GhostCityGirl

  Contents

  GhostCityGirl

  Copyright © 2020 by Simon Paul Wilson

  Dedication

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINTEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  About the Author

  Special Thanks

  Strongly Worded Women: The Best of the Year of Publishing Women: An Anthology

  Shout: An Anthology of Resistance Poetry and Short Fiction

  Tooth and Claw

  Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell

  Someone to Watch Over

  Shadow Girl

  Daughter of Magic

  The Staff of Fire and Bone

  Don’t Read This Book

  The Gospel According to St. Rage

  Going Green

  SuperGuy

  The Supernormal Legacy: Book 1 Dormant

  Djinn

  Survivors’ Club

  Wrestling Demons

  Corporate High School

  The Digital Storm

  The Sum of Our Gods

  Ghost

  City

  Girl

  by

  Simon Paul Wilson

  Copyright © 2020 by Simon Paul Wilson

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by

  Not a Pipe Publishing, Independence, Oregon.

  www.NotAPipePublishing.com

  Cover by Michaela Thorn

  Art by Michaela Thorn

  eBook Edition

  ISBN-13: 978-1-948120-74-6

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To Corey

  May your love of reading and writing never fade

  ONE

  Good morning, good morning, good morning!

  It is 6am on Monday the first of December, and you are listening to Osaka Sector Radio Seven, the most popular station in the whole of Nihon City, broadcasting live to bring you up to the minute news, weather reports and the very best in popular music. Osaka Weather Control has forecast another cold day ahead, with temperatures falling as low as minus twenty and an eighty percent chance of snowfall. UV and toxicity are expected to stay safe at levels three and four, respectively. Reports from the DPA warn of a point-two percent possibility of paranormal activity. Citizens are advised to stay clear of border zones numbered twelve through twenty-two at this time.

  Now for today’s main headlines: Police are still searching for two high-school students who went missing four days ago in the Kyoto Sector. Ami Yoshimura and Yumi Onuki, both fifteen, were last seen attending a lightball match at Kyoto Sector number one high school. An official announcement, made yesterday, states that the matter is being investigated. Whether there is any connection between the disappearance of the two students and the return of Red Raku, last year’s most prolific serial killer, has yet to be confirmed.

  In global news, talks between Europia and the NUK have broken down after allegations of…

  “Off.”

  The apartment’s radio-alarm deactivates, plunging my bedroom into silence. I close my eyes and think about going back to sleep, just for an hour or so. One more hour of sleep would be heaven. Sadly, I know this is impossible. Mother is sure to be awake and making her way towards the living room at this very moment, shuffling through the house like a zombie. It is only a matter of time before she calls for me.

  I pull the covers over my head and think about how cool it would be if Mother really was a zombie. I would be happy if she was undead.

  A zombie would have more of a life than Mother ever will.

  Since getting more rest is out of the question, I throw back the sheets and swing myself out of bed. The ambient temperature in my room has dropped dramatically, causing me to shiver. My thin pyjamas offer little in the way of warmth. They do look cute, though.

  “Lights.”

  A thin neon tube flickers on, illuminating my room in a shade of yellow that makes my skin look jaundiced. I slide my cold feet into a pair of slippers and stand up. The apartment’s sensors pick up my movement and initiate morning protocols. The dulcet tones of a traditional English butler fill the room.

  “Good morning, Kichi.”

  “Good morning, Perkins. Increase room temperature by five degrees, please.”

  “Certainly, Ms. Kichi,” Perkins replies. “Now, what can I get you for breakfast on this fine December morning?”

  “The usual please, Perkins.”

  “Of course. One bowl of inferno noodles will be waiting for you in auto-serve hatch three. Can I prepare you a beverage?”

  “Iced tea. Blueberry.”

  “Certainly. Your drink is now ready for you in auto-serve hatch two.”

  “Thank you, Perkins.”

  “It is my pleasure, Ms. Kichi.”

  I put my dressing gown on and open the curtains. The video-window shows a pastoral field, complete with grazing cows. The cows look content as they munch happily on fresh green grass. A simple life. Another dream I cannot hope for.

  One of the cows turns to look at me and blinks its huge eyes. She looks so cute. I wonder what real beef must have tasted like.

  “Ki-chi. Mo-ther. Plug.”

  I cannot help sighing heavily at the sound of Mother’s voice. She has reached her destination and needs my help. So begins my day.

  “Ki-chi. Plug. Mo-ther.”

  Every day she forgets more and more vocabulary. Soon she will be unable to say my name. It is only a matter of time before she forgets how to speak entirely. What will she do then? Just sit and wait for me?

  “Ki-chi…”

  “I’m coming,” I shout. “Wait a moment.”

  “Plug…”

  I wish she was undead.

  I wish so much.

  Mother sits on the sofa. She doesn't acknowledge me as I enter the living room. I doubt she even knows I am there. The only thing she is focusing on is the blank TV screen that occupies most of the north-facing wall. Nothing else matters. That screen is her life. Her god.

  “Morning, Mother.”

  She doesn't look at me. I stand directly in front of her and look down at the cadaver that was once Yuki Honda. I slowly repeat my greeting, accentuating each syllable. Mother stares straight through me and says one word:

  “Plug.”

  I walk around to the back of the sofa and pick up the two long cables that trail from the rTV box on the wall. Both the red and blue cables end at large, vicious-looking jacks. This is where she needs my help. I fold back the two flaps of prosthetic skin located at the corner of each of her eyes, exposing two deep hungry-looking sockets. I slide the jacks into place with two sickening clicks.

  Mother is now plugged in.

  The screen bursts into life as soon as the connections are made. The spiraling rTV logo fills the wall and a range of menus fly onto the screen, allowing Mother to choose what she wants to watch and who she wants to be. She no longer n
eeds me. It is time to leave.

  I sit at the kitchen table and dive into my bowl of inferno noodles. The spices numb my lips and burn my tongue. Still, I manage to devour the whole bowl before draining my iced tea in one long refreshing gulp. I notice the remnants of Mother’s breakfast sitting by the sink: an empty bottle of vito-water and an open packet of three-in-one meal tablets. From within the living room, I can hear her enjoying her so-called life. First, there is a childish giggle, then comes a slight moan of pleasure. Yeah, it’s definitely time to leave the house.

  “Perkins. Play classic selection one. Volume setting seven.”

  “Very good, Miss.”

  My mood lifts the second a killer Otoboke Beaver track starts playing. I shower, brush my teeth, dry my hair and then go about selecting what clothes to wear. I know it’s going to be cold out, so I end up dressing in a thermo bra and long-pants, a long-sleeved t-shirt, a black hooded top, two pairs of green and red striped socks, a pair of green combat trousers and a black combat parka. After putting my hair in bunches, I am finally ready to escape the apartment.

  I don't bother to tell Perkins to kill the music, preferring not to hear what is happening in the living room. I make my way to the front door, put on my favourite pair of army boots and then stand in position. After taking a full body and retina scan, Perkins asks for my password.

  “Lemons.”

  I wait a few seconds for the password to be accepted and my voice to be recognised.

  “Goodbye, Ms. Kichi,” says Perkins. “Enjoy your day.”

  One by one, the thirty-seven locks are released and my front door slides open. The door hisses shut the second I am past the threshold. I can still hear the locks sliding into place as I walk down the corridor and turn the corner.

  The corridors of apartment block 7A twist and turn like a maze. Even after living here for more than ten years, I still manage to get lost now and again if I don’t pay attention. The other thing about the apartment block is that it stinks. A pungent mixture of onions, garlic, fish, urine, vomit and incense clings to the walls despite regular disinfecting. I dread to imagine what the lower levels would be like.

  It is now seven-forty and the apartment block is coming to life, its residents ready to face another day full of nothing but cold. An old man stands in the open doorway of Apt 77796 and says hello. I look to the floor and quicken my step. A naked pensioner is not the kind of thing I like to see first thing in the morning.

  I finally reach the lifts to find only two of the ten are in working order. No big surprise there. I press the green up arrow on both operating panels and wait. Thankfully, during this time in the morning, there are not many people heading up or out. Most of the tenants here work late shifts or don’t work at all. We morning commuters are in the minority. The strip-light above me suddenly sparks and fizzles, making me jump. I reach into my parka pocket in search of some nico-gum. Sadly, I don’t find any.

  “Good morning, Kichi. Are you going to work today?”

  Ms. Pang joins me at the lifts. As usual, she is dressed entirely in a vivid shade of purple. Her hair, eyes and lips follow the same colour scheme as her clothes. Ms. Pang is from Hong Kong City, but has lived here in Nihon for the last eight years or so. I’m not sure what she does exactly. She has never told me and I have never really thought to ask.

  “Not today,” I tell her. “I’m off shift until Thursday.”

  “Lucky you,” she says. “I wish I could have a few days off. I’m so busy at the office at the moment. There’s even talk of overtime.”

  “Oh.”

  “I don’t think I have had one full day off this month. Terrible.”

  “Yes. I guess so.”

  “Still, the money is good, so I can’t really complain. Such a pity I rarely have time to spend any of it.”

  “Yes, that’s a shame.”

  “Oh well, maybe I can have some time off soon. You never know, it may happen, right?”

  “Yes, you never know.”

  “Dreams. That’s what life is all about, Kichi.”

  “I suppose it is.”

  Our conversation is interrupted by the arrival of one of the lifts. We wait as the metal doors squeak and shudder open, allowing Ms. Pang and me to enter. I am happy to see the lift is virtually empty, only around a hundred people or so stand inside. This is good. I hate it when it is filled to capacity. The doors close with a loud clang and the lift continues its steady ascent to the top levels.

  “Have you seen young Ryuu lately?” asks Ms. Pang in lowered tones. “I haven’t seen him for a few days.”

  “Exorcism,” I whisper. “He died.”

  “Died?”

  “Yes. He drowned.”

  “Drowned?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Poor boy. What a way to leave this world.”

  “Yeah. It’s kind of nasty.”

  “Poor Ryuu. He was a nice young man. Pleasant.”

  “Yes. Yes, he was.”

  We continue the rest of the journey in silence. I lean against the cold metal wall and close my eyes. I think about Ryuu, how terrible his last moments must have been and how I knew almost nothing about him.

  The lift reaches its final destination. The doors screech open, allowing daylight and freezing air to flood the metal compartment we stand in. Many of us audibly gasp at the sudden drop in temperature. The lift starts to empty, some of the passengers look like frightened caged animals, the way they squint and shiver as they shuffle forward. I pull up the hood of my parka and turn to say goodbye to Ms. Pang.

  “Goodbye, Kichi,” she smiles, fixing a pair of purple shades into place. “Have a nice day.”

  “Thanks, you too.”

  “I am sure I won’t,” she laughs. “But thanks anyway.”

  Smiling, I stride boldly forward into the cold heart of Osaka Sector.

  Finally, I am free.

  TWO

  It takes me twenty minutes to get to platform seven.

  The walkways that spider-web across the city, connecting Osaka central at level one hundred, are teeming with citizens on their way to work or to the malls, everyone desperate to arrive at their destination as fast as possible so as to escape the bitter cold. Not me, though. I take my time, allowing the cold wind to snap and bite at me like a savage beast. I like the cold. The cold is real.

  There are fewer people at P7 at this time of the morning, maybe around a thousand or so. Many of them have come here for the view, photographing the distant floating mushrooms that are platforms five and six, and the towers of the government sector. Personally, I think the government buildings look a little creepy. They stretch up into the clouds like skeletal fingers reaching up to snuff out the sun. Not my idea of a cool photo.

  I am not here for the view. I am purely here for the snow.

  Delicate flakes descend from the sky, only to melt the instant they meet the platform’s heated floor. Those that miss P7, spiral down towards the lower city and out of sight, their beauty soon to be tarnished and destroyed by pollution as they journey ever-closer towards level one.

  By the time I am ready to leave the platform, I am powdered white from head to toe. I take a photo of myself on my phone before heading cheerily onwards towards apartment block 8C.

  The lifts for 8C are almost in sight when I spot two nil-by-mouths working their way through the crowds. My breath catches in my throat as I realise they are heading in my direction. Inside my parka pockets, I cross my fingers and pray they haven’t seen me. A girl of my age is exactly the sort of person they are after. An ideal candidate to swell their ever-depleting ranks. The thought of spending time ‘communicating’ with their sort is not one I relish, especially out in the open as the cold has now managed to fight its way through my many layers, making certain parts of my body tingle. I cast my eyes to the floor and hope my hood can conceal my youthful face.

  Sadly, I am too late. I notice one of them point in my direction.

  They are upon me in seconds, blockin
g my path, forcing me to either commune with them or to take to my heels and flee in the other direction. Some passersby glance towards me with looks of sympathy, others with sheer relief that it wasn't them. I look up from beneath my hood and take a good long look at the two people before me. Both of the nil-by-mouths are tall and thin, their tight black shirts and trousers accentuate their skeletal frames, making them look almost as emaciated as mother. By rights, the pair of them should be shivering in their bulky black boots, but they remain seemingly impervious to the cold. The steel surgical masks that are nailed to their faces have crude smiles painted upon them in bright yellow. Their eyes flash greedily at the prospect of fresh blood as the female thrusts her com-pad towards me. The pad displays a language menu. I begrudgingly choose Nihon common speak. The nil-by-mouths look at my selection before shoving the pad back in my face.

  “GOOD MORNING, CITIZEN AND SISTER. WE ARE THE SILENT MINORITY. WOULD YOU PLEASE JOIN OUR CAUSE?”

  I shake my head. The pad is taken away and the female taps furiously at the touch-screen before returning it for me to read.

  “WE OFFER YOU A PLACE WITHIN OUR COMMUNITY. WE WILL EMBRACE YOU INTO OUR HEARTS. TOGETHER WE WILL MAKE A STAND AGAINST THOSE WHO CONTROL US. DO YOU ACCEPT?”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t think I’m a good candidate. I love eating and talking too much.”

  Tap, tap, tap, go her fingers on the com-pad.

  “WE CAN SHOW YOU THE WAY.

  WE CAN LEAD YOU INTO THE LIGHT.

  WE CAN SHOW YOU THE TRUTH.

  JOIN US, SISTER.”

  “Look, I’m really sorry,” I say. “It’s really cold out here and I need to be somewhere.”

  Tap, tap, tap.

  “WE ARE SORRY ALSO.

  WE TRIED TO SAVE YOU.

  NOW YOU WILL SURELY GO TO HELL.”

  Tap, tap, tap.

  “HAVE A NICE DAY, CITIZEN.”

  And with that, our conversation is over. The two spindly ghouls brush past me in search of a more suitable target.