Another, Vol. 2 (9 page)

“So then…”

“That’s why I say it’s ‘at the level of rumor or conjecture.’ In the end, I don’t completely know why or how they did it.”

“So you’re saying the visit to the shrine didn’t change anything?”

“No, you can’t draw such a conclusion so easily.”

“Meaning what?”

“Visiting the shrine may be a ‘condition.’ Or, for example, it’s also plausible that visiting the shrine had an effect because more than a certain number of people went in the first part of August, before the Obon Festival.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“Though of course we can’t deny the possibility that it was
something else
.” Mr. Chibiki fixed his gaze on my face, then shot a glance in Mei’s direction before continuing. “When Ms. Mikami came by today, this is actually what we talked about. Why and how the ‘disasters’ stopped fifteen years ago. We went over much of the same ground as we’ve just done, and she seemed to think of several things on her own. She was nodding and tilting her head all the time, and at the end she kept saying ‘I see’ and ‘So that’s what that was.’ It sounded like she was talking to herself…”

Mr. Chibiki cut himself off for a moment, and then went on: “Given how she was acting, there may be a similar camping trip this August.”

Then he fixed his eyes on my face again.

“She had some bitter experiences two years ago, as well. Considering that she’s been appointed the substitute head teacher after Mr. Kubodera’s death, she must be desperate for a solution.”

I could offer no response. I heard a quiet sigh from Mei. Mussing his hair, Mr. Chibiki said, “Assuming that’s what happens, the question then is: how many students will participate?”

“I have an announcement for everyone. I know it’s short notice, but I’ve arranged a class camping trip next month from the eighth to the tenth, for two nights and three days. It will be at Yomiyama’s…”

Tuesday of the following week, on July 21. It had been as hot as a steam bath in the gym, where the assembly to close the first semester had been held. After we’d returned to the classroom, during the final homeroom before summer break—

Just as Mr. Chibiki had predicted, these words came from the mouth of our substitute head teacher, Ms. Mikami.

At this hour on this day, there weren’t even twenty students in the room. Some people had been out of school ever since Mr. Kubodera’s death, while others had come back once, only to leave again. Of these, some might have gotten their families’ understanding or cooperation and beat feet out of town, as Mei had suggested.

There was a low-pitched murmur in the classroom at the sudden announcement of the camping trip. The turmoil in the buzzing exchange of students’ voices could clearly be heard:
Why does she want to do this over summer break?
From their perspective, not knowing the reasons behind it, I suppose it was a natural reaction.

“I’d like you to think of this as a very important ritual,” Ms. Mikami said, not even attempting to quiet the commotion. “This is a very important ritual…It’s not mandatory, but I would appreciate the participation of those students who are able to come. Are there any questions?”

She didn’t broach any further details.

A class camping trip, to the same location and on the same days as the trip taken by third-year Class 3 fifteen years ago. If we all visited the shrine on Yomiyama during the trip, maybe the “disasters” for this year would stop. She had decided to have the camping trip, and yet maybe she was hesitant to make an announcement quite like that here in the classroom.

Standing atop the teacher’s platform, Ms. Mikami’s expression seemed incredibly tense—maybe she was nervous. From another perspective, her gaze seemed utterly vacant somehow, too.

I tried hard to guess at how she truly felt, despite my own agitation, but…

“I’ll send you all a handout with the details in the next few days. A permission slip will be included, so please return your slips to me by the end of this month if you’d like to participate. Any questions?”

That wound up being the sum of the explanation we got about the camping trip. A couple of hands went up to ask questions, but the way she handled them, they were as good as ignored…

…In any case.

This was how I—how we—went into our summer break. The summer break that would be our last in middle school—and ripe with the possibility that it might be the last of our lives.

Did you get the handout for the camping trip?

Yeah, it came today.

What are you gonna do? Are you going?

Are you kidding? No way.

But Ms. Mikami told us it’s
a very important ritual
…

Come on, it’s not like it’s a crash course for test prep or something, you know?

On the handout it says “Goal: To strengthen the bonds of the class.”

What does that even mean? Why are they pulling something like this over summer break in an “on year”?
Some people already left ’cause staying in Yomiyama is too dangerous.
If we got into some kind of accident because we went on this camping trip…

…Still.

The safest thing to do is to not go anywhere. Just shut yourself up in your house.

Maybe so…

The outside world is full of danger, you know?

…

Still, why did this have to happen to us? It makes no sense at all. And what a waste of a summer break.

…Yeah.

If that transfer student hadn’t started talking to Misaki, you
know
the
talisman
would have worked, too.

…Maybe, yeah.

I think the tactical officers are at fault here, too. If they’d handled things right from the start…They could’ve explained to the transfer kid what was going on before he came to school or something.

Yeah. But it doesn’t do much good complaining about it now.

I guess. We didn’t believe people were actually going to die like they did, either, I suppose…

Seriously. I never thought things would turn out like this…

The instruction sheet came for that camping trip.

Yeah.

What are you gonna do?

Oh, I’m…uh…

You’re not going?

Er…no.

Hey there, Mr. Class Representative, you’re a tactical officer, too, aren’t you? Aren’t you kind of obligated to go?

Uh…But I…

You scared? You think something’s gonna happen on this trip?

No, it’s not that. I…

I heard this is actually effective.

Wha—? What do you mean?

I heard this camping trip really means something.
Ms. Mikami even said it’s a very important ritual. And actually, I talked to Sakaki about it after class, and he told me…

The eighth to the tenth. Those are the same dates as the camping trip fifteen years ago, right?

Yes, that’s right.

Are we going to visit the Yomiyama Shrine, too?

That’s the plan, at least.

On the second day? The ninth?

That seems to be when they went fifteen years ago.

But fifteen years ago, there was an accident that day and…

I know. Mr. Chibiki showed me his binder. But, you know,
since we’re giving this a try, I think we need to do everything we can to match the conditions from before
.

So then why didn’t you explain that to everyone after the end-of-semester assembly?

Well, because…I didn’t feel confident enough.

…

I wasn’t sure if this really was an “important ritual.” Or if this would be capable of stopping the “disasters” for this year. Or how much hope I should let myself have. I struggled with it…So that’s all I could manage at the time.

So you’re not struggling with it anymore?

…I don’t know.

…

I don’t know, but if there’s even a slight chance this might work, that’s better than to keep doing nothing…That’s how I feel about it.

Maybe I’d better go on that camping trip after all.

Why are you bringing that up again?

Somehow I keep thinking,
maybe it’ll save us
.

You think it might…save us?

I heard a rumor about it. I mean, there’s that shrine on Yomiyama, right? They’re going there on the camping trip, and they’re going to do a purification ritual.

Really?

And there was a class a long time ago that got saved.

Are you serious?

I just heard the rumor.

Hm-m-m…

So what are you gonna do?

Who do you think is going?

Akazawa said she’s going. She said it’s her responsibility as a class representative and a tactical officer. Sugiura’s going, too.

Sugiura is
so
Akazawa’s right hand, don’t you think?

I think Nakao’s going, too.

What, to get in with Akazawa?

Totally!
Oh, my queen, I shall accompany you!

There’s just something pitiful about that guy.

Speaking of, isn’t Mochizuki going, too? He’s in it for Ms. Mikami, though.

He is so obvious. And of course Sakakibara’s going…

I wonder if Misaki is.

Who knows…

If she’s going, I don’t think I want to.

But it doesn’t matter anymore, remember?
The
talisman
of her being “not there” is over now.

That’s true. But c’mon, don’t you think she’s kind of, I don’t know…hard to be around? I feel like she looks at people so coldly.

You can’t handle that?

It’s not that I can’t handle it, it’s just creepy…

…

…

…Back in elementary school, there was a girl in my class who looked a lot like her.

You mean Misaki?

Yeah.

But isn’t she an only child?

She had a different last name. But I’m pretty sure her first name was Misaki.

Wo-o-ow.

Sometimes I still wonder if they’re actually the same person…

Where did she go to middle school?

She moved away in fifth year. So I dunno.

Did she wear an eye patch?

I…
don’t think she did.

I heard Misaki lost her left eye when she was four.

Really? Then I guess…

I started having bad dreams again.

Different from the nightmares I was getting before. In these, I wasn’t blaming myself for the “disasters” starting and telling myself it was “all my fault”…

Who is “the casualty”…?

Dreams where I was alone in the dark, that question repeating constantly.

Who is “the casualty”…?

In answer to the question, different people’s faces appeared, one after another.

Kazami. Teshigawara. Mochizuki. The guys I had kind of hung out with since transferring here.

Maejima from the kendo club. Mizuno/Little Brother. Wakui, who sat at the desk in front of me. Akazawa. Sugiura. Nakao. Ogura…The boys and girls that I wasn’t on great terms with, but whose names I could match to a face with confidence.

And then…There was Mei.

And my other classmates from third-year Class 3—there were a lot of them. Which one of them was the “extra person” / “casualty” for this year?

Their faces, bobbing up from the darkness in random order. One by one, the contours of their faces would break apart into goop, then morph into something ghoulish that gave off a rotten stench. Like the standard-issue scary faces done with special effects makeup from every horror movie ever. And then…

The face that always appeared last of all was none other than mine—the face of Koichi Sakakibara.

My own face, seen only in mirrors and photos. Its contours broke apart goopily and I saw a ghoulish face more terrifying than any in this world…

…Me?

Was I…?

Could I be “the casualty” who’d snuck into the class and not even realize it myself? Impossible.

Raking my hands over my caved-in face, giving voice to an unsettling moaning sound…That’s where I would wake up. And that happened every single night…

I couldn’t actually be “the casualty,” could I?

I tried to challenge the possibility with anything I could think of.

“The casualty” doesn’t realize that they’re “the casualty.” He or she exists because of the corruption/modification of memories that tells them “I’m not dead. I’m alive, like I always have been.” In which case…

Doesn’t that mean it’s possible that
it’s me
?

At the beginning of April this year, there were enough desks and chairs in the classroom. Then May started and they were short one set.
Because I transferred in partway through.

I was the student who had unexpectedly
bumped the class up by one
. And if that meant that I was the “extra person” / “casualty” for this year…

Maybe I just wasn’t aware of it and had died last year, say, or the year before, and my grandparents and Reiko and my father and everyone else was forgetting that fact, and all the records had been doctored so that the details matched up…

…Hold on a second.

I shook my head firmly, and then pressed my palm against my chest. And so, verifying the steady beat of my heart, I calmed down and thought things over.

The fundamental rules governing the “extra person” / “casualty” that Mr. Chibiki and Mei had talked about.

“The casualty” for each year appeared at random from among the people who had lost their lives in the past to the “phenomenon” that had begun twenty-six years ago in third-year Class 3.

The range for the “disasters” was restricted to members of the class and their blood relatives within two degrees. However, even when a person is within that range, if they’re in a location away from Yomiyama, they’re not a target.

How did I look, in light of this rule?

In order to lose my life to this phenomenon, I would have to have lived in this town at least once before in my life. And then either I would have to have been in third-year Class 3 at North Yomi myself, or someone within two degrees of me would have had to. But that wasn’t the case.

When my mother was in third-year—I know this goes without saying, but—I didn’t exist yet. When Reiko was in third-year, I was born in this town in the spring of that year, but the connection between Reiko and me was aunt to nephew, which is three degrees. So that means I was outside the range of the “disasters.” Even if it extended to my mom, Ritsuko, it shouldn’t have affected me…

In July, fifteen years ago, my mother died; and I, her only child, spent the rest of my life in Tokyo with my father. Without the slightest connection to third-year Class 3 at North Yomi. Then, this April, I’d started my last year of middle school and come to this town for the first time…

…It’s impossible.

Vmmmm…
A mystifyingly deep, low-frequency sound revved up.
What’s that?
A momentary flash of anxiety went through me, but even that vanished soon enough.

It’s impossible
, I reassured myself.

It was, indeed, impossible for me to be “the casualty.”

I was certain that Kazami and Sakuragi had assured themselves of that in our conversation that day when they’d come to visit me at the hospital.

Yes, their questions that day had been…

Is this your first time living in Yomiyama?

I just thought maybe you’d lived here, even if it was a long time ago.

Did you ever stay for very long?

I had thought the questions were kind of strange, but that was how the two of them had felt out the possibility that I, the new transfer student, might be “the casualty.”

And at the end of it all, Kazami had asked to shake my hand.

“That was part of the
test
, too.”

Mei had told me that. That was before summer break had started.

“If you shake hands with ‘the casualty’ the first time you meet them, their hand is supposed to be incredibly cold. That’s what people say. But I heard the story is kind of suspect. Mr. Chibiki says it’s just one of the lame embellishments that got tacked on later, and there’s not much credibility behind it.”

But suppose I actually was “the casualty” for this year and that Kazami and Sakuragi had realized it that day. What had they been planning to do about it?

Mei gave the answer to this question that had gripped me.

“If that had been the case, I think that once you came to school in May, they would have made you the one ‘not there’ instead of me.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. And everyone would ignore the ‘extra person’ who shouldn’t have been there in the first place. There would be a nice symmetry in that. ’Cause that’s got to be way more effective than making some random person ‘not there’ instead.”

“And then the ‘disasters’ wouldn’t happen?”

“Probably not.”

“So then…” I hit her with a new question that had risen all on its own. “What if we eventually find out who ‘the casualty’ is? If we started treating them like they’re ‘not there’ right away…”

“I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t work.”

Mei shot me down blithely.

“The ‘disasters’ have already started. So no matter how we try to bring things into balance now, it’s too late.”

It was the fourth day of summer break, the night of July 25, when I spoke to my father Yosuke in far-off India for the first time in quite a while.

“Hey, there. You’re on summer break now, aren’t you? How are you doing?”

The first words out of my father’s mouth were as carefree as ever, since he was ignorant of everything going on.

“I’m doing okay, I guess.”

And I replied in the same tone I always did. I had the feeling that it wouldn’t be right to tell him about what was going on here. There was also the fact that I didn’t think it would accomplish anything even if I did tell him.

“Incidentally, Koichi, do you know what the day after tomorrow is?”

When he asked me that, my heart skipped for a second. But I did my best to answer as if it was nothing.

“Wow, so you remembered, huh?” I retorted.

My father’s voice got ever so slightly louder. “Of course I did.”

The day after tomorrow—July 27—was the anniversary of her death. My mother, Ritsuko, who had died fifteen years ago in this very town.

“You’re in Yomiyama right now, aren’t you?” my father asked.

“Yeah.”

“You’re not going to go back to Tokyo?”

“Are you telling me to go visit her grave for you, all by myself?”

“No, I’m not saying you should do anything extravagant. We didn’t set anything up ahead of time anyway.”

“Yeah. I was wondering what I should do, too…”

My mother’s remains weren’t in Yomiyama: they were kept in the Sakakibara family grave in Tokyo. Every year, my father and I had gone to visit her grave together. As far back as my memories went, we’d never once missed a year.

“I was thinking about going back home by myself, even if it’s just for a couple days…”

I had also tried to think up a way to stay in Tokyo the whole summer break, not “just for a couple days.” Because if that got me out of Yomiyama, I wouldn’t have to worry about calamities befalling me during that time, at least. And yet—

“I don’t think I’m going to, though,” I told him. “Mom was born here, after all, and this is where she died. So I figure I don’t need to go all the way to Tokyo just to visit her grave.”

“That’s certainly true,” my father backed me up instantly. “Say hi to your grandma and grandpa for me. I’ll call them myself soon.”

“Okay.”

The reason I wasn’t going back to Tokyo for summer break. The biggest one was…Maybe it really was because of Mei. I couldn’t help feeling some resistance to the idea of leaving her behind in this town while I got myself “out of range.”

Another reason was that I kept thinking about the class camping trip in August. Wasn’t I obligated to go and be involved in
anything
that would put a stop to the “disasters”? That feeling was getting stronger, though only half-articulated.

“Hey, Dad?” I’d thought of something, the one issue I wanted to take this chance to ask him about, and I changed my tone slightly. “Can I ask you about Mom?”

“Hm? She was a beauty, your mother was. And she had excellent taste in men.”

“That’s not what I…”

The last time I’d talked with my father, I had touched on the subject of third-year Class 3 at North Yomi, but it didn’t seem to trigger any memories for him. Did that mean that my mother had never talked to him about “the curse of third-year Class 3”? Or maybe that she had told him, but he’d forgotten? There was no way I could know which it was.

“Have you ever seen a picture of Mom from middle school?”

I could almost sense my father cocking his head at my question on the other end of the call. “Weren’t you asking about Ritsuko’s time in middle school before, too?”

“I’m going to the same school she did, so I guess it just…”

“I’m pretty sure she showed me her graduation yearbook when we were engaged. Her high school one, too, I think. She was a beauty, your mother.”

“Are those yearbooks in Tokyo?”

“Yeah. Though they’re probably in storage.”

“Are there any other photos?”

“Hm?”

“Any other photos of Mom besides her yearbook. Did she leave any photos from when she was in middle school?”

“I don’t think I threw any away…But were there any photos of her in middle school besides the yearbook? Hm. She wasn’t really the type to treasure photos like that.”

“So then—” I had to force the question out. “You never saw that picture? The one showing everyone in her class on the day she graduated from middle school?”

“Well, now…”

There was a silence that lasted several seconds. The signal crackled faintly,
kkssh.
Finally—“What about it?”—came my father’s wary reply.

I stuttered, “Um-m-m…I mean, I heard it was kind of a weird picture. Like, a paranormal photo or something.”

“A paranormal photo?” My father’s voice sounded ever so slightly annoyed. “I don’t know how a rumor like that got started, but really, Koichi. You’re taking something like that seriously? I didn’t think you would fall for talk about paranormal photos…”

“No, I just…I mean…”

“…Hm?”

And then my father’s tone changed.

“Hold on. Wait a second, Koichi. Hm-m-m. Now that you mention it, maybe Ritsuko did tell me something along those lines a long time ago.”

“Really?” My grip on the phone tightened. “What did she say?”

“She told me she had a disturbing photograph. Showing a ghost or something like that. And…right—from when she was in middle school…”

“Did you ever see it?”

“No.” My father lowered his voice dramatically. “I just tuned it out, mostly. I didn’t say I wanted to see it or ask her to show it to me or anything. Besides, she said she hated having it nearby, so she’d left it at her parents’ house.”

“Here?” I squeaked inadvertently. “You’re saying it’s in this house?”

“Well, I don’t know if it’s still there.”

“Right…sure.”

As I replied, I thought,
I have to ask Grandma about this.

Maybe it was in the room my mother had used before she got married, or maybe it had been put away in storage. Somewhere like that. Or maybe her old stuff was still around. And maybe it would have…

“Hey, Koichi, has anything strange happened out there?” my father asked. I guess he must have picked up on my weird behavior.

“Nope, nothing. Everything’s fine,” I replied instantly. “Just, you know, it’s a little boring, I guess. Oh—but I’ve got a couple friends here, and next month we’re going on a class camping trip, so there’s that.”

“…I see.”

My father’s tone was unusually reserved.

“Your mother really was a captivating person, you know. My feelings for her haven’t changed in the slightest, even now. So, you know, Koichi, you’re very…”

“I know, I know.”

Unnerved somehow, I cut him off. If he were about to tell me, “I love you, son,” I would have to start worrying that the heat in India had started to affect his brain or something.

“I’ll talk to you later,” I said. And, as my thumb was feeling for the button to end the call on my cell phone, I added lightly, “Thanks, Dad.”