Riddles

It was the winter of my fourth and final year in university. Three friends and I took a somewhat early graduation trip. Taking turns driving, we entered the Kanto region via the Hokuriku route. It was a spur-of-the-moment trip with no hotels booked; we were lucky if we managed to find a business hotel. Every place was fully booked, and there were mornings when we had no choice but to watch the sunrise while shivering in the cold inside the car. We had no purpose. We just wanted to submerge ourselves a little longer in that lazy, idle time peculiar to our student days. I think all of us were indulging in that sentimentality, to a greater or lesser degree. When we arrived in a certain town, a thought suddenly crossed my mind. An acquaintance of mine was supposed to be living around here. I called him on my cell phone, and he sounded genuinely nostalgic. We agreed to meet up in about an hour.

Passing through a newly developed residential area lined with neatly planted trees, I was dropped off on the shoulder of the road. I watched my friends' car drive away after they told me, "Let me know when you're done." Away from the city center, there was far more spatial breathing room than the suffocating, crowd-choked streets. I walked down a path paved with colorful bricks, my steps naturally light and springy, and looked toward an area where large apartment buildings stood clustered together. More like a public housing complex than a modern apartment block. The road leading toward it had a gentle slope, forming a small hill. At the entrance of the complex, there was a park. The wide grounds featured just a few pieces of playground equipment, plenty of greenery, and several benches for the residents to relax. And there he was, sitting on one of them. He squinted against the warm, mild sunlight and waved at me. Feigning embarrassment, I waved back with exaggerated gestures and walked over at a deliberately slow pace. "Um... how have you been? ...Tada-san." I felt a bit awkward. For the past few days, I had only been trading casual banter with my buddies, so my tongue didn't want to move smoothly. He told me he was doing well. He looked a little fuller in the face than before. He was also growing his hair out. Above all, that earnest and sharp gaze of his seemed to have softened. I sat down on the bench next to him and gave him an update on my recent life.

The park in the early afternoon was quiet, save for a young housewife who would occasionally walk past and disappear. "I see, you're graduating too." At his reminiscent voice, I nodded with a guilty conscience. Unlike my friends who were eagerly awaiting graduation, it had already been decided that I would be held back a year due to failing credits. It felt like I had no business going on a trip, though it wasn't as though I had completely given up on everything. At that time, however, I think I was in a state of philosophical calm, feeling that whatever happens, happens. Still, it was embarrassing, so I didn't dare confess the truth.

Bathed in the windless patch of sunlight, the two of us talked about various things. The past—barely two or three years ago—faded away as if it were a distant memory, yet it revived with a faint, lingering glow. "Chie got married, I heard." "Yeah. I was invited to the after-party, and she hasn't changed a bit." When he asked what her husband was like, I replied, "Well, he's that kind of guy," and he laughed, saying, "I see." I could hear the distant sound of a recycling truck driving somewhere far off. He raised his head with a startled expression, looking as though he was trying to remember something, but then immediately muttered, "Never mind." Beside him, I felt a faint pain, like a small needle pricking my chest. I lowered my gaze and asked myself what the root of that pain could be. "Come to think of it, this housing complex has its own seven mysteries," he suddenly brought up. "Eh? Like the ones you always hear about at schools?" "Yeah. Well, there are a lot of kids in elementary and junior high here, so I suppose they started the same way." With that, he began listing them off in order. An old hag who tears up the uphill road to the complex at a hundred kilometers an hour. A severed head hanging from the branches of a zelkova tree in front of Building C at midnight. One's own shadow cast on the wall of Building E in the evening moving on its own. Ghost phone calls coming from the public telephone booth inside the complex. …………

"Those sound like pretty common stories." "True. But it seems many of the housewives here, not just the kids, actually believe in the seven mysteries of this complex. Rumors reach my ears from time to time. I suppose adults who are cooped up in narrow spaces with demanding small children also have festering wounds in their hearts." "Look over there." When I followed his pointing finger, I saw a small jungle gym standing alone beside the swings. "There's a story that a small child suddenly appears inside that jungle gym and plays. The visibility is good, and there's no way anyone could hide in a frame made of such thin pipes, yet before you know it, a young boy is inside the jungle gym when no one should have been there. He apparently crawls around the inside, climbing up and down the pipes. If you happen to see him and pretend not to notice, he disappears again before you know it." "Sounds just like a yokai. To think a rumor exists paired with instructions on how to handle an encounter with the supernatural." "Indeed." Both of us stared at the jungle gym. There was no sign of any boy. I wondered if that piece of playground equipment had always been so small. It felt somehow strange to realize that there was a time in my own life when I used to crawl around and play inside such narrow pipes. "Speaking of children, there's another story. A mother is pushing a stroller through the housing complex when she hears a voice, even though no one is around. She looks around in bewilderment, and then she hears it again. A tiny, whispering voice. It's coming from inside the stroller. Thinking her baby—who couldn't talk yet—has finally learned how to speak, the overjoyed mother peeks inside the stroller. Yet the baby is fast asleep... So what on earth was whispering to the baby?" "That's..." "What is it?" I couldn't bring myself to honestly say, 'That's a scary story.' I tried to think of a rational explanation, but there was too little information. With no other choice, I said, "Isn't it neurosis? Child-rearing neurosis," and he nodded, saying, "Maybe." Then he gazed off into the distance.

Suddenly, I heard a metallic click. A key had fallen onto the ground. It seemed to have slipped out of his jeans pocket. I crouched down, reached out, and picked it up for him. "Sorry about that, in this state." He awkwardly opened his palm to receive it. As I handed it back, our fingertips brushed against each other, making me feel somewhat self-conscious. To hide my bashfulness, I simply folded my fingers. "That makes six, including those." "Huh? Ah, the seven mysteries? Right. The last one is interesting." Interesting? Did that mean it had a punchline? "Interesting, or rather, rare for a ghost story. It goes like this." He explained it to me carefully. In this housing complex, there is a ghost story known as the 'Riddle Uncle.' He is supposedly an uncle living in room 702 of Building A. Why is he called the Riddle Uncle? Exactly as the name suggests, he is an uncle who loves riddles. A child who hears the rumor stands in front of the door of room 702, gives it a knock, pushes the letter flap on the door inward with a click, and speaks into the room: "Uncle, Uncle! What creature is bigger than a whale, but smaller than a medaka fish?" The uncle loves riddles, but he just can't figure out the answer. He thinks and thinks, on and on. Even if you wait in front of the door, there is no reply. Having no other choice, you turn around and go home. The answer is a dolphin. *Dolphin* sounds like *doru ka* (Is it a whale?) in Japanese! That's why it's a dolphin. It's so simple, yet the uncle doesn't get it.

In a room in the children's housing complex, when the family has fallen fast asleep and you are about to go to bed in your own room, you hear a tapping sound at your front door. Since no one else in the family wakes up, you crawl out of bed and cautiously head toward the pitch-black entryway, and the sound of knocking on the door stops.

With a click, the letter flap on the door opens. "What creature is bigger than a whale, but smaller than a medaka fish?" A low, adult voice comes through the letter slot. The voice continues: "The answer is mud. It's mud." The child becomes overwhelmingly terrified. The Riddle Uncle has come. At this kind of hour. Even though it's a dolphin. The answer is obviously a dolphin! Yet the child can't make a sound. "It's mud." Whispering once more, the letter slot clicks back into place. The presence vanishes from beyond the door. The uncle has gone home. Leaving behind an incomprehensible answer: 'mud.'

Such is the rumor. Hearing the rumor, the children of the complex, half for fun, throw riddles one after another into the letter slot of room 702. "What fruit does Dad hate?" "What is something you ride quietly and carefully in the park?" "What bug is right in the middle of the world?" ... The answer is papaya. Because he hates *papa*. The answer is a seesaw. Because you ride it *shii* (quietly) and *sootto* (gently). The answer is a mosquito (*ka*). Because *ka* is right in the middle of *seka*i* (the world). Yet the Riddle Uncle doesn't understand such simple riddles. He thinks about them until the middle of the night and comes to the child's house after the family has fallen asleep. Speaking in a low voice through the letter slot: "The fruit Dad hates is... a pear with teeth." "The thing you ride quietly and carefully in the park is... a hollowed-out elm tree." "The bug in the middle of the world is... the nose-walker." ...

Even if you hear those creepy answers, you must never say 'Wrong.' If you say 'Wrong,' he will whisper another, even creepier answer in a low voice. If you keep that up, you begin to lose track of what the real answer is yourself. The Riddle Uncle won't go home until the answer is figured out. And yet, the answer fades away...

"That's the story." He looked at me as if to ask, 'Well? What do you think?' "That's..." It was certainly scary, but it sounded more like a stalker or a weirdo. "Is room 702 uninhabited?" "No, an uncle lives there." "Eh? So he's a real person?" "Yeah. Just a normal uncle. Of course he's not a ghost. He shows up at the complex residents' meetings and gets along with the neighbors just fine. If anything, he's the most puzzled one about why such a rumor started." "He has no idea why?" "Apparently not. But he likes kids. He used to give them riddles all the time. If they guessed right, he'd give them candy or gum. Conversely, if he couldn't answer the riddles the kids came up with, they'd shake him down for sweets instead." Listening to this, I felt that the uncle must really be doing those things after all. Just with some exaggeration added. "He has a wife, and until recently they were both working, so that house was usually empty during the day. According to the rumor of the seven mysteries, you're supposed to go to room 702 during that daytime. And then, you unilaterally throw riddles into the room through the letter slot. The crucial point of the pattern is that the Riddle Uncle doesn't know the answer, so there's no reply. Naturally, because no one is inside the room. But the weird part is that he comes to talk about the answers to those riddles at night. How does he know those riddles that no one was supposed to be listening to?"

I see. For children, precisely because the house is empty during the day, they can pull off the prank of knocking and throwing riddles through the door's letter slot. And yet, someone who shouldn't be there has heard those riddles. What on earth does this mean?

"I guess it's one of the seven mysteries because there's no answer. That uncle in room 702 got yelled at by his wife because of the weird rumors, and now he's banned from telling riddles. Or rather, he's voluntarily abstained from playing with the neighborhood kids altogether." Considering he seemed like a man who liked children, it felt a little pitiful, but appearances had to be maintained. Maybe he had no choice until things blew over. Blow over? I suddenly thought about it. Would something like that ever blow over? Not something that had become one of the seven mysteries. Even if there was an incident or accident that triggered it, wouldn't something that had turned into a ghost story like this just take on a life of its own, endlessly walking through the children's community and surviving?

"Well, actually... Lately, his wife has been taking time off work and staying home, so even if the kids come during the day, they just get chased away the moment they spout a riddle through the letter slot. His wife is a scary person, so the kids will probably learn their lesson soon." I see. In that case, the rumors might indeed die down. Would the seven mysteries vanish? I let out a laugh. "Is it funny?" I nodded. "But there's one story I heard directly from the man himself that isn't funny at all." "By the man himself, do you mean the uncle?" "Yeah. Back when they were still both working, he happened to take the day off and was alone at home during the day. What he was secretly looking forward to was whether kids drawn in by the rumor would actually come knock on his door and pitch riddles at him. He was apparently grinning to himself, wondering how he could scare them if that happened." "He hadn't learned his lesson at all, then."

Still, there was no sign of any kids showing up. Which made sense. If it was a weekday daytime when people were usually out, the kids ought to be at school. Unless it happened to be a day off, or a Wednesday with no afternoon classes, or something like that.

Since kids didn't seem likely to come, he went to a nearby convenience store to buy some things. When he came back and stood in front of the door to room 702, a thought struck him and he tried knocking. Naturally, since no one was there, there was no reply. He pushed the door's letter slot inward with his thumb. A gap a few centimeters wide opened up. Still crouching, he imitated a child and tossed out a riddle: "Uncle, Uncle! I wanted to chat under the pine tree, but once I walked to the cherry blossom tree, I wanted to play cat's cradle. Why is that?" ...There was no reply. Feeling embarrassed for doing something so stupid, he glanced around the hallway. Wondering what on earth kids found entertaining about this, he opened the door and went inside. He had a lingering fear that someone might be in there, but of course, there was no one. Feeling relieved, he took the items he bought at the convenience store out of the bag and put them in the fridge. As he did, he heard a knock on the front door.

"Coming," he replied, closing the fridge with his heel, and saying "Yes, yes" as he walked to the entryway. He slipped into his sandals and reached out to unlock the door. Then, right below his line of sight, the letter slot clicked. The sounds of the outside world drifted in just a tiny bit. *Murmur, murmur, murmur...* Ah, this is it—the moment he thought that, a voice spoke. "Uncle, Uncle! I wanted to chat under the pine tree, but once I walked to the cherry blossom tree, I wanted to play cat's cradle. Why is that?" Whose voice was that? His hand, about to turn the lock, froze in mid-air. Huh? When did it become night? It was dark. The entryway was dark. The lights. He had to turn on the lights. The voice continued: "The answer is..." Because the tree changed (*ki* changed to *sakura*). The answer is because his mood changed (*ki ga kawatta* - using the kanji for tree). His heart was pounding furiously. A low man's voice, one he felt he had heard somewhere before, whispered: "The answer is, because a corpse is buried under the cherry blossom tree." ...Bang! He kicked the door. The voice fell silent. He immediately unlocked the door and swung it wide open. Light flooded in. It was like a lie that it had been as dark as midnight just a moment before. There was no one outside. No sign of anyone running away either. What on earth was that just now? His legs were shaking uncontrollably. It had sounded just like his own voice. Had he been standing on the other side of the door until just now? He didn't understand what was happening, and could do nothing but tremble.

...Or so the story went.

I watched him put on that playful act with a thrill I hadn't felt in a long time. "That's terrifying." It was a full-blown ghost story. The entity that appeared in the seven mysteries known as the Riddle Uncle was manifesting as something entirely separate from himself. It was as if... When I thought that far, I snapped back to reality and looked at the face of the man sitting beside me. There were simply too many 'things' surrounding this man. Trying to dredge up my own past experiences from the depths of my memory, my consciousness slipped away from this place for a fraction of a second. That was when it happened. My ears picked up the sound of a child's voice. A whiny voice. Close by. A chill ran down my spine, and I cast my gaze toward the jungle gym. My face tightened up, half-expecting to see the figure of a child inside it who shouldn't have been there moments before. One second, two seconds, three seconds... Seeing my reaction, the man seemed to tense up as well, but then he gave a wry smile, realizing what I must have been thinking. Ah, I see. I had deliberately been pretending not to see. Once I calmed down, it wasn't a ghost story at all. Feeling sheepish, I stood up and said, "I need to use the restroom." "It's over that way." I walked in the direction he pointed for a short while. Finding a neat public restroom, I took care of business and thought to myself right there. Should I go take a look? In front of the restroom was a cream-colored wall stamped with the mark 'Building C.' Building A was close by. Walking on the multicolored paved bricks while looking around just enough not to look suspicious, I stood in front of the massive building stamped with the letter A. There was no security at the entrance, so I boldly walked right through the front and stepped into the elevator. When I pressed '7,' the doors opened at my destination without stopping once in between. Broad daylight on a weekday. Perhaps due to the angle of the sun, I stepped out into a hallway drifting with a strangely chilly air. It was quiet. I hadn't encountered a single resident so far.

Room 702 was near the end. Walking past rows of doors in a color matching the wall, I eventually found the sign for 702. Attached to the walls on both sides of the door—perhaps installed by the resident himself—were plastic plates. *“No smoking for the sake of the children.”* *“Smoking is permitted only in designated areas.”* Such words were engraved in black. The Riddle Uncle apparently promoted some kind of anti-smoking movement within this housing complex. At the complex meetings, he was undoubtedly supported by the mothers, while being a thorn in the side of the fathers. I chuckled softly and knocked on the door. Even after waiting for a while, there was no response. As expected, he seemed to be out at work. The doorknob...