The Tail at My Window

I was born into a spirit-hunter family.

From my grandfather upward, three generations of my family had been famous in our village for catching demons, ghosts, and everything else people whispered about after dark.

On summer nights when I was little, Grandpa liked sitting beneath the old camphor tree in the backyard, fanning himself with a palm fan while telling me stories of mountain spirits and village monsters.

“Why don’t we see spirits anymore?” I once asked.

Looking back, I think I know.

They were probably all socially anxious.

Later, I followed my parents to the county town for high school.

Study.

Anime.

Guitar.

Life moved along quietly.

Until that night, when she and I witnessed the secret side of the world.

It was an ordinary summer night.

The room smelled faintly of mosquito repellent.

The air conditioner hummed softly.

Outside the window, a few stars hung above the sleeping city.

Everything was peaceful.

I was drifting between sleep and waking when my guitar by the window suddenly made a muffled sound.

Deng.

“What was that?”

I rubbed my eyes and looked over.

The guitar still leaned there quietly.

Everything looked normal.

Then I saw it.

Floating in the air.

Half visible, half transparent.

A fluffy tail.

Cold shock poured over my head.

I instantly woke.

“Who are you?”

I raised my voice and moved toward the corner of the bed, searching for anything I could use as a weapon.

“Ah! I’m not—I’m not a bad person…”

A helpless voice came from midair.

Then, as if falling from the sky, a girl in red appeared beside my guitar.

She had ears.

Not human ears.

Fox ears.

Clouds shifted outside.

Moonlight poured through the window and lit my room.

Standing before me was a fox spirit.

Blushing.

Terrified.

And somehow more nervous than I was.

“Why are you so fierce?” she asked, sounding wronged.

I stared.

This was not how Grandpa described monsters.

“You’re a spirit?” I asked cautiously.

“Don’t… don’t talk to me.”

She covered her small face with both hands and curled into the corner.

For one strange second, I wondered if I was the one disturbing her.

The room became painfully awkward.

She peeked at me through her fingers.

“Why are you looking at me? Sleep.”

Her voice trembled like she might cry.

“Fine, fine,” I said. “Good night.”

Who could sleep after a fox girl appeared in his room?

But she looked so serious that I lay back down and pretended.

When I opened my eyes again later, she was gone.

A dream?

Maybe.

The next morning, I found a red thread tied to my guitar.

Delicately woven.

Real.

So.

Not a dream.

Apparently, I had gained a socially anxious roommate.