I Brought Home a Cthulhu - Chapter 2

Her body was absurdly soft.

Without thinking, I pressed her arm again.

There were bones.

She had bones, so she was human.

That was what I told myself.

I took out a fresh quilt and covered her with it. The house had only one bed and not even a sofa. I could hardly make her sleep on the floor.

And there was no chance I was sleeping on it, either. A violent storm was raging outside, and I had no desire to give myself rheumatism.

“Good thing the bed is big,” I muttered. “Otherwise there wouldn’t be room for both of us.”

She turned over and went completely still.

Unable to help myself, I reached out and felt her neck again. Her pulse was strong, but chaotically uneven.

Maybe she was still weak. I wasn’t a doctor; what could I do?

With a sigh, I pulled my own quilt over me. The day’s exhaustion dragged me swiftly to sleep.

When I woke the next morning, my whole body felt wrong.

It was as if someone had tied ropes around my limbs and torso while I slept. I had even dreamed that I was lashed to the prow of a ship, turned into its figurehead.

What a bizarre dream…

Yawning, I went to the bathroom to wash up.

In the mirror, a vivid red welt ran across my raised arm.

My eyes nearly popped out of my head.

I checked myself at once. There were marks on my arms, my thighs, even my stomach.

Was the house haunted?!

I was so frightened that I clapped a hand over my mouth and could not speak for ages.

“M-maybe it’s an allergy…”

My brain raced to patch the bug in reality. “Right. It must be an allergy… What did I touch yesterday? Anyway, it has to be an allergy.”

I stood there panting, drenched in cold sweat, but somehow the explanation was enough to convince me.

Still shaken, I returned to the bedroom and changed into my work clothes: a dark shirt and utility trousers.

I was about to head for the studio when I remembered the person in my bed.

Climbing onto the mattress, I nudged her. “Are you all right? Are you hungry? I can make you something. What would you like?”

She slowly turned over.

An impossibly beautiful face came into view.

I had been in no state to study her the night before, but seeing her clearly in daylight left me stunned.

She spoke with more awareness than she had shown in the bathroom, the drunken languor gone from her voice. “I’m not eating.”

Then she turned away again and fell silent.

“…”

Fine. Starve, then.

I made millet porridge for her anyway.

I could not actually let her starve to death, could I? I had gone to all that trouble to save her life.

I set the bowl on the table, climbed onto the bed, and rolled Qi Wuzhi onto her back.

“Qi Wuzhi, eat a little before you go back to sleep, all right?”

Her eyes stayed closed.

After a while, she lazily cracked one eyelid.

“…I said I’m not eating.”

Her voice was cold, carrying a strange, oppressive weight.

For a split second, I plunged into the deep sea. Immense pressure crushed every bone in my body.

Then the sensation vanished as suddenly as it had come, like a nightmare lasting less than a ten-thousandth of a second.

I remained dazed for a long moment before my mind finally crawled back into reality.

Sunlight warmed the world outside. The dehumidifier ran twenty-four hours a day, leaving the bedroom air dry and comfortable. I instinctively touched the bedding, and the familiar feel of cotton steadied me.

When I looked at Qi Wuzhi again, her face was still blank. Yet an unmistakable trace of mockery had appeared in her eyes.

I scratched my head.

“Well… if you don’t like millet porridge, I can make something else. What do you like?”

The mockery disappeared. Her face became emotionless once more.

She turned away, her voice as boneless as the rest of her. “…Seafood.”