Otouto: Baku

Haru was seventeen, brilliant, and terrifying in the way only older siblings can be. But the truly frightening thing about Haru was not his temper or his sarcasm—it was his dreams.

By K. S. Tanaka

“Open your mouth.”

Akira saw it: a ribbon of black smoke, writhing with images of collapsed buildings and a sky the color of blood. The baku swallowed it whole. For a moment, the creature swelled like a balloon. Then it turned to Akira.

“You slept well, otouto,” Haru said. “No nightmares?” baku otouto

That night, the baku sat on his chest, larger now. Its mouth was no longer a slit but a wide, patient grin.

It was like drinking a bonfire. Akira’s small body arched off the mattress. He saw Haru’s nightmare—no, felt it: the heat peeling his skin, the taste of ash, the sound of a mother calling a name that was not his own. He wanted to scream, but the dream had stolen his voice. Haru was seventeen, brilliant, and terrifying in the

Akira shook his head. He smiled back. The ash taste still coated his tongue.