It was just a flash, a blur really. Something dark hovering at the edge of my periphery, tempting me to turn my head. It wanted me to look—they usually did, but I was three pages into a twenty-five-page thesis, and I had no time to deal with whatever spooky nonsense had found its way into my home tonight.

I’d been working my way towards a master’s in marine biology for the better part of the last seven years. On top of an unfathomable amount of hours devoted to studying, there was the countless hours of working dead-end jobs. Mind-numbing hours spent scraping together enough money to move to Japan so that I could take an internship with one of the world’s leading researchers in my field of study. All of it finally boiled down to this one last paper. No, now was not the time.

I suppressed a sigh, refusing to acknowledge whatever it was, as I clacked away at the keyboard. I’d always been able to see things. Things that others didn’t. Sometimes they were shadows—nothing but an indistinguishable blob of darkness, and other times, they took on a more definitive shape. I was pretty sure my latest visitor was the latter.

Perhaps they were all in my head. The product of an overactive imagination and sleep deprivation. A cocktail of too many energy drinks and a lifelong addiction to junk food. Or maybe they were some long-repressed childhood trauma manifesting as unexplainable visions. And, of course, there was always the terrible possibility they were real—that the nightmarish creatures which had haunted me for as far back as I could remember were actually corporeal.

I suppose the truth really didn’t matter. Knowing why I saw them wouldn’t make them go away. Besides, I’d learned long ago to keep these sightings to myself. People tended to fear the things they couldn’t explain, and whether they were real or not, I saw the unexplainable.

It had taken time, but I’d eventually made peace with my ability. It was my normal, just an everyday part of life, which was why I didn’t bat an eye at the thing shifting ominously beside me.

Seeing them wasn’t anything new, hearing them, however, was something else entirely. So when it cleared its throat dramatically, I paused. I blinked at the screen of my laptop, trying to decide the best course of action. I could continue to ignore it, and maybe, given enough time, it would grow bored and go bother someone else. Then again, getting to the bottom of what it wanted might be the quickest way to get it to leave.

When it cleared its throat again, I exhaled heavily through my nose, resigning myself to my fate, and turned slowly to face the thing standing in my living room.

“Finally,” the thing scoffed when our eyes met. There was a masculine edge to its voice, which I suppose only made sense, considering that the thing looked distinctly male. Male, but definitely not human.

He was tall, almost inhumanly so. His lanky body hunched over to avoid bumping into my ceiling fan. A riot of white hair lay plastered to his head as if he’d just walked through a torrential downpour. The briny tang of the sea radiated from him, or more likely the endless droplets of water that slipped from his hair onto his shoulders, where it gathered into rivulets that cascaded down over his body.

His skin—if you could call it that—reminded me of whale blubber, glossy and slick. It was nearly identical to the pale shade of his hair. My eyes tracked down spindly arms to his hands sporting wickedly shaped appendages that looked far more like claws than actual fingers—the longest nearly grazing his knees—or at least where I think his knees should have been.

A dark mist cloaked him, making it impossible to discern anything below his waist, which I was more than okay with. The last thing I wanted was an eye full of supernatural man bits.

As if reading my thoughts, he smirked, drawing my attention back to his face—completely devoid of a nose—and his mouth. A mouth that slowly spread open to reveal a jaw full of row upon row of razor-sharp teeth.

Well, he certainly got bonus points for creativity. He was by far the most disturbing thing I’d ever had the misfortune of seeing. A shiver went through me as I reluctantly met his pupilless black eyes, inky orbs that seemed to be focused in on me.

He was waiting for something. A reaction? An introduction? I wasn’t sure, so despite my heart, beating erratically against my ribs, I asked the first question that came to mind.

“Can I help you?”

Hairless brows knitted together in confusion. “You’re not…afraid of me?”

“Oh, no,” I clarified, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. “You’re absolutely terrifying. I just…don’t really know what to make of you. You guys have never tried to communicate with me before.”

His lips moved effortlessly around his elongated fangs when he slowly repeated the words back to me in a tone of distaste. “You guys?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged, fiddling with the frayed edges of my hoodie. “The spirits.”

It would have been comical, watching his mouth drop open like that—you know, if it weren’t for all the teeth.

“Spirits?” He hissed indignantly. “Do I look like a spirit to you?”

Pursing my lips, I gave him another cursory once over. “Well, no,” I answered, hesitantly, my brows drawing down to mimic his own. “But what else would you be?”

If he looked indignant before, now he appeared absolutely incensed. “I’m a yōkai!”

“A yōkai?” My eyes traveled over the length of him again, trying to think back to the class I’d once had to take on oceanic folklore. “But aren’t yōkai technically spirits?”

“No,” he scowled. “Spirits can be yōkai, but that doesn’t mean all yōkai are spirits.”

“So,” I drawled out the word, my curiosity getting the better of me. “What kind of yōkai are you?”

He drew his shoulders back, straightening as much as the space would allow, and puffed out his chest. “I’m a ningen.”

“Ah, a ningen,” I said, making sure I put a decent amount of awe in my voice. Wracking my brain, I tried to remember what exactly a ningen was. Weren’t they just oceanic cryptids? Some type of supposed mythical creature like Sasquatch or the Loch Ness Monster? If that were the case, then what on earth was he doing standing my living room, soaking through the carpet?

“Right.” I nodded, clasping my hands together in my lap. “And you’re here because?”

“Someone cursed you.”

“Me?” I pointed to myself and had to resist the ridiculous urge to look around my tiny flat for someone else. “Why? Who?” As far as I knew, I’d never done anything deserving of a curse. As a broke college student, if I wasn’t going to class or doing homework, I was putting in hours at the convenience store down the street. Between work and school, my social life was non-existent. When would I even have time to offend someone enough to go through the trouble of putting a curse on me?

“No can do, princess,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “That’s part of the confidentiality contract.”

“Confidentiality contract,” I repeated, disbelief dripping into my tone.

“That’s right,” he said, looking obnoxiously smug. “We ningen take our jobs very seriously, and that includes the confidentiality of our clients.”

Something like a headache began to build behind my eyes, and I sighed. “Aren’t ningen supposed to be out haunting people on the sea? What are you even doing here?”

He huffed, and while it was impossible to tell with his soulless black eyes, I could almost imagine him rolling them skyward. “Look, it’s the twenty-first century. Hired haunts aren’t exactly in high demand these days. We ningen gotta take business where we can get it.”

I felt my eye twitch as I glanced longingly back to my computer. I didn’t have time for this, and honestly, did it really matter who had cursed me or why some ocean demon decided to take up a side hustle haunting those stuck on land? All that mattered was my thesis, and in order to get back to that, I’d have to get the non-spirit out of my home.

“All right, fine,” I said, after a moment of deliberation. “What does the curse entail?”

He grinned then, his mouth stretching so wide that I worried his face might split in two. “Ah, now we’re getting to the good stuff.” He chuckled, malicious delight coloring his features. With a flick of his wrist, the shadowy mist around him bloomed to life, swirling like a whirlwind. He took a menacing step towards me, his voice a guttural growl. “I am the Curse of Nightmares.”

The wind caught the pages of an open textbook on my desk, causing them to flap wildly, and I reacted a split second too late to catch literal months’ worth of loose notes before they were whisked away. They fluttered in the cyclone like frantic birds, swirling around the room with reckless abandon.

He took another step toward me, his long legs easily closing the distance between us, and I found myself pushing my chair back on instinct. The wheels rolled off the floor mat and sank into the plush carpet.

“What does that even mean?” I yelled over the gale, shielding my face from an onslaught of water droplets and paper cuts.

The creature towered over me, long-clawed fingers coming to rest on the arms of my chair—caging me in and preventing any chance of escape.

I swallowed hard as he leaned down, suddenly finding myself staring down an open maw of razor-sharp fangs.

“It means,” he began, in a low throaty snarl. “That it’s going to be a long time before you get another decent night of sleep.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, the irony of it almost causing a hysterical giggle to work its way from my throat. “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” I said, pressing my palms against the bare slick skin of his chest in a desperate attempt to put some distance between us.

He paused, face falling as his brows once again drew together.

“So, you’re telling me that you have to haunt my dreams until what?” I struggled to keep the smile off my face. “Until this confidential contract is fulfilled?”

His nictating membrane—a second set of translucent eyelids—slid in a sideways blink as he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “That’s right.”

The laughter I was no longer able to suppress burst from my lips. Echoing off the walls as I doubled over, clutching at my sides.

The wind came to an abrupt halt, my notes and other random debris dropping unceremoniously to the floor in varying thuds and squelches.

He straightened, scowling. “All right, seriously. What is wrong with you?”

Hiccupping, I tried to catch my breath as I shook my head. “Are you sure you’re not the one being punished?” I asked, wiping the tears from my eyes with my sleeves.

Hands on his hips, he glared down at me. “Are you questioning my ability to do my job?”

“No.” I giggled, holding up my hands in a gesture of peace. “It’s just, whoever decided to curse me clearly didn’t know very much about me.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked. “And why’s that?”

I bit my lip to keep myself from grinning. “It’s just that if they did, then they would’ve known—I’m a chronic insomniac.”

****

Crunch!

I cringed as the curse behind me bit down on another mouthful of popcorn. “Must you?” I asked, rubbing at my temples. I was now seventeen pages into my twenty-five-page thesis, and the curse-turned-unintentional-roommate, had yet to fulfill the terms of the contract.

Richard—yes, that was really his name—lay sprawled across my couch. His ridiculously long limbs spilled over the arm and onto the floor, pooling there like the endless supply of seawater that constantly seemed to drip from him.

He held my gaze as his obscenely long black tongue snaked out of his mouth and slithered to the bowl of popcorn sitting on the coffee table. Without breaking eye contact, he gathered the kernels on his tongue before bringing them back to his mouth so that he could crunch down—loudly—again.

I huffed, spinning back around to face my computer. It had taken a few weeks for the ningen to come to terms with the fact that I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in over a decade. My hectic life didn’t really allow for any consistent sleep schedule, and even when it did, I was lucky if I managed a couple precious hours of rest. Which meant I seldom ever achieved the REM stage when dreaming actually occurred.

Richard had taken it a little personally, and since he couldn’t harass me in my dreams, he’d devoted his energy to harassing me while I was awake.

To be fair, having a ningen around wasn’t all bad. Assuming you didn’t count the harassment and everything always being suspiciously damp. He cleaned up after himself, he’d all but eliminated those pesky solicitors that always seemed to be knocking at my door, and if I were being honest, he did a pretty decent job of proofreading the various undergrad papers I thrust at him.

****

I was twenty-four pages into my twenty-five-word thesis when a long claw-tipped finger tapped me on the shoulder. Pulling my earbuds out, I glanced up and back at the yōkai, hovering above me. “Can I help you?”

“We’re out of lunch meat,” Richard said, a long strand of saliva slipping over his lip and landing on my shoulder.

I glanced at it, my nose wrinkling in disgust. “Gross.”

Unperturbed, he pressed, “The lunch meat?”

Sighing, I pulled my soiled hoodie off over my head and deposited it on the floor beside my desk. “Yes, yes.” I waved him away. “Just put it on the grocery list. I’ll run out later. We’re getting low on coffee, anyway.”

The corners of his mouth turned down, his claws tapping on the back of my chair. “I thought we agreed you were going to cut back on the caffeine.”

“After I finish my thesis,” I reminded him, turning my attention back to my work. “Now, shoo. I’ll get it done quicker without you hovering over me like a mother hen.”

He appraised me with a suspicious eye, evidently not sure if he believed me or not. However, when I began to hammer away at the keyboard again, he reluctantly turned, grumbling something under his breath.

From the corner of my eye, I watched him awkwardly fold himself up in the recliner, where he promptly patted his legs. The jingling of a bell alerted me to the presence of my cat, Mayonnaise. She trotted across the room and happily jumped into his lap, before settling herself amongst the swirling mist that cloaked his lower half. Then began to purr loudly as he gently scratched beneath her chin.

Traitor.

There was a time when he claimed to hate the little ball of fluff, but it didn’t take long for my furry feline companion to worm her way into his cold dark heart. Hiding a smile behind my hand, I reached for a cookie sitting on the plate beside me.

When harassing me had lost its appeal, Richard took up baking, and he was surprisingly good at it. I’d told him as much and had all but giggled when his cheeks flushed pink. Who knew a ningen could blush?

Taking a bite of the white chocolate macadamia nut cookie, I hummed my appreciation, making sure I was loud enough for him to hear, then snickered when his cheeks darkened. Was it childish to tease him? Probably, but payback never tasted so sweet.

****

As the seasons changed, and the end of the semester drew near, I grew more and more anxious about my thesis. The first draft had been done for weeks, and I’d spent countless hours meticulously combing through each and every line, painstakingly sculpting it into a work I could finally be proud of. Still, doubt threaded its way through my mind. Would it be enough?

“Amber,” Richard whined.

I looked up from the manuscript in my hand to where he lay with this head hanging off the back of the couch.

“Just go to sleep!”

I deadpanned, my lips pressing together into a thin line. “Gee, if only I had thought of that. You know what? I think I’m cured.”

He grunted displeasure at not only my attitude, but also the unsettlingly large energy drink I brought to my lips. “You know what I mean, and you promised to try and sleep once you finished your paper.”

It was true. I had promised him, and technically my thesis was finished, a week early—in no small thanks to the walking oceanic encyclopedia currently dripping on my couch. All that was left to do was turn it in. However, the copious amounts of sugar and caffeine coursing through my veins had my anxiety at an all-time high.

“I know, it’s just—” I trailed off, unsure of how to voice my insecurities.

Richard rose to stand, stooping low as not to hit the light fixture and crossed the room to come and stand in front of me. Carefully, he grasped my shoulders, making sure not to snag my sweater with his wickedly sharp claws. Somehow, along the way, our rocky beginning had morphed into what I could only describe as a bizarre friendship. And as much as I hated to admit it, I thought I might actually miss the monster once he finally managed to fulfill the contract and leave.

“Hey.” His gruff voice cut through doubt swirling in my mind. “It’s good.”

A small smile curled one side of my mouth. “Really?”

He nodded. “Totally. Top marks for sure.”

My fingers briefly tightened on the pages as I allowed some of the tension to leave me. I glanced up at him from beneath my lashes, feeling almost shy beneath his praise. “Would you mind reading over it? One more time?”

Chuckling, he plucked the manuscript from my hands and headed for the couch. “Fine, but I demand a pot of tea as compensation.”

I grinned as he folded himself on the couch, a pair of spectacles appearing from thin air. He plucked them from where they floated beside his head and adjusted them to balance on his face—an impressive feat, considering he didn’t actually have a nose,

After providing him with his drug of choice, ironically chamomile, I headed for the bathroom, intent on unwinding with a nice hot bath. When I emerged nearly an hour later, all wrinkly and surprisingly sleepy, I was pleased to find my thesis stacked neatly on the desk with very minimal water damage.

“Well, what do you think?”

He yawned, stretching his long legs out on the coffee table. “Everything looked great,” he said, affirming his earlier assumption. “Only one error, and it’s an easy fix.”

Frowning, I inspected the pages. “What was it?”

“Just a mistype,” he said, scratching at his chin. “Your name.”

I flipped back to the cover. “My name?”

“Your middle initial,” he intoned. “You put Amber P. Wallace when it should be Amber B. Wallace.”

I arched a brow, my eyes cutting to him in confusion. “No, my middle initial is P, for Penelope.”

He stared at me, something unreadable flashing across his face. “Penelope,” he said slowly. “Are you sure?”

I huffed a laugh. “I think I’d know my own middle name.”

A piece of rolled parchment appeared beside him, and he snatched it out of the air. Unrolling the document, he quickly scanned over it, his brows rising until they’d all but disappeared beneath his hairline.

“Well, this is awkward.” He coughed, suddenly looking very sheepish.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just a little mix-up, nothing to worry about, really.”

“Richard.”

He grimaced. “Well, it’s just that there may have been a slight oversight regarding the contract.”

“What kind of oversight?”

Swallowing thickly, he rubbed at the back of his neck. “It would appear the curse was placed on an Amber B. Wallace.” He laughed, but it was too high to be natural. “Must not have had my glasses on me that day.”

“Wait.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You’re telling me that you’ve been trying to haunt the wrong person this whole time?”

“You know, when you say it like that, it sounds kind of funny, doesn’t it?”

“Richard!”

He twiddled his fingers in his lap. “Yes?”

“I think you should leave.”

He nodded, rising to his feet. “Yeah, that seems fair.” He disappeared in a blur of mist, only to reappear in front of me a second later. “So…are we still on for Taco Tuesday?”

I stared at him incredulously, feeling a subtle twitch in my eye.

Clicking his claws together, he watched me with a hopeful expression.

A heavy exhale forced its way out my nose as my shoulders slumped in defeat. I was suddenly reminded of the night we met, and that moment I first gave in, resigning myself to my fate. “Yeah, we’re still on for Taco Tuesday.”