...this one's an old one, I think? Once a man, out walking, saw a young woman struggling to carry a bundle on her own, and ran to help. When he did, he found her to be beautiful, and asked where she was going at the early hour all on her own. She seemed to be in some distress, and told him that her family had cast her away and that she'd been sold as a concubine to a man no better, and so she was alone in the world.
Having compassion, he took her in to his house, although she said that her presence must remain a secret. Therefore, he only told of her to his wife, who was worried, but he was sure it would be fine.
Therefore, when he next met a monk walking who told him that he had been enthralled by some creature, he also paid him no heed, and went along happily, returning to his home. Such a beautiful girl could mean him no ill, he thought.
But when he returned, he found the library he kept was shut closed and locked, and climbing over the wall to get to it, thinking that perhaps there'd been a mistake or a mishap, he found the inner room shut as well. At this moment, he began to wonder if something was very, very wrong.
So he tiptoes closer, and closer to the room, and sees... something. Something that shouldn't be there—no human, no mortal. The first thing his gaze lit upon was its saw-like teeth, sharp and yellowed in its wide mouth, and then the green skin of its face.
And what was it doing—but painting something? It held a brush in hand. Despite his instincts, he stood on tiptoe to see what it painted—an irregularly-shaped canvas as big as a man, decorating it with human features—
The creature, satisfied in its grisly work, shook out its dreadful painting, and threw it over itself—and then became the beautiful girl he'd sheltered in his home.
The man, terrified, ran from his own home, searching for the monk, certain that he could hear the creature's footsteps in the distance. Gasping and sweating profusely, he threw himself at the monk's feet when he found him, cowering in fear.
Taking pity on him, the monk gave him a fly-brush to hang on his door to his bedroom, to keep the creature at bay. The man went home straightaway, and barricaded himself in with his wife, and...
...in the dark of the night, they could both hear pacing in the hall. The sound of bare footsteps, up and down the wood floors.
He made his wife peer out, and she was nearly overtaken with fear—but when she could stand to open her eyes, she saw the girl there, waiting in the hall, apparently afraid to pass the hanging. Soon, the sound of footsteps ceased.
The man then was brave enough to peer out himself—but when he did, there was a grinding of teeth, and a growl of an almost-familiar voice: "Did you think I would give up what was already within my grasp?"
And he was grabbed away by the hair, just past the threshold, and the girl tore the brush to pieces before clawing her hand through his chest and ripping his heart out... before vanishing into the night.
[ she punctuates this with claw hands. ]
...I editorialized a little bit, since it's really more of a morality play of "Please listen to your local Taoist monks and don't be taken in by pretty girls" but that's the scary part of it.
It's taken me a long time to learn to be more comfortable with physical contact, but I'm still terrible at it. And people are so touchy here, aren't they.
It's terrible. This bingo card has twenty-five squares and eight of them don't involve touching. People are always trying to touch my hands without warning—
...and they always mean well, so it's hard to draw boundaries without making it seem like some kind of personal slight.
No, I know exactly what you mean. When they're trying to comfort you or show affection, it can be hard to tell them that they're actually making things worse. It's an awkward situation!
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...this one's an old one, I think? Once a man, out walking, saw a young woman struggling to carry a bundle on her own, and ran to help. When he did, he found her to be beautiful, and asked where she was going at the early hour all on her own. She seemed to be in some distress, and told him that her family had cast her away and that she'd been sold as a concubine to a man no better, and so she was alone in the world.
Having compassion, he took her in to his house, although she said that her presence must remain a secret. Therefore, he only told of her to his wife, who was worried, but he was sure it would be fine.
Therefore, when he next met a monk walking who told him that he had been enthralled by some creature, he also paid him no heed, and went along happily, returning to his home. Such a beautiful girl could mean him no ill, he thought.
But when he returned, he found the library he kept was shut closed and locked, and climbing over the wall to get to it, thinking that perhaps there'd been a mistake or a mishap, he found the inner room shut as well. At this moment, he began to wonder if something was very, very wrong.
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And what was it doing—but painting something? It held a brush in hand. Despite his instincts, he stood on tiptoe to see what it painted—an irregularly-shaped canvas as big as a man, decorating it with human features—
...no. It was a human skin!
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The creature, satisfied in its grisly work, shook out its dreadful painting, and threw it over itself—and then became the beautiful girl he'd sheltered in his home.
The man, terrified, ran from his own home, searching for the monk, certain that he could hear the creature's footsteps in the distance. Gasping and sweating profusely, he threw himself at the monk's feet when he found him, cowering in fear.
Taking pity on him, the monk gave him a fly-brush to hang on his door to his bedroom, to keep the creature at bay. The man went home straightaway, and barricaded himself in with his wife, and...
...in the dark of the night, they could both hear pacing in the hall. The sound of bare footsteps, up and down the wood floors.
He made his wife peer out, and she was nearly overtaken with fear—but when she could stand to open her eyes, she saw the girl there, waiting in the hall, apparently afraid to pass the hanging. Soon, the sound of footsteps ceased.
The man then was brave enough to peer out himself—but when he did, there was a grinding of teeth, and a growl of an almost-familiar voice: "Did you think I would give up what was already within my grasp?"
And he was grabbed away by the hair, just past the threshold, and the girl tore the brush to pieces before clawing her hand through his chest and ripping his heart out... before vanishing into the night.
[ she punctuates this with claw hands. ]
...I editorialized a little bit, since it's really more of a morality play of "Please listen to your local Taoist monks and don't be taken in by pretty girls" but that's the scary part of it.
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Excellent! I hadn't heard that one before.
Thank you for sharing!
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I'm glad it delighted.
The ending bit I didn't put in actually has the man returned to life, but that makes for less of a Halloween tale.
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Good story either way, though.
Are there any other tasks you'd like to knock out?
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...I don't know if you have any secrets you'd care to swap.
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...We've been keeping it kind of on the downlow, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't spread this around, but... Lumen's actually my husband.
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Well—congratulations of the highest order, then!
And no one will hear a word from me, I promise. I suppose—then, I should respond in kind...
...I'm—very bad at this kind of game, I think. I—try not to be obvious about it, but I'm direly uncomfortable with touch, most of the time.
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It's taken me a long time to learn to be more comfortable with physical contact, but I'm still terrible at it. And people are so touchy here, aren't they.
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...and they always mean well, so it's hard to draw boundaries without making it seem like some kind of personal slight.
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I'm just—trying to take it at my own pace. BAD END's been pretty understanding, at least.