Haunted

Haunted by the Futa Ghost
Chapter One: Virgin Taken by the Futa Ghost
By mypenname3000
Copyright 2016

I ran through the dark forest, branches reaching for my long hair, my heart hammering in my chest. This place was cursed. Yokai and Onryō stalked between the tangle of trees and maze of roots bursting out of the broken, folded ground.

“Mitsuko-hime,” I called, my words swallowed by the dark trees. “Please, Mitsuko-hime, don’t do this. I’m sorry.”

Everything had gone so wrong today. It was supposed to be magical. I had done it. I had contacted the great kami Hangetsu, and I had been transformed beyond a mere woman. A cock. I had done it. I had achieved what we needed to be together. My princess and I could be together.

Branches tore at my red hakama and white haori. I gasped, one of my red ribbons ripped out of my black hair. My heart thudded more and more as I pressed through the woods, following my heart, letting it lead me through this place of death, Jigoku bleeding into the real world.

She was close. My princess.

I burst past the large rock and stopped. I gazed at the mighty pine tree rising before me. My eyes widened in grief at what hung from its limb. I clutched my hands to my breasts, pressing my haori and kimono tight against my bosom as I fell to my knees.

“No,” I cried out in grief and regret. “No, Ōjo-sama!” Tears fell from my eyes as shame overwhelmed me. I had failed her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

500 years later…

Yoshiko Stenet walked down the street towards her school, the Redwood Academy, the warm, California sun shining down on her glossy-black hair. She had her mother’s hair, the fine, blue-black silk of the Japanese, spilling about her shoulders and framing her face. It was round, the skin a light-olive, her cheekbones delicate. But it was her eyes that were most unusual. Caucasian eyes, gifts from her father’s family along with her buxom chest. Her eyes were round and blue, giving her face an even more exotic cast.

Earbuds in, she nodded her head to the beat of K-Pop playing from her phone, streaming off a Pandora station as she walked down the street. She loved Korean pop music even if she couldn’t understand the words. It was so upbeat and cheery most of the times, giving her a light step. Girls Generation played, a chorus of eleven or more members of the idol group singing.

Her shoes smacked on the sidewalk as she shuffled along to the beat of the song. Listening to the music made going to school slightly bearable. She really, really didn’t want to go to school today, and she was trying not to think of the reason, losing herself to her music.

The half-Japanese schoolgirl, just turned nineteen before the start of term a month ago, let her head bob and her feet almost skip, her black skirt swirling about creamy-olive thighs, and long, loose socks pulled up to her knees like many of her favorite Korean pop idols would wear. Lost to her music, she didn’t hear the girl crying out her name from behind.

Yoshiko jumped when her best friend burst from behind her and darted in front of Yoshiko, forcing her to stop and yank out her earbuds, her heart thudding. “Lori,” groaned Yoshiko. “Don’t do that.”

“I called your name, Yoshiko,” Lori answered, a big smile on her lips, her red curls dancing about her head as she walked backwards. Lori was a head taller than Yoshiko, who was used to being one of the shortest girls wherever she went. “And you didn’t hear me.”

“Sorry,” Yoshiko answered, wrapping up her earbuds. She resisted the urge to give her friend a bow like her mother always did when greeting someone.

“Were you just going to keep walking without me?” Lori asked. “Good thing I was paying attention, or you would have reached school while I was still waiting.”

Yoshiko blushed as her friend fell in beside her. “Sorry. I was just caught up in the song. Lost track of how far I had walked.”

Lori narrowed her eyes. They were such pretty eyes. Yoshiko’s heart thudded faster. Her friend was hot, wearing a low-hipped jean skirt, hints of pink panties peeking out as Lori’s green halter top’s hem rose up an inch, flashing bare waist.

Yoshiko had a crush on her friend for awhile, not that she would ever act on it. Lori, unfortunately, was straight. And Yoshiko didn’t want to ruin their friendship by trying to pressure Lori into experimentation. The one time they had kissed had been a disaster.

“Did you get that paper done for Epinosa’s class?” Lori asked, stretching her arms over head, which lifted the hem of her halter top, exposing two more inches of enticing belly and the hint of her bellybutton.

“Yes,” Yoshiko said. “Spent all day yesterday working on it. My fingers felt like they would fall off from all that typing. Such a boring subject.” The paper was on the effect that poverty had over the course of multiple generations and the outcome of their success. “Why did we take this class?”

“We needed a social studies credit,” Lori said.

“But you could have taken an easier class than Epinosa’s,” a male voice said from behind them.

Yoshiko let out a frightened squeak, jumping into the air before whirling around and glaring at her other best friend, Chris. He had a huge grin on his face. He was tall, his blond hair a ruffled mess like any good Californian surfer, his face tanned from the outdoors. Yoshiko had to crane her neck to look at him. His height gave him an advantage playing basketball, but it sucked for Yoshiko to look him in the eye.

“How long were you behind us?” Yoshiko demanded.

“Since Lori jumped in front of you,” Chris said as he stepped up, putting his arm around Lori’s shoulder. She looked short against him, which made Yoshiko feel like a midget.

“And you didn’t say anything?” Yoshiko demanded. “No hi or good morning.”

“I did. You didn’t hear me.”

Lori nodded her head, grinning.

They made a cute couple. Yoshiko realized that if Lori had to be straight, then she should date a decent guy, and Chris was that guy. He was friendly and funny. He didn’t treat Yoshiko differently for being gay. When she came out at eleven, Chris just shrugged and asked if she wanted to play a game of pickup basketball like always. It wasn’t a big deal to him. She was Yoshiko, his friend. It didn’t matter if she was gay, straight, bi, asexual, pansexual, or one of the other types.

He was a decent guy.

So Yoshiko was thrilled, and jealous, when he and Lori finally hooked up over the summer. The pair finally had gotten past that stage of flirting friends both edging at the line, wanting to cross it, but afraid what it would do to their relationship if things went disastrously wrong.

But they hadn’t messed it up so far.

The trio talked as they walked the last few blocks to the Redwood Academy, the small, private high school they attended. They passed through the old gate, a wrought iron sign with Redwood Academy arching over their heads as they entered the ground, their school’s buildings, all old, red-brick buildings, lay scattered around the picturesque lawns. Yoshiko took a quick breath, her eyes darting around, looking for—

“What happened to the tree?” she gasped, pointing at the large Japanese Pine Tree that grew on the lawn before the school. Unlike pine trees in the states, the Japanese Pine Tree had a wide canopy, branches reaching out like a man with a thousand arms stretching them in every direction at once. The needles were a bright, pale green and the bark quite reddish.

Instead, a huge chunk of its branches lay on the ground, one of the main trunks split in half and looked burned.

“Looks like a lightning strike,” Chris said. “From the storm last night.”

“Oh, that’s terrible,” Yoshiko said as they walked down the path towards the school’s entrance. “I loved that tree.”

“Yeah,” Lori nodded. “Remember last year when we tried to climb it and almost were caught by the security guard? Someone was supposed to be on look out.”

“I was,” Chris said. “Only I was on lookout in the wrong direction. Besides, you didn’t get caught.”

Yoshiko nodded her head, staring in a daze at the tree. The needles looked paler, almost gray, like the lightning had killed the tree. And the bark didn’t have that warm luster, but had dulled to a rust-red.

“Miyu’s quite interested in it,” Chris said, pointing out the Japanese girl standing before the tree. She was an exchange student and was in both Yoshiko’s math and English classes.

“She’s only been here a few weeks,” Lori said. “Maybe it reminded her of home.”

Miyu did appear homesick. She still wore her school uniform from Japan: a pleated, gray skirt; a white, buttoned down shirt with a gray vest over it; and a red tie hanging down the front. Her socks were like Yoshiko’s, loose and baggy, clinging tight just below her knees.

Miyu bowed to the tree and a flush of heat washed through Yoshiko as the gray skirt rode up Miyu’s thighs. For a tantalizing moment, Yoshiko hoped the skirt would slide up enough to show off her panties.

But that only happened in Anime.

“Weird,” Lori said again. “You’re half-Japanese. Why is she bowing?”

“Respect, I guess,” shrugged Yoshiko. “I grew up in the States. I’m as much Japanese as you are.”

“But doesn’t your mom tell you stuff about this?”

“Not really.”

The trio moved on and entered the school’s main building, passing into the grandiose halls. The Redwood Academy was built at the turn of the last century. The ceiling was high over head, the entrance wide, the floor marble. Statues of Greek gods, Apollo and Aphrodite, faced each other, Aphrodite’s right breast bare, the suggestion of a nipple dimpling the stone. It was art, so the various protests over the years had kept it from being removed.

Yoshiko hardly gave it a glance as she walked in, her eyes scanning. No sign of her. “Well, I’ll see you for PE, Lori.”

“You’re not going to run faster than me today,” Lori called as she and Chris went right.

“Later, Yoshiko,” Chris said, flashing her the peace sign.

Yoshiko took a deep breath and ventured down the hall, shifting her backpack on her shoulders.