluctant too, were I her. All it takes is contact by the skin, but the transfer process is so exhausting, you need your blood bag attached. I’m doing him a favour I reckon. What loving father would want to live in a world without his little princess anyway? Lesley always made fun of me for being merciful. Shit… nine days… Lesley… I would have loved to have played with you once more, oh the joy of the hunt… but I digress… I admit, I may have downplayed things a little when I said ‘acquaintance’. Still even to drainers centuries are still a fairly long time. The more you live, the more there is to forget. So many things lose their appeal. Having sex, eating food, drinking alcohol, even laughing. All these things have worn out so thin over time, become so drab. Fuck who cares if she provides a short cycle anyway… should have drained a geriatric, made this my last rodeo, curtains call, take a bow…

Yet somehow, draining still feels good. Choosing your prey, setting your traps, hunting… oh sweet hunting, it does not lose its wonder. The vibrancy of its colour palette, the radiant echo chamber which encases you, thudding, transcendent chords break over your mind, overwhelm your senses, your knees buckle, wave after orgasmic wave floods your mind, body, and soul. And all the time you can hear the little shit’s screams. Their wailing, their agony. Joining the chorus of other souls trapped within you. Joining the others, begging for your body to break, so they can finally be set free. Oh heavens, it is still fucking delicious.

Well here we are, in a grey warehouse, in a quiet corner off a quiet road. The dead of night. My radio set to Classic FM. The stuttering light above, lending a B-movie horror vibe. If you live long enough clichés become original once more. The walls are adorned with surgical tools, the floor has the odd paint can scattered here and there, my grossly overweight pet cat, Mr. Cuddles, purrs with a nonchalant complacency. The girl’s papa is tied to a rafter with thick rope. One of my best knots! The little girly herself is tied up with steel wire. The barbs dig into her flesh, like the kisses of a razor-tongued, over-eager lover. I hover over her. I place my hand on her head. Skin on skin. With her father’s blood running through me, the ritual complete, I am ready to drain.

Her eyes water, so adorable, this cherub. She doesn’t try to scream, she’s been softly saying ‘papa’ for a little while now. Her eyes turn from her father’s corpse to look full into mine. ‘Please… sir… I’m scared’. She chokes on her own fear. Wide eyes, and flushed cheeks, she looks good enough to eat. ‘It’s okay petal, everyone feels scared sometimes…’ I reassure her. ‘I’ll be keeping you safe from now on’.

I close my eyes, as I begin to pull her into me. My hand tightens around her forehead. I see all her dreams, all her memories. Her mum reads her bedtime stories, she fights with her brother, she develops her first crush, her dad makes her eat his dreadful mac and cheese, the girls at school laugh at her choice of dress to a school dance, her mother in the hospice, her dad’s tears as he reads his eulogy, her brother cuddling her in the back of their car, trailing the hearse.

The energy of her consciousness, the sweet taste of her very essence, it seeps into me. What’s left of her lifespan transfers to me, I can feel her resistance, her spirit has some fight in it. She screams, she pulls away, she is fighting me with all she has, but it’s not enough, it never is. She joins the others trapped in the dark recesses of my soul.

And this where I will leave you now dear reader, her body is still fresh, all vital signs are showing, her body is clinically alive, the heart beats, she breathes, she appears to be in a coma to all those who don’t know any better. And yet it is now but an empty husk. It will stay this way, they don’t rot, but I will bury it… And after that I will abandon this lair, move on to a new town, new city, new country even. But I’ll leave this confession behind, for posterity, to mark the first contribution to the world’s collective history on behalf of drainers. All the voices of over a thousand souls scream within me, their suffering fuelling my life. Because of them I am never alone, and I am never without the sound of music.

Confessions in Time

~ Yanagi Studios

By Ernest M. Judd

Anna could not hold back the truth any longer. She had been lying to John for years. The man she loved with all her heart. The man she loved, who didn’t even know who she was. Well, not the real her anyway. But did he really know she was not who she seemed? How could he not? Yes, she wore the clothes, the watch, learned the mannerisms, and read the books, but she never felt like she belonged. She was always a little… off. She knew it, how could he not? Perhaps she didn’t have to tell him after all then, maybe he already knew.

No, I must tell him. I must tell him today. Anna’s mind was racing as her slender hands trembled. She got up from the wooden chair, took a dignified exit from the women in the theatre changing rooms and left the empty venue for the darkness of the night. For reasons she did not fully know, she found herself running. Ten long years of marriage with John, two sons, but now she just had to tell him everything. Her long brown hair flapped in the air as she released it from its bun and picked up speed along the dark and narrow cobbled streets.

In truth she wasn’t sure where to even begin with the confession, or why the urgent need to do so had arisen. Should I start from the beginning? Or should I talk about the jobs? It’s not that she didn’t have a job, she had many. But Anna wasn’t really working. She was studying people at work. Being the resourceful woman she was, Anna was able to pretend to be a journalist, and had the credentials to prove it. She had visited construction sites, theatres, pubs, stadiums and everything that society had to offer. She had gained access to the construction of Tower Bridge and been inside a factory constructing automobiles. To John she worked hard, but to herself she only researched hard.

She found herself getting closer to home. Her dress was not easy to run in, and she didn’t want to be seen with her hair down. She struggled with remembering some customs, but Anna knew that would be too scandalous and distract her from the task at hand. This is it. It has to be now. Here it goes…

Her slender figure and trembling hands opened the front door as she saw the silhouette of her John, waiting to greet her. “John, I have something important to tell you!” Anna blurted out alongside her heavy breathing as she closed the door behind her.

John had just finished his cup of tea as twilight ended. He had been thinking all day. Though the thought had crossed his mind for almost every day over the past 10 years, it was only today that he felt the sudden urge to confess to his love, his Anna. Why did I lie to her all this time? This will end us. This will end me. John’s hands ran through his thinning hair as anxiety took its hold. Truth be told he never felt much anxiety before, considering his circumstances. He always felt out of place, like he didn’t belong here, but a side effect of that was never anxiety. He knew why he was here. He came to see them, to see how they lived.

Anna believed he had been working all these years at the scrapyard. It was an honest man’s work. It took grit and stamina. Or at least that is what John had seen. In reality he would walk to the scrapyard every day and before arriving take a detour to go other places that were of far more importance. The reason he came all those years ago. Family. Whatever the consequences, I have to tell her tonight.

John spent the next two hours sitting down on his wooden chair, briefly standing up and walking around, and then sitting down again. The pacing would have made any onlooker nervous. Their children would not be home until later, he had time to tell Anna after she had finished watching the show and writing about it. How did he manage to get a beautiful journalist to fall in love with him? Didn’t she know he was a fraud? Every step he took was odd. The way he spoke was different to others. He wasn’t meant to be around for long, and certainly not to have children. That was against the code. But love has a way of rendering codes useless. 

John had grown comfortable in his lies. Perhaps that happens to us all. The further into this life he found himself, the harder it had become to fix it. I don’t even wear the clothes right. Surely she knows something? John’s mind was accelerating about thoughts on the next few hours of his life, on how he was going to confess his sins, on how he had been living a lie. She will never forgive me. And yet John knew what he had to do. The shock to Anna’s system may be too much to bear but it was going to happen now. She was due back in an hour. Though he just wanted it off his chest now. Just as he stood up to do another unconscious lap of the living room he heard the door clink and the unmistakable sound and sight of his Anna breathing heavily in the moonlight as the door opened and closed. Anna wanted to talk to him. Anna knew.
John stared at Anna, startled. He was preparing to confess but didn’t expect to have to do it so soon.

“I have something very important to tell you too. I did not expect you home so soon. Please sit down while I tell you this, you will need a chair.” John replied calmly in a voice that didn’t seem like his own. Fear was behind it. He Knows. Anna thought to herself. She knew she had to talk first, whatever happened with John at the scrapyard didn’t matter, not today. It’s not a topic that should be discussed today. She looked into his brown eyes and remembered why she had fallen in love with him. Even though it had caused her to abandon so much else, it was worth it.

“No, what I have to say is so important. Please listen to me today my love. And sit down, you will need a chair.” Anna was scared, ten years of her life and the future depended on this.

John dismissed her and replied with similar words to the first time he objected. Whatever happened with Anna at the theatre today was not important. Not today. He didn’t care for the theatre, for John, 1886 was a boring year for talent anyway. A short tug of war began between the two lovers over who should get to talk first, both becoming more agitated as the other refused to give in. It was Anna who suggested the compromise.

“How about we say our important news at the same time.” John nodded in approval. Not that whatever he says could be anywhere near to equal importance as what I will say. Anna thought to herself.

John felt sweat coming down his long forehead and towards his long buttoned nose. He hadn’t gotten used to the summers in London, but this sweat wasn’t induced by the summer heat. “Okay. I will start a count down from three. On the count of one, let’s say it.” It better had been a good show to make her think she needs to tell me about it right now of all times. John thought to himself before unconsciously already starting the countdown.

“3…..2…..1….”

“I AM A TIME TRAVELLER”

“I AM A TIME TRAVELLER”

Their confessions echoed through the night.

The Teddy Bear Principle – Part 3

~ Yanagi Studios

By Thomas Caterer

Billy’s snoring made Tiffany think of a diarrheic elephant. He had fallen asleep soon after he came. She dragged herself out of his bed, as her languid limbs gathered her under garments. She draped herself in a lace gown with the delicacy of a gift shop clerk. She pulled a cigarette out from her packet, and turned it round in her fingers. The back displayed an image of a cigarette curved into a phallic form. It was a sad sight, with the tip bent downwards, ash limply spilling. At the top it read; smoking may cause impotence. She laughed sardonically; thick and throaty. Maybe smoking too many fags is to blame…

Her phone buzzed, Tiffany checked it to see a message from Tyler. He wanted to meet that evening, suggested their favourite little Italian place. The mushroom risotto there is very good, and they do have a reasonable wine selection. She texted him back, and arranged to meet at 7pm. She glanced over at Billy. She had to admit she felt a little guilty. But surely Tyler only had himself to blame? After all, she had come to expect certain things from a relationship. Until recently things had been going great, they fucked 5 times a week, he splashed out on gifts for her and frequent holidays, and he was right on track for promotion to the head of marketing (not bad at all for a 27 year old). He was going to be taking home another 15k a year. Now, he had blown the interview, he had stopped being invited to the important parties thrown by the important people, and now he couldn’t even get it up. Although she didn’t miss his sex talk. ‘I’m the boss! I’m in charge!’ ‘Yeah babe, you’re the boss… yeah’

‘That Tyler?’ Billy was turned onto one side, eyeing Tiffany’s half-nude form, with a boyish grin.

‘Yeah, he wants to meet tonight. He’s taking me for Italian.’

‘You gonna chuck him?’

Tiffany took a deep breath, and pondered for a moment. ‘I really don’t know. I mean if I could just have the old Tyler…’

‘You need to ask him what the hell’s going on with him, he’s been rubbing people up the wrong way for a while now, always nervy, on-edge, he’s been erratic as hell.’

It was true. For some time now, Tyler’s behaviour had become increasingly bizarre. Thankfully he had stopped claiming to see things, and yet still he would trail off mid-sentence, or his eyes would glare alarmingly at a corner of the room, where no one else saw anything remarkable. He may have stopped claiming to see things, yet nonetheless, he was still seeing them. One night he had woken up screaming. Jumble! Jumble! Jumble! It had most likely been 30 seconds of straight screaming, the same word Jumble over and over again. It had felt like an hour.

Tyler glanced at his Rolex. 19.05. He was getting agitated. Absent-mindedly he begun to tap his fingers on the table. Something out of habit, perhaps a theme from a TV show. His eyes scanned the room. Blue stone-like eyes liberated from the sunglasses, resting on the table next to the salt and pepper shakers. He looked hard at all the corners and sides of the room. So far, things were clear.

It first happened in the interview he flunked. This was meant to be a celebration, now it was a last ditch attempt to save his relationship. Tiffany was a real prize. He had lost too much now already. Stresses were mounting. He had been assured of that promotion. Now he bitterly regretted moving to his new apartment too soon. The rent was too high for him, his car payments were catching up to him, and if he suggested to Tiffany about splitting the bill, he’d probably get a cold, frosty response at best, at worst a glass of wine to the face, as she basted him for being a cheapskate.

‘Are you okay there Tyler, you seem distracted?’

‘No, not at all, sir, I’m sorry, continue, I’m all ears.’

‘We’re discussing an amazing opportunity here, and my colleagues here, hold you in very high regard, I’m disappointed that you don’t seem to share our enthusiasm.’

‘No, I assure you, sir, I am 100% committed…’

‘70% alcohol by now’

‘Please… stop… please’

‘When somebody goes to Heaven, they CAN’T come back.’

It was in that abortive interview that Tyler had first seen it. The teddy bear from the night he had beaten some bum. It had stitching around the neck, where the head had been reattached, in a cross-hatch pattern. Red thread. Its head had moved slowly, he had glared at him accusingly. Somehow those button eyes had conveyed a terrible fury. He was sat at the opposite end of the conference table, eyes baring into Tyler’s soul. Tyler recognised him immediately, and could provide no logical explanation to himself for his presence. He had felt a terrible chill in his chest and stomach. His throat had been tight and dry.

It had cost him the job. Ever since, that fucking bear had been appearing at important moments in Tyler’s life, always with an increasingly grotesque appearance. Blood dripping from its mouth, its hands rotting, it had even began to smell. The stench of death. An inescapable aroma, once caught in the nostrils, it embeds itself like unforgiving tendrils.

The door to the restaurant opened, Tiffany entered wearing a beautiful black dress, and a stern yet sad expression on her face. Black for mourning. This is the death of us. Tyler had recently got things under control. The bear still appeared at times, but he was desensitised enough not to react anymore. Still it may be too little too late. Tiffany took the seat opposite him. Tyler attempted a smile, Tiffany’s face blank. They ordered wine, delayed the food order, claiming they needed more time. Eventually the dust settled. They made some light conversation, mostly gossiping about their friends; that fat chick, Alex had started seeing, Tiffany’s sister’s marital problems, the violent reprisal of Jenny’s acne. Tyler grew a little nervous. He had recently theorised that attacking others was one of the conditions for the bear to appear. With this in mind, he changed the topic to reality TV, he let Tiffany wax lyrical about a popular dating show, as he glugged his wine.

The evening passed pleasantly, Tyler was daring to feel hopeful for Tiffany and himself. The waiter came to their table, and asked for their dessert orders.

‘Do you have Neapolitan ice cream?’ Tyler asked. The words came from somewhere outside of him. He didn’t understand what had compelled him to say that.

‘I’m afraid not sir, only what is on the menu’.

‘Are you all right?’ Tiffany asked. She looked at Tyler with flushed eyes. Her patience had worn thin. Not this again.

They had both ordered lemon sorbet, as they waited, Tyler felt apprehensive, until finally in the corner of his eye, he saw it. He felt more angry than afraid. You won’t ruin this too, you won’t take everything from me! He had grown used to it by now. This shouldn’t matter.

On this occasion however things were different. The bear moved across the floor of the restaurant, making a bee line for Tyler. Its appearance was bloody and grotesque. Its rotting, skeletal hands reached for its neck, and the red thread was pulled apart in violent streams. It took its head in one hand and curled its arm to coddle it underneath its shoulder. Its face was more animate than it had ever been before. The mouth opened and revealed jagged teeth like that of a shark, hateful razors. Tyler leapt from his seat, he ran to the other end of the restaurant. He tried to open the door but couldn’t, the handle wouldn’t budge. His heart was pounding, ears ringing. The stench of death was aflame in his nostrils. He felt the fear of a child, helpless. All his strength and arrogance fled from him. He curled himself up into a ball on the restaurant floor. He closed his eyes tight. Go away, please go away. Please… stop… please.

Tyler opened his eyes. The waiting staff and diners were looking at Tyler with shocked expressions painted onto their motionless faces. The bear was gone. The jagged teeth were gone. And so was Tiffany.

Six months later…

Tyler drained the dregs of his soup. The café down the road from his makeshift shelter, always gave him a cup of leftover soup at the end of their business hours. Just as long as he didn’t stink the place up by going there during the day.

Tyler gathered up a few cardboard boxes and blankets and got himself ready to settle in for the night. It was another harsh, cold night of the British winter. I’m gonna bloody freeze in this. He sighed as he laid his back against the cold stone wall.

Footsteps approached. Tyler picked up his empty cup ready. A brown-haired teenage girl came into view. She had a cute hamster-like face, round and sweet, cheeks red from the cold.

‘Excuse me miss, spare any change?’

‘Oh hey’ she checked her pockets. ‘Oh gosh I’m sorry, I only have this’.

With embarrassment, the girl hesitantly handed him a 50p coin. Tyler made an effort to hide the look of disappointment on his face for her sake. It’s better than nothing.

‘Is that all you have to wear?’

‘I’m afraid so little miss, I foolishly didn’t pack for all seasons, when I moved here.’

‘Oh you must be freezing! Listen I don’t have far to walk home now anyway, here take this’. The girl removed her winter coat and placed it over Tyler’s shoulders with care. He felt the corner of his eye burn as a hesitant tear formed. He was grateful, very grateful.

‘You don’t have to…’

‘No it’s okay, you need it more!’

‘Thank you’ Tyler whispered hoarsely.

The girl walked away down the road. Tyler pulled the coat over his knees to use as a blanket, as he moved the coat up to himself, he saw a label stitched into the back of the coat, where the neck would rest.

On the label read; property of Caitlin Sharp.

‘Caitlin’ he muttered softly to himself. For a reason he couldn’t explain he felt a strange connection to that name. He felt a warmth spreading inside of him. He would sleep peacefully that night, and dream of things that grow, things that feel warm against the winter night.

The Teddy Bear Principle – Part 2

~ Yanagi Studios

By Thomas Caterer

Tyler’s skin lustfully soaked up the sun’s rays. His walk, playfully described as swagger by his friends, was on auto-pilot, as he sauntered past the array of boutique stores, and coffee shops that littered the path to his favourite spot for a business lunch. He was joined by some friends from marketing; Alex, Billy, and Aaron. All dressed in full business attire. Tyler had just wrapped on a humorous anecdote, detailing his regrettable tryst with an overweight woman from the night before.

‘Not like you to shag an elephant, Tyler!’ Billy quipped. The others broke out into raucous laughter. All except Aaron. Cheeky cunt. Tyler was fond of Billy, and his eyes smiled broadly behind his designer sunglasses. He caught sight of Aaron’s arched eyebrows, his expression that of a disapproving parent. I swear that one’s fucking queer.

‘Any spare change, lads?’ asked some old boy from the side of the road, with a gruesome stench. He had the audacity to hold out his beggar’s cup before even receiving a response.

‘Nah mate’ Alex replied. ‘But if you’re looking to get loaded, you can drink my piss, that’s probably about 70% alcohol by now!’

As they walked on, a young buxom woman with glasses, and blonde hair, came into Tyler’s view as she was walking in the opposite direction, just about to pass them. His mind raced for a chat-up line, to show Billy he hadn’t dropped his standards after all, but then he noticed a chubby lad walking behind her, looked about student age. His eyes were on the woman in front of him as well, until they met Tyler’s for a moment. Tyler smiled the kind of smile that only the cruel know how to conjure. The kind that mocks the real kind, envious of its power.

‘Hello gorgeous, you aw’right?’ A mocking smirk crossed his face.

‘Good, thanks’ came the fat student’s curt, sarcastic reply, not missing a beat, and he walked straight on. Nonetheless the boys still saw the wit in Tyler’s remark, and guffawed on cue.

Jake put his disappointingly light cup back on the ground next to him. Rex whined as he looked imploringly into his eyes. The poor bastard hadn’t eaten for the last couple of days. Jake felt guilty.

‘Sorry boy, business has been slow of late’

Jake felt tired. Tired beyond what the body can feel, beyond the bones, beyond the flesh. Sleep wouldn’t remedy it, he knew. The weather turned, the clouds above were darkening. Jake began to assemble his shelter from his boxes. He wanted to make sure Rex wouldn’t get wet. Wanted to provide cover for Jumble too. He pushed him to the back of his makeshift fort. By rights, Jumble ought to be mad at him, ought to hate him like everyone else did, but in those black button eyes was a serenity. Forgiveness maybe…

‘I’m glad you’re still with me’ Jake told the bear.

Caitlin’s face was streaming with tears. Her face was red hot with anger. Jake felt helpless.

‘I’m sorry my love, but when somebody goes to Heaven, they CAN’T come back’

Jake bolted awake. He was crying. Rex was still asleep. There were footsteps in the distance. Jake’s stomach roared with hunger like a dying beast. The footsteps came closer. Jake saw a man wearing a grey suit, like one of those men had worn. He was wearing sunglasses despite it being the dead of night. Jake could hear him singing to himself. Good, he thought, people are more generous when they’re drunk. He had been too, once.

‘Excuse me sir, could you spare any change?’

‘Oh, it’s you again’ the man had approached with a drunken stagger, yet his speech was strangely clear. He kneeled beside Jake.

‘So what’s your deal, lost your job?’

‘Yeah…’ Jake answered uncertainly.

‘So you just sit here, day after day, asking good people, working people for money huh? You can’t do anything to earn it?’

‘I’m not work-shy, never have been, I’m happy to work.’

‘All right then!’ the man jumped up with aplomb, he pulled out his wallet, and drew a wad of cash out.

‘Dance for me, do a merry jig, and I’ll give you this.’

Jake’s posterior was rooted to the ground. ‘No’ he said firmly.

The man laughed. ‘Well beggars can be choosers after all, eh?’ His face darkened. ‘You stink, your dog stinks, your little hut here stinks. You need the money for some fucking soap!’

He lunged his arm forward and withdrew Jumble.

‘What are you doing!?’

‘What am I doing? What the fuck is this old man? He stinks worse than you. Oh, I get it, do you keep your stash in him? You got some smack in here?’

‘Please just give the damn bear back.’ Jake’s voice was breaking beneath the weight of his anger and his hands were shaking with mounting fear.

‘Let’s see what your stash is like’ the man ripped off Jumble’s head, and plunged a hand into the stuffing, pulling chunks out as he did. The stuffing fell to ground like snowflakes descending in sadness.

‘Well this is disappointing’ he dropped Jumble to the ground. ‘Are you taking the fucking piss? You have nothing old man?’

Tyler was enraged. This stinking old bastard was punking him, he looked like a junkie, he was bound to have something. He’d teach him a lesson. He grabbed him by the head, and slammed it into his knee. He released, and his head flopped to the ground, the nose streaming blood. He started to work the torso, punching first then kicking. The old boy groaned, and repeated a mantra of ‘please… stop… please’. Finally Tyler whipped his cock out and took a piss on the old man. He would have to tell Alex about this later. 70% alcohol by now.

‘Here ya go mate, have a drink on me’. Tyler smiled. A smile only the cruel can conjure.

The Teddy Bear Principle – Part 1

~ Yanagi Studios

By Thomas Caterer

Jake’s hands were getting shaky. Jittering again, a memory stitched into the veins of his fingers. A reflex. His eyes darted to the dregs of his black coffee. He drained it. No good. Tomorrow’s lecture notes, threadbare on a mockingly bright laptop screen. A cobbled together slide show. He yawned exasperatedly. His once handsome face was taut. Skin pulled back tight by wires, and his eyes blood red, thick dark circles underneath. His mind conjured the image of Alex from A Clockwork Orange when he was in that chair.

‘Daddy!’ cried Caitlin. He would have to go see to her. Because she wasn’t here anymore. Deep down he knew Caitlin would probably be more comforted by her, but now he was the best she had.
‘Daddy!’ she was crying through thick sobs. ‘Where is he?’

Jake clambered up the stairs to Caitlin’s room. She was five years old, with her mother’s face except chubby. Brown hair tied in pigtails, wearing blue pyjamas with starfish on them. She was sat up on her bed, the covers thrown off.

‘What’s the matter sweetheart?’ Jake asked soothingly.

‘I can’t find Jumble’ Caitlin’s voice was heavy with concern, her eyes wide. A rush of love hit Jake like waves breaking on rocks. He smiled.

‘I’m sure I can find him. Where did you last see him?’

‘I can’t remember’. Jake watched as Caitlin’s eyes searched her memories, moving from side to side, scanning for an image. Trying to locate a teddy bear called Jumble.

The next 15 minutes, Jake searched up and down in every likely place to no avail. He knew getting Caitlin to sleep without Jumble would be a nightmare. Ever since it happened she had clung to that bear each night. In the early days she had slept in Jake’s bed. Eventually he decided that couldn’t go on, it wouldn’t be good for her. And besides he was ashamed of the stench on his breath. He always chewed gum of course, but it was never enough.

The jittering was too much. Jake sighed. He needed a little something just to take the edge off. He would then wash his mouth out, chew some gum, and let Caitlin sleep with him. Tomorrow they could look for Jumble together. It’s not like he’s walked off. Jake approached the freezer, opened it up and took out a bottle of vodka, poured some into a glass, and sipped without a wince. He was yet to close the freezer as a memory of earlier on in the evening came to him.

‘Neapolitan ice cream is Jumble’s favourite!’ Caitlin had argued.

‘Sorry love, but you can’t have ice cream two nights in a row, you or Jumble.’

Jake went back to the open freezer and checked the bottom drawer, and sure enough, there he was! A box of Neapolitan ice cream with a sheepish looking teddy bear with its arms clutching one side of the box. His inanimate face resembled that of child-like guilt somehow. Jake couldn’t stay mad at him though. He laughed and picked him up with one hand. The other still occupied the vodka, which he now placed down on a kitchen counter.

When Jake returned triumphantly to Caitlin’s room, she was sat exactly how he had left her. She was gently rocking herself from side to side, a curious little habit she had picked up since it happened.

‘Jumble, you’re okay!’ she exclaimed joyfully. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, as Jake sat behind her, and placed a kiss on her forehead. She placed her chin on Jumble’s head.

‘Where was he?’

‘It appears he was hungry and fancied some night-time ice cream’.

Caitlin pulled her head back, realisation dawned on her face. The expression was exactly the same as her mother’s had been when she had suddenly remembered something.

‘I left my coat behind, hang on, one sec hun…’

Jake’s chest had been stabbed with bitter ice. Just for a second. Then he smiled again.

‘Neapolitan is his favourite!’

‘Yeah I know’ Jake chuckled. ‘Go to sleep now, both of you’

Jake approached the door. Began closing it.

‘I love you Dad’.

‘I love you too’. The light slowly began to fade to nothing as the door was closing. Then blackness.

He woke up on his blanket on a cold, hard London street corner, sheltered from the elements by his cardboard box. The stray dog, he had befriended, was licking his face, as the sun pierced his weary eyes.

‘Morning Rex’.