Takeshita Demons Page 2

  "Right, thank you, Cait," Mrs Okuda said, scanning her roll and making a mark with her pen. "You may sit. Don't be late again." Then she continued with the roll call.

  Cait dropped her umbrella outside and came to take her seat next to me. I didn't look across. I had a feeling something bad was going to happen.

  "Alex. Shaun. Isabella."

  She was getting close. I could hear my heart beating louder.

  "Jackson? Robyn? Ursula?"

  Then it happened. When she got to my name, Mrs Okuda stopped, smiling her awful smile right at me. "Takeshita Miku," she said, saying my full name, with the family name first, the proper Japanese way.

  I cringed. "Yes," I answered, wishing she'd treat me just like all the other kids. "But it's Miku..." I dared to correct her, glaring as Alex turned around.

  "Miku Mouse," Alex mouthed silently, mocking my name.

  But Mrs Okuda didn't seem to notice. Instead, even worse, she spoke to me in Japanese.

  "Anata mo Nihonjin desu-ne? You are also Japanese, aren't you?" she said, as if it wasn't obvious from my name already.

  Heat rose from my collar in waves. This had never happened before. I could feel the other kids turning round in their seats, staring. I never spoke Japanese at school. Why was she doing this?

  "Yes, Miss," I answered in English. I stared at my desk, willing her to stop. It had been bad enough when I was new at school. I did not need this now.

  "Kyou wa samukunai?" she continued, as if she was completely oblivious to the shame she was causing me.

  Talk English, I wanted to scream. What are you doing? Instead I answered politely, hoping she'd think enough was enough and get on with the roll call. "Yes, Miss, quite cold today." What was she doing, asking me about the weather? In Japan it was normal for strangers to talk about the weather. In England too I'd noticed, but she didn't need to do it in front of the whole class. Please.

  But still she didn't stop.

  "Mada Nihongo wo hanasu yo ne. So you still speak Japanese." She narrowed her eyes. "And I guess you still know...."

  I couldn't look, I just sank lower in my chair. She hadn't asked a direct question, so I figured she didn't want a direct answer. I decided to stay silent. And there had been something strange in the way she'd spoken. As if she wasn't even speaking to me, but to herself, somewhere in the back of her shiny trussed-up head. And what did she mean by "still know"?

  I could hear the clock ticking, could feel every pair of eyes in the room focused on me, burning holes of shame into the top of my skull. I willed Mrs Okuda to forget about me and start calling the roll again.

  Then, thankfully, something broke the silence. It wasn't Mrs Okuda finishing the roll. She'd missed heaps of kids' names out, but it was as if she'd forgotten all about roll call. Instead, she was writing something on the board. The chalk screeched, and slowly chairs rumbled as the other kids turned to face the front. I steamed with relief.

  When the chalk squeaked to a stop, I sneaked a look at the board.

  "An essay," Mrs Okuda announced. "Write me an essay, introducing yourself. It should be two pages long, no pictures. Due lunchtime. Any questions?"

  The class groaned. Alex's hand shot high in the air.

  "Yes?" Mrs Okuda asked, flashing her white and purple smile.

  "On Tuesday mornings we play dodgeball in the gym," Alex smirked.

  "Yes?" she asked, waiting.

  "Well, we won't have time to do essays before lunch if we're playing dodgeball."

  "Then we'll have to give dodgeball a miss for today." Mrs Okuda smiled, then she sat at Mr Lloyd's desk, crossing her legs as if that closed the conversation.

  Other kids' hands went up almost at once.

  "Yes?" she asked, sounding slightly annoyed.

  "When will Mr Lloyd be back?" someone asked.

  "I don't know. He's quite sick."

  "What kind of sick?"

  "Hands in the air," Mrs Okuda said, but she answered anyway. "He has chicken pox." She smiled. "It can be quite severe in adults. It could be several weeks before he gets back." She looked across at me, making eye contact before I could snatch my eyes away. She looked pleased and her eyes were shining.

  No one else seemed to share her enthusiasm. Several weeks? No dodgeball? For seconds there was a stand-off. No one moved. No one spoke. We just sat there, looking at Mrs Okuda, who just sat there, looking back. She seemed as hard and shiny as a toffee.

  Then Alex broke the silence, putting up his hand.

  "Can I go to the toilet? I'm busting."

  "Me too," said Oscar, his desk partner, waving his hand in the air.

  "I feel sick," said another kid, his hand shooting up. "I think I might puke."

  "I'm gonna pee right now," Alex added, wriggling. "Miss, I can't hold it in."

  A few kids giggled from near the door, but Mrs Okuda didn't seem to hear them. She didn't move at all. Instead she seemed to grow taller, as if she were somehow stretching up and over Mr Lloyd's desk. In seconds she seemed to be hanging over the whole class, even though she was still sitting down.

  Her voice boomed down, slow and calm. "You will work," she said. "And you will work quietly. There will be no trouble from this class."

  Everyone fell silent, even Alex. Hands went down, kids stopped wriggling, feet stopped kicking the desk in front. One by one, the class opened their desks and pulled out paper and pens.

  Mrs Okuda knew she'd won. "Two pages," she said. "Before lunch. I will answer any legitimate questions."

  The class began writing with hardly a whisper. Even Alex. I could hear the clock ticking. We were never this quiet for a supply teacher, not even for Mr Lloyd. A girl near the front put up her hand and Mrs Okuda went to help her with her question.

  I glanced across at Cait, who was trying to take things out of her bag without making too much noise.

  "What happened to you?" I whispered.

  "Bus," she replied. "The weather..." Cait's family lived right on the outskirts of the catchment area for our school. She had to travel by bus every morning, but some afternoons she came back to mine till her dad could pick her up after his work. "Where'd she come from?" Cait asked, pointing at Mrs Okuda.

  "Dunno." I rolled my eyes. We'd never had a supply teacher quite like her before. I opened my notebook at a blank page and took the lid off a pen.

  "Okuda," Cait said. "Is that Japanese?"

  "Yep," I nodded. I didn't mind if Cait asked me about being Japanese. She'd been round to our flat often enough to see what it was like. Plus she was Irish and had mad curly hair, so she knew what it was like to be different. "She was speaking Japanese earlier."

  "I thought so. Strange. Maybe she just wanted to be friendly?"

  I raised an eyebrow. Since when did I want to get friendly with a teacher?

  Cait grinned at me. "Don't worry. Hey, can I come to yours this afternoon? My dad'll pick me up before tea."

  It "Sure...

  "Takeshita-san." Mrs Okuda's voice snapped like a whip from the front of the class. She was looking up at me from where she stood helping the girl, still using my surname instead of my real name. "Shizuka-ni," she commanded. Silence.

  Embarrassment steamed off me. Would she insist on doing this all day? All week? Cait put her head down and began writing her essay. I knew I should start writing mine, but there was nothing I wanted to say. Nothing I wanted to tell this woman about myself. I didn't want her to know anything at all ABOUT ME.

  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 b
reath 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.

  "Awesome." Cait kicked a puff of fresh white snow into the air. "I can't believe we get to go home early. And
we missed the maths test. Just awesome. Is it still OK if I come to yours? 'Cos my dad'll still be at work and all. Hey, isn't this amazing?" She dusted some flakes off her jacket and kicked up another cloud of snow. "Do you want to make a mini snowman?"

  "We've got to get home." I pulled on her arm. We had no time for snowmen, mini or otherwise. "Didn't you see that woman back there? Mrs Okuda?"

  "Oh yeah," Cait said, kicking her feet through the snow and almost keeping up with me as I barrelled ahead. She didn't seem too worried. "You were great. I can't believe she kept calling you Takeshita-san. And talking all that Japanese? You were right to ignore her. I wouldn't have read out my essay either."

  The snow kept falling. It seemed even heavier when we turned into my street. Lucky we didn't have far to go. Usually it was a bit awkward, living so close to school. Almost every day I'd accidentally run into other kids, or even worse, a teacher. Usually I'd be doing something totally uncool, like buying nappies for Kazu or heading to the shops with my mum. But today, living right next to school was the best thing that could have happened. We'd soon be inside, and safe.

  "I'm not talking about the essay," I said. "I'm talking about her. Okuda. Her neck. Didn't you see?"

  "See what? Oh, that. Totally. That was the worst outfit I've ever seen. Who did she think she was? I can't believe we have to have her till Mr Lloyd gets back. Wonder what she'll wear tomorrow?"

  "No!" I fumbled with my key, trying to get in as quickly as possible, without my fingers freezing off or a flying head coming to chew on my ears. "Her neck. The marks? Didn't you notice her itching?"

  The door opened and we stepped inside the hallway of our building. I shut the door behind us, banging it hard so the lock clicked into place. Then I leaned back against the door and looked across at Cait. She looked fed up with all my questions. And no wonder. I was being an awful best friend.

  "I'm sorry," I said.

  Cait kicked the snow off her shoes. "S'ok. Just tell me what you're going on about."