Hisao and Akira(?!): Walla Walla Bing Bang 10/31 Finale!

[azumeow]

Frequent Flier miles. Oh god. Rampaging werewolves? This...oh deer lord I have no idea what to think about this!

[Hoitash]

Frequent Flier miles. Oh god. Rampaging werewolves? This...oh deer lord I have no idea what to think about this!

I do like to keep my audience guessing.

Before beating them upside the head with all the subtlety of a Nemesis Daemon Hammer, that is .

I should probably work on that.

[Helbereth]

Frequent Flier miles. Oh god. Rampaging werewolves? This...oh deer lord I have no idea what to think about this!

I do like to keep my audience guessing.

Before beating them upside the head with all the subtlety of a Nemesis Daemon Hammer, that is .

I should probably work on that.

Methinks you should put a link to last Halloween's story, just so the newbies aren't completely lost.

[Hoitash]

Frequent Flier miles. Oh god. Rampaging werewolves? This...oh deer lord I have no idea what to think about this!

I do like to keep my audience guessing.

Before beating them upside the head with all the subtlety of a Nemesis Daemon Hammer, that is .

I should probably work on that.

Methinks you should put a link to last Halloween's story, just so the newbies aren't completely lost.

Well last year Kenji had his own thing going on, but point taken.

[Hoitash]

“THE VOICE OF THE DEVIL is heard in our land!” –Parson Nathaniel, “The Spirit of Man”, Jeff Wayne’s Musical Version of the War of the Worlds

Previous Chapter

Chapter Three: The Voice of a Legion


My heart skipped a few beats as I spun around to find a woman, dark skinned with brown hair, standing at the crest of the hill, not far from where we had stopped. Her cloak had been pulled back, revealing a tangled mop of frizzy hair that seemed to crackle with energy, which occasionally sent green and blue sparks to skitter about the scraggly strands. Trimmed fingernails, which were painted black, protruded from a thick mesh of blackened and copper rings. Her coat sleeves were wrapped with copper bracelets, which were in turn covered with weird sigils and marks, and she had a necklace of small bones—which may or may not have been human—around her neck.
The smell of burnt hair mixed with wet dog was strong, and I would’ve coughed if I'd had any air in my lungs.

“Hello,” Hisao said, cutting the silence as though he were greeting a guest for afternoon tea, “Doctor Witch, I presume?”

There was a pause, during which the Doctor Witch—or Witch Doctor—narrowed her eyes coolly, peering at Hisao for a moment, then toward me. It felt like I was being assessed, like a ham at a meat market. While I felt my insides twisting in knots during the inspection, Hisao seemed surreally nonchalant, standing akimbo and even smirking. It could just have been the alcohol making him brave, but I'd seen that kind of cocky demeanor in court, usually from lawyers who thought they had a trick up their sleeve.

For once, I was hoping that was the case.

“The reports of my demise were greatly exaggerated,” she stated, then grinned terribly, revealing two rows of blackened teeth behind her charcoal lips.

Her voice had the forced polish of someone who had worked hard to prevent an accent in their second language; it reminded me of Lilly’s use of English, in a weird way. And, maybe it was the absurdity of the situation, but I found myself comparing her neutral, controlled, unaccented accent to the more pronounced rolling accent of Hisao, who had never been on good terms with the English language.

“That joke never gets old,” Hisao drolled, chuckling for a bit before adding, “Nor do you, I imagine.”

The Witch shrugged and sent a glance up over the snowfield, toward the house, then stated, “I take it you live in that house over there.”

“Visiting relatives—long story,” Hisao corrected, keeping his focus on the Witch, “Speaking of, I don’t suppose you could stop your little Revelation impression? We had planned on having a nice weekend, you see.”

The Witch rubbed her chin in false contemplation, then flashed her blackened grin and sighed, “Sorry, no... That storm gave me a lot of power, and these sorts of things have a time limit, you see.”

“Understandable,” Hisao said, sounding entirely too good-humored, “So, did you summon the storm, too, or did you just get lucky?”

“Lucky,” the Witch replied, crossing her arms and making her bracelets rattle, “I thought I'd be here for another month or two, but that storm was just what I needed to put my plans into motion.”

“Good for you!” Hisao cheered, followed by a sympathetic wince, “Which makes this part really awkward, because I am going to have to insist you stop.”

He sounded so convincing that, for a moment, I thought she might actually comply, but then the Witch laughed. “Sorry, but no,” she replied evenly, “I will not stop until I have bathed this world in its own blood,” she began raising her arms emphatically, “...and harnessed that blood-”

The Witch’s speech was cut off by a snowball to her face, thrown by Hisao.

Horrified, eyes wide with shock, I snapped a glare at Hisao and hissed, “Are you insane?”

Hisao shrugged, still eying Witch as he calmly stated, “I have a rule about monologuing.”

The Witch snarled and wiped her face with one hand, her steel-eyed glare aimed directly at Hisao. Calm demeanor gone, a scowl replaced her cocky grin and she looked royally hacked off, which I thought was about the worst result possible. “You insolent fool!” she snarled, “Do you have any idea who I am?”

“Some schizophrenic nut with delusions of grandeur?” Hisao guessed, completely unaffected by the Witch's bluster.

A few sparks shot off the Witch's hair, then, growling, her hands clenched and nostrils flaring, she scoffed, “Tch! I wish it was that easy! Then all the years of forced drug use and shock therapy would’ve been worth it.”

Hisao raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely curious as he asked, “The shock therapy didn’t work?”

“No,” the Witch snarled, “but none of that matters, now. Now's my chance to get revenge on all of them, to make them pay for-”

Splat. Another snowball landed squarely on her nose.

“Stop doing that!” I moaned.

“I’ll stop when she stops monologuing,” Hisao retorted, sounding less like an inebriated teacher and more a petulant schoolboy.

The Witch growled again and wiped the snow from her face once more, seeming to peel away another layer of pleasantness. As her hair began crackling and smoking, arcs of blue and green electricity pulsing off the frayed ends, she howled, “Who the hell do you think you are?!”

“Who am I?” Hisao repeated. Then, glancing at me with a look of perfect sobriety, he requested, “Translate exactly what I say word for word, understand? My English is already at its limits....”

Swallowing hard, and driven by instinct more than intellect, I nodded. Whatever was going on, it was out of my depth and in Hisao’s realm. What that meant or said about him or the crazy-bad-hair-lady, I had no idea, but, at least he seemed to know what he was doing—or, at the very least, he was faking it well.

“Sure, fine,” I said quickly, “whatever gets us out of here faster.”

Turning a condescending glance toward me, the Witch remarked, “How delightfully naïve,”

She didn’t quite meet my eyes, but her expression had the look of a person forced to acknowledge something beneath their notice. At the time, I wasn't really sure why she thought I didn't matter, but it was really starting to piss me off.

“Ready?” Hisao asked.

As I nodded, he returned the nod and turned toward the Witch.

“You asked me who I am, so, as a courtesy, I’m going to tell you,” he began, slowly and deliberately, “Not to stoop to your level, but to warn you; it's the gentlemanly thing to do. Bear in mind that this will be your only warning, Wych:

“Though I may not crackle like a Wimshurst machine, and I probably don't look all that terrifying without a horde of undead infantry backing me up, I am someone who has walked the tightrope of doom between darkness and light, revealed that which clings to the shadows, and forced it to submit... or be destroyed. I have faced the personification of death, stared it down, and been declared it's equal.

“I've witnessed the very worst humanity has to offer. I've fought the denizens of mankind's nightmares... I've seen far worse things than you! Great horrors you couldn’t even begin to comprehend, and, if you did, you'd go insane from the revelation! Don't let the plainness of my appearance fool you, Wych... You have no idea who you’re messing with!”

As I translated, I honestly thought he was just talking himself up for the Witch. However, the conviction in his tone eventually convinced me that he meant every word—even the crazy stuff that didn't seem to make sense. Meanwhile, the Witch never looked toward me as I spoke, instead seeming transfixed on Hisao, her expression slowly going from contemptuous to contemplative, and finally reaching wary; whatever bravado and bluster might have been in Hisao's speech, she seemed to believe every word.

And by the end, so did I.

Finally, Hisao's glare hardened defiantly, and his voice rose slightly as he declared, “I am a high school science teacher! If you were sixteen and on your period, then you might impress me. But, all I see now is a kook with a bad hair day, a few paltry parlor tricks... and horrendous dental hygiene.”

When I was done translating that last bit, the Witch leaned her head forward slightly and locked eyes with Hisao. Even though she wasn't looking at me, I still felt unnerved, and I thought Hisao would feel the same. Oddly enough, though, Hisao, despite being raised by tradition and culture to avoid eye contact, defiantly glared up at the Witch atop the hill. What followed was a strange staring contest that made the bridge of my nose tingle for some reason.

Something was going on between the two, a battle of wills that seemed to transcend mere eye contact. Hisao's brown eyes, bright and full of life, contrasted starkly with the Witch's dark and soulless orbs, which seemed to blaze with the lust for power; it reminded me of the corporate world, and not in any of the good ways. In retrospect, after everything else I had seen that night, watching as they glared into each other's souls seemed like the least outrageous thing that occurred.

For several seconds, which seemed to last an hour, neither one of them moved or blinked, and it looked like neither one would. Neither one seemed to have an advantage, and the strain of what they were doing was obvious as they kept glaring at each other. Cold as it was, sweat was beading on Hisao's brow, and the corner of his mouth was trembling. Meanwhile, the Witch's rasping breaths left clouds of mist hanging in the still air, and she started to slouch, seemingly in pain. Suddenly, she grit her teeth in disgust.

The Witch blinked first.

The corners of her eyes had begun to twitch and water before she growled and tore her eyes from Hisao’s gaze, snarling as her hair started to smoke and crackle. Between her fingers I saw little dancing jolts of electricity, and my spine tingled like someone had dumped ice water on my head. Hisao, though clearly worn out by the experience, was smirking and looking oddly pleased with himself.

“Told you so,” he remarked, switching back to English.

The Witch growled and spat at Hisao’s feet. The spit melted the snow where it landed, more like acid than saliva. Her shoulders hunched and teeth bared, she reminded me of a predator about to pounce.

“You have just become a major kink in my plans, Fool,” the Witch snarled, “I was just going to play around with your minds so you wouldn’t remember me, but now I’m not going to take any-” she stopped, her eyes flashing wildly as she shrieked, “Put that down!”

Sighing, Hisao dropped the partially formed snowball he was making and declared, “You’re no fun!”

“You arrogant, smug, slant-eyed, spoiled little prick!” she snapped.

“Really, that's just hurtful,” Hisao said, then turned to me. “I do believe this woman has slandered my good name,” he stated, narrowing his gaze and turning toward the Witch,

“Any chance you could write up a lawsuit for me?”

“Please leave me out of this,” I moaned.

“That's no longer an option, Blondie!” the Witch snarled. “You, and him, and all your precious family shall soon join my army!”

Hisao's eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. His mouth a thin line, he spoke with forced calm, “Leave them out of this. It’s me you want.”

The Witch scoffed, “Tch! Please, how can I resist more bodies when you hand them to me on a plate? Zombie children are so much fun, too!” her eyes flashed evilly, “And I bet that wife of yours-”

Hisao didn’t bother with a snowball. This time he punched her. Jabbing as hard as he could with his right arm, he slammed his fist square on her nose. The crunch of breaking bones cut the night air as the Witch shrieked and staggered backward. Hair crackling wildly, her stagger became a stumble, and then a trip as she started rolling down the other side of the hill, like a strange snowy tumbleweed.

Before she was out of sight I felt Hisao grab my arm and pull me back toward the house.

“Time to go,” he declared, “Before she can send her pets to say hi.”

Hisao had to physically pull me several paces before I regained my senses. Finally, fight or flight kicked in, and I ran for it, keeping pace with Hisao as we bolted back to the house.

Despite my somewhat inactive lifestyle and Hisao's ever-present heart condition, we easily outpaced our pursuers. We were maybe halfway back when I felt a breeze behind us, and as it passed I heard the Witch’s voice whispering as if she was right next to my ear:

“I’ll be waiting for you, Fools. And when you are crumpled and defeated, I’ll take your family as my pets right before your eyes, then you'll join them.”

Hisao snarled and skidded to a halt. A pace later I followed, watching as he turned around and shouted, “We'll see how cocky you are when I bash in your skull, Wych!”

Then he resumed his run back to the house, and I followed, expecting a horde of undead to crest the hill at any moment. Whenever I looked over my shoulder, there was nothing except our tracks in the snow and the starry sky. It was a relief, but it seemed eerie; I expected a more rash response considering how Hisao had left her. That she was apparently taking her time made me feel uneasy, to say the least.

With that sense of dread fueling my strides, I reached the house first. With Hisao following close behind, I shoved the back door open and clambered inside. As he sprinted through the opening, I pushed the door closed with as much restraint as my adrenaline rush allowed. Locking the door quickly, and half expecting a tide of zombies to start crashing against it, I turned around to lean against the jamb.

“Werewolves!? And now zombies!?” I blurted, gasping between words.

“Just another Tuesday,” he replied, the picture of calm—aside from the heavy breathing.

It hardly seemed like something to chuckle at, but that's what I found myself doing; I was still in full panic mode, of course, but Hisao's confidence—unfounded or not—made me feel like we weren't completely out of our depth. Even though we were essentially under siege, we were relatively safe from the biting cold, and whatever else might be biting.

How long would that last, though? I had no idea.

+++
Next Chapter

Don't fuck with Hisao's family. It makes him angry. You wouldn't like him when he's angry.

[Mirage_GSM]

Any policy against monologuing is a sound policy.

[dewelar]

Any policy against monologuing is a sound policy.

Indeed. I just finished reading through My Girlfriend Is the President, and couldn't help but be reminded of a certain scene in it here .

[Solistor]

"You sly dog! You caught me monologuing!"

Every time the word 'monologuing' is brought up in terms of a villain or other bad guy, I can't help but be reminded of that scene in The Incredibles. As always, Hoitash, your work entertains me greatly. My offer to buy you a drink still stands.

[Hoitash]

"You sly dog! You caught me monologuing!"

Every time the word 'monologuing' is brought up in terms of a villain or other bad guy, I can't help but be reminded of that scene in The Incredibles.

Heh, good point. That was a fun movie all around.

As always, Hoitash, your work entertains me greatly. My offer to buy you a drink still stands.

Thanks, glad to hear it .

[Hoitash]

“Sleep with the Devil, and then you must pay!” –Sabaton’s “Metal Ripper”

Previous Chapter

Chapter Four: The Hour of Judgment


It took Hisao and me a few minutes to catch our breath—Hisao taking a bit longer—which gave me time to think. The door we had returned through led into the kitchen, so I leaned against the large island at its center and tried, vainly, to make sense of what I'd just seen. Unfortunately, since I had little in the way of experience with strange, statically charged, probably-occult-obsessed, supposed wielders of black magic and unusual machinery, all I could really do was wait for Hisao to start doing the thinking.

While I waited, Hisao stood, huffing and puffing, in front of a large dual-bay sink situated under a set of arched bay windows—more of that opulence Father loved to put on display. On either side of him stretched dark granite counter tops under crown-molded mahogany cabinets, one way leading to a bank of restaurant-grade ovens, while the other turned out into an L-shaped prep counter. At the center of the room stood a wide island with a range and a raised breakfast nook, which was where Father usually sat to read the paper in the morning.

Above the island, a network of rods and hooks suspended all of Mom's many frying pans and utensils, along with a number of dried herbs, for easy access. As I stood there, waiting for something to happen, I found myself staring up at the industrial-strength suction fan over the range, wondering why anyone would need something like that, just for a few eggs and bacon in the morning. Mother really liked to cook, so Father went especially big with the kitchen, but it was really too much. If pressed, the amount of counter space and cooking equipment could comfortably accommodate a catering company that did two-hundred-guest parties.

Once Hisao had caught his breath, he carefully pulled one of the curtains away from the windows over the kitchen sink and peered past his reflection. “Nothing,” he muttered, “Good, we have a chance,” he pounded the sink with his fist, “Damn it, this is all his fault!”

Before I could ask who he was talking about, Hisao had started a full-on rant.

“That… psychotic, demented, scarf-obsessed, conspiracy theorist... quack!” he began, apparently referencing his part-time detective partner, “I never should've taken that money, but what choice did I have? Ugh!”

Incensed, Hisao glared up at the ceiling, growling even as he worked to keep his voice low. “Is it too much to ask that I don’t suffer for his insanity? I never asked for any of this, but apparently my opinion doesn’t matter!”

Leaning heavily against the counter and shaking his head resignedly, he continued, “So if you want me to clean up your messes, you could at least give me something to work with,” he pontificated sharply at nobody, “Other than the last survivor of two families of mental deficients!”

Hisao exhaled sharply and turned to rest against the sink. After pausing to catch his breath again, he looked out the window for a second time. “Crazy Wych,” he grumbled, “She has no idea who she’s dealing with. We’ll show her what happens when you piss off Hisao Nakai.”

“Hey, remember me?” I asked, my annoyance making my voice sound shrill. Standing up and crossing my arms, I glared at Hisao and demanded, “You wanna explain what the hell it was we just saw? And don't bullshit me!”

Squinting narrowly, Hisao rubbed his chin in thought. “Well, it looked like some crazy woman playing witch doctor...” he trailed off and turned to peer through the curtain again, “And, considering the zombies and crackling hair, not to mention the bit where we peered into each other’s souls, I’m inclined to stick with that theory.”

“How?” I snapped, louder than I should have.

Having nearly shouted the word, I remembered the late hour and quickly looked around, expecting people to start wandering out of their rooms. However, despite the racket from outside and now inside, it seemed that no one else was awake.

So, fixing a glare on Hisao, I reiterated, “How do you explain this?” I pointed out the window, “That!? Any of it? Corpses aren't supposed to walk, people do not have crackling hair... and since when could you look into someone’s soul?”

Turning back thoughtfully, Hisao asked, “Are you familiar with Clarke’s Third Law?”

Derailed by the question, I actually found myself dredging up the random trivia I had picked up in my college days. It took a few moments mulling it over before I replied, “Something about,” I shook my head and shrugged, “...technology and magic being the same thing?”
Hisao smiled at me, as if I was one of his students who was on the right track to a question that was just a bit beyond my level; it was borderline condescending, but I was definitely the student that night, so I didn't hold it against him.

“Close,” he stated, “The direct quote is ‘any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.’ So, while modern science says the dead can’t be resurrected, it also says werewolves aren’t real.”

“The one we fought was plenty damn real,” I muttered.

“Exactly,” he said with a nod, “I was actually thinking about that while we were running for it-” he paused to turn and peel back the curtain again, “...Her magic, for lack of a better term, seems to rely heavily on electrical power...”

“So?” I prompted.

“That blizzard was pretty bad,” he explained, “...and if it did produce lightning, it’s possible she harnessed it for her work.”

Still feeling a bit lost, I asked, “Okay... how?”

“Unfortunately we don’t have time for those kinds of questions,” Hisao stated, turning back quickly, “All we have time for is the basics,” he pointed a thumb over his shoulder, “and to prepare to go after her.”

“After her?” I questioned, stepping away from the island, “What makes you think she won’t come after us?”

“A couple things,” Hisao replied, “One, like I said, when we locked eyes we did some weird soul-gazing thing. It was… unpleasant.” As I nodded, he continued, “I learned some very disturbing things about her, and she learned some things about me... things I'd rather people not know,” he paused and shook his head abruptly, “...Anyway, one of the things she knows is I’m the type to go to her, which means we’re playing on her terms-”

“We?” I interrupted, “What do you mean ‘we’? I didn't volunteer for the Ghostbusters.”

Taking a step toward me, he explained, “You’ve seen what she can do, and I won’t make you come with me... but I could use the backup...” The slight tremble of fear in his voice helped me remember he really wasn't some kind of superhero, just someone at the wrong place at the right time. “I'd really rather not go out there alone...”

Sighing, and already sure my next question would be met with perfectly logical arguments that I couldn't dispute, I calmly asked, “Can’t we just… just call the cops?”

Hisao rolled his eyes and grumbled, “Yeah, that'll go well...” Putting his right index finger and thumb up to his ear like an imaginary phone, he started speaking in a horrible fake accent, “’Allo, is 'is Scotlun' yahd? I say, they’s a witch doctah raising 'a dead ou'side me ‘ouse. Coul'ya send the cast of Shawn of the Dead? Righto, ‘ave a nice day, gov'.”

“All right, fine!” I groaned, “But she is trespassing on that property… most likely.”

“She also has a small army of undead, and the cops aren’t gonna be prepared for that,” Hisao reasoned, “ Besides, I'd rather not have things escalate, or end up with too many people finding out about this. Some things are best kept in the dark.”

As sinister as that sounded, it still made sense. Nodding resignedly, I sighed; I hated that Hisao's crazy reasoning was so reasonable. He must've been taking lessons from Kenji.

“Fine, I’ll help,” I groaned, “if only because she threatened my family, too—and I don’t like it when people threaten my family.”

“Me neither,” Hisao said, “now, if we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna have to be prepared. Let me think a minute….”

Hisao started pacing clockwise around the island, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he rambled aloud.

“Fire usually works against undead, traditionally speaking. Salt might work, but that’s usually with ghosts and spirits… Iron is good, too, I think… ugh, this kinda thing is really more of Miya’s forte… wish I had Matthew handy—that'd solve this problem real quick,” he chuckled for a moment, “...or anything Tesla, for that matter.”

Pausing briefly, he turned around and started pacing counter-clockwise. If he had been walking faster he probably would’ve made me dizzy.

“Her powers seem electricity related, and it’s a safe bet she’s reanimating those corpses using whatever’s left of their nervous systems… gotta wonder how she’s kept that many bodies preserved, or transported… One problem at a time, Hisao. Like, how you’re gonna not get yourself electrocuted…”

Stopping again and facing away, he started shaking his head.

“That’s all I need; die of a heart attack fighting a necromancer…” he remarked, “Guess it’s a good thing we didn’t visit during the warmer months! I'd hate to see what she could do with a thunderstorm.” After a brief pause, he pontificated sharply and exclaimed, “Oh, silver! Silver might work! Silver usually penetrates the DR of undead in role-playing games… Okay… Okay...”

Seeming to have reasoned something out—which I hoped was a plan—he spun around to face me.

[Hoitash]

Part II:

“We’re gonna need the cheapest bottle of vodka you have, some rags, lighters, some empty beer bottles, the fireplace poker, some kitchen knives, anything sharp and silver—letter opener, maybe? And… that’s all I can think of.”

It took me a few moments to reason through what he'd meant, but mostly because it sounded even more insane than finding actual zombies.

“So, let me get this straight,” I said, trying to keep the indignance out of my voice, “…You wanna make Molotov cocktails in my father’s kitchen so we can go after a crazy woman who's raising the dead as her own personal army... and fight them off with a poker and some knives?”

With an all-too-happy nod and a cavalier grin, he retorted, “What, don't you like a challenge?”
Groaning, I palmed my forehead and grumbled, “There’s a difference between a challenge and suicide! Don't you have a shotgun or something?”

“Like I said, I didn't bring Matthew. Besides, I wouldn’t recommend we fight her if I didn't think we stood a chance,” Hisao stated, “And, we do have a couple advantages.”

“Advantages?” I prompted.

“One, she’s underestimating us—especially you,” Hisao replied, which I had to admit was probably true, “And two, she is legitimately insane.”

“You noticed that, too?” I quipped.

Shrugging, he remarked, “She’s had ghosts whispering in her ear for decades, demanding she seek vengeance in their name. Then she spent those same decades being locked up and treated like a deranged lunatic. Which, now that I think about it is probably where she got the bodies. Maybe we should call Interpol…?”

That sounded like a sane solution, with which I was ready to agree.

Before I could reply, he continued, “No, that'll take too long, and the more time she has, the stronger she’ll get. And if she leaves here to find another storm, it'll be a pain in the ass for me to hunt her down. Besides, she will come here if we take too long—that wych was serious when she threatened the family.”

“Well then let’s go kick her ass,” I said, “No one fucks with the Satous.”

“Excellent,” Hisao said, grinning as he headed toward the hall that led to the parlor, “Let’s get to work—stay here for a minute, I'll be right back.”

Left standing alone in the kitchen, without his presence, I started to feel a lot less sure about Hisao's plan, but he had a point; that woman was nuts and would come after us if we didn’t hurry. So, shaking the dark thoughts out of my head, I squared my shoulders and started searching through the cabinets for the random things Hisao had mentioned.

Not even the threat of a witch could make me take the letter opener from Father’s study, but I found a couple steak knives, a meat cleaver, a half empty fifth of Mohawk vodka my mom used for cooking, a few empty beer bottles I'd forgot to recycle, and an old rag in the junk drawer.

When it came to fire-starters, I recalled the stick lighter we kept in case the gas burners refused to light during a power outage. There were two in the drawer, and seeing both of them together gave me an idea, so I started looking for something a bit bigger. While I was poking around one of the higher cabinets, searching the top shelf where the kids couldn’t reach, I heard Hisao enter the kitchen.
“Got our iron,” he stated, holding up the poker from the parlor fireplace, “...You find everything else?”

“Took you long enough,” I stated.

“Oh, I ducked outside and grabbed the hatchet out of the wood pile,” he explained, turning to reveal the axe hanging on his belt. “Figured it'd come in handy,” he remarked, heading across the room toward me, “What are you looking for?”

“…This,” I declared, turning around to show Hisao what I'd found.

Cocking an eyebrow at it curiously, he prompted, “A blow torch?”

Blow torch was bit of an exaggeration. The small device was little more than an eight ounce butane tank bolted to a flexible nozzle. It was neither pretty nor big, but the small tank was full, and it seemed like the sort of thing Hisao had in mind for torching zombies.

I nodded, “Mom uses it for flambé. You said fire would work, so I figured this would help.”

Hisao set the poker down on the island beside the stuff I had gathered and reached out a hand for the butane torch. As I handed it to him, his eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas, which I took as vehement approval. After carefully feeling the small blue tank, he flicked it on briefly. When it shut off, he grinned and looked up at me.

“Do you have a small tool set handy?” he asked.

“…There’s one under the sink, I think,” I replied, pointing toward the cabinet in question, “Why?”

“I wanna make some modifications,” he explained, practically bounding across the room.

As I followed slowly, he crouched down, and, after looking through the various cleaning supplies and whatnot, he pulled out the small, gray-plastic tool case. Still grinning, his eyes darting wildly, he set the tools down beside the sink along with the blow torch, and went to work. All I was sure of as I watched him loosen and adjust things was that the warranty would probably be invalidated, and that Hisao didn't care.

Standing behind him so I could peer over his shoulder, I inquired, “What exactly are you doing?”

Not taking his eyes off his work, he replied, “I could recite what I'm doing, how it works, and why, but that would take too much time. All I'm really doing is increasing the flame strength... basically.”

“Anarchist's Cookbook?” I reasoned.

With a nostalgic smirk, he replied, “Actually, I learned it in the Science Club at Yamaku.”

“…Don’t tell my father that,” I stated.

Nodding, he held up the modified torch and remarked, “It'll have fewer bursts, but they’ll be much more effective.”

“Daddy?”

The squeaky voice made both of us jump, and we turned around to find little Refia standing behind us. With her brown hair tangled into a scraggly mess and her pink cotton pajamas terribly ruffled, she looked absolutely miserable. Hisao must've noticed, because he quickly stashed the torch far from the edge of the counter and knelt in front of his youngest daughter.

Gently brushing the hair from her face, he smiled and said, “Hey, Refia. Out exploring again?”

Refia nodded, “Tryin’ to. But the buzzing’s making my head hurt.”

Hisao’s eye twitched and his hand clenched into a fist for a moment.

“Buzzing?” he asked.

Refia nodded, wincing. “In my head,” she replied, “Feels like a buncha bees buzzin’ around. I tried to find my favorite closet, but I can’t think, and it’s making my head hurt, and I can’t fall back to sleep….”

Hisao gently pulled Refia toward him in a careful hug, and she immediately latched onto him and sniffled. Gently patting her head, Hisao cooed, “It’ll be okay.”

“Please make the buzzing stop,” she begged, sniffling again, “It hurts.”

Hisao sniffled himself, and I didn’t blame him; seeing one of my kids like that would’ve gotten me choked up, too. Rallying with a physical effort, Hisao smiled and hefted his daughter up off the floor. She wrapped her little arms around his neck and buried her head against his chest.

“I know just the thing to help,” he declared, nodding toward me, “Some hot chocolate’ll clear your head right up.”

Refia gave a hopeful smile, her brown eyes glistening. “Really?”

“Of course!” he replied, then whispered to me, “Akira, could you get me a small saucepan, milk, powdered cocoa, sugar, a spray can of whipped cream, and some salt—kosher, not iodized?”

While he adjusted his hold, settling Refia against one shoulder so he could free up an arm, I nodded and started gathering the ingredients. As I put the pot on the stove, he grabbed a wooden spoon and turned on the flame.

“Hi Auntie Akira,” I heard Refia mutter, muffled by Hisao's shoulder, “Sorry for bothering you so late.”

Grinning, I patted the air and replied, “Don’t worry about it, kiddo.”

Refia smiled for a moment before lowering her head against Hisao's shoulder once again, groaning lightly to herself.

It was weird seeing the normally cheerful young girl so down. Even though she wasn’t generally very energetic—the Nakais were pretty sure she had some form of ADD—she was almost always upbeat, and the change was striking, not to mention unnerving, as was the change in Hisao. Seeing the man who, barely ten minutes ago, punched a woman in the face hard enough to break her nose smiling and chatting while he made his youngest daughter hot cocoa was almost surreal.

I wasn’t sure what to think of it, honestly.

Still holding her, Hisao set about making hot cocoa, but after he nearly spilled the milk—which made Refia giggle—it seemed clear he needed both arms. Realizing this, he glanced toward the stools along the breakfast nook and whispered, “I think I'll need my other arm, munchkin.”

Refia gave a slight nod, and nuzzled Hisao's shoulder as he carried her across to the stools. Setting her down, he nodded toward me, and I followed. As I sat down beside her, he explained, “Auntie Akira can keep you company—I'll be done soon.”

Leaning heavily against the counter, she agreed, “Okay....”

While he poured and stirred ingredients, he talked to Refia to keep her spirits up, and I mostly kept to myself. The banter, limited as it was, seemed to liven Refia up a bit, but she still looked pretty upset. She kept her head down, resting it in her arms, and mostly responded with nods and little grunts.

When the cocoa was almost done, Hisao added a couple hefty pinches of salt from the box I had grabbed for him. Noticing, Refia turned up and asked, “Why are you adding salt?”

It was hard to tell sometimes when she was paying attention, but Hisao didn’t seem bothered by the question. “It makes it taste sweeter, like with watermelon,” he replied, “Some recipes even have you add chile powder.”

Refia scrunched her face and muttered, “Sounds gross.”

Hisao shrugged. “Maybe,” he agreed, turning to me, “Akira, could you get me a mug? Thanks.”

From assistant witch hunter to sous chef in less than ten minutes—never a dull moment with the Nakais.

[Hoitash]

Part III:

Getting up quietly, I fetched the requested mug and handed it to Hisao. After carefully pouring the cocoa from the pot into the mug, he walked over next Refia. Gently blowing on the mug’s contents a few times, he placed it in front of her, then, picking up the can of whipped cream, he made an elaborate production of shaking it thoroughly and topping the cocoa.

“Here. This’ll help,” he said, leaning on the counter and crouching down to her level. “Careful, though, it’s still hot,” he added, “And, I know it’s a lot, but you have to drink all of it, okay?”

Refia gave the mug a tentative sniff before pulling it close enough to reach with her lips. Hisao watched with a fatherly smile, steadying the mug as she took a slow, careful sip.

As she pulled away, he asked, “How's it taste?”

Refia tilted her head back to look up at her father, and we were both relieved to see her smiling weakly through a whipped-cream mustache. “Great!”

Hisao scraped a bit of cream from the cup and gently plopped it on her nose, causing her to giggle and widening Hisao's smile. As I settled back into my stool, Hisao held the mug and helped Refia with another sip. Part of me felt like we needed to hurry up and deal with whatever was stalking around outside, but I figured Hisao was right: some things are best kept in the dark, out of view from little girls and boys who already have enough problems.

When she was done and cleaned up a bit, Hisao picked up the mug and peered into it suspiciously. Happy with his mock inspection, he turned a genuine smile at Refia and asked, “Feel better?”

Refia beamed and nodded. “Uh-huh!” she exclaimed, sounding much better.

“No more buzzing?” he prompted.

Redoubling her nodding, she replied, “No more buzzing! Thanks, Daddy!”

Hisao smiled and pulled Refia into a hug, lifting her off the stool and ruffling her hair as she clung around him.

Smiling and nuzzling into his neck, Refia turned her head on its side to face me and chirped, “Thanks for helping Daddy, Auntie Akira!”

“No problem, kid,” I said with a grin, walking over to gently pat her head, “Glad you’re feeling better.”

Refia nodded to confirm the sentiment. Hisao held her close for a little while, then pulled away slightly so he could look at her.

“Refia, I want you to listen very carefully,” he said, his tone firm but gentle. He waited until she was paying attention before he continued, “I want you to go to your favorite closet and stay there until morning, okay?”

“Did I do something wrong?” Refia asked.

“Of course not,” Hisao assured her, “but the buzzing might come back, and as long as you’re there, it won’t be able to bother you.”

“What about in the morning?”

Hisao smiled and patted her head again, aiming a determined look at me as he replied, “Daddy's gonna take care of that.”

“Okay. Thanks, Daddy.”

Refia latched onto Hisao again, and after letting her cling to him for a few moments, he reluctantly lowered her to the floor, where she wandered off to wherever she was going. Hisao watched her until she was out of sight, sighed, and went back to adjusting the blow torch.

“Must be her nervous system,” Hisao muttered to himself, “Damn that wych....”

Getting up, I followed him over to the counter beside the sink.

“She was a hard birth, too,” he continued, “We knew Hana giving birth would be tricky, but Akio was on the small side and Satomi wasn’t a problem... but she was in labor so long with Refia… I'm not surprised she’s named after an orphan.”

“So that… woman,” I said, part of my brain apparently still refusing to acknowledge what she was, “...is the cause of the buzzing?”

“Theoretically,” Hisao replied, “Fortunately, Rowling knew what she was writing about.”

“…You read Harry Potter?” I asked, no small amount of shock in my tone.

“I have three kids who know English better than I do,” he replied, then quickly changed the subject, “Is there anything outside?”

With Refia's interruption, I had almost forgotten about the whole Army of Darkness sequel occurring outside the house. Looking out the window above the sink, my mind went wild with images of armies of skeletons and zombies marching across the snow. For better or worse, it was deceptively peaceful outside.

“Nothing so far,” I replied.

“She must be building up her forces before deploying them for maximum effect,” Hisao said, shaking his head, “I hate it when the bad guys know what they’re doing.”

“Yeah, I'll take Doctor Evil over Doctor No any day,” I quipped.

Hisao smirked slightly for a brief moment, then set his jaw and held up the torch.

“Almost done here… Can’t make up for the fact it’s only butane, but at least the flame will have some range and power," he explained, "Think third degree burn over your hand versus third degree burn on one finger.”

“You ain’t right, y'know that?” I stated, torn between admiration and trepidation, “And where did you learn to punch like that?”

“Shizune,” he replied, though he didn’t elaborate.

For several minutes, while Hisao silently did whatever he was doing to the blow torch, neither one of us spoke. When he was done, he carefully put away the tool kit and held out the torch for me to take. The nozzle had been widened with a washer and some bolts from the kit and he had jury-rigged some spare copper pipe onto the flexible hose.

“Here, you have it,” Hisao stated, “I’ll take the poker.”

“…I’m not gonna go there, but thanks,” I said, “Can I have the axe, too?”

“You gonna ax me a question?” he quipped.

Covering my mouth, I blinked at Hisao and tried to suppress a snicker. The stupid pun had caught me so off guard that I ended up laughing like an idiot for a good minute. While I had my fit, Hisao got to work making the Molotov cocktails, pouring the vodka into the beer bottles and ripping the cloth rag into strips. Once I had regained my senses, I helped get the rag strips stuffed into the bottles.

When we were done, he carefully tucked three of the five grenades into the open pockets of his winter coat, and handed two of them to me. While he grabbed the fire poker, several kitchen knives, and a stick lighter, I stuffed the impromptu grenades into my pockets as best as I could.

Shaking my head with a mix of disbelief and trepidation at what we were about to do, I grabbed the ax and stuck it in my belt along with the second stick lighter. Figuring I may as well, I also grabbed a salt shaker from the counter, tucking it into a pocket—just in case.

“That torch should be good for a couple bursts,” Hisao said cautiously, “but don’t go crazy with it.”

Nodding, I asked, “We good to go?”

“No silver?”

I shook my head.

“Ah, well,” Hisao said, “In that case, almost ready.”

Tucking the poker under his arm, he reached into an inside pocket and pulled out what looked like a bracelet made of teeth. Placing it on his right wrist, he grabbed the poker, turned the knife he was holding in his other hand into a reverse grip, and looked to me.

“Ready?” he asked.

Honestly, I wasn’t ready, but I don’t think you can really be ready for what we were about to do, so I trusted in Hisao, and in his ability to set things on fire. Pushing the negative thoughts out of my mind, I nodded grimly and turned to the back door.

Allowing myself one last moment of doubt, I asked, “You sure this stuff will do us any good?”

“In theory...” Hisao responded with a shrug.

That wasn't the most inspiring reply, but it's about what I expected.

“I don’t suppose you could do better than that?” I asked.

“Like I said, Miya’s the Jim Butcher fan, not me," he replied, smirking as he added, "I just do paperwork and make baking-soda-and-vinegar volcanoes.”

“And homemade flamethrowers.”

“Everyone needs a hobby,” he said with a wink.

Rolling my eyes, probably not for the last time, I moved to the door. Hisao sidled up to the other side, giving me the go-ahead to open it with a silent nod. Returning the nod, I turned the knob and, swinging the door open fully, I waited. When nothing jumped inside to attack us, Hisao cautiously peered outside. Keeping my back to the wall, I waited while he let his eyes adjust to the starlit dark, then moved to stand fully in the doorway.

Still unsure whether something might leap through the door and tackle us, I took a tentative step to get behind him, and spent a few seconds looking out at the glittering snow. When nothing happened, Hisao raised his foot to take the first step outside, just as a bell rang dully in the distance.

“…Sounds like the church bell in town,” I surmised.

Hisao nodded, remarking, “It’s midnight.”

I glanced at the clock on the microwave; he was right.

Instead of stepping outside, Hisao just listened as the bell tolled away.

“…Never send to know for whom the bell tolls,” he whispered.

“It tolls for thee,” I finished.

Hisao turned and raised an eyebrow at me, and I just shrugged. Daichi was a John Donne fan, and I imagine Hisao picked up the line from Miya.

When the bell finished tolling, Hisao sighed and stepped out into the night. Knowing I had to do what I could to protect my family, I said goodbye to my last chance at avoid yet more nightmares and followed him into the darkness.

+++
Next Chapter

Becoming an educator has given me a soft spot for children.

I’ve always enjoyed arson

[Mirage_GSM]

It took Hisao and I a few minutes

Hisao and me

No other complaints - I don't know enough about making Molotov cocktails to judge you in that department

[Hoitash]

It took Hisao and I a few minutes

Hisao and me

Whoops. Fixed.

No other complaints - I don't know enough about making Molotov cocktails to judge you in that department

Well, ideally he'd use packing peanuts and gasoline, but he didn't have the time or materials for that.

...Hey, I just know stuff.

[griffon8]

Found the error I mentioned to you:

We’ll show her what happens when you piss of Hisao Nakai.

Obviously, not in the place I thought it was.