I Fell In Love With A Girl Who Died Before I Was Even Born

I'd just walked into the Shin'yume-sou lobby when I got a text from Azuki.

"Hey! Hope you don't mind if Yuki stays longer," it read. "We're watching Clash of the Titans. OMG! She's never seen it!"

I shook my head.

"Yuki died in 1968, Azuki. How would she have seen a movie from 1981?"

I sent that as a text.

A moment later, I got my answer.

"I know she died in 1968, but there are movie theaters in Shin'yume. Duh. Did she just sit around in her room?"

I sighed, loudly.

Then I walked upstairs to mine and Yuki's room.

I was glad she was having fun with Azuki, but truthfully, I missed her.

I wished Murasaki didn't have to leave. Her soft, teasing touches and innuendos did have an effect on my fifteen-year old brain and body, regardless of my 44 year old experience.

And maybe that's why what happened next happened at all.

Because I'd no sooner closed the door to my room when I sensed soft, creeping vibrations through the onsen's floor.

Before I could turn around, I knew. Only one person in Shin'yume-sou moved soft as a cat.

"American-jin," I heard Natsumi's whining voice.

I turned around.

She stood, three feet behind me. Nude, except for her cheap yellow sunglasses.

"Give Natsumi love," she said.

Of course. Of course this would happen now, when I was emotionally compromised and sexually confused. This is my life. This is Shin'yume.

And she was still wearing those goddamn sunglasses.

I stepped forward, ignoring the way her eyes reflected like a cats even from behind her shades.

Afterwards, I regretted it immediately. I knew I would, but it didn't change anything.

Natsumi just yawned, stretched, and gave me a smug smirk as she lounged lazily on my futon.

I paced the room, after putting on a black yukata, and wondered when Yuki would be home.

I mean, Yuki and I weren't exactly a couple, but I knew damn well that she'd still be pissed off that I'd slept with Natsumi.

She sat up, looked at me quizzically, and pulled one of her vapes out of who-knows-where. She took a long puff on it before offering it to me.

"American-jin looks nervous," she teased. "Did sleeping with Natsumi wear you out or wake American-jin up?"

She exhaled a sour-apple-scented vape cloud.

I took a hit. Hell, why not at this point?

Natsumi crawled out of my futon and slipped her clothes back on. It was the quickest I'd ever seen her move.

"Um, hey, Natsumi," I began, handing her vape back to her.

Then I looked down and saw that both of her tails were wrapped around my wrists.

She grinned at me.

"Natsumi and American-jin are husband and wife, now," she purred.

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I felt my heart sink to the cold pit of my stomach.

"Wha—"

She nodded eagerly.

"Yes!" she said, her voice high and melodic. "Of course, American-jin. Or, maybe Natsumi should say Ryu-chan, now, as we're married. By ancient law of Crescent Moon Academy and Shin'yume, a human has slept willingly with a yokai."

She laughed and kissed my cheek. I could feel the split in her upper lip where it formed like a cats, and I had to suppress a shiver.

"You can't be serious…" I muttered, almost panicking.

And Natsumi let go of my wrists and laughed.

"Oh, American-jin, Natsumi wishes she had a camera! You would've died!" she teased me.

I slumped down on the edge of my futon and started laughing too. I mean, she'd gotten me good.

"American-jin, Natsumi thinks she'll keep you around because you're so easy to tease. Would Ramune be good now?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Yeah. Wait, I got you something," I said.

I reached into my backpack and handed her a plastic bag of convenience store snacks.

"Yuki reminded me to stop by the konbini to pick you up some fresh supplies."

Natsumi raised her eyebrow at me as I tried to hand it to her.

"Oh yeah," I said.

I put the bag on the floor and turned away from it.

A moment later, I heard the bag rustle as she picked it up.

"American-jin bought Natsumi raindrop cakes?" she asked, going through the bag. Then she gasped.

"Melonpan! Natsumi's spoiled."

The room was filled with a weird, unsettling rumbling noise, like a broken coffee pot trying to percolate after it clearly shouldn't. But I knew what it was.

Natsumi was purring.

She looked at me, grinning with her split upper lip, and began to saunter towards me.

"Natsumi?" I asked, surprised by the affection.

She sat down on the floor by my feet as I was on the futon.

"American-jin is a good friend after all. Friend with benefits," she said. "Yuki doesn't have to know."

She nudged her head under my hand, and I began to pet her like I had in school yesterday.

"Natsumi," I said. "I don't exactly know when Yuki's coming back."

Saying her name stung my throat. I missed her, and I wanted to see her again as soon.

I felt Natsumi's head move as she turned to look up at me with her strange, orange-cat-like eyes.

"Natsumi's a nekomata," she said. Her voice whined as she was still purring. "Yuki's not nearby. Nekomata can feel the dead."

She gave me a strange look, mischievous and unnerving. I had no idea what she meant, and no matter how she explained I knew that I never would.

Then she closed her eyes and leaned into my hand.

About a minute later my cellphone buzzed with a text from Hibana.

"Hey, baka, have you seen Natsumi? She's supposed to be watching the front desk so I can go on break."

I shrugged.

She was a nekomata after all. She could be anywhere.

As soon as Natsumi left, I grabbed my futon and hauled it straight to the onsen's washing machine. I left absolutely nothing to chance. Futon, covers, sheets, even my uniform and the yukata I'd worn that week.

Why not? Cleanliness is next to godliness, and at that moment, I desperately wanted my conscience to be as fresh and untouched as newly fallen snow.

Yet no matter how much I scrubbed, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that somehow, I'd drifted.

With everything tumbling in the wash, I trudged back upstairs into mine and Yuki's room, determined to finally do something I should've done a long time ago.

I yanked open the stubborn drawer on the side of my ugly, battered wooden desk and pulled out my unopened copy of the Crescent Moon Academy Student Handbook, its crisp cover staring up at me accusingly.

I decided it was about time to actually learn something about the bizarre place I was attending.

Flipping through its pages, I dove into the surprisingly fascinating history of the school.

Originally, Crescent Moon Academy had been called the "Academy of Skulls," Eliza Withers' exclusive and notoriously secretive school for necromancy.

Alexander Black, an enigmatic, morally dubious businessman who frequently dabbled in the occult, believed it was reckless to entrust all necromantic education to a single school hidden away in Japan.

So, naturally, he did what shadowy entrepreneurs did best: he pulled strings from the shadows. Black managed to persuade the other arcane academies to let him absorb Withers' institution, cleverly folding it into a broader curriculum under the more innocuous-sounding "Crescent Moon Academy."

But the story didn't end neatly.

No one knew exactly what became of Eliza Withers herself. She vanished around the same time her school dissolved, leaving only whispered rumors and unsettling questions.

As I continued reading, lost in intrigue and mystery, I sank into a false sense of security. I should have known better by now.

The very instant Yuki entered the room, drifting silently as always, I jumped straight out of my chair, my heart pounding wildly as the rest of the Ramune Natsumi had left me splashed dramatically across the floor.

"Gracious!" Yuki gasped, her translucent eyes wide with innocent surprise. "I didn't mean to scare you!"

Before I could even respond, my gaze locked onto what Azuki had done to Yuki's hair, and I felt my jaw drop in stunned disbelief.

"Let me get the towels," she said quickly, blushing faintly beneath her ghostly pallor.

She reached for the neatly stacked towels I kept by the desk, but as her spectral fingers brushed against them, they burst into motion, exploding upwards like startled white doves, hanging briefly in the air, bright and graceful, before scattering chaotically onto the floor.

Yuki buried her face in her hands with an embarrassed groan.

"Oh no, I've made a mess of it again…"

And in that moment, as towels settled around us like snowfall, as soda soaked into the worn wooden floorboards, the only thing left for me to do was laugh.

Tentatively, Yuki peeked out from between her slender fingers, her blonde hair twisted into hilariously mismatched braids, towels and spilled soda surrounding her like offerings at some chaotic shrine.

And there we were—me and my ghost girl—laughing helplessly together amid the delightful wreckage.

Just another Friday night at Shin'yume-sou.