Every winter is bleaker than the last. Lonelier. This New Year, I don my straw coat and boots and join the village men. They’re dressed in straw too, anonymous behind fierce oni masks.
We stamp over packed snow to Nomura’s farm.
Children peer out, eyes wider than the open door. The villagers wave knives and shout.
“I’ll cut your head off!”
“Drink your blood.”
The girl giggles. “You won’t. You’re pretend oni.”
Laughter erupts.
The smallest child sees me. A real oni. He whimpers.
Smart lad.
I’ll let him live. He can keep me company while I eat the others.
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