Packing 

He had thought about giving Sakura a visit but then postponed it. Thinking he will do it just before leaving Tokyo. He would have to select the date and then do the bookings. But that was for later, what he could do right now was make the arrangements for money and pack his bag.

He gulped before knocking on the door. No one opened. One time, he had knocked the number of times he was not supposed to. He was thirteen or fourteen at that time. Aunt Oba had made sure he got a good beating so that he would never dare to knock more than he was meant to.

Although that was four years ago, Ryota still could not forget the pain and horror. 'Why am I looking for stories outside when I can write a horror novel with Aunt Oba as the antagonist?'

Ryota pushed the door and found it open. He glanced around the hall, it was empty. He had no interest in knowing where they were as long as they were not at home.

'Why did they leave the door open? They only leave the door at times they are—' He stopped in his tracks and raised his eyes upstairs. 'No. Oh no. I do not want to hear that again!'

He turned, ready to leave. But then clenched his teeth and muttered, "Why should I run away when I leave the house for good anyway?"

He climbed the stairs one by one, trying his best not to make the creaking noise. Just a few stairs away from the landing, he heard a moan, followed by screams. 'Happy' screams.

'A horror mystery? Perhaps I should write an erotic thriller with Aunt Oba as the protagonist.' He ignored them and walked to his room at the end of the hallway. He looked back, scared from hearing the screams and moans. 'Just how can they keep up that at this age?'

He coughed, but that was not enough to disturb them. "I am home!" he shouted.

Suddenly, the covers rustled and the screaming/moaning stopped. Satisfied with what he had done, but scared of what was coming next, he dashed into his room. Then he slid the door close.

The Writer's Box was lying in one corner of the room. He sat beside the Writer's Box and looked at the typewriter. Without Sakura, his room was silent, and he missed that annoying yet cute Shiba Inu.

His work table was flipped over to the side just like he had left it before. The pages were scattered all around, and his Writer's Box was wide open, with blank pages scattered.

He had not got any time to work on the novel or the idea today. Being uncertain about the idea, he had considered not writing a novel around that premise.

Mixing horror and fantasy… but it will be different from dark fantasy, cause the story will have a mystery element. An original genre, maybe.

Ryota opened the closet. A few books and mangas were arranged in a row with their spines facing him. The thought of leaving them in the closet for a whole year hurt him. Being a bibliophile, he wanted the books with him, even if he had already read them.

He pulled a duffle bag from the corner of the closet. He thought to himself as he took a pair of jeans and a kimono.

'How much does the ticket to Okinawa cost though?' He stuffed them into the bag, then pulled out three shirts – that was all he had – and he had planned on traveling in the school uniform.

'Damn, asking for money is harder than thinking of a story plot. Story plot.' The first thing to do after packing would be to write about the story's villain and the main conflict.

'Why have I not heard anything from Kadokawa?' He bit his lips as he brought his toothbrush and a towel from the washroom. 'It must have been rejected. It has to be rejected.'

Okinawa was an island under Japanese territory since the reign of the Ryukyu Kingdom. Of the one-hundred-and-fifty islands to choose from the Okinawa prefecture, the main island was the best.

Known for its dazzling sight, the perfect diving experience, a wide cuisine of fish food, and Cherry Blossoms, Okinawa Island would be the best place for inspiration and peace of mind.

He zipped the bag and sat under the working table. He adjusted the typewriter, then pulled a few pages from the Writer's Box. Just a quarter or ream was left, he would have to buy more soon.

He would also need the few pages he had pitched the idea on, he took them out of the other stack of pages.

Ryota set the paper in the typewriter, then typed: Haunted Island by H. Ryota.

Then he pulled that page out of the typewriter. He picked up the stack of pages and started reading. He had an idea of what the story will be about, what he wanted it to be, and how he would write it.

The dream. Was did that mean? Monsters showed out of nowhere, then ate him and his two best friends. Why? Ryota leaned back, away from the typewriter.

Suddenly, Sengoku's and Hito's faces appeared in front of him. Their facial expressions when he told them about his main idea. In their eyes, he could tell, was fear. The same horror a kid has in his heart when he has broken a valuable piece of a vase and tried to hide or get away with it.

The same fear of being found out, or being figured out, was lingering in their eyes and on their faces. And when he had mentioned his departure, both had some relief. 'Are they hiding something from me? Was it something related to the plot of my story?'

Hito's wide eyes and Sengoku's desperate attempt to put on a fake smile and hide his terror, when Ryota mentioned the monsters he would include in his book.

Ryota chuckled as he leaned forward and went for the pen case. "Shut up. Things like those do not exist. Maybe I should try a romance novel for a change. Or perhaps a slice-of-life manga."

He zipped open the suitcase's inner pocket and pulled out the lighter. He held the cigarette in his lips and brought the lighter close to the butt.

"This stress is making me crazy." He shook his head as he lit the cigarette.

Lowering the lighter, Ryota blew the smoke and dropped his head against the wall behind him. He kept his eyes close.

Sengoku's eyes when Ryota mentioned dark wizards. Although Sengoku had tried to hide his eyes, Hitori had gotten a view of the anger. Before he could take a good look, Sengoku had looked to the other side.

Ryota opened his eyes with a sense of strong realization. 'No, wait. Control. Hold your imagination right there.'

His dreams just added tension to his already stressed life. 'Where are these dreams coming from anyway? Not everyone must have such gruesome dreams.'

From the tip of the cigarette, some ash fell onto the tatami mat. "What I saw was real. But how can that happen with a human?."

'Yeah, but what if he was not a—'

He bit his lips and pulled the cigarette to his lips. "Fuck… I am losing it." He took a drag. "If I doubt them, I will have no one to rely on." Then blew the smoke.

With his head still hanging back, he brought the cigarette close to his lips again– 'I will go for smoke rings this time' – and stopped.

Someone's gaze stared at him from the left side, where the sliding door to his room was. He saw a figure standing against the door from his peripheral, but he sat frozen.

Only three people were in the house right now, he knew that, and now he could feel his ultimate end looming over his head.

With a cigarette hanging in his index and middle finger, Ryota turned his eyes. His heart churned at the thought of his plan to travel to Okinawa going downhill.

Two big eyes of Uncle Oji were fixed on Ryota. His arms were folded under his chest and his eyes were glaring with anger.

Unable to move, Ryota stared back at his uncle. Then Uncle turned his eyes to the cigarette in Ryota's fingers. The smoke filled Ryota's nose and snapped him back to reality.

In a swift, but quick movement, Ryota crushed the cigarette on the tatami matt. He looked back at Uncle, still not moving, and heard Aunt Oba's footsteps.