Takeshita Demons (5 page)

I heard her move to help another kid up the front,
so I sneaked another look. Her hair was so shiny it
seemed fake, like a wig or a costume. And her jacket
was way too tight. She looked like a badly dressed
skeleton, not a teacher. Why couldn't we have
Mr Lloyd back? I almost missed him. He wore
funny cardigans with awful turtleneck sweaters,
but he never...

And then my heart froze. My breath stopped.
I'd seen something. Something no one else would
understand. I nearly choked with the shock.

But perhaps there was some mistake? I took a
slow breath and tried to calm down. Perhaps I hadn't
seen what I thought I'd seen? I had to look again,
but when I did, there was no denying it.

Mrs Okuda was itching at her neck. She was
digging her painted fingers deep down beneath her
collar and through her crowded pearls, as if to scratch
a violent itch. But that wasn't the bad bit. As she
dug, I'd seen a flash of red through the white. It had
been ink red, usually a colour of protection, but not
in this case. This red took the form of tiny Japanese
characters, tattooed like old blood into the skin of her
throat. I couldn't read them, they were too small and
she was too far away. But I didn't need to read them.
I already knew what they meant.

Hand shaking, I took a deep breath and tried
to stay focused on my pencil, on the blank page.
But already my mind was racing. It was as my Baba
had told me in her most horrible stories. Mrs Okuda
was a nukekubi, or a'cut-throat' in English. A demon.
A type I'd never seen before.

But what was she doing in London? And why
was she teaching my class?

I handed in my two-page essay just before lunch,
like all the rest of the class, but I made sure
it was a complete load of make-believe. I pretended
to love chess and football, flower arranging and
cake baking: all things I totally hate. But right then
I would have played ten games of football and baked
a dozen cakes. Anything to keep the nukekubi off my
scent. Thanks to my Baba, I knew exactly what I was
dealing with.

Baba had told me all about their kind. By day
they seemed like ordinary people, except for the red
symbols around their neck. Those symbols were like
the teeth of a zipper: they marked the place where the
nukekubi's head would come flying off. As soon as
it was dark, when its body was safely hidden away,
the nukekubi would go hunting. I'd seen pictures of nukekubi, and Baba had told me stories that
would make your toes curl up at night in fear.
About children who disappeared from their beds,
never to be seen again. About dogs and goats that
went missing in the night, their clean bones
discovered the next day. Once (and this was
never proved, but Baba believed it to be true), a
nukekubi ate an entire classroom of kids on their
Second Year school camp. One night the cabins were
full of boys and girls, laughing and telling ghost
stories. The next morning, there was nothing left
but their futons. Not even their bones were found.

The thing is, nukekubi can do more than just
send their heads flying around like mini aeroplanes,
zipping through windows, down chimneys, round
corners and into your house. Nukekubi are hunters.
Meat-eaters. While their bodies are safely sleeping
in bed, their heads can detach and zoom about,
sniffing around for a tasty meal. Children are their
favourite. Puppies and kittens come next. But
according to Baba, they weren't fussy. They'd eat
anything that was young and fresh and tasty.

"Takeshita-san..."

The sound of Mrs Okuda's singsong voice was
like sandpaper in my ears. Each time she opened
her purple-lipped mouth I expected to see it come zooming towards me, sharp teeth bared. Each time
I felt like running away, screaming for my Baba to
save me.

But that wasn't an option. I was trapped in a
classroom with all the other kids. I couldn't just run
home and call the police. What would I say? Excuse
me, but this woman's head is probably going to
fly off and eat me once the sun goes down tonight.
No. I didn't think so.

"Takeshita-san." She wouldn't leave me alone.
"Would you like to read your essay to the class?" she
asked, teeth shining. She was waving my essay pages
in one long-fingered hand.

I looked down at my own hands, picking at a
fingernail. I thought if I stayed silent she might leave
me alone. Fat chance.

"Takeshita-san," she said. "Read your essay to
the class." This was no longer a request. It was an
order. The rest of the class sat silent. They'd hardly
moved all morning. Even Alex hadn't teased me
when Mrs Okuda kept using my surname.

"Erm." There was no way I was going up there
to stand next to her. No way in the world.

But Mrs Okuda thought differently.
"Takeshita-san," she said, narrowing her eyes and
pursing her purple lips till they were thin and tight as veins. "Sakubun yonde. Read it." She snapped
out the words, using Japanese so rude my mother
would have slapped me. She held my essay out,
her caramel arm pointing right at my head, as if
she was a kyudo master lining me up in the sights
of an invisible arrow.

The other kids sat still as statues. Not even
Alex turned round. A strange quiet fell upon the
classroom, as if we were waiting for something
to explode. I hoped it would be Mrs Okuda. I held
my breath and watched as colour flooded her face.
She was flushing almost as purple as her lipstick.
What would happen next? Could her head fly off,
right in the middle the day?

"Takeshita-san." She was hissing now. She took
a step forward and my heart started knocking
so hard I could hear it banging against the wood of
my desk. Perhaps her head would come flying off
and eat me right there and then.

At that moment there was a brisk tap at the door.

Mrs Okuda froze, her arm still outstretched,
pointing.

The door swung open and our deputy head,
Mrs Thompson, came trotting in.

She was dressed in plain black trousers with
a neat blue jumper, and she didn't look a bit as if she was going to send her head flying round the
room to eat me. I could have kissed her.

"Morning, Mrs..." Mrs Thompson paused,
obviously unsure of our supply teacher's name.

"Okuda," mouthed our shiny teacher, the colour
draining from her face. "Mrs Okuda." She quickly
pulled her pointing hand back down to her side.

"Mrs Okuda." Mrs Thompson beamed at her.
"Morning, class." She smiled at us. "I trust you've
been behaving for Mrs Okuda?" She took a quick
glance at Alex's desk and seemed satisfied with what
she saw. He was sitting quietly for a change.

"Can I help you, Mrs Thompson?" Mrs Okuda
asked, recovering her composure. She tried to match
Mrs Thompson's smile, baring her purple-rimmed
teeth. She looked more like a wolf.

"I've come with dreadful news," Mrs Thompson
said, smiling. She looked as if her news was about
as dreadful as winning a year's supply of free
ice-cream or getting all the numbers in the
Jackpot Lotto.

"Yes...?" Mrs Okuda leaned in, eager to
hear more.

I held my breath. Did Mrs Thompson know
about the nukekubi? Was she sending the police?
Was my little brother OK?

Mrs Thompson looked around the class,
enjoying her moment in the spotlight.

"Yes?" Mrs Okuda asked again.

"You've all got the rest of the day off school,"
Mrs Thompson announced at last, throwing her
arms wide as if she was presenting prizes at assembly.
"It's snowing outside and the forecast is for more
snow. You should all make your way home early,
before lunch. It looks as if the roads and footpaths
might soon be snowed over."

A massive weight lifted from the class. Kids
started chatting with their neighbours or packing
their bags in a rush. I didn't wait to hear more.
I packed my bag just as fast as the rest of them. It was
time to get out.

Mrs Thompson filled us in on sensible
snow-related details. We were to go straight home,
no dilly-dallying. If the snow was still bad in the
morning, we were to ring the school and ask for
advice about whether to come in. And under no
circumstances were we to make the journey into
school tomorrow if it was in any way dangerous
or icy.

Her words washed over me like a dream. I didn't
care about the snow. All I wanted was to get as far
away from Mrs Okuda as I could, somewhere safe. I needed to think of a plan. We had to get rid of her.

Minutes later, with the caramel Okuda monster
watching us in silence from the front of the class,
we said goodbye to Mrs Thompson, collected our
coats and left. I didn't wait to see which of us was
last to leave the class. I just grabbed Cait and we
scooted out fast enough to leave burn marks in the
carpet.

I could feel Mrs Okuda's eyes on my back as
we left.

But I didn't turn round, and we didn't stop
to say goodbye.

Mrs Thompson had been right. The snow was
coming down in big flakes and it was already thick
on the ground.