Toshiya Kamei is an Asian writer who takes inspiration from fairy tales, folklore, and mythology. Their short stories have appeared in Daily Science Fiction, Galaxy’s Edge, and elsewhere. Their piece “Hungry Moon” won Apex Magazine’s October 2022 Microfiction Contest.
“This tale pays homage to teen movies such as Carrie (1976), Heathers (1989), and The Craft (1996), which explore issues like bullying, rebellion, and alienation. My story also takes inspiration from Medusa and Eros. Medusa embodies female sexuality. Eros, the Greek god of love whose Roman equivalent is Cupid, gives people impetuses to fall in love.”
The recess bell triggers a deafening scraping of chairs and a thunder of footsteps. A soft touch on my arm startles me. I turn my head and see the new girl—Ami with an ‘i’—smiling at me. She moves her mouth, but the classroom chatter drowns out her voice.
“Come again?” I say.
Ami leans closer. Her soapy scent wafts toward me and quickens my heart.
“Why are you wearing them inside?” she asks, pointing her chin toward the dark glasses hiding my eyes. I try to say something, but no words come out.
Small talk has never been my thing. Other girls avoid me like I’m a witch. They stopped talking to me when they learned I was the last person to see Erika before she disappeared. Ami shrugs and joins a group of girls a few rows away.
Most girls hate wearing glasses because they make them feel ugly and unattractive. But I wear dark glasses all the time, even indoors, and not because I feel I’m glamorous. I have no choice. If anyone asks, I tell them I have sensitive eyes. The dark glasses have tinted my view of the world—literally and figuratively. By now I’ve gotten used to my solitude. I’m fine with being this way.
When I realize PE is my last class of the day, my stomach begins to hurt. For me, gym class is torture, physical as well as mental. Even so, I follow the other girls into the locker room. The musty yet comforting smell of sweat hangs in the air. They change into gym clothes and head over to the gym. Ami ties her long, curly hair in a ponytail with a rubber band. I follow her as my unwieldy, dark curls slither around my head.
Inside the gym, elevated bleachers rise above the basketball court. Our sneakers squeak on the polished floor. A few girls grab balls and dribble up the court.
“Excuse me!” Mindy, the most popular girl in our class, shoves me, and I fall flat on my face. My glasses slide across the floor. I tear up from the pain and embarrassment.
“Are you okay?” It’s Ami. As she helps me to my feet, I squeeze my eyes shut. Hot tears burn my cheeks.
“My glasses,” I mumble, helpless, groping blindly in the air.
I sense Ami crouch and pick up something from the floor.
“Here you go.” She hands my glasses to me, and I put them back on while clenching my eyes shut. “Did she push you?”
“I tripped,” I lie. “Clumsy me.” I don’t want her to think I’m a complete loser.
Coach Rogers finally shows up, and the girls form teams. As usual, no one picks me, but the coach says nothing. I should feel relieved—it’s not like I can play, after all—but it still hurts. Tears sting my eyes, and I bat them away. I walk over to the bleachers, climb to the second row, and sit. Away from any stray balls, away from cheers and laughter, away from all fun, I’m alone. As the girls play, I watch Ami. I follow her every move with my eyes, savoring the way her limbs swing, how her ponytail bounces on her back. Her skin is darker than mine, but it’s impossible to determine the exact tone through the dark glasses. What I wouldn’t give to see her without them. She waves her hands and receives a pass. She bounces the ball a few times and shoots. The ball swishes through the net.
Coach Rogers blows her whistle, signaling the end of class. The girls walk back to the locker room. When I walk inside, I see girls padding around in various states of undress. I dart my gaze around in search of Ami. Some step into shower stalls and turn on the water. The room fills with steam, and my glasses fog. Ami peels off her gym clothes and steps under a shower head. I catch myself staring at her and look away.
When the yellow bus pulls onto the school grounds, I join the long line of girls waiting to board. After climbing up, I take a window seat near the back and put my backpack on the seat next to me. I gaze out the window. Serpentine clouds drift lazily above our heads.
“Can I sit here?” I hear Ami’s voice and look up to see her standing over me. My heart starts racing.
“Sure, go ahead.” I gather my backpack and place it on the floor between my legs so she can sit.
“What happened to Erika?”
“Excuse me?” I feel my ears burn.
“You heard me.”
“Why do you ask?” My voice trembles. Panic stirs in my stomach. Someone must have told her about Erika and me.
“Just curious.”
I remain silent.
“Did you have something to do with her disappearance? That’s what the other girls think.”
I glance at her and see her smiling.
I nod, picking at my cuticles.
Tears brim in my eyes, blurring my vision as I swallow. I turn away as the memories of that day come flooding back: Erika reaching out and pulling the dark glasses off my face. A pair of dead brown eyes staring blankly, frozen in perpetual fear.
Just then Ami’s phone vibrates in her pocket and she answers it.
“Mom?”
I can vaguely hear an irritated female voice on the other side of the line.
“The bus got delayed.” She rolls her eyes and sighs. “I’m going to a friend’s house to do homework. Is that okay?” It takes a moment to realize she’s referring to me. “You want to talk to her? Here.” She hands me her phone.
“Yes, Mrs. Garcia. I’m Naomi.”
“Where do you live?”
“Mission Street,” I say after a brief moment of hesitation. “We’ll be home in a few minutes.” I don’t know what else to say.
The school bus takes an exit off the highway, whizzes around a roundabout, and rambles through a residential area. I take a little breath, trying not to get nauseous, as the bus lurches.
“Will any adults be home?”
“No.”
“No? I’ll still need to talk to your mother.”
“Okay. No problem. Do you have something to write with?” I give her my mother’s number.
Ami grabs the phone and says, “Mom, I’m sorry, but I have to go.” Before her mother answers, she hangs up.
“Can you believe this?” She sighs again. “I hope your mom isn’t like mine.”
I give a half-hearted nod.
“She’s the one who forced me to change schools.”
“Why?” I ask.
“She wants me to stay away from boys,” she says.
“She sounds overbearing.”
“Tell me about it. I’m suffocating.”
“It must be so annoying.” I don’t even know her mother, but I already hate her. “Do you want me to help you with that?”
“What do you mean?” Ami frowns a little.
“Never mind, forget it.” I shake my head. “Forget I said that.”
“Wait.” Ami lowers her voice. “Did you have to talk to police afterward?” She fidgets, waiting for my answer.
I nod, gauging whether or not to trust her.
She leans in close. “What did you tell them?” she asks in a near-whisper like a co-conspirator.
“I told them I saw her get in some boy’s car in front of her house,” I say as the memory of Erika’s taste comes flooding back, salty and minty.
“Did they believe you?” she asks, eyes widening.
“Why not?” I take a few deep breaths, trying to slow my heartbeat.
“I don’t believe you.” Ami’s frown deepens.
“Aren’t you scared?”
“Should I be?”
I shake my head, and she turns to me with a soft smile. I glance outside the bus window and fight off the urge to bite her.
“I honestly don’t know what she saw in that loser,” I say.
“They say ‘love is blind,’ but do you know why?” she asks.
“No.”
“Cupid has a bad aim because he’s literally blind.” She pretends to pull back on a bowstring and release an arrow.
“I didn’t know that,” I say with a smile.
“Now you know.”
“Can you keep a secret?” I ask. I avert my eyes and stare straight ahead.
“Depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“I don’t know. You were joking, right, about Erika? I know you were.” Ami shoves me gently and lets out a nervous giggle. She seems frozen until I giggle too.
We get off the bus and begin the short stroll home. As we walk past rows of suburban houses, Erika’s house comes into view. My stomach tightens. We stop in front of a makeshift memorial cluttered with soggy teddy bears, half-burnt candles, and wilted flowers. I half-close my eyes, clasp my hands together, and pretend to pray while fighting off nausea. I hear Ami inhale and then silence fills the air. She crouches on one knee and picks up a ruined card. It’s a bit damp and the ink has blurred at the edges, but it’s still legible. She reads aloud: “We miss you, Erika.” I too miss her.
The curtain in the upstairs window sways as if in a breeze. Cold sweat pricks over my back. It must be Erika’s mom. Bitterness floods back as I remember her throwing salt at me when I last saw her.
“Let’s go.” I grab Ami’s elbow and steer her away from the shrine of my nightmare.
When we enter my house, we go straight to my room. I open the door and usher her in.
“Make yourself at home.”
She glances around the floor before she steps over the collapsed pile of paperbacks, pushes aside a discarded pile of clothes on my bed, and sits on the edge with a bounce.
“Sorry about the mess.” I feel my cheeks warm. “I wasn’t expecting anybody.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Ami waves off my apology.
“Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Wine would be nice if you have it.”
I hesitate.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m kidding. I’d love a glass of water.”
I go downstairs to the kitchen and pour a glass of water. Just in case Ami is hungry, I grab an apple, the peeler, and a knife. I put everything on a tray and carry it to my room. When I step inside, Ami is talking on the phone.
“See you in a bit.” She hangs up and looks at me. “My boyfriend is going to pick me up.” It takes me a moment to realize what’s going on. She’s using me as her alibi. Feeling dejected, I put down the tray and sit next to her.
She stares at the poster of an androgynous Joan of Arc on the far wall of my bedroom. “Girls I know have posters of boys on their walls.” She takes the glass off the tray.
“I guess I’m not like that.” I grab the peeler and scrape off the skin of the apple. “Do you want a slice?” I ask. She shakes her head, and I stab the point of the peeler into the fruit.
“Have you ever had a boyfriend?” she asks after emptying her glass.
I shake my head. “Boys disgust me.”
“Cool. I figured as much.”
I nod silently.
“Who’s your type?” She glances around the room and finds Erika’s photo on the desk. “Oh, she’s your type—or she was.” She stands and reaches for the photo. An irrational rage bubbles in my stomach, and I feel like ripping the photo from her grasp.
“I think I’ve always been bi-curious,” Ami continues. “Every time I come on to a girl, she says, ‘I like guys.’ If you want, we can be friends. Maybe we can mess around a little bit.”
I stare down at my fingernails.
“You don’t have to answer me now. Think about it and let me know.”
A car honks outside and Ami picks up her bag. “He’s here. I’ve got to go.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
“It’s okay.”
She kisses my cheek as she passes, leaving me alone in the room.
I run to the window and gaze outside. There’s a gray SUV idling by the curb. When Ami climbs into the passenger’s seat, my heart burns with envy. I watch the SUV until it’s out of sight. I remain at the window and scan across the backyard as a gust of wind sways the deadly nightshades growing over what remains of Erika. Thank goodness stone won’t decay. Otherwise, a tell-tale stench would give her away.
I put on some music, turn up the volume, and hurl myself on the bed, watching the ceiling fan spin. The vision of Ami naked in the shower stall flashes back to me. A tickle of lust stirs below my belly button. I bite my lip, roll over, and put a pillow between my legs.
Over the course of several days, Ami and I chat over the phone well into the night.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask.
“You can ask me anything.”
“Anything?” For a second, I think she may be flirting with me, and my pulse quickens.
“Yes, anything.”
“Are you in bed?” I ask, rolling on my side.
“Yeah. What else do you want to know?”
“I want to know everything about you,” I say. “What are you wearing?” I ask in a joking tone.
“Oh, stop it.” She chuckles.
“Are you not going to tell me?”
I hate to admit it, but I’m horny. I reach down between my legs, and my fingers come away wet.
“Let’s hang up so we can sext.”
“No way!” Her chuckle turns into a guffaw.
“Didn’t you say you were bored with your boyfriend?”
“Cut it out,” she says, still chuckling. “Leave Mario alone.” I can’t. A flame of jealousy scorches my heart. I’m certain she knows it.
“Okay, that’s it.” I roll over. “Good night,” I say, feigning a yawn. “You know what? I feel happy when I hear your voice,” I tell her before hanging up.
In the darkness of my bedroom, I touch myself until I sigh into sleep.
Dreams wrap around me, snatches of sight and sound, and I hear myself say, “I’ve thought about what you told me.”
“Yeah?” Ami shifts her weight toward me, causing the bed to creak. She kisses me, warm and tender. When I respond, her mouth devours mine, her hands cupping my face. A shiver shoots down my spine.
“Let me see your eyes,” Ami says, pulling back. I flinch as her hand grazes my cheek. “I bet you have beautiful eyes.” A shudder passes through me when I realize it’s someone else who’s talking to me. It’s Erika. Nausea overwhelms me. Ami, who now resembles Erika, reaches out, and in a reflex, I slap her hand away.
“No! Don’t touch my glasses!” I try to stop her, try to hold her, try to hold her up. But she’s turning to stone. She’s crumbling, breaking, and I can’t stop her. I scream myself awake, drenched in a cold sweat. Half-crying, I run a hand over my face. Panic seizes me when I don’t find my glasses. Then I remember I left them on the night table before going to bed. After a while, I drift back to sleep.
A sharp knock on the front door jerks me out of my dream. I glance at the digital clock on the night table and it reads 3:45 am. My mother is in a deep, pill-induced slumber in her room. I put on my dark glasses and go downstairs to answer. When I open the door, I find Ami on the front porch.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. I want to be annoyed, even angry, but when I see the defeat in her eyes, I take her hand and lead her upstairs.
As soon as we step inside my room, she bursts into tears. I guide her toward the bed, and we sit on the edge.
“Mario’s cheating on me.” She drops her head, covers her face, and sobs into her hands.
“How do you know?”
“He’d been drinking. I found lipstick marks on his collar, and his shirt reeked of someone else’s perfume. How clichéd is that?”
“I’m sorry. What did he tell you?”
“He denied everything. He said some girl flirted with him, but he swore ‘nothing happened.’”
“Do you want me to talk to him?”
She shakes her head.
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t want to see his ugly face ever again,” Ami says. “Remember what I said about love? You’ll take good care of me, won’t you, Naomi?”
She buries her head in my chest. I caress her hair in tender strokes, shushing her. Resting my other hand on the bedcover, my fingers brush against something hard.
“Let me go to the bathroom,” I say as I stand. “I won’t be long.” I slip into the bathroom, pull a paper cup from the dispenser, fill it with water.
I look in the mirror.
I grind a few of my mother’s sleeping pills into the cup and watch the powder dissolve before heading back.
“Here, drink this, Ami,” I say, handing her the cup. “It’ll help calm you.”
I watch her swallow. My heart flutters in anticipation. Her eyelids flicker as she fights drowsiness before surrendering. She lies inert in my arms.
I tighten my grip on the peeler, but I hesitate as I stare at her sleeping face. If Ami can’t see me, there will be no danger of her meeting Erika’s fate. If she’s blind, she’ll need me more than ever. She’d be mine.
