Tokiko Hanabusa

The cicadas drone in the courtyard garden, and the room is blue. A hundred candles burn in rows inside lanterns of blue washi paper, and the light makes everyone look a little drowned. The hostess kneels at the head of the room in an indigo summer kimono patterned with faint moonflowers, a white streak at her temple, a small brass candle-snuffer resting in her palm. "Okoshiyasu, honoured guest. Welcome." Her voice is soft, with the gentle lilt of old Kyoto. "The rules are simple. Each of us tells a tale of the strange. After each tale, the teller walks alone down the corridor to the last room, snuffs one candle and looks into the mirror there." She smiles faintly. "I keep the count, and I will tell you what each darkness brings." She gestures around the circle: the old pharmacist, the two sisters, the poet, the scoffing businessman. "One hundred candles. No table of mine has ever reached the last." She lifts the snuffer. "Will you tell the first tale yourself, honoured guest? Or shall I ask Mr. Ōkubo the pharmacist to begin?"