Sweet Seduction Sayonara by Nicola Claire

over or anything as obvious as that. But it has been moved. I know this, because I bumped into it this morning, rounding the hood of the car. I then took the time to place it on the bench, beside the back door.
    But now it's on the floor again. Pushed up against the bench, as though shoved there in a hurry. Had it fallen from its perch, it would have spilled open; the latch doesn't work and it's top heavy.
    I stare at it for a long moment, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. Everything else looks in order. The back door bolted shut.
    But I swear someone has been in here.
    My eyes dart around, but nothing else seems out of place. I begin to wonder if I might have made a mistake.
    Shaking my head, I push through the internal door and walk toward the kitchen.
    Nothing's out of place here that I can see. Not that I remember clearly where everything was when I left this morning. Unlike the toolbox, I didn't pause to shift anything on my way out of the house.
    I put my keys on their hook and throw my briefcase on the centre island bench, then peer inside the fridge for inspiration.
    A creepy feeling rushes down my spine and I whirl away from the miserable contents of my refrigerator and stare out across the room.
    This is ridiculous.
    But I pause for a carving knife from the block by the sink before I head toward the dining room.
    Everything looks in order here. Dust motes float on the air in the fading light through the window. Nothing makes a sound; you could hear a mouse fart, it's so quiet.
    I roll my shoulders and walk into the lounge, the knife out before me like a shield. I grip it almost too tightly.
    The lounge is empty; I'm strangely disappointed. My palm is sweating where it holds the handle on the knife. I flex my fingers, scanning the room for any changes.
    The TV remote is on the floor, but I could have left it there last night. Sports mags are scattered over the coffee table; I never stack them. The cushions on the couch are scrunched up, as though I just got up and didn't fluff them
    An intruder would look under cushions, wouldn't they?
    I let out a slow breath of air, glad Momoko can't see me now; afraid of shadows.
    By the time I make it my bedroom, I think I might be imagining things. But this time, there's no mistaking I've had a home invasion.
    Someone has taken a dump on the middle of my bed. I scrunch my nose up, surprised I didn't smell it before I made it into here. But I cleaned the main bathroom across the hall on the weekend and the bleach is still permeating the air out there.
    I stare at the pile of shit just sitting there and then I start to laugh.
    Who does this kind of thing?
    I check the rest of the bedrooms, leaving the clean-up in the master until later - I've already decided to roll the duvet and bedding up and chuck the whole thing - and everything appears in order.
    But not so when I make it to my home office.
    It's been trashed. The laptop. The stereo. The wall mounted TV. The filing cabinet is on the floor, scratch marks indicate where they've broken the locks on the drawers. Folders are scattered everywhere. Ink from broken fountain pens has been splattered across the walls.
    My diploma has been torn out of its frame and ripped into shreds, then set alight in an ashtray.
    I'm dumbfounded. Silent. The knife forgotten at my side.
    I walk over to the desk - the only piece of furniture still standing - and stare at the lettering carved into the leather insert on top.
    It's in hanzi or maybe kanji. In my current state, I can't tell the difference.
    For a horrible moment, I think this message is from Koki.
    But then sanity returns and I get out my cell phone. It takes a few minutes to determine the characters are Chinese.
    It takes longer to translate them.
    If you walk on snow, you cannot hide your footprints.
    What the hell is that supposed to mean? It sounds like a proverb. Another quick search on the Internet shows it’s one meant to convey harmony. I scan the destruction of my