Archive of Our Own

     
     She was created somewhere in time. Gradually, accumulating fear after fear, night after night. She was a result of the boundless people’s fantasies. She reflected the fright and the horror of when people lost control in their most vulnerable state – when they slept.
     She existed to be hated.
     She existed to be feared.
     She was the spirit of the night. The one that brought the most terrible nightmares – the Mora.
     
     
     
     Slowly, she bowed down near his tiny, sleeping face. It was the epitome of calm and fairness. She rarely paid attention to the features because while pleasant, they would very soon become distraught and disturbed. That was never a beautiful sight to behold.
     His face, however, unearthed something buried deep inside of her. It was both very familiar and not. Once, a very long time ago, she knew someone… It was a boy that resembled this one. The child was definitely not the same, yet she held still. She was unable to continue, for her memories, which she thought didn’t exist anymore, surfaced. She recalled something from within. Something from another life. From before she became the Mora.
     The boy from her past… The thought of him whirled a warm sensation in her chest. She had liked him very much – he had a sharp mind like no other and seemed to sympathise with her rough self. She never had heard a bad word slipping from his mouth while the rest of the kids side-eyed her and avoided her like the plague.
     What was his name?
     While still staring at the child’s face in front of her, her hands gently lay on his chest.
     Shikanobu? Oh, right. That was the boy’s name, she thought distractedly.
     She nodded to herself, validating her sensations. But there wasn’t time for digging in the past. She needed to keep going – there was work that had to be done. Breathing out, she lowered herself near the child’s ear and whispered, demanding, “Look at me.” Then she dived into his mind, sharp teeth showing and fingers ready to tear his peacefulness to pieces.
     At once, she felt a resistance. A shrill sound erupted – unpleasant but bearable. She could ignore it and so she did. With hands still on his chest, she prepared to push past it. Except her eyes rested on his face again. Something long forgotten furtively moved inside her chest, forcing more memories to seep out.
     What was that?
     Why did she feel the urge to… withdraw?
     She stopped, puzzled. This had never happened to her. Or had it? If it had, it was so long ago that she couldn’t remember; she couldn’t relate to it.
     Why did this sensation appear?
     Why did it affect her?
     Wasn’t she doing her job well? Did she fail?
     
     “Shikamaru, wake up!” The voice pierced the quiet room. The little blonde pattered barefoot over the wooden floor, stopping right beside the other bed. There was a boy lying on it, and she shook him relentlessly with her small pale hands clutching at his pyjamas. “Please wake up! You’re having a nightmare!”
     Another little boy with dishevelled brown hair sat in the third bed. He rubbed his eyes. “What’s up?”
     “Look! He can’t breathe! Do something!”
     The sleeping boy was trying to take a breath, his face pale and covered with small drops of sweat.
     The brown-haired boy quickly jumped from his bed, fully awake, and rushed forward. He squeezed his friend’s shoulders and lifted him up to sit. “Get some water from the kitchen,” he commanded, and then, without a single hint of mercy, slapped the boy.
     
     She watched as the other two children tried to wrench away her prey from her hands. She felt the slip, although she was strong enough to hold him in her power a little longer. He looked just like her long-lost friend. Such a resemblance caused her to soften. And then she let go and stepped back.
     Before she fully lost control, the boy opened his eyes and met hers. Dark eyes, like two coals, stared right at her. The moment was short before she faded into the dream realm while he remained awake. But she stood there, watching in amazement – there had been no fear in his gaze. She couldn’t determine what was there. But fear? She knew how it looked, and this wasn’t it.
     Her hurt pride rose inside of her – she promised herself that fear was what she would see in him from now on.
     
     Shikamaru had caught just a glimpse of the creature that vaguely resembled a woman standing beside his bed. He put it down to his vivid fantasy and still drowsy state. The apparition disappeared quickly as if she dissolved into the air, no trace behind. Except for her eyes. He had blinked a few times, chasing sleep away, yet he could still see them. Like two gleaming lakes, they had burned a bright impression on his memory. And why wouldn’t they? He had never seen anything like that. Her eyes were dim but glowed. They were green but blue at the same time, blending in together. Somehow ancient. Her sight was focused on him with such an intensity that he shivered.
     “You scared me, Shikamaru!” the girl stated and pulled him in for a hug. As she wrapped her hands around him, she also helped him out of his lethargy, bringing his attention into the present.
     Slowly, the lingering after-sleep numbness started to melt away, making him aware of his burning cheek. He lifted a hand and rubbed the sore place. His eyes found the third figure in the room over the girl’s shoulder. “Did you hit me again, Chouji?” he asked, frowning.
     “I kinda had to,” he replied with a shrug. “You started to lose ya breath.”
     “Did I? Or you just wanted to give me a good slap?” He was still breathing a tad heavily.
     A mischievous smile crept over Chouji’s lips. “Both.”
     Shikamaru rolled his eyes. “Right.” He then patted the girl’s back. “You can let go, Ino. I’m fine.” Since she didn’t move, he gently peeled her off of himself.
     “You are not ok. You looked like you were about to die there,” she retorted.
     “But I didn’t die, right?”
     “No. But this has happened three times now. It’s time to tell your folks.”
     “I don’t wanna worry mom. You know how she is. She will become even more overbearing than she already is.” Shikamaru tentatively stretched his arms above his head.
     “Then tell your dad.”
     “He will tell mom.”
     “Then I’ll tell my dad,” she threatened.
     Shikamaru stilled, considering. Maybe the idea wasn’t so bad, for Inoichi possessed a deep knowledge about the human mind. Except, being a dutiful man, he would tell Shikamaru’s mother. However, he couldn't pass up the chance to tease his friend. “Sure. Go ahead, then.”
     Ino stared at him for a moment before she rolled her eyes. Of course she wouldn’t let out a peep – they both knew that.
     
     Mora stepped towards the door and observed it. It was an old one, a real barrier in front of her. But there was a crack end she had used to make an entrance. She shifted and changed her shape to a small snake and quickly slid out.
     
     Shikamaru’s eyes followed the small reptile, his curiosity piqued.

     There had been many Moras before the burden was laid on her fragile shoulders. And there would be many more after her. She had no idea what happened to the Moras once they had been replaced or why it occurred in the first place. She just knew that sometimes the Mora would disappear and a new one would take her place.
     As long as there were people who believed in the Night Spirit, Mora would exist. She would feed herself with their trembles and grow stronger from their terrors.
     
     She had never asked for this. She’d never wanted it or suspected it would come to her. Even so, she embraced the duty that had been laid upon her willingly and with an eagerness any parent would be proud of.
     It had happened a long time ago. One night, her father had woken her, took her hand and told her to follow him. She did. She was a child at the time – barely ten.
     
     She followed the lead of her father until he was no longer the person she knew. He shifted, changed, and turned into something she’d know to be her parent from this point on – Khlad, a God of Death. He’d walk from house to house during the winter, and when he saw flames that were dying in the hearth, he knew: it was his turn to step in and claim his victims. Once too weak to tend to their fire, they were too weak to tend to themselves.
     And just sometimes, he wouldn't let the flames go down on their own but extinguish them with his blue breath blown over their red tongues.
     Mora didn’t remember her father before that.
     She didn’t remember herself before that.
     She didn't remember her brothers before they, too, entered the grey halls and became Zhagor the Restless Spirit and Tuman the Lord of Fog and Illusions.
     Before she became the Mora, she saw her younger brother suffer. His tiny body was unable to relax, unable to fall asleep, bursting with aggression and falling into a depression so deep that he couldn’t be moved out of his bed. That was until he arrived at the grey halls and transformed into an eternal creature, into a spirit called the Restless Spirit, Zhagor. He settled for being the one who kept the people awake. He would whisper in their ears, hiding in the subtle movement of the air in the room. Like Mora, he was executing his job with vigour and accepted it as a mission.
     Mora never questioned it, even if she felt deeply disturbed at first. Not once did she let her feelings affect any of it. She had only one driving force – to be a worthy daughter. So not only did she carry out what she had been given to do, she perfected it.
     
     Every evening before the sun sank down into its soft cloudy bed, Mora was called into the big chamber of the grey halls. The stone walls, so familiar that she remembered no other, whispered forgotten words in a language she only knew once following in the steps of the Mora.
     In the middle of the grated ground, just under the circular hole in the ceiling, there was an old wooden table. Its worn-out surface had seen better days, for it was as old as the need for its existence. Every time she stood beside it, there was a little stone. At least one, at most three. She picked them up and when they lay on her palm, she knew where she had to go and how to get there. No names, no address, no pictures: she did not need any of it to do her job.
     Mora had to attend to every person to make their nights as terrible as possible. She would sneak into the room where they slept. Anything that had been created after she became the Mora, she could simply pass through, ignoring the laws of the earth. However, every door, window, and wall that existed prior to her change into the Spirit of Nightmares stood firmly in her way. She could not bend or touch it, nor could she remove it. To surmount the barriers, she sometimes needed to take a different approach - Mora could shapeshift for her needs. Whether as a tiny snake under the door, a path of sand through the keyhole, or as a night animal through the window, it didn’t matter. She would find a way.
     Then…
     She would hover over the sleeping bodies and clasp her hands while staring at their relaxed faces. Her hands never made a sound.
     She would place her palms on their chest and enter their dreams: she would twist them; she’d chase; she'd take their breath, letting them gasp for air. Sometimes thereafter she would gently wake them yet keep them in her iron grasp. The realisation that they were half awake and unable to move, their limbs filled with lead, seemed to have a devastating effect on many.
     Mora grew to dislike seeing the panic in their eyes; still, it indicated she was doing a perfect job.
     The experience was different every time she dabbled in each destined mind. What she found there, in the back, in the darkest corners, became her tools. If the poor soul was afraid of heights, she’d get in and hang them by the foot over an abyss filled with sharp rock spikes. If one was scared by the dark, she’d toss them into a pitch black dungeon with giant crawling insects and their creepy sounds.
     She knew what she was doing.
     And as the years rolled, she started to notice other things. Things like the age of her victims and their faces. There were more common fears, but sometimes rare and peculiar ones. She was astonished by what could make a person tremble with horror.
     Sometimes she had to visit an old man, losing his strength and having problems with his heart. Other times it was a pregnant woman that was terrified of the birth or the upcoming motherhood. Now and then it was a man in the prime of his life who had doubts about the rightness of his decisions. Most often it was about children… And in the last case, she happened to despise her job the most.
     
     Mora met the sunrise, sitting on the flat roof of the grey halls. She was hugging her knees, pressing them close to her body. She had been alone for a long time, but rarely did she feel so lonely.
     Quiet steps made her look back – it was her other brother, Tuman, wrapped in his black clothes. Their eyes met for a brief moment before she studied the patterns painted over his face.
     “Looks like it’s been a hard night?” he asked, sitting beside her.
     “I don’t know. It was… odd,” she replied.
     “Do you want to talk about it?”
     “No.” Mora shook her head and returned her gaze to the rising disc of the sun.
     “Alright.”
     “I don't mind listening, though. I could use a distraction.”
     “Okay, then.” He took a deep breath before his words started rolling out in his calm, grown-up voice. She closed her eyes, just listening.
     Her brother told her about the travellers he deceived and sent on the wrong path last night. The night air had been crisp and dimmed by a fog – his realm. He was unstoppable when in that weather. Even a pale brume he could use as stage curtains and project his illusions over them. He could shape them and change the looks of the landscape to his needs: shadows playing at the right side of the trees; a pale moon peeking from behind the dark clouds; wind blowing and moving the autumn leaves; a wolf’s howl sweeping through the forest. Her brother could make everyone lose their way.

     Shikamaru entered the Nara clan library with a mission. If there was a creature that caused him to have these vivid nightmares, there should be some information about it. As a starting point for his research, he wanted to focus on what it was and what exactly it was capable of. From then on, he could hope to find something more – a way to stop it. No, not it. Her. It was definitely a woman. Unfortunately, that didn’t make any of his nightmares better.
     He went straight to the oldest section and started browsing through the half-faded titles. There were some promising ones that he took out and piled on one of the tables. When he sat down and opened one of them, he discovered it was written in archaic language and was hard to comprehend. This made his task more complicated.
     Well, he just had to put aside his default lazy attitude for the time being. He was sure it could still turn out fine.
     A few hours later, Shikamaru hadn’t advanced much. Initially, he thought this research would take him about half a day. After he started, he estimated a whole day, maybe two. But if the speed he was going to read with was a few pages per hour, he would need months. It was time to ask for help.
     He hadn’t shared with his friends, but the nightmares had started to appear more often. He would wake up multiple times a night. And even if he didn’t have problems with falling asleep, his rest wasn’t salutary. Shikamaru began to notice a lack of focus, easier aggravation, and increased tiredness that was on par with the one he usually faked.
     He sighed and closed the book with more force than he usually would. After he rubbed his eyes for what felt like a long time, he got up and went on a hunt for his two best friends. They weren’t as quick at reading as he was, but two more pairs of eyes would be nothing but an asset.
     The more complicated part was to admit he had a problem, the solving of which was not within his capacity. He knew what the result should be – getting rid of the wicked creature. Yet he didn’t know how to get to this result. After the last night of particularly bad nightmares, he woke up weeping, out of breath, and uncontrollably trembling. At this point, he was ready to even try an exorcism if he found a source that said it would work. Even a vague confirmation would do.
     
     Ino and Chouji were sitting beside a small wooden table in the Akimichi’s backyard. It was Thursday, which meant that Shikamaru’s two friends played mahjong while Chouji’s mother was baking cookies. The smell floated on the street and made most passengers look around while wiping the drool off their faces.
     Shikamaru approached casually, hands in pockets. He flopped down beside Ino; his eyes quickly scanned the colourful wooden tiles.
     “How come you are here?” Ino asked, not moving her gaze from the pile. “I thought you were busy?”
     “I was.” He sighed heavily. “It turns out I kind of underestimated the thing I wanted to do.”
     Both his friends slowly turned to him. It was very rare he admitted a mistake, especially not unprompted.
     “What’s going on?” Chouji leaned forward.
     “I need help,” he said straightforwardly. Shikamaru couldn’t bear beating around the bush right now. He needed this problem handled quickly.
     Ino and Chouji exchanged puzzled gazes.
     “I have a pile of information to go through.”
     “And you can’t do this on your own?
     “I can. But it’s in the old language and will take me a long time.”
     “I like the old language,” Chouji said, his face lit up. “It’s much more melodic once you find the rhythm.”
     Ino shook her head, sending her blond hair flailing around it. “What’s the information about?”
     Shikamaru remained silent, tapping quietly on the wooden surface. “My nightmares.”
     The girl threw him a sceptical look. “Hold on, if you need a decent dream book to read your nightmares—”
     “No, I don’t want to read them.”
     “Then why do you need a dream book?”
     “When did I say I need one?” His hands trembled with anger. “My nightmares don’t mean anything. But there’s something that causes them, and I want to know what it is.”
     Ino opened her mouth a few times in an attempt to word her thoughts somehow.
     “Why do you think there’s something outside your own head?” It was Chouji who succeeded in expressing what she meant to ask.
     “I…” Shikamaru looked to the side, speaking under his breath. “I saw it.”
     “You what?” Ino jerked in her place, turning to face him fully.
     “I saw it, ok. When you woke me up that night. It was for just a second, when I wasn’t awake but wasn’t asleep either. It was there, real as you are.”
     “I’ll help you,” Chouji stated and offered him a hand in sign of his loyalty and friendship. Shikamaru grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Ino will help you too,” he added matter-of-factly.
     “I can speak for myself, thank you very much,” she snapped. Then she turned to Shikamaru with a worried face. “Ok, tell us what you need us to do.”
     “We need to go to the Nara library and pick up the books.”
     “Na-ah.” Chouji tapped at the table. “First we need to get some cookies.”
     Despite the heavy atmosphere, Ino and Shikamaru burst into laughter. Even in dire situations, Chouji was concerned about food. And more often than not, they were thankful for that later on.

     She leaned forward, hovering over the water’s surface. Before the grey halls, there had been mirrors in which she used to look at herself. She hadn't seen her reflection since she was a child. Her current features were sharp, her face too angular and the colour of ash. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her lips were almost indistinguishable from the rest of her skin. Her hair had disappeared some time ago, and in its place there were relatively thin but prickly, bare branches. Taking off her hood had become hard since they grew on her head, yet it carried a lot of significance – just like someone rolling up their sleeves in preparation to do their job.
     Her fingers ran down her brownish cheek – the skin was so dry and rough. It resembled tree bark, not only by colour but in feel, too, apparently.
     She didn’t have a particular opinion about her looks. She had no problem accepting herself, for she didn’t remember her former self. She just knew she looked different, but she put it down to the time that had passed. It was what it was.
     After a while, she picked herself up and went back to the grey halls where her father and brothers had already gathered. They spoke quietly, not looking at her. Her gaze lay on them, connecting dots and recalling memories until she stilled in place – she couldn’t remember their names. She knew the names of the spirits they represented, of course – Zhagor, Tuman, and Khlad – but their names were missing from her memory.
     And she was “the Mora”.
     For the first time since forever, she felt an overwhelming fear wracking her core – she couldn’t remember her own name

     “So this thing is ‘The Night Spirit of Nightmares’?” asked Chouji after Ino had just read the definition aloud.
     “It matches the description at least.”
     “Here, hear this,” Shikamaru said. His eyes bored into the pages of what the title read as “Gods from the Ancient Times”. His finger followed a line as he spoke: “The one that causes nightmares has been named Mora, the Nightmare Bringer. It’s always a woman. Once she manages to enter the room, she subjects her victim to unimaginable torments and sufferings until they are covered in sweat, lose their breath, and wake up with the urge to scream. Mora may stop visiting a person suddenly. However, often her visits become more frequent, and the consequences of them worsen with time. In these cases, Mora continues to torment her victim until they fail to wake up and their heart stops in their dream.”
     Ino frowned. “Sounds… terrible.”
     “I agree.”
     “Have your nightmares become more frequent?” Chouji asked.
     Shikamaru sighed. “Yes.”
     “And the other symptoms?”
     “Yes. If that’s what awaits me, we really need to do something sooner rather than later.” Shikamaru tried to behave nonchalantly, but his two friends knew him too well. They picked up on the traits of how scared he actually was.
     “Give me that book,” Ino said and pulled the heavy tome from his fingers. “I’ll read it and look for some kind of solution. You try to rest. If that thing comes during the night, then you should sleep during the day when we are together.”
     He looked at her, stunned. He, with all his superior brains, did not think of this simple solution until they found another.
     “Thank you,” Shikamaru whispered and moved himself towards the small couch in the corner.
     After a few minutes, his even breathing announced that he had drifted to sleep. Chouji took off his big cloak and tucked his friend in with it.
     “I don’t want to lose him to that thing,” Ino said.
     “Me neither,” responded Chouji. The hitch in his voice made her look at his face – there were tears in his eyes.
     
     
     The crack under the door had been fixed with an old plank. If it wasn't older than her, then she wouldn't have to take it into consideration. But the keyhole was still usable for an entrance. She reached out to it, and her fingers started to fall apart into countless little particles. Like sand through an hourglass, she slipped into the room and formed a pile onto the wooden floor. When the whole of her passed through, she rose up again, her shape reformed.
     There he was – the boy she needed to tend to. There was a blonde girl sitting in an armchair in the corner. She was sleeping, snoring quietly, her head hanging to the right.
     Mora approached the bed. It was that same boy who resembled so much her forgotten friend. Before she touched the child, she took off her hood, revealing the thorny branches to be seen.
     A disdainful smile appeared on her rough brownish lips – a cross, drawn with coal on the pillow. She had seen this before. Some people believed that such a simple symbol could stop her. The truth was it couldn't. Mora was stronger than that, but it irritated her. She felt a buzzing anger in the place where her stomach once was.
     This boy was going to pay for trying to repel her like a common pest.
     Her smile turned cruel as she laid her hands over his chest.
     “Tremble, you little nothing,” she hissed.
     
     Shikamaru felt as if his body leaped forward and landed into a dark hole. He felt the walls made of cold ground slowly shrinking to crush him in. The little piece of sky was replaced by a woman-like creature’s face. He noticed the eyes, but the trembling fear of being buried alive didn’t let him deal with her looks any further. He had a phobia of confined spaces, and being in one without a visible exit got his pulse accelerating quickly, and he started panting in panic.
     Shikamaru frantically tried to see through the darkness. His hands clawed at the walls, desperate to grab something, anything, he could use to lift himself out of there.
     “You can’t get out, little deer,” a cracking voice whispered right inside his ear.
     His body was shaken by wave after wave of pure terror until he managed to cry out. Burning tears ran down his cheeks as he gasped for air.
     
     She held still. Why did she use “deer”? Where did that come from?
     Somehow, deep inside herself, she knew the name was right, yet she didn’t know why. There was something her old self was well aware of that she, the Mora, couldn’t understand. Nonetheless, that made her angry.
     
     The boy tried to scream, driven by that tiny part in his brain that remained logical and observant. If he could make a sound to wake Ino, she could wake him up. He focused all his will on his lungs and mouth.
     “Shush! Quiet you will be!” the hissing voice commanded.
     Shikamaru succumbed to the order as if the creature had taken over not only his body, but his volition as well. His lips failed to move.
     “Let me go,” he pleaded inwardly.
     The only response he got was laughter and her terrifying face filling his inner sight.
     “No,” was all she said.
     
     “Shikamaru!” Ino’s voice came from far away, but he clung to it like a lifeline.
     He perceived vaguely the shaking, for she must have been trying to wake him. Slowly, he remembered what he read – he had to relax into Mora's embrace, not fight it. Shikamaru used Ino’s calls as a lead, and even though he was scared, he let himself sink.
     To his terror, it didn’t get better. Mora laughed, and he felt how her bony hands pressed on his chest harder, her fingers crawling to grip at his throat. Shikamaru burst into a coughing fit. Relaxing wouldn’t do, so he resumed his attempts to fight her.
     Slap.
     Shikamaru took a sharp breath, filling his lungs to the brim. His eyes shot open, staring right at the bark-like skin and the dim teal eyes. There was a short-lived shock on the ugly face in front of him, just before it dissolved into the air, disappearing for good.
     Minutes later, after he had drunk water and his breathing was normal again, he managed to thank his dear friend for saving his ass yet again.
     “What happened?” Ino asked sitting beside him, not letting go of his hand.
     “The cross on the pillow didn’t work, it seems.”
     “That’s unfortunate.”
     “If anything, it looked like she was aggravated by it.”
     “Oh…” Ino bit her bottom lip and looked at the paper over the table. “So we can scratch that idea for dispelling the Mora, eh?”
     “And the relaxing in sleep idea, too,” Shikamaru said. He couldn’t help a shiver.
     “Alright… There are a few other things we can try.”
     “Yes. I dread our experiments, but I honestly don’t see any other option.”
     “You can tell your mom,” Ino reminded.
     “That’s not an option.”

     Shikamaru unwrapped the gift for his twelfth birthday without much enthusiasm. He could tell by the shape and weight it was a book. And while he was inwardly excited, he made sure not to show it.
     “Oh…” He gasped at the title: “Origin of the Many Things.”
     “It was your great-great-grandfather’s,” his father said. “It’s tradition to receive it on your 12th birthday in our family, so…” He pointed to the item a little helplessly and cleared his throat. “It’s yours now. Until you pass it on, I mean.”
     “Thanks,” Shikamaru mumbled, observing the leather cover and the tiny holes where thread passed to keep the pages together.
     “Give it a go. There are useful things in it.”
     “I will,” the boy promised.
     Their eyes met. His father smiled at him. “Happy birthday, son.”
     “Thank you, Dad.”
     Shikaku awkwardly exited the room and slid the door back in place. He hoped that Shikamaru would understand exactly how precious that book was. It opened his own eyes about many things he only suspected at the time.
     
     Shikamaru ran his fingers over the worn surface of the cover. It looked ordinary, like many of the old books in the clan library. But this carried a different sensation – one of intimacy. He opened it and was met by very untypically chaotic handwriting. It caught his attention immediately. Naras wrote mostly legibly, but usually the letters were ugly to look at. This one was different – he had to put in actual efforts to recognise the words.
     On the second page, there was a bookmark made of folded paper. It was worn out and yellowish, with a few stains of tea or maybe soup. He moved it aside at first, but then his curious nature made him look at it further. Why had no one replaced it with something newer? The answer was obvious – it wasn’t just an ordinary paper. Shikamaru carefully unfolded it – there was a sloppy drawing on the inside, which he turned to the correct side. Then he froze.
     The lines were difficult to make out and faded in places, but he could say it was a girl. Probably around his age or even younger. Her face was smudged, he guessed, from erasing it too many times. There was a crooked smile on her face, somehow charming he could imagine. What caught his full attention, however, were her eyes… He knew that colour and shape all too well.
     Could it be the same human being? What were the odds? But then, the creature torturing him in his sleep was not a human. It was something ancient, a monster – cruel and unforgiving – whose only purpose was to hurt.
     Yet, the eyes of the girl in the picture held hope for the future. The Mora’s eyes only smouldered with lust for torture.
     Shikamaru turned the piece of paper a few times, searching for more clues. He wondered if his father knew anything useful and made a mental note to ask him as soon as possible. Before that, he was going to read a bit from his great-great-grandfather’s book.
     When he had read the first few pages, he realised that the handwriting wasn't clear because it was written by a child. The grammar was nowhere near what it should have been, and there were even spelling mistakes. Shikamaru leafed through the pages only to confirm his suspicion as the words became more easily readable.
     His late relative had told a story about a fishing adventure with his own grandfather, which Shikamaru didn’t find especially valuable. Truth be told, he didn’t find it the least bit interesting. But on page ten, he read a new title: “Sandstorm”. It was about his great-great-grandfather’s trip to Sunagakure when he was about ten years old. His excitement radiated from the sentences as he was explaining about the God of Sand and the God of Wind and how they were brothers. The Sandstorms appeared when they were fighting over a girl who lived there at the time. In the end, she didn’t want either of them and chose an ordinary human for her spouse. As a result, the two God brothers cursed the land so it became dry and hot, and the raging sandstorms wandered about, burying everyone left outside.
     Of course the science at that point had been advanced enough for his great-great-grandfather to not believe in such myths, but it was an entertaining story nonetheless.
     Others followed – about the people in Sunagakure, about the forest around Konoha, and about how deer chose the Nara clan for their guardians. The last one he knew since before he could walk, and it was one he deeply believed. However, he didn’t know who had first written it down.
     When Shikamaru was just a toddler and his parents started to bring him into the forest, he saw the Spirit of the Mother Doe. She was dark and partly transparent, and when she ran, sparkles rose from the ground where her hooves passed. It was a magnificent creature, and he smiled just remembering her. She took care of the forest, keeping it safe from trespassers.
     So if that was true, maybe there was some truth regarding some of the other stories.
     He closed the book and placed it on his nightstand. It was time to meet with Chouji and Ino and pretend to like their congratulations for his birthday. Chouji’s mother was going to make him a cake, so he promised to go there and blow out the candles on it.
     With a moan, he got up and started to dress. A day of celebrations was ahead of him.

     The nightmares became more frequent, and they appeared almost every night. Shikamaru and his friends had read everything they could find on the topic. They had drawn some conclusions and made a list with ideas that they hoped would work out.
     Evening was here; the time for bed was nearing.
     He reread the last story in his great-great-grandfather’s book for a third time. It was not a myth, a fable, or even a tale that was passed over to the generations. It was a story about a girl that came to his school from the land of Sand. He sounded genuinely impressed by her – she had a will to fight everyone who tried to dismiss her or tell her that girls were inferior in any way. There were even detailed descriptions of a few cases where she proved herself better than any boy there was.
     But judging by his words, the girl seemed lonely. And since he had been intrigued, he had tried to befriend her.
     Then she suddenly departed, and he was never able to find her again. There were a few letters tucked inside the back cover – they'd been returned since they couldn’t reach the recipient. Shikamaru read them as well, but apart from the strong desire to keep in touch with her, there was really nothing special about them. Except her name. In one of the letters, he called her by her name.
     “Are you ready?” Ino asked, snapping him out of his little bubble.
     “I’m ready,” he said, and put away the book.
     A few hits with a hammer announced that Chouji was done with blocking the keyhole with the oldest plank they could find.
     They had tried everything that should have dispelled the Mora. The cross on the pillow hadn’t worked for sure. She laughed at the garlic Shikamaru and his friends had scattered over him and around the bed. The poppy seeds didn't seem to have any effect either. The scissor under the pillow worked, though – Mora had stayed in the room for a while, but she hadn’t touched him. He had sensed her and stole a glimpse at her hooded head. The upside-down broom had also been a slight success — Shikamaru had only a light nightmare, but he still had one nonetheless.
     Once the hammering ceased, Chouji entered the room. “This was the last one. There isn’t a single hole or crack left. The room is completely sealed,” he reported.
     “And I tied up the curtains. The moment the sun rises, its rays will shine in,” added Ino.
     Sikamaru took a deep breath before speaking. “So, again. Do you remember what you have to do?”
     “Yes.” Chouji nodded.
     “Of course we do. We’ve been through this like a dozen times already.”
     “I’m sorry, Ino, but my head is hanging on the rope.”
     “I know you’re scared.” She placed her hands on his shoulders. “We are here. We won't leave you to deal with this alone.”
     Chouji stepped closer and laid his big hand on Shikamaru’s chest. “We’re all in. You’re our brother, you know that.”
     “I know… Thank you.”
     Ino squeezed quickly before releasing him from her grip. “Come on now. Get ready for bed and try to be calm, ok?”
     “Calm doesn’t work,” Shikamaru said under his breath.
     “It does until you actually fall asleep, right? Only after that it doesn't. But anyway, she won’t come if you stay awake.”

     Shikamaru lay in bed, his eyes closed. He knew the door had been left cracked open and his friends were on the other side of it. Watching. Waiting. He could count on them without a doubt.
     Gradually, he relaxed until sleep took him into the dream realm.
     
     She stood in front of his door. She knew it by now, for she frequented here almost every night. Something was wrong with this boy. Sometimes there were items in the room that affected her in different ways. Some made her angrier, and she felt like seeking revenge. Others brought her curiosity to the surface. Once there was something that raised a barrier around the boy, and she couldn’t approach him. She couldn’t see what it was, just felt the power chasing her away.
     Mora breathed out, shifting her ethereal body to that of a weasel, and quickly slipped through the tiny opening of the door. This was the first time it had been left this way.
     She remained in her new form until she was right beside the boy’s bed. Only then did she return to her original shape, and as per her ritual, she took off her hood. The pale moon stared at her through the bare window, caressing the thorny branches on her head. She looked eerier than she usually did.
     The boy’s face was relaxed, peaceful even. She had come to like his features and felt sorry that they tensed and changed to fear and panic instead.
     But she had work to do.
     She was Mora.
     She existed to be hated.
     She existed to be feared.
     Bony, grey-tinted hands gently set on his chest. She felt his breathing and the way his heart hit under her fingers.
     
     What was the feeling of being alive? she wondered briefly.
     
     Mora dove into the boy's mind, reaching towards his soul, immersing with it. She knew the way. She had an especially good nightmare for him tonight.
     
     “His breathing changed,” Ino whispered to Chouji.
     “Shouldn’t we wait a few more minutes?”
     A quiet but distraught moan came from his room.
     “No. We act,” she demanded and clutched the scissors in both hands.
     Chouji nodded and carefully lifted the bucket full of forest ground. They both prepared while Ino silently counted to three.
     “Now!” she whispered.
     He opened the door wider and threw the soil on the floor. Ino slid the scissors to the middle of the room and quickly shut the door.
     
     A flicker of movement in the corner of her eye, accompanied by the faint sound of particles skittering over the ground, drew her gaze away from the boy. Dirt had been scattered on the floor all around her. It was puzzling, but not worrying so far. Except that wasn’t the only thing that happened.
     In the next moment an item quickly glided towards her, forming a repelling barrier around it. A silvery sheen caught her attention right before she felt a burning pain like nothing she had ever felt before. She hissed and jumped to the side, losing contact with the boy’s chest. A scream of hurt and frustration tore from her lungs as she jerked away, glueing her back to the wall.
     Her primal instincts kicked in: one more ancient than life itself – fight or flight. Mora couldn’t fight this; she didn’t know how. It was stronger than her. To survive, she had to flee.
     She rushed towards the door only to find it closed. Trembling, she started to look for a crack, for a hole, for anything that would let her get out.
     There was none.
     Mora tried to shift to a weasel again. If she were smaller and more agile, it would be easier to find an exit. But the ground under her feet sucked her magic like a sponge. She couldn’t use her abilities. She was stuck in her current form.
     Panic rose in her chest – for the first time since she could remember, she felt alive, and it freaked her out. Although, she couldn’t pay too much attention to this. She needed to move away from the barrier and maybe find a clean spot where she could shapeshift and sneak out.
     Once the dusk approached, she had to be in the grey halls. No exceptions. Her father had been clear about it. If she wasn’t there, she was going to disappear…
     She was going to die.
     
     Ino’s screams from behind the door finally reached Shikamaru. Even before he managed to open his eyes, he heard the voices of his parents: What’s going on?; Is he alright?; Why are you here and he’s alone?”. He wasn't worried because they had planned this. All three of them were aware that Shikamaru’s parents would come running once Ino started calling him loudly.
     But he knew his folks well. His mother was going to enter an overprotective rage and would try to burst in. His father, however, would probably grasp the situation rather quickly and stop his mother. He hoped the older Nara would use that sharp mind of his and understand.
     Not long after, Shikamaru was awake enough to open his eyes and sit up in his bed. The moon’s rays shone through the window, illuminating the furniture in the room.
     He didn’t notice her at first – she was completely still, crouching in the corner. Her body was transparent but material enough to have its own outline.
     She needed a few moments to realise that he could see her. Once she did, her body shrank more as if she tried to blend in with her surroundings.
     “I can still see you,” he said quietly, trying to make out her face.
     The second he spoke, she pinned him with her eyes – teal, unblinking, and deeply disturbing. They made him flinch and tremble even if he knew she couldn't do anything to him while he was awake. And he did not have any intention to fall back asleep.
     “What have you done?” she grumbled.
     “The situation has come to an impasse. It’s either you or me.” He shifted in his spot uncomfortably. “And you bet I chose me.”
     
     So this child was going to stay there and watch her dissipate, fade out, and die as the sun rose. Mora had never thought that her executioner would be a kid. She should have been more cautious and taken notice of the door left open.

     Tuman walked up to the roof where his sister would usually sit and watch the rising sun. He would find her hunched figure, hugging her knees close to her chest, her teal eyes wide and unblinking, taking in the warmth that the approaching great fire disc could spare for her. He knew the sight of it brought her serenity. It made him feel better about himself, too.
     This time, however, she was not there. The empty roof struck him with piercing anxiety, twisting up his stomach into a tight knot. Something was wrong. Tuman could count the times she had been missing to meet the sunrise on the fingers of one hand.
     And the day was about to spread its light very soon, touching everything with the rays of life. Tuman sensed genuine fear creeping down his back.
     Soft footsteps announced the arrival of another. They had a pattern Tuman knew all too well. It wasn’t her.
     “Where is she?” asked a melodic, quiet voice.
     Tuman closed his eyes, not rushing to answer. She might climb up the stairs any moment, yet he felt as if she were far away. He couldn’t sense her presence in the place they learned to call home.
     “I don’t know,” he answered at last.
     The other man who had taken the role of Zhagor stood beside Tuman. His pale eyes – the same colour as Mora’s – bored into the distance. The dark circles around them made him look tired and angry at the same time.
     “She’s always here, brother,” Zhagor whispered.
     “I know.”
     They shared a long moment of silence. There were no birds chirping, no animals calling in the two men’s surroundings. It was absolutely silent.
     Zhagor placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “She’s not coming back. You know that.”
     “I know,” Tuman replied.
     The thin line of light on the horizon started to blur. Mutely, two burning tears rolled down the man’s painted face, reaching his lips – they were trembling.

     All the visits she had had here… She should have seen what he was trying to do with all the crosses on the pillow, upside-down brooms, garlic over the bed, and whatnot. There was even one time when poppy seeds were scattered on the floor around the room. She had to carefully step around them for they burned her feet otherwise. Looking back now, it had been so obvious. Yet, she didn’t see it. She failed to see it.
     And now the situation had become dire. Mora had nothing – it was all useless… She was trapped like a wild animal with no hope to escape. Waiting for death.
     
     “Once you called me ‘little deer’, do you remember?” Shikamaru suddenly asked.
     She lifted her gaze to him but didn’t answer.
     “Why?” he insisted.
     She remembered using ‘little deer’ for him, but she could not make out any logical reason. It was something old, something she once knew by heart but had forgotten.
     “You won’t tell me?”
     
     Mora didn’t talk to the people. It was beneath her to answer in front of them. She was not going to let any information about her or her family out. Her father had warned her: in case she cannot return for whatever reason, she must keep their secrets.
     
      In the distance, the sun peeked behind the mountain. Its first rays penetrated Shikamaru’s room window landing on Mora, for she was in the faraway corner directly facing it.
     A quiet hiss filled the room, and grey smoke enveloped her hunched form. It was painful to look at, so Shikamaru averted his eyes.
     “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, probably too quiet for her to hear.
     As if for an answer, a desperate cry forced him to turn to her again – she was shapeless, a pile of smoking mess. Mora seemed to be in so much pain that he instantly felt an overwhelming guilt about him being the one that caused it. He jumped out of bed and rushed to pull the curtains down. The task took him a good thirty seconds since Ino had tied them up very well.
     When he was done, he turned to her, ready to reach her in a blink.
     Then he froze, his eyes wide.
     “Who are you?”
     The smoke lifted, revealing a child. She was about ten, or a little older. Her hair resembled the colour of sand, lit by the sun, while her skin was slightly tanned. The expression on her face was one of fright, her body shaking uncontrollably.
     “Shikamaru,” he said, so shocked that he couldn’t possibly ignore her question.
     She looked confused now, as if a memory fought to surface in her mind but couldn’t quite succeed. She carefully sized him up and made a small step.
     “Who am I?” she asked this time.
     Shikamaru opened his mouth to explain to her that she was Mora, the Night Spirit of Nightmares, but then something in his head clicked. He really looked at her.
     Could it be?
     He frantically pulled out his great-great-grandfather’s book and, with trembling fingers, he pulled out the old bookmark. He unfolded it and held it in front of himself, his eyes drifting between the faded lines and the girl’s face. The deer-name she had used made some sense now.
     “Welcome back,” he told her, meeting her puzzled gaze with a warm smile. “Your name is Temari.”
     Shikamaru slowly and carefully handed her the drawing. With astonishing care, she took it as if it was made of the most delicate porcelain. She observed it before lifting her eyes to find the mirror on the wall. Just like he had done earlier, she compared her reflection with what was on the paper.
     Suddenly, tears streamed down her cheeks, and she sobbed.
     Shikamaru stood alert but he neither spoke nor dared to touch her.
     The girl spun to him, her rosy lips pulled into a happy and relieved smile. She caressed the drawing, following every sloppy line.
     “Temari,” she whispered, holding back a sob. “My name is Temari.”