[Arashi] Hush

[neko_kirin3104]

Title: Hush
Group/Pairing: Arashi/Yama Pair (Ohno/Sho♀)
Prompt: pontianak
Word Count: 2420
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Thriller/AU/Genderswap
Summary: Shoko leaves home one day and never comes back. This is the story of how her husband will avenge her death.
Disclaimer: I own nobody. Purely fictional, of course. :3
Note I: The pontianak is a supernatural creature in the Malay myth that is said to be the vengeful spirit of a pregnant woman who died by violent means. THIS IS NOT THE STORY OF A PONTIANAK, but is rather a putting together of some distinct elements in its story in an attempt to come up with a different tale that may be separate from the pontianak myth itself, but is (hopefully) not any less creepier.

Note II: for mount_deer (I hope I didn’t ruin the pontianak too much orz)

Warnings: character death, mutilation, mention of violence and rape, genderswap



Thursday, 2013 November 7 - 10:18 AM

The doll looks too real, too life-like.

Even as it lay naked and smeared in blood on the depraved victim’s bed, it still manages to look alluring.

Pure.

Innocent—

“Shibutani Subaru, 32, divorced. Former owner of a rinky-dink bar down at Ropponggi. Dead for two weeks, more or less.” Tohma noisily flips through his notes, but Jun hardly really cares about what his partner is saying at this point.

Not when the doll is staring at him like it’s trying to tell him something. Drawing him in with its many unspoken secrets and promises, screening out the rest of the world little by little until he’s close to actually believing the trace of adoration he sees in its open-mouthed smile...

A light tap on his shoulder pulls him out of his trance. “Are you all right, Jun?”

“Y-Yeah.” Jun looks away with a soft gasp, his heart beating too fast, he’s almost out of breath. He adjusts his mask further up his nose, but the smell of decay in the air just gets stronger, mocking him and making it harder for him to pull himself together.

Tohma casually leans an arm on his shoulder and sneers. “It’s the tenth time we’re meeting her this week. I can’t blame you if you’re getting attracted—”

“It’s a doll, you idiot!” he scoffs, shaking his snickering colleague’s arm off forcibly. “Anything else you need to tell me?”

Tohma clears his throat and takes on a more solemn tone as he checks his notes again. “Nothing you’ve never heard before. It’s the same as the other ones. Naked dead man. Insides completely baked to mush. Penis missing. Creepy doll in bed—”

“She’s not creepy!”

“Riiight...” Tohma drawls out the word, sounding and looking as stunned as Jun is about his own outburst. “She just makes meat porridge out of men’s guts and cuts off their dicks. No, that’s not creepy at all, Jun.”

Jun sighs dismissively but makes the mistake of staring at the doll again. At those beautiful, round eyes framed by a side-swept black fringe that leaves a quarter of the doll’s prominent forehead uncovered. She has strong jaws too, which is softened by the slightly fleshy curve of her cheeks. Her lips are pink and plump and opened in a voiceless laughter that is perfectly reflected in the lively sheen of her glass eyes.

Everything about the doll just comes circling back to those eyes. There’s really just something about them. Something unusual and yet strangely calming—

“She’s a dangerous woman,” Tohma mumbles beside him, snapping him out of his trance for the second time.

Jun turns to his colleague and has to bite off a sharp and defensive rebuff when he sees genuine concern in the man’s face. “She’s a doll, Tohma.” He does not know who he’s trying to convince here anymore. And just when did he start referring to it as a ‘she’?

“She’s also killed ten men, apparently,” Tohma adds grimly, throwing a glance at the dead man at the foot of the bed. “They may have had depraved interests, but they’re still men. And we serve men. Not dolls.” He turns his gaze to the doll on the bed. “Not even pregnant love dolls.”

Tohma’s words hit Jun’s wavering sanity at the core and he’s suddenly remembering every single gruesome thing they have discovered about this doll in the past days.

The burst of curly locks on the pillow looks foreboding now. Each erratic strand a testament to the final struggles of the dead man who’s now lying in a pool of his own dried blood on the floor.

The doll’s face looks too pure, the eyes too hauntingly innocent as to not be masking a vicious intent.

The voiceless laughter shows delight not at having pleased its owner, but at accomplishing the ruthless task it has set out to do.

The trail of melted silicon that runs from the tip of its pink lips and merges with the rich splatter of blood on its full-bodied breasts speaks clearly of how fatal its acid-laced kisses are.

The beautiful curve of its belly, instead of promising life, serves as an accessory for death, with intricate mechanisms within it that Jun cannot even begin to comprehend, all connected to a trigger switch cleverly hidden inside the doll’s nape.

Jun does not fully understand how it all works yet. He does not wish to find out.

He can already figure out enough from just seeing the corpses, and hearing the frantic buzzing of flies inside the hole between the doll’s legs.

It took the forensic team a couple of days to find out where the first victim’s missing dick was.

But leave a corpse unattended long enough for maggots to grow into flies, and finding misplaced body parts is no longer a problem.

Even if said body part has been torn up beyond recognition—

Tohma’s phone buzzes loudly inside his pocket. Jun watches his colleague pull his phone out, check the screen, throw him an overly exasperated look, before finally answering the call. “Yes...? You’re kidding...! Where...?”

Jun clucks his tongue loudly and turns to the doll again. For some reason, his attention just gets drawn to it, every single time.

The eyes are still talking to him. Now seemingly more desperate, pleading to be heard, be understood.

Like it’s luring Jun to just sit beside it and listen to the story of her life, her death, her everything...

Jun is almost sure the next one won’t be any different.

Tohma sighs as he stuffs his phone back into his pocket. “It looks like we’re closer to finding more dead bodies than we are to finding the source.”

Jun frowns and actually manages to sound concerned. “This is getting serious.”

Tohma shrugs. “I’ll take it. It’s just down the street from here. Will you be all right?”

Jun looks at his colleague, his friend, and makes an effort to roll his eyes derisively before pushing the man away. “Get outta here!”

Tohma chuckles and taps his shoulder reassuringly before calling out a couple of their men. He then gives a small salute to Jun and is gone within the same minute.

Without his perceptive friend around, Jun finally lets his thoughts settle on the disturbingly raw emotions that have been niggling at the back of his mind.

About the dead man.

About the doll.

And about the unspoken atrocity buried under the weight of the duty he has vowed to uphold.

He feels his chest constricting painfully, feels the burn of tears at the back of his eyes.

He does not mean to judge. He has no right to do so. But he also has no control over how he feels about this whole deal.

Especially about men with depraved interests.

He clutches the locket hidden inside his shirt, where he keeps the only remembrance he has left of the daughter he lost five years ago, and finally lets a vindictive grin touch the corner of his lips.

Serves you right. Serves all of you right.


Friday, 2013 October 18 – 6:58 PM

The box arrives right on time, just as Oh-chan promised.

Aiba does not personally know the man, has only spoken to him on the phone twice, but he already feels a deep affinity for the doll maker.

Oh-chan has a warm and friendly voice, and asks him, very very nicely, to take good care of his doll.

“I personally made each one of them,” the man said, his tone echoing with pride and affection. “And they’re all very special to me.”

Aiba rubs his sweaty palms over the smooth surface of the box, his eyes bulging in his excitement. His breath just barely catching up with the frantic beatings of his heart.

He’s already seen how she looks like, of course. He has printed out her photo from the online ad and stuck it on the wall beside his bed.

It’s just the kind of face he wants, too. Not too small. Not too cute. But beautiful and strong-looking. Very open and transparent with nothing much to hide.

He especially loves the round eyes. He has lost count of how many times he has relieved himself just by looking at those eyes looking back at him at night.

Lovingly.

Seductively.

Supportively...

Aiba takes a deep breath, claps his hands together, and mutters a silent, “All right,” before finally relieving the box of its bindings and tapes, his excitement still rising.

The online ad says her name is Shoko. He got her pretty cheap too, which sure beats having to date women with irrational whims for expensive things.

He has the money, being the owner of his own gaming center at Akihabara. He just doesn’t have the patience to deal with too much duplicity.

With Shoko, he doesn’t have to try too hard to please.

Aiba has thought of giving her a different name as he waited for her to arrive, but he eventually changed his mind.

Shoko is a lovely name. He kind of really likes the way his lips curve around it whenever he calls out to her in the middle of his frenzied fantasies.

Now the real thing is here, and he cannot wait to spend the rest of the night with her.

Another deep breath before Aiba lifts the lid off the box and is instantly calmed by the thick flowery scent that suddenly fills his apartment.

The doll’s face is peering out at him from a sea of foam peanuts.

“So pretty...” He reaches in to rub the doll’s cheek, his trembling hand sliding slowly down to her neck. Slowly, slowly still until he’s rubbing both of his palms over the perfect mound of her pregnant belly, crumpling up her simple white dress with each overwrought stroke as his eyes widen in excitement. His cock already hard with anticipation.

“Shoko-cha~n...”


Tuesday, 2013 September 24 – 8:46 PM

It takes seven years.

Seven long years of grief unpacified by an incompetent system.

Seven years of being haunted by the memories of his dead wife in his sleep.

Of hearing the heart-wrenching cries of the unborn son he would never get to see...

Satoshi Ohno does not forget. He will never forget.

For every year that passed, his determination for revenge just grew.

After that first year of actively trying to find justice for what the police had already labeled a hopeless case, Satoshi finally realized he would have to take matters into his own hands.

The next year was viciously spent in dubious sketches and vague blueprints of what he knew he wanted to accomplish, but was yet to visualize in full.

The following year found him working hand in hand with Nino, his wife’s equally angry and vengeful younger brother, who took care of the technical aspects of his planned masterpiece, polishing up every rough edge and even adding his own wicked touch to the whole scheme.

Satoshi thought melting the viscera with acid was cruel enough.

But warm, constricting holes that induced penile combustion do make a much stronger statement.

And Shoko... His beautiful, strong-willed, deceptively pure and innocent Shoko deserves nothing less.

These are the very ideals Satoshi keeps in his heart as he molds each doll’s face to the likeness of his wife.

These are the memories of her life that he puts into each limb, each torso, each tuft of hair that he puts together to create his very own army of death.

Nino has already set up the online ads, the contact number and bank account that can never be traced back to them.

Today, they’re finally sending their first Shoko doll out into the world.

He puts the doll he has just finished dressing up into a box lined with foam cut out to accommodate her size and form snuggly.

He leans forward to kiss the doll’s lips, his nose twitching just a little from the nostalgic smell of Shoko’s perfume he has sprayed all over the box. His heart completely at peace.

“Itte rasshai...”


Sunday, 2006 September 24 – 2:14 PM

The day does not show any indications of what’s about to happen tonight.

Shoko Ohno cheerfully dons her simple white maternity dress and checks herself out in the mirror, too excited over her long anticipated meet-up with her girl friends from high school that she conveniently misses the ominous feelings that usually gnaw on someone who is about to meet her end.

She lays a loving hand over her belly, her heart soaring like it always does over the idea of a precious life growing inside it. More so over the fact that it’ll only be a couple of months before she finally meets her little boy—

Shoko lets out a startled gasp when a pair of strong hands grabs her hips from behind.

“How long are you gonna be out?” Satoshi murmurs into her neck.

She sighs and leans into the familiar warmth of her husband’s embrace, her whole body quivering from the slow, light kisses the man is laying all over her neck as she stares at their reflection in the mirror. “Just a few hours. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Satoshi whines into her ear, one possessive arm tightening just below her chest, his free hand trailing affectionate strokes down her belly. It thrills her further how the man has always been careful and protective of their unborn child. “I’ll miss you and our baby. Call your friends—”

Shoko groans and slaps her husband’s arms playfully. “Don’t be selfish, Satoshi.” She pries the grinning man’s arms off and grabs her purse from the dressing table.

“At least, let me come with you,” Satoshi says, his voice almost pleading, his hand reaching out to lightly pull her back.

Shoko’s heart skips a beat at the concern she sees in her husband’s eyes when she faces him. A year and a half of being Mrs. Ohno has not yet warmed her up to this man’s romantic gestures and adorable attempts at getting spoiled.

She cups his pouting face in her hands and smiles, “I’ll be fine. You still have that painting to finish for your exhibit.” She reaches a hand to flick several blots of dried acrylic from the man’s unruly hair before planting a quick kiss on his lips.

Shoko saunters off without looking back.

“Itte kimasu!” she calls out enthusiastically before closing the front door.

#####

***This fic is trying too hard not to be too gruesome. (一。一;;）