It was autumn during my student days. Around the time when a faint chill began to be felt in the morning and evening air. Together with a certain woman, I raided the house of my master of the occult. It was the middle of the night, and the surrounding houses were fast asleep. After confirming that the lights were out in the master's apartment, I stood quietly in front of the door, killing my footsteps. When I twisted the knob, it easily opened inward. I knew it wasn't locked. I crept silently into the dark room and looked down at the master, who was wrapped up in futons. After exchanging glances, we skillfully slid the rope we had brought underneath the futon and carefully made our preparations. Then, in one swift motion, we pulled the rope and tied him up inside the futon. "Wh—wha—" Struck by the sudden shock, the master uttered only those short words, but offered no real resistance before being successfully hoisted up before us, neatly rolled and bound like a human roulade. "What is the meaning of this?" Perhaps his sleepiness had completely vanished, as the master finally managed to say just that in a calm tone, still lying there rolled up. "What is the meaning of this?"—that's what *I* wanted to know. The truth was, Aruku-san—who was the master's girlfriend—had proposed playing a prank, and I had simply fallen right for it. So there probably wasn't any real reason; as long as it was fun, that was all that mattered. We turned on the lights and spread out the snacks and drinks we had brought. The idea was to have a home party with the rolled-up master as our main dish. "What the hell is this, what is this?!" the master cried out, struggling. With only his face poking out from the bedding, he looked just like a caterpillar. Or rather, wrapped with rope in several places and shaped like a cylinder, the futon made him look like a pork roast getting prepped at a ramen shop. The more he struggled, the more Coca-Cola we drank. Aruku-san and I sat in front of the human roulade and chatted happily. Eventually, seemingly exhausted, the master quieted down and muttered: "Give me a snack." Aruku-san and I decided to ignore the human roulade demanding our precious potato chips.
"..." "Don't ignore me." "..." "Give me a snack." "..." "I'll tell you a funny little story, so untie me." Aruku-san and I started a game of *hasami-shogi* using the shogi board found in the corner of the room. "When the Pope visited America, you see, he was actually quite a speed demon, so he asked the driver to let him take the wheel..." "You're going to say he caught someone so important he had to let the Pope drive, right?" "..." "Yeah." "..." "Listen to another one." "..." "A tourist went to a lake where Jesus Christ had reportedly performed the miracle of walking on water. When he went to find a boat to cross to the other side, a sign said it cost fifty dollars per adult. 'Unbelievable! Fifty dollars for just this short distance? No wonder Jesus walked across.'" "......Heh." "Ah, you laughed." "..." "No good? Was that no good?" "Yes!" That made two wins in a row at hasami-shogi. For some reason, playing against Aruku-san made me nervous. "One more. Listen to one more. A band of thieves broke into the ruins of a German castle that had stood for a thousand years. As they were searching separately, a subordinate came back and said, 'There was a suspicious door, but it was locked.' 'You idiot! It goes without saying that places kept locked since ancient times hold valuable things. Risk your life and force it open!' The subordinate, jumping up, went back to search again, and after a while returned empty-handed. 'It was the toilet.'"
"......Ufuf." "Ah, you laughed. You laughed, didn't you? Hey. Untie this." "..." "Don't ignore me." All right, that's three wins in a row. Aruku-san wasn't as formidable as I thought. "Actually, there's one strange part in that little story just now." The tone of the roulade's voice changed slightly. I didn't look over, but Aruku-san's hand holding a shogi piece stopped abruptly. "The punchline was that once they opened the lock, the other side of the door was a toilet. But when you think about it, it was a toilet in the ruins of a castle a thousand years old—why was it still locked?" A chill ran down my spine at that whispered voice. Had the last person to enter still not come out, even after a thousand years? With the lock still fastened from the inside. A vertigo-inducing dread came over me, as if that dusty, damp, stone-built castle was about to materialize right before my eyes. The scenery inside the small apartment seemed to swirl and warp. Damn it. I was walking right into his trap. I tensed up at the thought. But the next instant, a dry, crisp sound echoed, and a sense of reality rushed back. Aruku-san was holding out a potato chip to the master's lips, feeding it to him like bait. A reward? But she wasn't going to untie him. After that, we stayed up late, largely ignoring the master as he kept noisily complaining, "Untie me, untie me" and "Give me snacks." When I finally suggested that he had made enough noise and maybe we should let him off the hook, Aruku-san simply muttered, "If I untie him, he dies." He'll die? Then we definitely couldn't untie him. Though it was terrifying not knowing who the subject was. I didn't know if I should put it this way, but Aruku-san possessed something akin to a precognitive ability. At first, I had just thought she was someone with sharp intuition, but eventually, I grew terrified when I realized her accuracy was impossible.
She had dreams that were like premonitions. And upon waking, she would forget them. Then, at some point, she would suddenly remember. She would remember things about to happen. Those memories served as warnings, and there were several times when they helped those of us around her escape danger. Her words carried a tremendous weight at times. If she said, "If I untie him, he dies," there was no way we could untie him under any circumstances. Even if I had no idea whether it was a joke or a warning. Watching the master squirm and writhe like a worm, I drank my cola to my heart's content, pouring in all my resentment for how he usually looked down on me. So good! As I reached for my second can of cola, the sound of an alarm clock suddenly rang out across the room. I jumped, but Aruku-san immediately switched it off, and the clock fell silent. I checked the time: the Hour of the Ox (around 2:00 AM). Why on earth had she set an alarm for this time? I knew she had been prone to wandering around late at night lately, but was it something she needed an alarm to wake up for? "I have business to attend to," the master pleaded in a pathetic tone, but when Aruku-san asked, "What kind of business?", he couldn't answer properly. He begged, "Anyway, please untie me," but his plea was ruthlessly rejected. While this was going on, Aruku-san dug out an album from somewhere in the room—a university entrance album. As she flipped through the pages, I spotted a few familiar faces here and there. Since the master should have entered university a long time ago, I thought it was strange, but it seemed to be from the enrollment of the current fourth-year students. Holding a junior's entrance album felt somehow sleazy. Glaring at the roulade with a look one might reserve for a pervert, I searched for the photo of an acquaintance. First, on the education department page, I discovered the past appearance of Mikatchi-san, an occult club associate. Unexpectedly, she was photographed in such a plain outfit that you'd think, *Surely not.* I was seized by an urge to cut out just this part and tease her with it. Next, I found Aruku-san as well. She looked pretty much the same as she did now. I didn't even need to rely on the name printed beneath the photo. However, I noticed that the corner of that page was creased. Come to think of it, I felt like I had heard rumors that these two—either the master had forced his affections on her unilaterally, or maybe not.
Thinking I might have dug up something juicy, I glanced over at Aruku-san sitting next to me. With a blank expression, she was staring intently at that crease. At that moment, I noticed the unusual tension enveloping her. I stopped myself just as I was about to make some teasing remark. Remaining silent, she eventually opened her mouth and murmured, "When I first met him, he had this album." So, he had seen the freshman album, fallen in love at first sight, and tracked her down using it as a guide? Hearing just that, one might feel the kind of disgust reserved for stories of other people's romances—the kind even dogs won't touch—but the atmosphere was a bit strange. When I looked back at the master, who should have heard this exchange, he was pretending to sleep. He was faking his breathing, but his eyelashes were twitching violently. I didn't quite understand, but it seemed we had unearthed a massive bombshell. Later, when I learned the truth behind this incident, I thought that simply rolling him up in a futon wasn't enough—we should have subjected him to something much worse. But that's a story for another time. Sensing the ominous air, I quickly changed the subject and we resumed our feast surrounding the human roulade. Though my memory is hazy, I must have fallen asleep at some point, and I woke up lying on the tatami mat. My joints ached all over. Next to me, Aruku-san was sleeping wrapped in a blanket she must have dragged out from somewhere. Startled, I looked at the master and saw him lying down with just the tips of his shoulders protruding from the roulade. It seemed that after we fell asleep, he had tried to break out on his own, exhausted himself, and fallen asleep halfway through his molting process. Careful not to wake them, I untied the knots in the rope and left the apartment, abandoning both the master and Aruku-san. The morning sun stung my eyes, and I started walking through the residential area with my head bowed.
It was the night of the following day. I had just turned off my computer, cracked my stiff neck, and stood up thinking I should brush my teeth and go to bed. The PHS on my desk rang. I checked the time: it was past midnight. Wondering who could be calling at such an hour, I pressed the call button, and a raspy voice whispered directly into my ear. I couldn't catch it clearly, but it sounded like he was saying: ...The bookstore near the house, the park in front of the bookstore... I don't think I even wondered who it could be. I intuitively knew it was the master. The moment I raised my voice and called out, "What's wrong?", I heard a rustling sound, like a paper or plastic bag being shaken. After that, no voice came from the other end of the line. Only the occasional small rustling sound. After calling out to him a few times and deciding that the line was no longer connected, I hung up. I immediately changed into clothes for going outside. Something had happened to the master. That much I knew. I dashed out of the house, hopped on my bicycle, and headed toward the master's place. The sky must have been cloudy because the moon was invisible, and wherever there were no streetlights, it was pitch black. Having spent so much time hanging around the master's house, I had completely mastered the geography of the area, and using the hint—*'the bookstore near the house, the park in front of the bookstore'*—I reached the designated location by the shortest possible route. It was a green corner; it hardly had any playground equipment, but it was a plaza used as a walking path by the local residents. I parked my bicycle at the entrance and stepped inside with treed steps. There was no sign of people. At least, no moving shadows.
I skirted around the overgrown bushes, cautiously advancing while carefully observing the shadows cast by the streetlights. It was strangely quiet. Small stones were scattered on the hard dirt ground, and the dry sound of my foot kicking one echoed. There was a spot near the bushes where two wooden benches stood side by side, and feeling like someone might be there, I craned my neck, but even from a distance, no human figure was in sight. Thinking I might have come to the wrong park, as I tried to replay a mental map of the residential area in my head, I felt a human presence emanate from those empty benches. Tensing up, I looked over at them again. The two benches were still completely empty. The area beyond them was wide open, so nobody should have been able to hide. I couldn't be sure about the bushes behind them, but those looked like stiff, woody branches. If someone were lurking in there, they'd have to be prepared for some serious scratches. Or maybe the trash bin next to the bench? The moment I thought that, something unpleasant raced through my body. The trash can was the common metal mesh-type cylinder, widening slightly toward the top. A black plastic bag was fitted inside it. However, it was considerably smaller than the types usually seen in parks and such. It didn't even reach an adult's waist. A bizarre presence was emanating from that trash can. No, if I focused my awareness, I realized it wasn't something as vague as a "presence." It was unmistakably the smell of blood. Holding my breath, I stepped forward slowly. The smell of blood grew stronger. It was definitely coming from inside the trash can. As I got a bit closer and looked carefully, I saw that some sort of stain had formed in the shadowed area beneath the trash can. It was black. It was blood. It was hard to see, but if it had spread across the entire bottom of the trash can, it was a considerable amount. A long-legged mosquito passed by, leaving behind a faint buzzing sound as it vanished into the trash can. I swallowed my saliva. *Rustle*—the sign of something moving inside the trash can.
I braced myself instinctively. A voice spoke. A raspy voice. ...You came. It would have been fine if the voice had come from nowhere in particular. But it was clearly coming from inside the trash can. ...Listen, well. There's no, time. That voice had a resonance that made it hard to approach. Or perhaps that was merely a reflection of my own self-preservation instinct. That trash can was very small. Just looking at it from the side, you couldn't see below the rim, but it was far too small for an adult to crawl inside. Too small, especially with all of their body parts intact. ...Find Aya, my cellphone, won't connect, probably, at home, go meet her, and say this. Confused by the unworldly voice echoing from inside the trash can, I focused entirely on my ears. ...This is a dream, you see. With that, the voice cut off. A long-legged mosquito flew out of the trash can and vanished somewhere. Silence enveloped the surroundings. I gasped for breath. An indescribable chill welled up all over my body. I didn't understand what was happening. If I tried to understand, I probably could. All I had to do was step forward and peer inside the trash can. Yet my feet wouldn't move forward. My thoughts, my brain—some archaic part of my cerebrum or diencephalon—seemed to refuse to go there.
I knew at least that this was no ordinary matter. I knew that my personal, modest world had sustained a fatal wound and would likely never return to its original shape. Yet, even upon seeing blood, the idea of calling an ambulance didn't instinctively cross my mind. Perhaps I intuitively felt that the best thing for me to do right now was simply to carry out what I had been instructed to do. After a brief pain like an electric current shooting through my head, I started running as if waking up. As if to shake the foul, rotting smell rising from the trash can out of my nasal passages. I bolted out of the park and leaped onto the bicycle parked outside the entrance. Something terrible had happened. Something terrible had happened. Even as I pedaled with all my might, my mind remained in chaos. *This is a dream, you see?* There was no way this was a dream. It was terrifyingly real. The smell, the sound, the sensation of lactic acid building up in my legs and thighs. Everything. I tried to recall the memories of the day. But I could feel them connected without a single gap. I could vividly remember the website I had been browsing on the net just a while ago, the cup of instant noodles I had eaten before that, and talking on the phone with a high school friend while eating it. If that was the case, then... Right there, my thought was cut off. Or rather, was I holding it back? I headed straight for Aruku-san's apartment, where the master had called her by her real name, "Aya." Along the way, there was a slight downhill slope, and just as I tried to force my way around a curve against the centrifugal force while maintaining my speed, I almost collided with a pedestrian coming from the opposite direction. I managed to avoid the startled-looking person with a flick of the handlebars, but I lost my balance and was thrown from the bicycle. I did a somersault, hit my buttocks, and instinctively put my right hand down on the asphalt, scraping the skin. A sharp pain struck me. It hurt. It hurt like hell. "Damn it," a curse slipped from my mouth, though directed at no one in particular. "Watch where you're going, asshole."
A young guy with dyed brown hair approached me, his hair disheveled. I sprang up like a jack-in-the-box and clung to him. "Do you remember today? Do you remember yesterday? Do you even know who you are?" He momentarily braced himself against me as I clung to him, but immediately looked flustered and tried to shake off my hands. "Are you out of your mind? What the hell is your problem?" He shoved my shoulders with both hands, turned on his heel, and walked away briskly. Along the way, he kept looking back with a disgusted expression. Left behind, I compared and observed my scraped right hand and my unscraped left hand. I managed to dig a small stone out of the wound on my palm. It hurt. Why did it hurt so much? An unbearable feeling, making me want to cry, making me shiver. Anyway, I got moving, picked up the fallen bicycle, and straddled it. I rode through the night roads. I just rode. I caught a red light, darted through the tiny gap before a truck passed and the next set of headlights approached. Pedaling forward and forward, with the meaningless sound of a belated car horn echoing behind my back. Just as my breathing grew heavy and my speed began to drop, Aruku-san's apartment finally came into view. Passing under the brightly lit streetlight, I didn't even have time to go to the usual bicycle parking area, so I just kicked down the stand right by the roadside. As I did, a pain shot through my right hand, which was pressing down on the saddle. Wincing, I headed for the entrance. There was no security gate at the front. Once inside, I realized I should have checked from the outside to see if the room lights were on, but wasting time turning back was out of the question, so I just sprinted up the stairs. Repeating the room number in my head, I ran down the empty hallway. Only my footsteps echoed, unnervingly cold.
Staring intently ahead, I saw a thin streak of light extending from the target room. Since the fluorescent light on the ceiling happened to be off, creating a dimly lit corner, I was able to spot that faint leaking light. She was there. Inside. It felt like clearing the first hurdle. Yet neither the destination I was supposed to reach, nor the full picture of the path, was visible at all. The path to restore the fatal wound my world had suffered. The journey through the pitch-black night. I couldn't see it. I felt like screaming. I clamped a hand over my mouth. The door...
Comments (-)