Chris Ward [Ward - The Eyes in the Dark

A proud and noble Cornishman (and to a lesser extent British), Chris Ward ran off to live and work in Japan back in 2004. There he got married, got a decent job, and got a cat. He remains pure to his Cornish/British roots while enjoying the inspiration of living in a foreign country.

He is the author of the The Tube Riders series, the Tales of Crow series, and the upcoming Endinfinium YA fantasy series, as well as numerous other well-received stand alone novels.

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The Eyes in the Dark (Tales of Crow #1)

Copyright Chris Ward 2014

*Previously published as They Came Out After Dark

The right of Chris Ward to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the Author.

This story is a work of fiction and is a product of the Authors imagination. All resemblances to actual locations or to persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.

The Eyes in the Dark is a horror-thriller set in Japan. Its laced with a tracing of dark humour, and a little suspension of belief will help with its enjoyment. In terms of context, assume the characters are speaking in Japanese unless otherwise noted, even though the dialogue intentionally uses a lot of British and American slang. This was inspired by the wonderfully colourful English subtitles you get for some Japanese teen movies, but just assume the characters are using their native language equivalent.

In addition, any Japanese words or terminology are noted in italics. Prices are usually noted in yen, and in general a good conversion is 100yen = $1.

While the book is conceived as the first of an ongoing series, it is very much a standalone story and can be read as one.

I hope you will enjoy my little book about crazy happenings up in the Japanese mountains. Now, if youre ready, strap yourselves in for the ride

T he clacking branches of the leafless trees beat out the kind of tune that the old man the local kids called Wooden Knees might have made if, before he followed his father inevitably into rice farming, he had decided to take up tap-dancing instead. As it was, Masanori Kojima paused, put his hands on the accursed parts of his body, and looked up at the grey sky with something like trepidation.

It was a little late in the year, but he knew a stand of red pine deep in the woods where hed been claiming the sparse crop of matsutake mushrooms as his own since he was barely more than a sapling himself. None of the other farmers knew its location, but the fungi he could sell for as much as twenty thousand yen apiece came late in the year because of the orientation of the hill. No one ever thought to search once the snow had begun to fall. While he despised the taste of the nasty, musty little things himself, the profits from his secret crop would keep old Wooden Knees drunk for the rest of the winter.

But the weather was turning. It was December the sixth, as the calendar read, but closer to New Year by the look of the sky, almost groaning above him as it ached to dump its load of accumulated moisture down upon his head. Masanori glanced upslope towards the last crest before he reached his secret spot, wondering whether it might be better to cut his losses and run. Getting caught out here in heavy snow didnt bear thinking about.

For a few minutes he stood in contemplation, staring upslope for a while, then looking back the way he had come, through a skeletal glade of leafless trees, the brown curls of their shed skin heaping up on either side of the trail he had made with his heavy boots and heavier bag. He could be home and stretched out under his heated table in a couple of hours, a glass of sake in front of him and some quiz show playing on the television. But if he soldiered on for just another hour there could be a basket of money sitting inside the front door.

In the end it came down to simple economics. This was almost certainly his last foraging trip of the year. A good crop now and he could rest easy for the winter. His mouth curled up in a thin, wrinkly sneer as he considered the other uses for the money.

A reward, he muttered, in that reedy whine that ended conversations quickly. A little reward for my efforts.

Hed make this one count, put in an extra half an hour to really go over the ground, then splash out on one of the younger girls who hung around at the end of the shopping arcade late on Saturday nights. The younger ones wouldnt touch an old bag of bones like him unless he could pay way over the going rate, but even the prettiest girls had their price, and perhaps if he took a trip to the pharmacy beforehand he could get something that would make him able to do a little more than just leer as they took their clothes off.