Bay Chats: The Podcast Episode 2 – “Cold Confections and Colder Truths: An Interview with Oyuki”
INTRO MUSIC PLAYS
A delicate, eerie theme drifts in: soft wind chimes, a slow waltz on piano, the faint clink of a silver spoon against porcelain, and a whispery sound that may be static or may be someone from beyond the veil asking for napkins.
BRENDA: Welcome back to Bay Chats, the podcast where Snowdrift Bay tells its stories, and sometimes those stories whisper from the freezer vent.
PHILIP: I’m Philip. Your local skeleton correspondent, film obsessive, and a man currently sitting across from a guest whose place of business once made me rethink the spiritual implications of hot fudge.
BRENDA: And I’m Brenda. I believe ice cream is an emotional event, and today’s guest has built an entire business around proving that with fog, waffle cones, and a level of ambience that may violate at least three health codes.
PHILIP: Allegedly.
BRENDA: Correct. Allegedly.
PHILIP: Today we are joined by the owner and spectral soul of Chill of the Beyond Creamery.
BRENDA: Ice cream artisan. Ghostly entrepreneur. Master of frozen melancholy. Creator of Butterscotch Oblivion, which I once ate during a bad week and saw my tenth birthday from a different angle.
PHILIP: Please welcome Oyuki.
OYUKI: Thank you for having me.
A faint chill passes over the microphones.
PHILIP: Did the room just get colder?
OYUKI: Yes.
PHILIP: Intentional?
OYUKI: Mostly.
BRENDA: Great start.
OYUKI: Before we continue, please do not eat anything with sprinkles during this interview.
PHILIP: Oh.
A small paper bag crinkles.
BRENDA: Philip.
PHILIP: I didn’t know there were rules.
OYUKI: Sprinkles anger the quiet ones.
BRENDA: The quiet ones?
OYUKI: You will know if you anger them.
A pause.
PHILIP: I am putting the cookie down.
BRENDA: Wise.
OYUKI: Yes.
PHILIP: I don’t like that we’re two minutes in and I’m already making survival choices.
BRENDA: That’s basically the Chill of the Beyond experience.
OYUKI: Thank you.
BRENDA: That was a compliment?
OYUKI: I accepted it as one.
PHILIP: So, Oyuki, for listeners who somehow have not been to Chill of the Beyond, first of all, fix your life. Second of all, can you describe the creamery in your own words?
OYUKI: Chill of the Beyond is a place where the living may experience sweetness, cold, and a carefully managed awareness of mortality.
BRENDA: That is exactly what it feels like.
PHILIP: It also has booths.
OYUKI: Yes. Mortality is easier to contemplate while seated.
BRENDA: The first time I walked in, I remember the fog rolling across the floor, the lanterns flickering, the little silver spoons lined up perfectly, and this whisper from somewhere near the toppings bar that said, “Choose wisely.”
OYUKI: That was probably the toppings bar.
PHILIP: The bar itself?
OYUKI: It has opinions.
PHILIP: Does every part of the creamery have opinions?
OYUKI: No. The napkin dispenser is refreshingly neutral.
BRENDA: So what made you decide to open an ice cream shop?
OYUKI: I have always appreciated cold.
PHILIP: That tracks.
OYUKI: Cold clarifies. It slows things down. It makes sweetness sharper. People reveal themselves when handed something beautiful that is already melting.
BRENDA: That’s gorgeous.
PHILIP: That’s also why I eat ice cream too fast and then regret being alive, which is complicated for me.
OYUKI: Yes. Brain freeze is a small rehearsal for death.
PHILIP: I’ve never heard it put that way.
BRENDA: You’re going to quote that constantly.
PHILIP: I am absolutely going to quote that constantly.
BRENDA: But why ice cream specifically? You could have opened a tea room. Or a winter-themed spa. Or one of those very intense candle shops where everything is named after grief.
OYUKI: I considered candles.
PHILIP: Of course you did.
OYUKI: But flame and I have a complicated relationship.
BRENDA: Because you’re a ghost?
OYUKI: Because fire is impatient.
PHILIP: That feels like a quote on the wall of a very expensive restaurant.
OYUKI: Ice cream requires patience. Timing. Balance. You cannot rush the base. You cannot bully texture into being smooth. You cannot hide poor technique beneath dramatic fog.
A pause.
BRENDA: Have you tried?
OYUKI: Once.
PHILIP: What happened?
OYUKI: The fog told me it was ashamed.
BRENDA: Harsh.
OYUKI: Correct.
PHILIP: Your flavors are kind of legendary around town. Phantom Fudge Ripple. Lavender Grave Mist. Midnight Vanilla. Eternal Marzipan. Butterscotch Oblivion.
BRENDA: Which is dangerous.
PHILIP: Emotionally or legally?
BRENDA: Both.
PHILIP: Where do these flavors come from?
OYUKI: Dreams. Regret. Weather. Forgotten birthdays. The sound of your name spoken by someone who no longer remembers why it mattered.
BRENDA: And marshmallow?
OYUKI: Sometimes.
PHILIP: Just a hint?
OYUKI: If the wound calls for it.
BRENDA: See, that’s what I love about your ice cream. It sounds terrifying, but then you taste it and it’s genuinely good. It’s not just a gimmick.
OYUKI: A gimmick melts. Craft remains.
PHILIP: I want that embroidered on something.
BRENDA: You don’t embroider.
PHILIP: I could start.
BRENDA: You cannot hold needles correctly.
PHILIP: Oyuki could haunt someone who embroiders for me.
OYUKI: I would consider it.
BRENDA: Oyuki, you’re not helping.
OYUKI: I rarely promise to.
PHILIP: Let’s talk atmosphere. Because Chill of the Beyond is not just “an ice cream place.” You walk in and immediately feel like you’ve been invited to a dessert séance.
BRENDA: The lighting alone has a backstory.
OYUKI: The lanterns are important.
PHILIP: Are they haunted?
OYUKI: Two are haunted. One is dramatic. One is simply defective.
BRENDA: Which one flickers when people lie?
OYUKI: The defective one.
PHILIP: That’s funnier.
OYUKI: It thinks it has a gift.
BRENDA: What vibe are you going for overall?
OYUKI: Ethereal discomfort with a touch of whimsy.
PHILIP: Nailed it.
BRENDA: Completely.
OYUKI: I want customers to feel welcome, but not entirely safe from introspection.
PHILIP: That is extremely accurate. I once ordered a single scoop of Phantom Fudge Ripple and left thinking about every friendship I failed to maintain after 2007.
BRENDA: You were unbearable for two hours.
PHILIP: The fudge had depth.
OYUKI: The fudge remembers.
BRENDA: Does anyone ever complain that the creamery is too spooky?
OYUKI: Yes.
PHILIP: And?
OYUKI: They are entitled to their reaction.
BRENDA: That was almost reassuring.
OYUKI: I do not punish discomfort. I only punish rudeness.
PHILIP: Important distinction.
BRENDA: What counts as rudeness at Chill of the Beyond?
OYUKI: Snapping at staff. Mocking the flavor names. Asking if the fog costs extra. Saying, “Do you have normal vanilla?” in a tone that implies my vanilla has committed a crime.
PHILIP: Has it?
OYUKI: Not since the permit issue.
BRENDA: I’m sorry, the vanilla had a permit issue?
OYUKI: We resolved it.
PHILIP: Follow-up question rejected by my instincts.
BRENDA: Good call.
PHILIP: Since you are a ghost, we should probably address ghost logistics.
OYUKI: I accept the category.
BRENDA: Do you sleep?
OYUKI: Sometimes. I prefer to drift.
PHILIP: Different from floating?
OYUKI: Floating is physical. Drifting is emotional.
BRENDA: That makes sense.
PHILIP: It does, and I resent that.
BRENDA: Do you ever get tired?
OYUKI: Not in the way the living do. I become… thin.
PHILIP: Thin?
OYUKI: Less anchored. Too much noise, too much heat, too much unfinished sorrow. I retreat to the walk-in freezer and listen to the hum until I feel defined again.
A brief silence.
BRENDA: That’s beautiful.
PHILIP: Also deeply sad.
OYUKI: Most beautiful things are at least a little sad.
BRENDA: Do you eat your own ice cream?
OYUKI: No.
PHILIP: Because ghost?
OYUKI: Because ghost.
BRENDA: Then how do you taste it?
OYUKI: Through memory.
PHILIP: That is either poetic or a health inspection nightmare.
OYUKI: Both can be true.
BRENDA: So when you’re developing a flavor, what does that look like?
OYUKI: I begin with a feeling. Then a temperature. Then a texture. Flavor comes last.
PHILIP: That is the opposite of how I choose snacks.
BRENDA: You choose snacks based on packaging and whether the mascot looks haunted.
PHILIP: And I stand by that.
OYUKI: Packaging is a kind of omen.
PHILIP: Thank you.
BRENDA: Don’t encourage him.
OYUKI: I encourage selectively.
BRENDA: What was the hardest flavor to perfect?
OYUKI: Butterscotch Oblivion.
PHILIP: Because butterscotch is the official flavor of Snowdrift Bay?
OYUKI: Yes. That made it dangerous.
BRENDA: Dangerous how?
OYUKI: People here have opinions about butterscotch. Deep opinions. Territorial opinions. A butterscotch flavor cannot simply be sweet. It must understand the town’s soul.
PHILIP: That sounds like a lot to ask from dairy.
OYUKI: I asked more.
BRENDA: And Oblivion?
OYUKI: The finish.
PHILIP: What’s in it?
OYUKI: Butter. Brown sugar. Salt. A whisper of burnt vanilla. A ribbon of dark caramel. And the sensation of standing alone on a pier after everyone else has gone home.
BRENDA: I knew it.
PHILIP: Knew what?
BRENDA: That’s exactly what I tasted.
PHILIP: I tasted caramel and fear.
OYUKI: You were close.
BRENDA: Okay, we do have to ask about something.
PHILIP: Brenda has written this in the notes as “ask carefully,” which always means we’re about to ask something very normal in the worst possible way.
BRENDA: It’s not that bad.
PHILIP: You underlined “carefully” three times and drew a little skull next to it.
BRENDA: That was decorative.
PHILIP: It was labeled “legal concern.”
OYUKI: You may ask.
BRENDA: You are sometimes described around town as a vengeful ghost.
A pause.
OYUKI: Yes.
BRENDA: More specifically, people have described you as… onryō-adjacent.
OYUKI: That is more accurate.
PHILIP: Onryō-adjacent. So not fully onryō?
OYUKI: I have many qualities associated with onryō. Lingering resentment. Unfinished business. A certain relationship with curses, cold rooms, and morally targeted consequences.
BRENDA: Morally targeted consequences.
PHILIP: That phrase just put on a black robe and walked into court.
OYUKI: But true onryō can be very dramatic.
BRENDA: Dramatic how?
OYUKI: Long hair over the face. Slow crawling. Vengeful moaning in wells. Elaborate grudges. Hours of damp theatricality.
PHILIP: Damp theatricality.
OYUKI: Yes. So much moisture.
BRENDA: You’re mocking them a little.
OYUKI: I am.
PHILIP: Are you allowed to mock true onryō?
OYUKI: They mock themselves by entering rooms backward.
BRENDA: That feels dangerous to say on a recorded program.
OYUKI: They know what they did.
PHILIP: Do you know many true onryō?
OYUKI: Too many.
BRENDA: Are they going to be angry about this?
OYUKI: Probably.
PHILIP: And you’re fine with that?
OYUKI: If they want to express themselves, they can schedule a haunting like adults. Besides, they ruined last year’s Secret Santa.
PHILIP: Okay, we need to unpack that. You do a Secret Santa with onryō?
OYUKI: Yes, but they give terrible gifts. One can only have so many cursed videotapes before the novelty wears off. A new blender would have been nice.
BRENDA: That is an incredible sentence.
PHILIP: I’m writing it down.
BRENDA: So how would you define yourself?
OYUKI: A vengeful ghost with standards.
PHILIP: Better or worse than onryō-adjacent?
OYUKI: More concise.
BRENDA: What does vengeance look like for you? Because earlier you said you don’t punish discomfort, only rudeness.
OYUKI: Correct. Discomfort is honest. Rudeness is a choice.
PHILIP: And choices have consequences.
OYUKI: Exactly.
BRENDA: How severe are we talking?
OYUKI: It depends on the offense.
PHILIP: That was not calming.
OYUKI: If someone is merely impolite, perhaps their spoon bends. Perhaps their cone leaks from the side in a way that feels personal. Perhaps they hear whispering from their freezer for a few nights.
BRENDA: A few nights?
OYUKI: Three at most. Four if they used the phrase “ghost lady” while snapping their fingers.
PHILIP: That feels fair.
BRENDA: Philip.
PHILIP: I’m not endorsing haunting. I’m recognizing escalation structure.
BRENDA: And if someone does something worse?
OYUKI: Then the consequences become more memorable.
PHILIP: Define memorable.
OYUKI: A man once mocked Lavender Grave Mist, shouted at my staff, and threw a sample spoon into the fog because he believed it would be “funny.”
BRENDA: Oh no.
OYUKI: For six nights, every mirror in his house showed him as he appeared during his most embarrassing middle school recital.
PHILIP: That is severe.
BRENDA: What was the recital?
OYUKI: Patriotic tap.
PHILIP: Devastating.
BRENDA: Did he apologize?
OYUKI: On the seventh day. With flowers.
PHILIP: To you?
OYUKI: To the spoon.
BRENDA: Good.
OYUKI: Another customer tried to leave without paying.
BRENDA: What happened to him?
OYUKI: For one month, every coin he touched became cold enough to hurt. Badly.
PHILIP: That is incredibly specific.
OYUKI: Vengeance should be tailored.
BRENDA: Like a suit.
OYUKI: Like a winter coat lined with regret.
PHILIP: What happened to him?
OYUKI: He went cashless. So I made his credit cards insult him whenever he tried to use one. That lasted for four days.
PHILIP: You’re making the true onryō sound less organized.
OYUKI: Many of them are. They rely too much on spectacle. Hair in the drain. Faces in windows. Sudden appearances in reflections. It has impact, yes, but where is the craft?
BRENDA: You’re saying vengeance needs craft.
OYUKI: Of course. Anyone can shriek in a hallway.
PHILIP: I feel attacked.
BRENDA: You do shriek in hallways.
PHILIP: Only when startled by Leon.
OYUKI: Understandable.
BRENDA: Have you ever gone too far?
A pause.
OYUKI: Once.
PHILIP: Oh.
OYUKI: A man insulted Butterscotch Oblivion.
BRENDA: Oh no.
PHILIP: In Snowdrift Bay? Bold.
OYUKI: He called it “caramel with a mood disorder.”
BRENDA: I gasped.
PHILIP: I don’t even breathe and I gasped.
OYUKI: I made his tongue fall out. For a week.
BRENDA: A week?
OYUKI: It was excessive.
PHILIP: Was it?
BRENDA: Philip.
OYUKI: I reduced it to five days after reflection.
BRENDA: That’s growth.
OYUKI: Thank you.
PHILIP: So when people call you onryō-adjacent, you don’t object?
OYUKI: No. It is close enough for conversation and distant enough to avoid committee membership.
BRENDA: There are committees?
OYUKI: True onryō love committees.
PHILIP: That surprises me.
OYUKI: It shouldn’t. They adore grievance procedures.
BRENDA: Of course they do.
OYUKI: Minutes are taken. Wells are assigned. Hair maintenance is discussed at length.
PHILIP: Hair maintenance?
OYUKI: Constantly.
BRENDA: You sound exhausted by them.
OYUKI: I respect their history. I simply do not need to attend three meetings about wailing standards.
PHILIP: Wailing standards.
OYUKI: Volume, duration, emotional clarity. There are subcommittees.
BRENDA: I want to hear those minutes.
OYUKI: You do not.
PHILIP: I absolutely do.
OYUKI: That is why you are not invited.
BRENDA: Do you worry people are afraid of you?
OYUKI: Sometimes.
PHILIP: Does that bother you?
OYUKI: When they are afraid because I am a ghost, yes. When they are afraid because they mocked a server, cheated a friend, or used the phrase “just ice cream” within my walls, no.
BRENDA: “Just ice cream” is bad?
OYUKI: Very.
PHILIP: How bad?
OYUKI: Their next cone will know.
PHILIP: I don’t know what that means.
OYUKI: Neither will they until it happens.
BRENDA: Let the record show Oyuki confirms the vengeful ghost label, accepts onryō-adjacent, and has done almost nothing to make that sound less frightening.
OYUKI: I believe I downplayed it.
PHILIP: You described vengeance committees and tongue-removal punishments.
OYUKI: Lightly.
BRENDA: I respect the attempt.
OYUKI: Thank you.
PHILIP: Honestly, I respect the branding.
OYUKI: It is not branding.
A faint whisper passes close to the microphone.
OYUKI: Mostly.
BRENDA: We’re going to move into our speed round.
PHILIP: Three questions. Fast answers. Minimal haunting.
OYUKI: I make no promises.
BRENDA: Question one: favorite ice cream flavor of your own creation?
OYUKI: Frozen Regret Ripple. Deep cherry core. Bitter chocolate. A finish like an apology that came too late.
PHILIP: That was one answer and a full short story.
BRENDA: Question two, always: favorite movie?
OYUKI: Only Lovers Left Alive.
PHILIP: Excellent choice.
OYUKI: They understand eternity, silence, and eyeliner.
BRENDA: That is probably the best review of that movie I’ve ever heard.
PHILIP: I’m furious I didn’t say it.
BRENDA: Question three: biggest workplace disaster?
OYUKI: Whirly got stuck in the walk-in freezer.
PHILIP: Oh no.
BRENDA: How?
OYUKI: He said he was “testing the airflow.”
PHILIP: Of course he did.
OYUKI: The door closed. He claimed the resulting screaming was performance art.
BRENDA: Was it?
OYUKI: No.
PHILIP: How long was he in there?
OYUKI: Nine minutes.
BRENDA: That’s not very long.
OYUKI: For him, it was a one-act opera.
PHILIP: Did he learn anything?
OYUKI: He tried to bill me for “emotional refrigeration.”
BRENDA: There it is.
PHILIP: And did you pay?
OYUKI: I gave him a coupon for Minty Cold Despair.
PHILIP: Fair.
BRENDA: Final question. We ask every guest this.
PHILIP: What does Snowdrift Bay mean to you?
A long pause. The freezer hum seems louder for a moment.
OYUKI: Snowdrift Bay is the one place where I am not treated as an interruption.
BRENDA: Oh.
OYUKI: Elsewhere, a ghost is a warning. A remnant. A problem left unsolved. People want you explained, banished, pitied, or feared.
PHILIP: And here?
OYUKI: Here, someone asks if the ghost has waffle cones.
A soft laugh from Brenda.
OYUKI: Here, the living and the dead stand in the same line, argue over toppings, complain about parking, and pretend not to be moved by the same sunset.
BRENDA: Keep going.
OYUKI: Snowdrift Bay is absurd, but it does not ask me to become less strange to belong. It lets me be cold. It lets me be kind. It lets me be unfinished without treating me as broken.
A quiet pause.
OYUKI: And sometimes, it lets me serve sherbet shaped like constellations to people who have had a difficult day.
BRENDA: I’m crying into my notebook.
PHILIP: I’m trying to emotionally recover, but I made the mistake of eating Phantom Fudge Ripple during that answer.
BRENDA: You ate during the interview?
PHILIP: It didn’t have sprinkles.
OYUKI: Phantom Fudge Ripple is not meant to help.
PHILIP: It’s not?
OYUKI: It is meant to reveal.
PHILIP: It is revealing that I need to sit down, and I am already sitting.
BRENDA: Oyuki, thank you so much for being here.
OYUKI: Thank you for inviting me.
PHILIP: And thank you for not placing any kind of curse on our recording equipment.
OYUKI: I did not need to.
BRENDA: That’s reassuring.
OYUKI: It is already fragile.
PHILIP: Less reassuring.
OUTRO MUSIC PLAYS
Soft bells, a low winter wind, the faint chime of an antique register, and something that sounds suspiciously like a freezer door opening by itself.
BRENDA: Thanks for listening to Bay Chats. Next time, we’ll be talking to someone new from Snowdrift Bay, assuming Philip stops emotionally processing dessert long enough to edit this.
PHILIP: Please subscribe, tell a friend, and remember: if a ghost offers you ice cream, accept the ice cream and be polite to the staff.
OYUKI: Excellent advice.
BRENDA: Any final words for our listeners?
OYUKI: Yes. Do not mock the fog.
PHILIP: That feels broadly applicable.
BRENDA: Goodnight, Snowdrift Bay.
PHILIP: Goodnight.
OYUKI: Stay cold.
OUTRO MUSIC FADES
Under the fading music, there is a soft whisper from somewhere near the microphones.
UNKNOWN WHISPER: Sprinkles.
PHILIP: I didn’t touch them.
BRENDA: Recording off. Recording off now.
Recording ends.