"Nasty... Who are you?"

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"Haunting Remembrance"

Disclaimer: "Samurai Troopers" is copyright © Sunrise, Inc. and all others associated with legal rights. Dreams is a poem written by Edgar Allan Poe.

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"Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!
My spirit not awakening, till the beam
Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.
Yes! tho' that long dream were of hopeless sorrow,
'T were better than the cold reality
Of waking life, to him whose heart must be,
And hath been still, upon the lovely earth,
A chaos of deep passion, from his birth..."

As she paused from reading the poem, Nasty lifted her head and noticed blood dripping from the ceiling. With a started gasp, she jumped off the sofa in a flash. Her poetry book slipped from her lap and fell to her feet. She silently watched as the drops of crimson trickled from the ceiling down to the white floors. A tiny pool of red liquid stained the ground.

Swiftly she dashed to her study, which was just around the corner. She searched the room, along the walls decorated with samurai swords and ancient artifacts until she found what she desired: a small spear. The Samurai Troopers helped her train to use this particular weapon because it was lightweight and fairly easy to use. Even after they had left the house she continued to train herself in secret.

With a flutter of courage within her stomach, Nasty left the room and quietly made her way upstairs. Fortunately the stairway was short and narrow so nobody could get past her without knowing. That is, no human could perform such a task. If whoever was causing the blood drip was anything but human--she was screwed.

Gripping the spear tightly, Nasty took a deep breath as she fled to the top floor and stood her ground. Peering down the hallway, she discovered nothing out of the ordinary. Slowly she made her way across the hall, poking her head into each room to make sure nobody was there. She couldn't remember exactly where the blood was coming from but she didn't want to take any chances. Personal experience with demons and ghosts from another world made her extremely cautious against the unknown.

As she approached the last room, Edgar Allan's poem flowed within her memory.

"But should it be--that dream eternally
Continuing--as dreams have been to me
In my young boyhood--should it thus be given,
'T were folly still to hope for higher Heaven.
For I have revell'd when the sun was bright
I' the summer sky, in dreams of living light,
And loveliness,--have left my very heart..."

Opening the door, Nasty scrupulously tip toed into the room. What she discovered caused her to drop her weapon. It fell softly onto the carpeted floor and an uncomfortable silence surrounded her.

In her own bedroom, Nasty watched as a little girl kneeled beside the body of a young man, crying silently. Though both appeared as ghostly images, the woman immediately recognized the weeping child. Long chestnut colored hair, dressed in a green and white school uniform, blue-green eyes wet with tears...

"Me," she whispered quietly to herself. "It's me..."

She leaned against the doorframe and tilted her head back. She glanced at the ghostly body of the fallen boy and sharply turned away. She all too soon noticed the blood oozing from his chest that soaked the floor.

"That boy," she murmured under her breath, "it's been so long since I last saw him." Yes, I remember him. He asked me for help and in the end I destroyed him... He was the reason I became involved with the armor legend. He appeared to me as a pretty boy who became my friend. I was only ten years old but he was my best friend. He trusted me and confided in me as I did him. He revealed to me the world of the demons, the Netherworld, Arago, and Kaos.

"Don't leave me," the little girl sobbed as she buried her face into her hands. "Please... Don't leave me...!"

The pallid corpse said nothing. Nasty sighed and hugged herself as she closed her eyes.

I remember the one day... The demon soldiers kidnapped me. He came to my rescue and fought bravely. It was the first time I witnessed any sort of skilled fighting; long before the Samurai Troopers, it was he who fought for me. I almost died if he hadn't been for him. But...

"NO!"

Opening her eyes, Nasty saw herself holding a bloody dagger. A faint trail of his blood trailed along the fine, silver blade. It was the dagger he gave her to use on him. With a cry, she threw the dagger across the room and fell to her hands and knees. Lifting her head, tears blurred her vision as she watched the little girl continue to sob soundlessly.

Since his death, Nasty had become devoted (one could say obsessed) with the armor legend. This caused her to lose friends and loved ones as she became withdrawn. While she kept a smile upon her face, she experienced melancholy and forlorn on the inside. She kept up the facade even to this day. She had few friends and even they knew nothing of her past, her early erudition with demons.

"You continue to haunt me year after year," Nasty spoke shakily to the ghostly body. Crawling on hands and knees, she made her way to the crying child. The little girl vanished like a soft whisper into the night and Nasty took her place. Reaching out with a trembling hand, her fingertips went through the boy's body as she tried to touch him.

She screamed, "How can you call me a friend and allow me to hurt you?! I should have never ended your life the way like you asked!"

"'T was once--and only once--and the wild hour
From my remembrance shall not pass--some power
Or spell had bound me--'t was the chilly wind
Came o'er me in the night, and left behind
Its image on my spirit--or the moon
Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon
Too coldly--or the stars--howe'er it was
That dream was at that night-wind--let it pass."

Images of the Samurai Troopers filled her mind. Nasty sat upright as she blinked away the tears.

"My friends," she said, "the armored warriors he spoke of... Yes, they've been there for me. Because of you, my friend, I was able to make them my family. I was forced to grow up early after what happened... However... Ryo, Touma, Seiji, Shin, and Shu... They taught me how to act young again. They made me smile and laugh genuinely for the first time since you came into my life."

The boy's body vanished along with the blood. The deep red stain disappeared along with the specter and Nasty sighed. Slowly she climbed to her feet and placed her hands over her heart.

"As the Samurai Troopers have demons to fight," she said, "I have my own to conquer. It still hurts that you are gone, but it's because of you that I am able to move on. Thank you... My dear friend. You, pretty demon child, will always be my best friend."

Something fell upon Nasty's bed. The young woman spun around and noticed her poetry book occupying the center of her mattress. She approached her book and reached out for the book. Upon opening it, her eyes fell upon the last verses of the poem:

"I have been happy, tho' but in a dream.
I have been happy--and I love the theme:
Dreams! in their vivid colouring of life
As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife
Of semblance with reality which brings
To the delirious eye, more lovely things
Of Paradise and Love--and all our own!
Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known."

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Author's Note: Strange story, huh? I hope I have succeeded in either scaring readers or just confusing them. I wanted to write something different so this is what I came up with. Please e-mail me and tell me what you thought of this story or of the others I've written!