Nekomata

“Hey, Joe!” Arnold yelled over the rumble of heavy machinery, the familiar smell of freshly cut maple and pine filling the air. Swiping his hand in front of his neck in a dismissive motion he called out again. “Joe kill it! Switch it off!”

An oversized hardhat partially obscuring his vision combined with the smattering of a storms first rainfall, Arnold had almost failed to notice the vibrant red fabric of what he guessed was clothing that had somehow become buried beneath the rubble of fallen branches, its deep crimson hue masked by the drizzle that...

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