The House on the Corner.

The following is a brand-new story published by A Carrier of Fire.  It appears in a split EP of new horror stories called Moribund Agents that can be downloaded by clicking here.  Happy Halloween!

Daisuke Kinoshita’s lungs were on fire and his calves screamed as he ran to “The House on the Corner.”  The House on the Corner, he thought.  Is that really the nickname that stuck after all these years, Sugimoto?  He’d already passed several houses on several street corners, each nearly identical to his destination.  But what separated this house from the rest was Daisuke’s knowledge of the location of its spare key.  He knew he must take his mind off of his burning muscles and aching joints, but besides his pounding feet and bouncing backpack, the town was loud with screaming, moaning, chewing and sucking sounds of the dead.  Instead, he thought about the house.

Daisuke met Asahi Sugimoto when they became classmates at Hachiman Nishi Junior High School.  The Kinoshita residence was nearly a mile to the northeast along the Nagara River, while Sugimoto lived ¼-mile west from the school.  The boys walked home in opposite directions, only speaking in the short time they had walking south between the front entrance of the school and the first intersection they reached.  There, Daisuke turned left and continued around the back of the school and up north along the river, while Asahi turned right at the intersection and wound around uphill towards his street.  The first time Asahi invited Daisuke to come to his house was a brisk spring Sunday morning.  At school the previous day, he’d told Daisuke “Just head the way I do after class.  Go past the shrine on the right, then take your first right and it’s the house on the corner.”  Asahi had not, however, mentioned whether the “first right” meant the small alley where the road bent or the first proper street, which was several hundred feet further down the road – nor did he clarify which corner.  In the end, Daisuke ended up knocking on three doors before he found the right house.

“What took you so long?”

“’The house on the corner?’” Daisuke asked sarcastically, mimicking his friend’s words.

Now, four years later, the boys were preparing for their final year at high school.  Asahi’s family was out of town for a summer vacation.  Daisuke silently begged their forgiveness as he dove into the bushes, retrieved the fake rock and the key inside it, unlocked and opened the front door then slammed and locked it behind him.  He turned his back to the newly-locked door and fell back against it, dropping his backpack off his shoulders as he did.  He sank to a sitting position in the dark, silent house, closing his eyes.  It took him a long time to catch his breath. 

Of course this had to happen on Mukae-bon.

Try as he might, Daisuke couldn’t make sense of what had just happened.  Now that he was safe – or safer, at least – he knew he had to get a better idea of what was going on in the town.  He also knew he wasn’t going to turn on all the lights and the TV to do so.  He decided that with Sugimoto’s house so dark, he could peek through the window blinds at the scene outside without attracting any attention.  Even still, he was as quiet as could be, parting the blinds at a snail’s pace to see outside.

The street was nearly deserted.  Most of the houses still had lanterns lit on their front porches, meaning one of three things.  First, maybe the residents hadn’t come home yet from the festival but they would soon; second, they were inside safely and they’d locked their doors without bothering to snuff out the lanterns first; or third, they were…No.  Daisuke didn’t want to consider that possibility yet.  He noted that since so many lanterns were still lit, they slightly improved the visibility of the neighborhood under the night sky, which was a happy accident in his favor.  As soon as he thought this, however, he felt a pang of guilt when he remembered what kind of fate might have befallen Sugimoto’s neighbors.

As his eyes scanned the scene outside, he finally got a glimpse at one of the people – if they could still be called people – roaming around the neighborhood.  She was a young woman he didn’t recognize, of average height and a slim build.  Her skin was pale and clammy, her eyes glazed over, and she shambled along the road.  She was dressed neatly, but not too formally, in a peach-colored cardigan over a black floral-print dress.  Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail.  Dried blood had become caked after running below her mouth and onto the top of her dress, a telltale sign of recent eating.  She looked listless, in need of something perhaps, but ultimately braindead.  Daisuke lowered his gaze, sad for the lost life still roaming the streets of their riverside town. She really is a dead person walking around town, he thought.  No proper funeral or cremation.  His thoughts turned towards the young woman.  I’m sorry this happened to you.

The smack of a wet hand on the window just inches from his face ripped Daisuke from his melancholia.  Out of fear, he cursed loudly.  “Kuso!” he heard himself say.  He leaped backwards instinctively even before realizing what he was looking at.  It was the hand of a grown man, slathered in fresh blood, pressed against the window.  His arm showed that he wore a brown tweed suit, though most of his body was out of frame.  Daisuke ran to the door to help the injured man into the house but his hand froze when it reached the doorknob.

What if he’s…one of them? he thought.

What if he’s not, idiot?  He could’ve been hurt at the festival and needs your help before they come for him!  They could be right behind him!

If they’re right behind him, should you really open the door and risk them getting in Sugimoto’s house?

The man hit the window again.

Are you prepared to let an innocent man die because you didn’t want to risk it?  That’s a terrible and selfish thought.

Is it?  Or is it just being careful?

Before he could talk himself out of it, Daisuke growled at the situation then unlocked the door and flung it open.  He took one step outside the threshold and turned to the man on his right, bowing his head slightly in respect and embarrassment at his hesitation.

“Excuse me, sir…”

The man turned, slowly, and Daisuke froze in horror.  The left half of the man’s face, which had been out of sight from the window, was almost completely missing.  He raised his arms towards Daisuke and took a step towards him.  But that was only half of what shocked Daisuke.

No way, Daisuke thought.  There’s just no way.  Tanaka-sensei?

He told his body to run back inside and lock the door but it wasn’t listening.  He was frozen stiff from seeing his homeroom teacher, Sora Tanaka, in such a state.  With a second step, Tanaka’s features came into view more clearly in the moonlight.  He opened his mouth in a sickly moan and his tongue lolled out and hung down the exposed side of his mouth.  For just a moment, Daisuke wanted to drop to his knees and give up.  It was all too horrible – a nightmare come to life.  A third step brought the teacher ever closer to the petrified boy.  He was almost within arm’s reach.  Two pairs of running footsteps approached Daisuke and Mr. Tanaka.  In a daze, Daisuke looked to their source and blinked.

“Move, idiot!”

Two figures approached rapidly.  For a moment, Daisuke thought the shouting was directed at Mr. Tanaka, who was still walking towards him from next to the house, so he turned back and looked at his mangled teacher.  But if he keeps moving, he’s going to hurt me, Daisuke thought.  He’s going to hurt me.  He’s…he’s going to hurt me!  He blinked his eyes tight several times and did his best to snap out of his trance.  Before he could regain his senses completely and get back in the house, the running footsteps reached him and a pair of women’s hands pulled him backwards away from the faceless man lurching towards him.  In the same moment, a man in a black and red flannel shirt stepped in front of Daisuke, his back to the boy, and swung an object – a crowbar, Daisuke realized – at the homeroom teacher.  The impact of crowbar on flesh made a sound like someone dropping a large, dripping handful of raw ground beef on the cement.  There was a cracking sound, too, like a coffee mug being knocked onto the floor and broken.  He couldn’t place it, but it got his attention.

Before he knew it, Daisuke and the two strangers were back in the Sugimoto residence.  The man with the crowbar slammed the door shut behind them and locked it; the woman sat on the nearby couch and clutched at her belly, which appeared distended.

“What the Hell were you doing?!” the man demanded.  “Is this your house?  Do you live here?”

“Honey…” the woman said.

Daisuke focused on the man, who appeared to be in his early 30s.  He had some facial hair adorning his chin and cheeks but not enough to call a beard and moustache.  His face was rounded without being fat, a feature enhanced by an unkempt bowl cut.

“Is there anyone else here besides the three of us?  Have you checked all the other rooms?”

In his shock, Daisuke found all these questions to be of little consequence.

“You…You just killed Mr. Tanaka.”  The words sounded dry and papery coming out of his mouth.  He’d seen Tanaka before the man struck him – and he’d seen the young woman in the floral-print dress roaming the street before that – but he couldn’t convince himself this stranger hadn’t just taken his teacher’s life with the crushing blow to his head.

“…What?” the man asked.

“Mr. Tanaka,” Daisuke repeated.  The events of the last several minutes began to catch up with him.  “He was my homeroom teacher.  And you…Oh, God; he’s dead!”  It finally dawned on Daisuke that the cracking sound outside was Tanaka’s skull caving in from the crowbar, and without thinking, Daisuke was in the man’s face, pounding his fists against his chest.  “You killed him!  You killed him!”

The man easily defused Daisuke’s intimidations.  “Hey,” the man said in a strong but reassuring voice.  “Hey, son.  It’s alright.  It’s alright now.”  He gripped Daisuke’s shoulders with his large, firm hands.  Slowly, Daisuke’s attacks gave way to an exhausted leaning against the man.  “I’m sorry about your teacher,” the man said.  “But I swear to you, he was already –“  He caught himself before finishing his sentence.  He wanted the boy to know it couldn’t be helped, but he feared sounding callous or uncaring of the man he’d just put down outside the house.  Obviously the boy knew him from school; seeing a teacher bludgeoned like that would be traumatic.  He tried a safer tactic.  “What’s your name?  I’m Saito Nakamura; this is my wife, Aoi,” he said, gesturing at the woman.

Daisuke looked back and forth between them several times.  “Kinoshita,” he said.  “My name…is Daisuke Kinoshita.”  Daisuke relaxed a bit and Saito let go of his shoulders.

“Okay,” Saito said.  “Okay.  Saito, Aoi, Daisuke.  Are you hurt?”

Daisuke shook his head.

“Did one of them…bite you?”  Saito stole a quick glance at Aoi, who gave him a chastising expression.

“No!” Daisuke exclaimed.  “I mean…no.”

“That’s good,” Saito said.  “That’s good.  Forgive me, but do you know what’s going on?  Or why?”

“I have no idea,” Daisuke said, gazing at the floor.  “One minute I was at the festival, watching the dancers, and then…and then…”

“So were we,” Saito said.  “It got pretty bad out there.  We were making a run for the hills to the north, since there are probably fewer of them there, but Aoi saw you and we couldn’t just leave you to…I mean, we couldn’t just leave you.”

Daisuke met Saito’s eyes and realized the truth in his words.  “Thank you,” he said.

“So is this your house?”

“No, it’s Asahi-kun’s – rather, my friend Asahi Sugimoto and his family live here.  They’re away on vacation.”

“Mm,” Saito said.  “It’s good for them to be away from this mess right now.”

Daisuke managed to nod his head softly.  “What’s wrong with them?”

Saito sighed.  “I’m afraid I’ll sound crazy if I say it.”

“We can’t deny what we saw,” Aoi said from behind Daisuke.  It was the first time he’d heard her speak.  “They’re…dead.”

“It isn’t possible,” Daisuke said.  Aoi continued.

“Saito and I grew up here in Gujō.  He got a good job in Nagano a few years ago and we moved away, but we thought we’d come back for the Obon festival one last time before…”  She looked down at her stomach.  “Everything happened so quickly.  We tried to stay hidden from view, quietly moving along alleyways, hoping the river would help mask any sound we made.  Then, as we were passing by a house near a bridge…”

“You don’t have to explain,” Saito said.

“No, it’s okay,” she replied.  “I think the boy should hear this.  It may help him understand what they’re like.

“One of them came around the corner, groaning and stumbling towards a street vendor, an older man it had seen.  The older man was cooking and selling udon – the noodle soup?  When he saw it coming, he threw a pot of scalding broth at it and it didn’t even react.  Then he took his chef’s knife and stabbed it, right where the heart…”  She pressed one hand against her chest and Daisuke noticed her breathing had quickened.  “Its skin was burning – bubbling – it had a knife in its heart.  It still attacked him, unfazed.  Nobody could survive that.  They’d have to already be –“

“Enough,” Saito said.  “You have to stay calm, Aoi.”

Daisuke found himself compelled to bring the conversation to a head.

“So they’re…”

Saito nodded.  “In the west, they’re called zonbis.  A zonbi is a dead body somehow given consciousness again, but only minimal motor skills or brain function.  The only part of their brain that still works is that which knows it needs to eat – and to move so it can eat.”

Daisuke nodded impatiently.  “And it doesn’t differentiate between animals and humans when it comes to food.  It’s just like –“

He stopped short and the movie title flashed in his head.  ナイト・オブ・ザ・リビングデッ  Of course, he thought.  Naito Obu Za Ribingudetsu.  He and Sugimoto had stayed up late one night watching the old black and white zonbi movie from the 1960s.  At the time it had seemed so ridiculous, but now…

“Daisuke?  Are you alright?”

In an instant, Daisuke ran through the first half of the film in his head, his eyes darting around as he remembered.  He turned to Saito and spoke with great urgency.

“We have to check the rest of the house to be sure we’re alone – just like you said earlier,” Daisuke said.  “Then we need hammers, nails and any strong wood we can pry loose with that crowbar.  They won’t get in here.  I just need something for defense first.”

Asahi’s father, Akira Sugimoto, kept a set of golf clubs in the coat closet by the stairs to the second floor.  Daisuke headed straight for it, crossing the entryway and opening the door.  Saito was startled by his movement.

“Hey, what are you –“

No, Daisuke thought, staring into the closet.  How can this be?

Daisuke double-checked to be sure, since the house was still only illuminated by moonlight, but there was no mistaking it.  The clubs were gone.

Of course.  They’re on summer vacation.  He closed his eyes and a long, low sigh escaped him.  “Golf clubs,” he heard himself say quietly.

“That’s unfortunate,” Saito said calmly.  He’d put the pieces together.  He rubbed his lower face with one hand.  “I have an idea, but it’s not going to be pretty if there’s any trouble in the house.”

Saito and Daisuke crept slowly into the kitchen, stepping as gingerly as they could.  The only light they dared risk was the flashlight app on Daisuke’s cell phone.  It provided a soft glow just in front of them but provided little visibility.  Saito walked in front, holding his crowbar like a baseball bat; Daisuke was immediately behind him, his hand outstretched to hold the phone over Saito’s shoulder.  They breathed through their noses and only spoke in whispers – and that much only when absolutely necessary.

“The drawer with the larger tools is on the right, on the far side of the oven,” Daisuke said.  Saito nodded in response and led them there.  Daisuke began to pull open the drawer but it stopped.  For just a moment, he panicked.  Is something grabbing it?!

Then he realized it must be jammed from the inside.  He cursed again.

Daisuke reached his left hand into the stuck drawer, but there was so little room, the wooden interior pushed and scraped at the backs of his fingers.  He clenched his teeth at the discomfort.  Slowly, gently, he tried to feel around for the source of the jam.

“What’s going on?” Saito asked.

“It’s jammed,” Daisuke said.  “Wait just a moment.”

He felt up just behind the cabinet that held the drawer; almost immediately he found the trouble.  The same item he’d hoped to find in the drawer was stopping him from retrieving it, and it was propped up by a can opener and a whisk, both of which refused to budge.  He knew the best option would be to push the drawer shut just a little more to ease the tension, then he could pull it down with ease.  However, the opening was already so slim he couldn’t push it shut any further without crushing his hand in the process.  He did his best to pull it down, but the harder he pulled, the angrier he got.

Come on, come on, he thought.  Saito heard him struggle.

“I don’t like this…”

“Just a little more!”

Daisuke pulled as hard as he could – too hard.  The drawer flew out of the cabinet and several kitchen tools crashed and clanged to the marble floor, followed by the drawer itself.  Daisuke held up his prize – the meat tenderizer – and from outside they heard a nearby zonbi make an aggravated growl.  Daisuke shone the flashlight on Saito.  Saito was furious.

“Idiot,” Saito scowled.  He approached the boy and pointed his thick finger in his face.  “If your stupidity costs Aoi her life…our child’s life…I’ll never forgive you!”

Daisuke’s face went red.  He looked away in shame and made a formal apology, though Saito interrupted him.  “Enough,” he said.  “Draw the curtains shut in this front area and turn on the lights.  I was hoping to keep the house quiet and dark until we checked all the rooms together but it can’t be helped.  At least one of them knows we’re here now.  More could be coming.”

Daisuke followed Saito’s orders as they spoke.  “I’m sorry –“

“It’s fine,” Saito said.  “But this changes things.  We have to split up.”  He crossed to a door.  “Is this the pantry door?”

Daisuke nodded.

Saito began prying the door off its hinges with his crowbar.  “Hammers?  Nails?”

“In the garage.”

Of course, Saito thought.  “Where?”

“Around the back of the stairs to the right,” Daisuke said, finally turning on the light.

The door came off and Saito dropped it at Daisuke’s feet.  “Let me borrow your phone.”

Aoi protested.  “Saito…”

“It’s fine,” he said, taking the phone from Daisuke.  “I’ll be right back.”

He started towards the garage, stopped and turned to Daisuke.

“Protect her,” Saito said.  “Protect them both.”

“With my life,” Daisuke replied.  But Saito was already gone.

Daisuke kept a firm grip on his meat tenderizer, secretly hoping he wouldn’t have to use it.  He stood in front of Aoi like a bodyguard, feeling sheepish and ashamed he’d drawn attention to them.  He tried thinking of what to say to her.

“Kinoshita,” she said.  Her sudden voice made him jump.  She hid a smile behind her hand.  “I’m sorry. 

“It’s alright – what happened earlier.”  His chin sank into his chest and he shook his head lightly.  “It is.  Saito makes plans every day.  When they don’t work, he becomes easily frustrated.  He’s that kind of person.  But he’s a good person, too.  He cares a great deal for us.”  Daisuke didn’t need to look at Aoi to know her hand was on her belly again.  It made him remember how much was at stake.  He stiffened considerably.

“I-I will protect you!” he stammered.

The poor boy, Aoi thought.  He must hate himself right now.

“It’s alright; I promise,” she said.  “I’d feel safer with the doors and windows secured before you two investigate the house.  Maybe you did us a favor.”

Daisuke grunted.  He didn’t entirely agree, and he knew she was just trying to make him feel better, but Aoi seemed to be a kind, honest person.  Perhaps she meant what she said.

“Thank you,” he said.

No sooner did the words escape his lips than Saito came walking briskly back into the front area with two hammers, a box of nails and a pair of real flashlights.  Saito walked past the pair and dumped his handfuls of supplies on the kotatsu in the living room, whose blanket had been removed for the summer.

“Let’s get to work.”

Daisuke’s train of thought moved rapidly as he gathered what he needed and began nailing the pantry door over the double-wide front windows.  He thought about Mukae-bon, the first day of the annual five-day Obon festival in which Japanese welcomed their ancestors’ souls back to the world of the living.  There were the traditional dancers, the electronic lanterns lit in front of the homes and the tens of thousands of tourists who had traveled into town to witness its unique all-night dancing.  The food vendors were hard at work.  The sizzle and savory smell of teriyaki beef and chicken reached Daisuke’s senses from one side of the street; other traditional foods followed.  Everywhere, he heard the rivers flow.

Gujō was surrounded by three rivers: Yoshida, Nagara and Kodara, which formed a moat around the town and Gujō Hachiman Castle.  It was sometimes called “Water City” and its clean freshwater supply was what the town was known for.  This made it a point of local pride.  In modern times, the town was also known for its food replica workshops – the largest was Sample Village Iwasaki – but perhaps since Daisuke had spent his life walking past the workshops while out with his family, he didn’t see what was so special about them.  Even Sample Kobo, which invited visitors inside so they could watch the artists build the replicas, seemed unexciting.

If we’re lucky, he thought, the rivers could help defend the city from zonbis approaching from other towns, just like they defended it from invaders centuries ago.  Is that wishful thinking?  Maybe.  But maybe wishful thinking is what we need right now.

Saito had already removed the closet door from its hinges and nailed it to another window.  He approached the wooden dining room table, leaving the kotatsu in the living room intact.

“Hey,” he said.

“Mm?”

“What’s up with this table?”

It was a dark, heavy wooden table.  It was long and high like any dining room table, but it looked almost like a picnic table without benches – it featured a top made of several wide planks secured to a sturdy frame underneath.  The legs were straight and four-sided.  Daisuke peeked through a gap in the double-wide window that the door hadn’t covered; there were several zonbis but only two seemed interested in Sugimoto’s house – and they were far from the front door, which still needed reinforcing.

“Kingwood,” Daisuke said.  “It stands out, doesn’t it?”

“It looks like it’s from Pier 1 Imports.”

Daisuke chuckled.  “You’re not far off.  Asahi-kun has an uncle who likes to give funny gifts.  This was his wedding present to Asahi’s parents.”

Saito tested its weight by lifting it.

“Hoo!  It’s heavy.”

Daisuke walked over to him.  “Like I said, kingwood.  You should’ve seen Asahi’s father’s face when I asked him how they moved it in here.”

Saito gestured to Daisuke and the two of them turned the table over as gently as they could.  It was hard work.  “Which family lives here again?”

“My friend from school.”

“But what did you say their last name was?”

“Sugimoto,” Aoi said.  Daisuke looked at her and smiled.

“Mm,” Saito said.

He wedged his crowbar into the crevice between the underside of the overturned table and one of its legs.  “I’m sorry, Sugimoto-san.”  He forced the leg off and held it in his hand and looked at it.  “Or maybe I should say ‘You’re welcome?’”  Daisuke smiled again.  Then he took the leg and walked it to the front door with his hammer and nails.  He propped it high up against the front door with his left hand, holding a nail between his first two fingers just outside the doorframe and pulled his right hand with the hammer backwards to get enough speed and force to drive the nail in.

At that moment, there was a rapid knock on the door.  Saito, Aoi and Daisuke all looked at one another in complete surprise.

“Asahi-kun?  Are you in there?  Asahi-kun!”  It was a teenage girl’s voice.

“You expecting anyone?” Saito asked, his voice sarcastic and confused.

“Asahi-kun!”  Her voice was muffled by the door.  She continued to knock.

“Asahi-kun!  Asahi-kun!”

“The House on the Corner” is the first chapter of a proposed horror novel by jonny Lupsha.  Set in Gifu Prefecture, Japan, it tells the story of a small band of survivors at the outset of the zombie apocalypse.  Running low on food and supplies, surrounded by the undead, the group decides to dig a tunnel under their refuge to a neighboring house…and another…and another.  Will they ever dig far enough to find a house with few enough zombies that they can escape on foot or in a vehicle?  Maybe, but not before encountering half-crazed neighbors whose houses they unwittingly invade, tunnel cave-ins, infighting and houses they rig to explode for the purpose of cutting down on the horde outdoors.  Tell us if you want to see this book, Dead Passage, come to fruition by visiting facebook.com/ACarrierofFire today!