Tanabata Torrents

By Hannah Carter

“If we said wedding vows, do you think we’d say ‘‘til death do us part,’ or ‘‘til death bring us together’?” I raised my gray, ghostly hand to view it in the moonlight.

“I don’t know, Eliza, but d’ya think you can ask this question again after we stop two raging yōkai from destroying this Tanabata celebration?” Reynolds, my living boyfriend, wiped his arm along his sweaty forehead and ducked as colorful decorations ripped off booths. The Japanese poltergeist’s shriek pierced the air while hundreds of people dressed in their traditional silk garments fled the nighttime July festivities. They’d gathered to celebrate the legendary star-crossed lovers, Hikoboshi and Orihime—but hadn’t expected the couple to crash the event.

Literally.

A cyclone whipped around us with the force of the yōkai’s screams, ripping bamboo leaves filled with tanzaku—wishes—from their shoots. The projectiles blew through my ethereal body. I shuddered, though they only tickled my particles.

Reynolds staggered toward the windstorm’s eye. The once-dry ground squelched underneath his heavy tread. “Oh, that can’t be good,” he muttered.

A few steps ahead, the ground split. Water bubbled out of the crack, trickling down the sloped street and growing exponentially.

“Look out!” I bellowed. I reached to shove Reynolds, but my arms passed through him.

He staggered onto a bench right before a roaring river slammed into me.

And, for only the second time in almost a century, I felt pain.

The water swept me under, the rapids ramming me against the ground. I couldn’t fight its power. Unlike real water, this ghostly deluge burned. It ripped at my dress and body, shredding my existence. I hadn’t experienced pain like this since the night I’d first escaped my time loop.

It felt like death.

Again.

Until someone plucked me from the torrent.

I gasped—though I technically needed no air—as the stranger deposited me on solid ground. Water dripped off me. My cloche hat was gone. I could summon a new one—but could I remake the bits of me I’d lost?

“Your particles will return in a moment,” my rescuer said. He spoke with a deep, soft voice.

“H-How do you know?” My teeth chattered, and I wrapped my arms around myself. I’d forgotten how awful cold was.

The man tucked his hands into the long sleeves of his hakama. “I have experienced the river’s wrath many times, trying to cross it to see my love again.”

My voice came out louder than I intended. “You’re the other yōkai—Hikoboshi!”

Hikoboshi stepped forward. The ground cracked beneath him, and the split ran straight into a booth, which collapsed. “I am no yōkai! All I wish is to be reunited with my love, but this river stands between us!” More bamboo shoots shook, their wishes rattling. “For millennia I have tried to cross it, but her father’s curse is too powerful.” The wind buffeted his black hair, whipping strands around his sorrowful face.

“You’re destroying this Tanabata celebration, though!” My voice rose as the wind crescendoed with Orihime’s shrieks.

“Would you not destroy the world if it meant you could be with your love forever?” Hikoboshi growled.

I glanced behind me. On the other side of the river, Reynolds stood on the bench. The Hikoboshi to my Orihime.

My gaze dropped to my ghostly hand. I’d regained all my particles, but that didn’t matter. Reynolds might have been my boyfriend, but we couldn’t even hold hands.

“I would,” I whispered.

“Then help me,” Hikoboshi begged. “Please.”

I sighed. Cupped my hands around my mouth. “Reynolds! Over here!”

His head popped up. “Liza!”

He reached inside his pocket and pulled out one of his exorcism cigarettes, lighting it. The end glowed red, and he blew a puff of smoke into the air. Ashes trailed down into the river. Wherever they fell, the water hissed and evaporated. Despite the flood around him, Reynolds crossed on dry land, though his path disappeared once he’d made it to my side.

Reynolds took the cigarette out of his mouth. “Liza, back up. Stay away from the ash.” His eyes were locked on Hikoboshi. The ground cracked underneath the yōkai again, and Reynolds lurched.

I stepped between them.

The wind whipped Reynolds’s ash around. Some of it fell on my skin, and I cried out, burned for the second time of the evening.

“Liza!” Reynolds reached toward me. “Back away!”

“No!” Tears burned in my eyes. “Reynolds, please. We have to help them reunite, just like the legends say. They’ve never actually been able to be together, on July 7th or any other day.”

He snuffed out the cigarette, though he drew an unlit one from his coat pocket. “They’re yōkai, Liza. Poltergeists.”

“They’re us.” I pointed at myself. “You weren’t supposed to help me, either. But you did. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be stuck reliving the Kentucky Derby for eternity.” Fat droplets trickled down my cheeks. “And now death separates me from the man I love. That’s a different kind of death, Reynolds, but no less painful.”

We stared at each other, no Tanabata torrents between us, but a river all the same.

Reynolds sighed. “Poltergeists destroy things if left unattended. We give them what they want, they could go on another rampage. Sink Japan into the ocean.”

“Or they could finally find happiness after millennia of misery.” I wiped my damp face. “And give me hope that one day, we might find the same.”

Reynolds sighed. Glanced at his cigarette. Walked to the river and lit it. “Hikoboshi, follow me. And stay away from the ash.”

Hikoboshi turned to me, his brow furrowed.

“Go,” I whispered. “He’s taking you to Orihime.”

From my spot on the riverbank, I watched the two men cross. Minutes later, the torrent died down to a trickle before disappearing completely.

A smile crept onto my face as Reynolds shuffled back into view, his hands stuffed in his pockets, carrying my hope that—somehow—we’d ford our river, too.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hannah Carter is just a girl who wakes up every day hoping it will be the day she discovers she’s secretly a mermaid. Her debut novel, Depths of Atlantis, is out through SnowRidge Press now. Her stories have been included in several anthologies: Whispers From Before, The Never Tales, and Havok’s Casting Call and Prismatic. Her flash fiction piece “A Home for Nova” won the 2022 Flash Fiction Realm Award.

---

More Stories | Author Website | Facebook | Instagram