To be honest, there seems to be no end to these vile men incapable of controlling their sexual impulses. The demand for people in our line of work is incredibly high. Our company insists that we take two full days off a week, but even on such days I find myself thinking about all the poor women in trouble somewhere out there. That’s why recently I’ve been suggesting to our department head, Kuzuha, that we put on classes teaching people how to draw magic circles as a means of self-protection. Say what you want, but the people best prepared for dire situations common to this world are those who know how to draw magic circles.
I guess if I’m totally honest, I’m getting a bit sick of staring down men with Gum. I’m think I’m just over it. What I’d like most of all is if Gum and I and whoever else could all just hang out together and smile and have a good time. I definitely don’t fancy the idea of having glaring matches with Mr. Ōya. And when I think about all the things that have happened in my life up until now and that have happened to all other women, I know living in a state of total harmony just isn’t going to happen. That makes me sad. In fact, it makes me incredibly sad, and incredibly angry, makes me wilt right there on the spot—and that’s why I have no desire to leave my bedroom, where I can just loll around with Gum like this.
Gum is still sat on my chest, staring at me. Maybe she’s hungry. I’m hungry too, Gum. The grade school next door has fallen silent again. I guess the afternoon lessons must have started already. The lime-green curtains sway gently from side to side. In Gum’s black eyes, I can see my reflection—the reflection of a woman who has lost faith in the idea of men.
I pat Gum’s head with its straight, narrow nose, and Gum arches her brown back with its stylish black marking, revealing her eggshell-colored underbelly running from the base of her neck all the way down to her stomach. Her nose is slimy. Gum is pretty slimy all over, actually.
I don’t know if she’s had a change of mood or if she couldn’t bear her hunger pangs anymore, but with as little perceptible reason as when she first climbed on me, Gum dismounts and disappears in the direction of the kitchen. I’m left lying on the bed, my sweatshirt now covered in sticky Gum slime. Keeping up with the washing is no joke when you live with an enormous toad.
No longer buried by Gum’s large stomach, my smaller stomach growls loudly, as if crying out for joy at being liberated.
I can see there’s nothing for it—I’m going to have to find something to eat. With a big groan, I hoist myself up from the bed.
Having a Blast
The idea of waiting three whole years for my hair to grow out is nuts. I can’t deny that when I’m scaring people, it’d help accentuate the mood somewhat if my hair was all long and disheveled, but with such a range of wigs and other options on offer these days, waiting all that time would just be dumb.
When I died, which was a pretty long time ago, it was customary to shave dead people’s heads. I woke up in the afterlife lamenting the loss of my hair, which I’d treasured more than life itself—although I was already lifeless at that point, so I don’t know how that works! Anyway, as I tremulously made my way to the River of Three Crossings in that white shroud they’d dressed me in and peeked at my reflection, I saw that my shiny bald pate kind of suited me. That really took me aback. I never noticed it while I was alive, but I have quite a nicely shaped skull.
While I was alive, the idea that my husband would remarry after my death left me devastated and distraught, but as soon as I actually died, I stopped caring. It was as if whatever fear or anxiety had been possessing me had slipped right out of my body. People assume that ghosts must be up to their eyes in resentment and all, but that’s a misperception. I feel as if I had a lot more grudges when I was alive than I do now.
While we were still together, my husband used to say that if he ever remarried, I ought to come back to haunt him if he took another wife—so I decided to make an appearance. His remarriage happened slightly sooner than I was expecting, but I guess that’s how it goes. He’d always been incapable of doing anything alone, so it figured. An image of my mother-in-law desperately rushing to find a new wife for her darling only son flashed through my head. When I’d fallen sick, she’d seemed truly distressed.
It was going to take a full three years before my hair got to a decent length even in this dimension, and as I said at the beginning, that seemed ludicrous to me, so I decided to make an appearance in all my bald glory. Full disclosure: I’ve always been a real lazybones. While I was alive, I made a brave effort to hide my true nature, but now that I’m dead, I behave exactly as I please.
It had been a while since I’d been
