The Night Parade by Kathryn Tanquary Page B

dust in others, the kettle over the fire was rusted inside and out, and even the walls had a thin film of grime that came away on Saki’s fingers when she brushed them. Only the knives and cleavers set out by the fire were sharp and shining, but even their wooden handles were growing soft with mildew.
    The closet. That was the only place she hadn’t checked. There must have been a reason for the warning; the closet was where a witch would keep her magic.
    Saki glanced over her shoulder to check on the woman’s son. He sat in the corner, position unchanged. She reached out and slid the closet door open a crack. A small army of spiders scuttled out through the cobwebs, and Saki bit her tongue to keep from screaming. They had built webs all over the closet and above the two moldy futons stacked on the top shelf. The bottom shelf held an old bucket and rags, also infested with spider nests. Half an arm’s length away sat a square box the size of a birthday cake.
    With a gasp of courage, Saki kneeled and fished the box out from the maze of webs. The dust came off beneath her fingertips in thick gray smudges. One deep breath blew more of the dust away, revealing the shining black lacquer underneath. The box had no latch, no lock, and no resistance to Saki’s fingers as she popped up the lid and slid the panel back.
    Old children’s toys were stacked on top of one another in a jumble of colored wood and string. The rush of excitement Saki had anticipated dropped to a dull disappointment. She rifled through the small toys without enthusiasm until she noticed a very peculiar doll. The shape and design of the doll seemed normal, but its wooden body and cotton clothes were rotten and half-gone. What had the woman’s son been doing with a doll in the first place? The deeper Saki dug into the box, the older the toys looked.
    Buried at the very bottom of all the toys was a small leather pouch tied with a drawstring. When Saki lifted the bundle from the box, the contents of the pouch made a sound like glass clicking together. She untied the string with delicate movements, taking care not to make too much noise. She forced open the mouth of the pouch with two fingers and tilted the bag over on her lap. A handful of brightly colored flattened marbles, the kind of toy Saki and her brother used to play with when they were small, tumbled over her folded legs. The game was as simple as flicking one piece into another and winning more marbles than the other player. It was a very old game, her grandmother had told them, played by Japanese children for hundreds of years.
    Saki couldn’t tell how old the flat marbles were, but the glass was as clear as if it had been melted that very day. The swirls of color within the clear glass shimmered in the firelight. She moved one of the marbles between her fingers, flipping it over and twirling it around her hand. Not a speck of grime, dust, or rot anywhere to be found. It may not have looked the part, but she was sure this was what the fox had spoken of. Saki refilled the bag, tied the string, and stuck the pouch in her pocket. She placed the lid back on the box, opened the closet, and returned it to the spiderwebs.
    As soon as the closet door shut, a smooth voice came from the corner.
    â€œYou opened Mother’s box,” said the old woman’s son.
    Saki froze and turned her gaze to the figure in the corner. Her heart began to pound.
    â€œYou took something of Mother’s.” He spoke without making a single movement.
    â€œI-I just wanted to have a look. I’ll put it back. I just need to borrow it for a while.”
    He shook his head in slow, heavy strokes. “Too late. You’ll be punished like the others. She’ll take your treasure and munch your bones.”
    Saki edged backward to the entrance of the hut. The pounding of her heart turned her chest into a drum. She kept her eyes on the figure in the corner as she slipped her feet into the