Goth by Otsuichi Page A

much, and she had to stop for a moment. It hurt me to see that, but there was nothing I could do but stand by her side.
    The animal we had found that afternoon was tonight’s prey—that’s what Yuka said. That day on our walk, we’d found an animal that looked easy to take away. We headed for that house.
    I was sure Yuka had noticed it too—it was getting harder to find animals we could steal easily now. More and more houses were keeping the animals inside. They were beginning to take measures against us.
    I was always anxious now, afraid that someone would see what we were doing … and I was always on guard, startled by every shadow.
    I wasn’t afraid of Yuka, of course, nor Mama, nor even that bad man. I was afraid of strangers. There was someone after Yuka and me because we were taking the animals. And that someone would eventually discover what we had been doing underneath the bridge. It was easy to guess what would happen. If everyone knew what Yuka and I were doing, we would be separated. Without me, there would be no one to protect Yuka, and I couldn’t let that happen.
    We could see tonight’s house up ahead. The top of the roof caught the streetlight, but everything else was dark, swallowed by the night. The house was on a corner; when we’d walked past that afternoon, there had been a small dog in the yard.
    “Come,” Yuka said, and we stepped forward.
    But then something caught my eye. I called out to Yuka softly, and we froze. She looked over at me, puzzled.
    A moment ago, there had been a small gleam of light in the thicket across from the house. It had been just a tiny point of light, which had soon vanished—but I knew someone was there. All my nerves stood on end, focused on that spot. I couldn’t be sure, but I felt as if someone was hidden there, watching the house where Yuka and I had been headed. It was possible that my mind was playing tricks on me and there was nothing there—but I felt sure.
    Not today, I told Yuka with my eyes. She looked at the house again and agreed.
    That night, we did not steal any animals. We spent some time under the bridge, and then we went home. Yuka wanted me to kill something, but I was relieved that I didn’t have to.
    Still, I was anxious. The shadow chasing after us had taken form and shown itself. It was not just a figment of my imagination—it was real.
    iii
    My Tuesday night stakeout had passed without the kidnapper showing. The next day, Wednesday, I casually quizzed my classmates and family, trying to figure out if any dogs had gone missing. But it seemed the kidnapper hadn’t stolen anything that night—or perhaps a dog had been stolen somewhere beyond the reach of my information network.
    “Do you know what kind of person is behind this?” Morino asked me, looking up from her book as she sat in the corner of the chemistry lecture hall Wednesday at lunch.
    I shook my head. I had no idea.
    “Why would anyone steal that animal in the first place? To sell them to pet shops for money?” Morino asked, as if it was utterly incomprehensible that anyone would ever want that particular kind of animal.
    “I doubt the kidnapper’s after money—even the purebred dogs they sell in pet shops tend to get put down once they’re fully grown. Almost nobody buys them.”
    If someone was in the market, it’d be for research test subjects, not pets. Pet dogs trusted humans, making them easier to handle than wild dogs. I’d heard they would fetch a good price on the black market.
    “The only reason I can think of to kidnap dogs is to hurt them. There are people who claim abandoned dogs and cats from Internet sites for that reason.”
    “So the kidnapper is killing the stolen pets for fun? That’s pretty crazy,” Morino said.
    But something about this seemed off to me. If that was true, where was the killer hurting the animals? Not at home. When the news occasionally mentioned animal bodies discovered in parks, discussions about animal abuse usually