The train’s dense floor creaks under the weight of my thudding feet, as I step into the baggage room of the train. I wince at the raspy, metallic call of cicadas blaring outdoors, as my shoes press footprints into the layer of dust that coats the velvety carpet underneath me. Did they even hire a cleaner here? I peer outside to see a strikingly vivid morning sky, its gradient fading from a weak blue, to a pink, to a blazing orange that almost looks red. Of course, it makes sense. This is the land of the rising sun. I smile in admiration. Even at this early hour, I spot kids with their school bags (Randoseru), all lively, giggling as they cross the road, or old men walking their dogs, or realistically, being walked by their dogs, through random streets and pathways. All cast in the red hue the sun paints them in. What was that saying again? I wonder. Something about the red sky in the morning and night being a delight? It’s right at the tip of my fingers, but I let it slip. Not that it matters anyway. As I approach a door, a copper sign reads, ‘Welcome aboard the Seishin Shinkansen 44’. An interesting name, I think; I don’t understand what it means, but I’m fairly certain it’s not a location. Adjusting the clasp on my leather briefcase, I attentively open the door and enter the train corridor.
I stare down at my ticket. ‘Compartment 4,' it reads. Fairly straightforward. Slowly, I begin to stroll down the train’s corridor. Every compartment is labelled with a brass number plate, and as I make my way towards 4, I notice the flowers. Beautiful red spider lilies are arranged neatly in a small, traditional porcelain vase on the small table next to compartment 4. Such a bold, vibrant red. I gaze in awe. Before opening the double doors, I take caution to remove my pristine white leather gloves, just in case the door handles are as filthy as the floor. But to my surprise, the brass door handle feels newly polished and opens the door with ease. Not even a creak can be heard as I swing open the doors. I jump back in shock, as inside is a small figure - a child even - curled underneath a small, red woolen blanket.
I’m not quite sure how to react.
Sure, it isn’t too unusual for children to travel on their own in Japan, but this child seems especially young. I turn my head around, searching for any adult that could be the child’s parent, but there is no sign of anyone else. Despite the look of concern furrowing my brow, I enter the compartment.
I sit down opposite the girl, but the second I do, a ray of sunshine pierces through the glass windows, blinding me. It ricochets off the gold watch that sits on my wrist, and I wince, quickly adjusting the velvet curtains. I sigh and rub my eyes. Pathetic. Blinded and attacked by sunlight and saved by the curtains. I’m truly pathetic.
Even though I didn’t realize it at first, the child now seems to be sitting bolt upright, staring at me intently. She’s a girl, I think to myself as I take a look at her, and as young as I thought. Dark brown plaited pigtails rest on her shoulders, and her fringe falls into a soft curtain around her eyes. Her skin is ghostly pale, and her lips are as red as a rose, contrasting her fine skin. She continues to stare. Taken aback, I say a quick greeting. “Hullo,” I say to the child, but I don’t receive a response. “You’re awfully young to be traveling on your own, wouldn’t you say?” I make out in my most gentle-sounding voice, trying to make conversation, but as before, I don’t even receive a reaction, and certainly not a response. I sigh and tuck my gloves into my silky-blue overcoat. As endless landscapes pass by, I feel my conscience slowly slipping away, each scene blurring into the next.
I wake with a distant headache pulsing through my head. Small rivulets of rain drip down the window outside, and as I place my hand on the glass pane, a jolt of bitter coldness runs through me like electricity. I shiver. Taking notice of the world outside, I realize the time of day. Although I swore I hadn’t slept for long, the morning sunshine has shifted to a rainy, grey evening. Landscapes flick by, from a cherry blossom enveloped scene, to rice paddy fields (Tannbo), to a grey glimpse of a city, somewhere near Hachiōji. Despite its beauty, it’s overwhelming - the variation of scenery. Dizzying even. Turning my head, I place my gaze on the girl again. She still sits tall and unmoving, her pale face glowing faintly. I notice them again. Those vibrant red lips - the color of the lilies that were displayed on the outside of the compartment. She licks her lips as she hums an eerie tune that sends the hairs on my arm standing on edge. Drowsiness overcomes me.
I’m not ready for it. The girl is screaming in pain. I can’t hear myself think. Help. Help me, she shrieks, her iron grip clutching my arm. I shake her off my arm, and dart to the door. No, I yell back as fear envelops me. I grab the brass door handle and twist it, but it’s locked from the outside. Violently shaking the door, I shout aggressively, but the door doesn’t budge. The train screeches with the call of a thousand vultures, and I swing my head back fiercely. Although all the echoing screams continue, in the girl’s place, a dark crimson spider lily lies crippled on the floor, wrapped in the red woolen blanket. Wrinkles that look almost like veins cage the flower’s petals, as a strange translucent liquid covers over the lily like a coat. With an expression of pure peril painted on my face, I continue to shove open the door, before I realize what’s in my hand. A garish red lily. I stare at it. Suddenly all the train lights and windows shatter, as the flower in my hand implodes with a snap. I feel like I’ve been stabbed through the heart. All the wind is sucked out of my lungs, and I choke out a gasp. A wave of nausea washes over me, and I fall backwards. The last thing I see before I make contact with the ground is a splatter of dead corpses right outside the train, all clutching the blood-red spider lily.
My eyes open. That once distant headache now hammers my head. The thick stench of iron radiates through the air. I gasp a shattered breath. My cheeks are drenched in tears, and my ears are ringing. Pathetic. Crying at a mere nightmare. Completely and utterly pathetic. I frown. Apart from the fact that I feel like I just died, something feels…off. Then I remember the dream. The spider lily. The screaming. The girl. Panicking, I look to where the girl was once sitting in front of me. The seat is empty. She must have left at her stop while I was asleep. I begin to relax - that is, until I notice the girl is in fact still here. She is sitting right next to me, and I didn’t even know it. She sends me a harrowing smile, and shows me a single, crimson-red flower. Like the one from the dream… It was as red as the sky. As red as her blanket. As red as blood. She points the lily in my direction, and she gives me a strange smile. “Hello,” she says in a deep, husky voice.
Then she contracts her fingers and crushes my flower.
Amelia Freitag is a young passionate writer who is half Japanese and half English. She previously lived in Singapore, before moving to the bustling city of Tokyo, five years ago. She is thirteen years old and currently goes to The British School in Tokyo. With an enthusiastic approach to literature, she hopes to continue her love for writing by composing more of her own stories and maybe books in the future. Her piece is a mix of little easter eggs as a tribute to Japanese culture, details about life in Japan, and hopefully, a thrilling/mysterious tale for the readers! In her spare time, Amelia likes drawing, writing, and watching television. She is currently in the planning stage of a graphic novel that she hopes to be able to finish someday!
"red spider lily / Lycoris radiata / 彼岸花(ひがんばな)" by TANAKA Juuyoh (田中十洋) is licensed under CC BY 2.0.
