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“As I said,” she goes on. “It’s really nothing. But this place brings me peace.” She nods her head toward the giant cylindrical pagoda across the street that’s the epicenter of Japantown. Personally, I’ve always found the pagoda to be rather ugly in a ‘70s way, but as we cross the street and get closer, I realize there’s a lot more to the area than that. In fact, it’s nothing like I expected from just walking past.
It’s a pedestrian-only zone on polished cobble stones that meander down the middle of Japanese stores like a calm stream. The stores are just opening and there are a few people milling about, but it feels miles away from the city that surrounds it.
My mom takes a seat on the stone wall at the edge of a fountain and nods at the peace park beneath the pagoda. “In the early morning, this place is so calm. Everything is shut except for a group of people who are meditating. They lay out their mats just over there and light candles and just sit. I watch them, watch the sun come up, and just be.”
“Sounds lovely,” I tell her. “But I don’t like the idea of you walking here in the dark.”
“Oh, it’s still pretty light out,” she tells me. “Don’t worry. This isn’t New York, but this city doesn’t exactly sleep either.” She gestures down the row of shops. “There’s a really popular coffee spot there if you wanted to try something else other than your sacred Starbucks.”
“Sure,” I say through a laugh. “The fresh air helped, but I need more caffeine.”
“So, tell me about this dream you had,” she says to me as we walk side-by-side to the café.
“Oh, so I have to tell you my dream but you can’t articulate why you get scared when you wake up?”
She just gives me a steady look until I shrug. “Fine,” I say with a sigh. I don’t want to tell her all of it because she’s probably going to worry about my mental state. “I woke up because I heard someone crying. In the distance, but in the house. It was like…a wail, like someone was grieving or in pain. And then, before I could do anything, it was like someone was sitting on my chest and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. But I know it was sleep paralysis.”
“Sleep paralysis?” my mom asks.
“Yeah. You know. It’s a thing. When you wake up and you can’t move and you think there’s a demon on the end of your bed but really you’re in some half-asleep state.”
She frowns in horror. “You saw a demon?”
“No, no, no,” I quickly assure her, making sure I keep my voice down as we step into the quaint little café that smells like roasted green tea. “No demons. Just…a feeling. Anyway, it scared me.”
“And then what happened?”
I shake my head. “That was it.”
She squints at me as we get in line for the barista. “Liar.”
“What?”
“Something else happened. What was it?”
I try and think quick. I can’t tell her everything. I decide to go with might be less concerning.
“Well,” I say, looking around to see if anyone is going to hear this part. So far everyone in this café is minding their own business and the plunky Japanese music is drowning them out. “I heard a lullaby sung in my ear.”
“A lullaby? That’s not so bad.”
“It was a creepy lullaby. And not because I was hearing things in the middle of the night, feeling like there was something sitting on my chest. The lyrics were creepy. Something about stripping me to the bone…” I shiver, despite the warmth of the café.
“You want to know what I think?” she says after a moment. “I think that’s what you get for throwing a Halloween party for vampires.”
And at that, the woman in line in front of us glances at us over her shoulder, giving us a funny look. Thankfully, no one in their right mind would actually believe in real vampires, but even so it’s not something we talk about much outside of the house.
My mom is quiet after that and I order a latte from the barista, getting an extra shot of espresso and brown sugar for an added kick. She’s right, anyway. Obviously, my dream was attributed to Halloween and the damn house. I almost mention the thing about the veil being the thinnest during Samhain, but decide against it. She doesn’t need something else to worry about.
I pay and get my latte, the price cheaper than Starbucks and they used the good oat milk that doesn’t taste like porridge, then we head out of the comfort of the café into the cold wispy autumn air.
“Listen, one of the reasons I asked you to walk with me is because I want to talk to you about something,” my mother says to me, pointing at a nearby bench. “Here, sit.”
