Phenomeno Page 2

  “Here, Nagi-kun. It's your turn next.”

  Urged by Karasu, I begrudgingly stood up.

  “Umm, eight. I'm Nagi. I'm a university student.”

  “What type of occult do you like?”

  “Uhh, I like anything wonderful… but right now things related to ghosts.”

  When I lightly responded to a question that had been flung at me, people began shouting “you're too tightly-wound!” “you need to drink more!” and someone ordered beer for me. Man, I'm still 18. I'm underage. I can't drink.

  “Don't worry, don't worry. I'll drink it. Just act like you're drinking and they'll be appeased.”

  Laughed Karasu as she smacked my butt with her palm.

  Well in any case, the thirty or so people introduced themselves like this—

  And the conclusion.

  There was no one here who went by the handle Yoishi.

  “Huh, so they didn't show up.”

  “I showed up to see Yoishi.”

  “Is anyone faking their handle?”

  Said people one by one, but given that most had never seen other and that offline meetings weren't particularly rare, it was hard to figure if anyone was lying.

  “Well, since we've all gathered, can we discuss what 'the house that grants wishes' is-”

  I began, but “Suu” spoke over me.

  “I think.”

  An old veteran of “Ikaigabuchi” who managed a liquor store and liked collecting things like the arms of tengu and the shell of kappa, if I remember correctly.

  “Yoishi might be a different handle of Krishna.”

  I was sighing, but reacted to that name.

  “Hmm, that would make sense.”

  Someone responded.

  “If we summarize the rumors involving Yoishi — umm, if you deal with Yoishi you'll have a terrifying end. Yoishi isn't a living person. Those that meet Yoishi die seven days later. Something like that? But we've never heard any specifics of anyone dying, and maybe certain threads were disappearing because Krishna was secretly joining the horror area investigations? Is what I think, anyways.”

  I see, nodded even Karasu.

  “Krishna hasn't been showing up lately either, so that'd make sense.”

  “W- wait, please.”

  I chimed in. “Krishna, as in the administrator of 'Ikaigabuchi', Krishna? Everyone's met him?”

  “Met him, or rather, he's always showed up to meetings before.”

  “But he's not here today?”

  “You want to see him?”

  “Of course.”

  The reason I became interested in the site “Ikaigabuchi” in the first place was being the person named Krishna was so fascinating. Of course, part of it was that I was interested in the occult from the start, but there was a different sort of attraction with “Ikaigabuchi.”

  That was apparent, for instance, by looking at the odd words at the top of the page, “Things that bother people also bother ghosts.” From the start, “Ikaigabuchi” was a site intended to sooth matters between people and ghosts. Most people can't see ghosts. That's why, regardless of our lack of ill intent, that we probably bother ghosts more than they do us was a perspective that was both fresh and unique. And as I read articles about reknown horror areas on “Ikaigabuchi”, my conviction deepened. Each article was filled with care toward ghosts, taking care to show respect toward both the living and the dead.

  “I always wondered. Why are people always afraid of ghosts? Perhaps some ghosts play tricks on people, while other ghosts say come on, stop it, and are stepping in and intervening, yet no one ever thinks of that possibility. Maybe that sort of order is maintained by ghosts, and is why the vast majority of people live without ever being bothered by the supernatural.”

  That paragraph struck a chord with me, in particular.

  These words moved me, when I'd just arrived in Tokyo and hadn't met anyone I could call a friend. I realized more than ever that people were connected to other people through candor. It gave me courage that I could make do in Tokyo, where it's said that peoples' relationships with other people are often weak and diluted, where people try to avoid needless interaction with other people as much as possible. That was actually why I began participating in the site.

  I became attracted to the person named Krishna by their daily updates of the wonderful. His deep, yet wide-ranging knowledge of the occult. His in-depth, cool writing style. The truth that could be felt from each and every word. These were all things I lacked, and were packed with things that my soul needed right then. I'd gotten to the point where I felt like Krishna had become like my brother and father in Tokyo.

  And if I could—

  I wanted Krishna to investigate “the house that grants wishes” himself.

  “H- h- how old is Krishna? What kind of person is he?”

  “Nagi-kun you're stuttering.” “Calm down.” “Here, have a drink.”

  Undeterred by the interruptions by Suu and others, I rephrased my question.

  “Please, tell me. How could I meet him?”

  However, the response to my question was an awkward silence by the thirty.

  “I think he won't show up at an offline meeting again.”

  “Why?”

  “Some things happened-”

  “Some things?”

  “Well, eventually. You'll find out. Leave it be for now.”

  I only received vague responses like that.

  What broke the silence at the family restaurant was Zippo, who I think worked as a programmer.

  “Um… I oppose that opinion.”

  “That opinion?”

  Asked Karasu, and Zippo pushed his thick glasses up and slowly answered.

  “That, Yoishi and Krishna are the same person, that thought.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Actually, I know of someone who's met Yoishi at an offline meeting.”

  “Really?”

  The gathering immediately rose in unison.

  “What sort of person?” “How old?” “Guy? Girl?” “Which offline?”

  They all asked, and Zippo quietly answered.

  “The offline meeting was for an investigation of an abandoned hospital in the Tama prefecture, about half a year ago.”

  “And, what was Yoishi like?”

  “Umm, well… I don't know.”

  “You don't know?”

  Karasu asked, and Zippo swallowed once before answering.

  “Because he's hospitalized.”

  “Hospitalized?”

  “Psychiatric ward.”

  And with that, the excited gathering returned to silence.

  It was as if something heavy had descended upon the seats.

  “Hospitalized in a psychiatric ward, is that Yoishi's fault?”

  Asked Suu, and Zippo slowly shook his head.

  “I don't know. But even after regaining consciousness, all he mumbled is Yoishi. That's why I came to this meeting, because if Yoishi came, I wanted to ask, what happened at that offline meeting?”

  Everyone fell silent when Zippo stopped speaking.

  And then the family restaurant was filled once again with stories of Yoishi. “Come to think of it”, was the type of statement preceding conversations as one after another tales of Yoishi leaked out from people.

  If I were to summarize such topics—

  It seemed “Yoishi” infrequently appeared on the “Ikaigabuchi” forum. Its appearance was not common, but whenever it showed up, it would post in almost every thread, providing opinions on everything, regardless of how maniacal the topic. Given the time of appearance, Yoishi could be imagined as an occult maniac that was sitting in front of a computer almost 24 hours a day. It had knowledge of the supernatural to rival Krishna, but their posts showed no signs of sharing the ghost love that defined Krishna. If anything, they could be described as more eerie — as if a dead person had eerily joined the internet.

  “Maybe the rumors that Yoishi isn't a living person, the
y might be true after all.”

  Mumbled Jersey, who said he was a writer for a magazine.

  “Remember that thread that popped up some time ago, I'm a ghost but do you have any questions?”

  “Ahh, the one where IP traces and PC and hosts all came up empty, so people wondered whether it was real?”

  “I'm of the opinion that ethereal forms have good synergy with computers and digital equipment. Because you know, brainwaves are weak electrical signals, too.”

  “You do hear a lot of tales of ghosts writing online.”

  “Then, that Yoishi—”

  Mumbled Suu, in a summarizing way.”

  “We can't see it — but is it already here?”

  Those words sent a chill down my sign.

  I looked around the brightly-lit store.

  It wasn't just me - it seemed like everyone felt something cold.

  After that, the gathering seemed to decide to avoid talking about ghosts. Gradually, seats became arranged by topic as people broke off into their areas of interest.

  As the host of the offline meeting, I wanted to bring back the original topic, but I was certain no one remembered anything about my house. Furthermore, Suu was telling fascinating, eerie stories, and that was too interesting to pass up. An box bought from an antique store that could not be opened, ghost stories involving paper money found behind a painting on a hotel wall, a laughing girl who spoke often to a doll — each provided entertainment that could leave you sleepless when alone at night.

  Everyone forgot about time as they enjoyed the endless flow of occult discussions—

  And at around 1AM, the offline meeting dispersed.

  2

  “Wait a second!”

  I chased Karasu as she flagged a taxi while glancing at the “Ikaigabuchi” members scattering in small groups.

  “What about my house. 'The house that grants wishes.'”

  And then the useless fortuneteller waved her hand with a completely flush face.

  “No problem no problem. It's that, um, uhhh, schema. And what else, I was going to tell you something else but- hahahah, I forgot-.”

  “What do you mean 'forgot'…”

  “Don't worry! You have the mark of a meeting! See ya!”

  She smacked my back and then happily jumped into the stopped taxi.

  I stood there dumbfounded as I saw the taxi run off.

  ”… Hmm.”

  I wondered if it was alright to go home.

  To that house – “the house that grants wishes.”

  I walked toward the train station using the main street, dragging along the mama-cycle that I'd bought really cheap online for commuting to school.

  Tokyo was filled with people even late at night. In particular, the area around the train station near my house was close to many universities, so there seemed to be no difference in the amount of people milling about from noon to night. Right around where I could see the station, I almost ran into a pair of girls, and apologized. One shot me a “who's this punk?” look, but the other smiled and said “I'm sorry.” I apologized once more. That was all there was to it, but it filled my heart with joy. Indeed – a fateful meeting was lying in wait for me. And a girl, no less. This might be good. The bizarre events tormenting me at that house must surely be a build-up for the happiness that awaited. In the future, I would look back at it and laugh it off.

  I felt less burdened when I thought of it that way.

  And this way I wouldn't have to move out. Moving costs would be painful for me, given that I was receiving no aid from home.

  “The offline meeting was fun too, I can't keep complaining.”

  I mumbled to myself, and I finally straddled the bike.

  I turned completely around, and decided to return home for the first time in a few days.

  “No one that came to the offline meeting today said anything about 'the house that grants wishes.' If you look at it from another angle, it means it can't possibly be a ghost incident. It's a bit shameful as the original poster, but it's all good in the end, right?”

  What would have happened if I'd dragged people over to my house, and it turned out that there were no ghosts? I'd just be a laughingstock.

  Having finished arming myself with logic, I faced the soft, comforting night breeze and powered the pedals. I'd recovered to the point where I may have even hummed.

  However–

  I noticed it when I was about to re-enter the main street from the arcade in front of the train station.

  There was a strange, abnormal feeling on the back of my left foot. It was like I was constantly stepping on gum, so I stopped my bike, and took off my sneaker right there.

  And then I lifted my left foot a bit, looked at the sole, and froze.

  All of my good feelings were extinguished, and I felt my blood freezing.

  On the back of my sneaker–

  Was engraved the number ”四” (four).

  “Damn it, what the hell schema.”

  The countdown was continuing.

  I pushed the mama-cycle along with mostly a half-step, and every person passing gave me a strange look owing to my frantic look, but I paid them no heed.

  I threw away the sneaker with ”四” engraved on the spot. I couldn't continue wearing such an eerie thing. The cold of the concrete and the scattered pebbles pierced my feet through my socks, but I didn't care.

  Why, when, was ”四” carved into the back of my sneaker?

  What was going to happen when the countdown ended? And how would I be able to escape from this terror?

  I had no idea, but in any case, I kept running.

  People in fancy clothing looked at me and laughed, but I didn't care. I just wanted somewhere with a warm atmosphere.

  Where.

  Where would that be–

  Eventually I found a discount shop open late into the night after passing through the arcade, and I jumped in. A stupidly bright theme song was playing in the background. The mass of products were incredibly cheap, and I sang along with the simple, repetitive melody. Flamboyantly-dressed girls avoided me as I stood there, leaning against a shelf holding cosmetics and mumbling to myself. An employee asked me, “Are you unwell?” and I finally realized that my left foot, which was only covered by socks, was throbbing. When I looked, perhaps I'd stepped on a shard of glass on the way, as I saw that the socks had been cut and bloodied. I bought bandages, socks, and the cheapest sneaker, and cleaned the wound in the bathroom. I cleaned the back of my foot, placed the bandage, and wore the new socks. The cheap sneaker had a shoddy design and wasn't very comfortable, but it was better than being barefoot. It was an unnecessary expense, but I felt comforted. I was afraid of being in the bathroom alone so I returned to the inside of the store, and took deep breaths as I wandered around the store as if window-shopping.

  – What should I do now?

  I thought, but could come up with no answer.

  At some point I'd just begun standing in front of a show window absentmindedly, and the employee from before asked if anything was wrong again, so I left the store. There was no helping it, so I began heading toward the net cafe I'd been using before, but it was already full. I peeked into the nearby karaoke box, but there was even a line spilling out onto the street. I tried wandering around several stores but they were all the same. Come to think of it, it was Saturday night. There would be no openings until the first train.

  However, I couldn't think of any other place to go.

  I wandered around the station while dragging my bike, and the police would shoot me suspicious looks. I almost felt like it would be more comforting to be arrested, but some level of common sense remained in me, so I turned back to the main street.

  The headlights of cars on Itsukaichi Street illuminated me as they passed by. Normally the cars just looked like fuel-consuming devices, but today I felt consoled by them. It was invigorating to look upon things that could be scientifically explained.

  However–


  I may have been at my limits.

  This was no different from being homeless.

  I had no one I was intimate with enough in Tokyo, where the light never dims. I had no place to go. And I was running low on funds. I spontaneously looked at the night sky, but just as there were no clouds, there were also no stars. It was just an obsidian dimension that stretched on as if painted.

  Perhaps I could call my sister and borrow some money in the morning. And then go back to Shizuoka. Tokyo was too much for me, which was something humiliating to say, but this was just too unexpected. I'd imagine most people would have trouble with such a case, too. Mother, I'm sorry. You supported me so much in coming to Tokyo.

  Then–

  I saw a strong light at the end of the night street.

  When I looked up, I realized I'd come back to the family restaurant.

  “I see… this was also open twenty-four hours.”

  That was enough to make me feel like I'd found a million allies, and my knees almost buckled.

  The drink bar here was cheaper than the net cafe, and there were plenty of people about due to it being Saturday night. I should have just stayed here from the start.

  “Hahahah.”

  I laughed to myself dryly, and I must have been very hard to approach with how I looked.

  Anyways, I left my mama-cycle at the bicycle lot for the family restaurant, and then was about to enter when I recoiled.

  There was something even more bizarre that made me not want to get any closer.

  Outside the big, glass window to the store.

  Inside the fern thicket that seemed to have been planted to cover the store.

  Was a girl dressed in full black.

  She wore a black long-coat even though it was spring, and her long hair that stretched down her back and her skirt and her boots were also pure black. Yet her skin was abnormally white. And she was crouched in the darkness, so it looked like only her face was floating.

  … Wh- what is she doing?

  She was standing in the middle of the thicket and almost pressing her face against the glass as she stared into the store.

  It was so creepy I was about to back off.

  But then she slowly turned to face me. Her face was shockingly white, and the face was perfectly aligned. She was so perfect that I felt like saying she must have been a construct, like a giant Bisque Doll that had accidentally been left there – that's the impression she gave.