John walks off his Aunt's cozy porch to meet friends downtown. The white sea mist moves between the empty houses like a spirit waiting to take human form. It's what you can't see that's the scariest John thinks as he glances behind. The empty street with the shadowy houses reassure him that it was only echoes from his shoes making the noise that seemed to be creeping up behind. Yet it was because he looked behind for reassurance that he didn't see the real shape shifter, the Yokai of Seaside Heights, right in front of him.
Ali bangs into John
'Hey, watch where your walking...Oh it figures...it's John.'
John
'Ali..it's a good night for Yokais.'
Ali
'Yokais?'
John
'Japanese demons.'
Ali.
'I don't like foreign things...Figures you would'
John looks around the side of her head.
Ali
'You're such a wierdo...always daydreaming or surfing and now I here you think you are a writer. What are you looking for on the back of my head.'
John
'Another mouh...that would make you a Yokai.'
Ali walks on
'Loser....'
John
"...and I don't think I'm a writer...I am a writer in New York.'
The Yokai, having spewed her hatred, disappeared into the white mist. It's what they do.
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