Freakological
an excerpt

Aki looked into the mirror and frowned. Her horn was troubling her again. She rubbed the skin on her forehead surrounding the protrusion. It seemed to be pointing down and to the left today, but she’d begun to think this was more about the way her mood made her see it than the actual position of the hard and pointed thing. She ignored the ache and went back to her hair. Streaks of dyed green, red, silver and blue were scattered amongst her straight but haphazardly spiky medium-length hair. Around her neck was a solid chain, more like what you’d find keeping a gate locked, rather than dangling beneath a 19-year-old Japanese girl’s head. Attached to the chain were padlocks, keys, a Hello-Kitty head and a fully-functioning tamagotchi. Further down: tartan mini-skirt, with one rainbow legging and one black-and-white striped. She found that this whole look took some attention away from her natural oddity, and made it so that fewer people would think to bother her, or led others to think her horn was anything other than some edgy new body-modification. In she fact, she thought as she nodded to her reflection in satisfaction, she kind of liked the look she’d crafted around her forehead and in drawing attention away from it. She pulled her boots on, grabbed her bag and leather jacket and headed out the apartment door, down two flights of stairs and into the streets of Tokyo.

After walking a block, her stomach grumbled. She remembered she hadn’t eaten today yet. Fortunately, she wandered into a 24-hour-convenience store.

“Ah, good morning Aki! How is your horn today?” asked the cashier with a wheezy laugh to himself.

“Fuck you, old man,” said Aki with a histrionic smile as she walked straight past to peruse the instant noodle section.

“You know, I could ban you from my store,” said the cashier, folding his arms, frowning. “You do not have any respect and I know people like you bring trouble with them, sooner or later.”

“You know, I could get my dad to come in here and clean you out,” said Aki as she brought a cup of noodles to the microwave near the counter. “He’s got plenty of Yakuza contacts who could make people forget your or this shop ever existed.”

Her dad didn’t, as far as she knew, but he was definitely rich. Rich enough that he could probably at least wrap the store up in legal fees. Rich enough that Aki could go around making idle threats to shut people up. Rich enough that Aki could do her own thing and not have to earn her own money for university fees, rent or chicken noodle breakfasts.

She put some change on the counter and walked out without another word, busily forking food into her mouth.

As long as she and her horn stayed out of her parents hair and didn’t draw attention to them, the allowance would keep flowing.

As she continued walking toward the subway station, she pondered whether to attend a lecture, or head for the arcades, play some games and do some shopping. As usual, the latter held more appeal. She took a final nibble on the last of the noodles and began to sip at the broth, but before she knew what was happening the cup was splashing and tumbling onto the pavement as she was yanked abruptly to the left and into a dim side-alley. She fell to the ground and grazed a hand, before being yanked again, dragged upwards and slammed against a wall, then a hand was slapped across her mouth, muffling her groans of pain.

Her eyes began refocussing from the shock and adjusting to the low light just as the eyes of the balaclava-clothed face were eyeing her, then her horn, then looking her up and down her body. He was breathing heavier than her.

“Keep quiet you freak bitch or I’ll gut you!” he yelled, then she saw the knife he was pointing at the side of her head.

“How much money do you have in your bag?” he yelled again, looking around nervously. Despite the shock and pain, Aki was recovering. Her first coherent thought was that this guy seemed pretty amateur and didn’t expect to be grabbing someone like her from a peaceful morning city street.

“Why don’t you just take it yourself?” Aki said, looking up at her horn. “Why do you need to ask? And who robs a girl in Tokyo in broad daylight? I bet that knife isn’t even real.” She began to smirk.

“Shut up! I’ll cut you!” he screamed, trembling and switching his eyes back and forth to her, to her horn, to the street beyond the alley.

“This horn has magical powers you know. I can make your head explode just by thinking it. Or it can make your testicles shrivel into slugs. If I want to. If you piss me off,” said Aki. The thief took a step back.

“Bu...Bullshit! I bet it’s just something you got grafted on! You…shut up!” he looked around nervously again, spending more time on her horn, then finally taking a look at the bag hanging from her shoulder.

“Maybe. Do you really wanna risk messing with me and my horn?” Aki stared back at him. He gulped, dropped the knife (which made little more than a rubber thud as it hit the ground) and pulled at her bag, already trying to run with it. Aki pulled in the other direction. They struggled in a brief tug of war, while he tried to pry it from her fingers, yank it away from her palms. She tried elbowing him away and pulled as hard as he did. His hands found a grip around her fingers and began prying them away. She knew it was time to do what hadn’t done since playground squabbles with bullies.

She plunged her head forward and head-butted him as only she knew how, driving her horn into his shoulder, a good inch into the fleshy space between bones. He howled. She straightened up and felt light. Her hand and head were tingling. He pulled away, but then, so too did her horn. Screaming out in agony and horror, he yanked the horn out, threw it to the ground beside her bag, and ran out of the alley clutching his shoulder, nearly toppling over a mob of passing businessmen as he fled.

Aki looked down. Her eyes widened and she gasped.

“Wha…?”

This had never happened before. Her talk of magical powers and head exploding and testicle shrivelling were just more idle threats and creative lies. The horn had been nothing more than a constant presence since her birth, through the childhood tests, teasing in school yards and passing stares on the street. The jutting ten centimetre outgrowth sometimes ached, but was really just resistant to any removal or interference, and simply, just there.

But now, lying there on the grimy bricks of the alleyway was not just her bag, but both her horn and her middle finger. And they both seemed to be faintly glowing.