Saeko parked the rental car at the bottom of the hill and began to walk up the gentle incline towards the Fujimura house. This was the third time she would set foot inside. The first time was back in July, when she’d spent an hour looking in the house for her own research. She’d been in the company of Seiji Fujimura. The second time was only a month ago, when she’d visited with Hashiba and the crew. They had filmed here for the whole afternoon.
Now she was here alone. The time was already after 8 p.m. and the neighborhood was submerged in darkness. It was the first time she had seen the place after dark; the atmosphere was completely different. The house stood halfway up a hill. Saeko reached the driveway and looked up at the building; perhaps it was just her imagination, but it looked slightly crooked.
The house was the last on the hill. Saeko looked down at the nearest house below, slightly off to the side. Slivers of light leaked through the curtains, forming faint white pools on the hillside, but there were no other visible signs of life. Still, she found that she could make her way without a flashlight. There was a strange quality to the darkness around the house, not like dawn or dusk — a faint light with a bluish tinge. Saeko craned her neck back to look up at the sky between a gap in the trees at the bottom of the driveway, trying to discern the source as she began making her way up to the house.
The glow seemed to be coming from two wispy bands in the sky, one white and reflecting off the clouds, the other greenish and coming from a different direction, crossing low in the sky. Unlike the aurora-like phenomenon at Atami, this green light was folded and flowed downwards in curtains. In the spaces between the clouds Saeko could make out a number of stars, and below them, the silhouettes of branches moving in the wind, hanging low enough to almost brush against her hair. Saeko could only see a narrow portion of the sky above, but she got the feeling that there were fewer stars than she remembered seeing in the past. She was sure the impression was not simply due to the bands of light in the sky. Somehow, it really looked as though there were fewer stars.
She looked back down the hill, towards Lake Miwa beyond. The twinned reflections of the aurora and the stars flowed together, creating an image of a whole new, separate universe. She looked back at the house looming dark before her. In the past, Seiji had come to air the place every now and again; now, having lost its caretaker, it was all but abandoned.
Saeko pulled out the key that Seiji had given her and opened the front door lock. She stepped across the threshold and ran her hand across the left-side wall, feeling for the light switch. She was relieved to find it quickly, and when she flicked it, a dry, brittle sound reverberated through the corridor as the lights came on. Saeko scrunched her nose up against the smell of the place. It was unpleasant but different from the pungent odor that had greeted her the last time she visited. She guessed that the dryness of the season had helped clear the musty smell. Any food left would have long decomposed, too. The smell was less intense, whatever it was.
She closed the door behind her and sat down to take her boots off before stepping up from the entryway. Her fingers felt oddly numb, making the process take longer than usual. The whole time, Saeko couldn’t shake the feeling that something was there with her. Her spine tingled at the feeling, her senses heightened by the fact that she had her back turned to whatever it was she felt, out of sight.
Something was wrong. The smell that had been so distinct when she came in had changed. It seemed as if it originated in a certain place, weakening as it spread through the rest of the house. It was as though she could trace its path to its origin.
The area immediately behind the door consisted of an open square of concrete in the traditional style, a place to take off your shoes before stepping up onto the flooring. A wooden shoebox lay to the side, under which sat a couple of pairs of identical sandals. Saeko had noticed that things tended to come in pairs in this house, although she wasn’t sure why that should be the case. She looked at the four sandals, lined up next to each other, and noticed another pair of sandals nestled up behind them, hidden away. It sat by itself, a couple of sizes larger than the rest. Saeko scrunched up her nose, realizing that it was the source of the smell that had been bothering her. The pungent smell hinted that they had been recently used. The smell of sweat was out of place in this house where all signs of life had dried up. It had been empty for almost a year now.
Saeko froze halfway through the process of taking her boots off. She felt her pores open, like sensors striving to search out any irregularities in the air.
When she was a kid, Saeko had loved staying over at her grandparents’ old house in Atami. The one thing she’d hated about it, though, was the toilet, an outhouse built separately from the main building. She remembered the fear she’d felt in the middle of the night when she’d had to go out there by herself. The toilet itself was the traditional kind, a porcelain fixture in the floor that you squatted over. As she crouched to do her business, Saeko’s imagination would take over, blowing her fears out of all proportion until she became sure that she was surrounded by a motley crew of spirits and ghosts waiting outside for her to come out. The wind would blow in through cracks in the wood, brushing against her skin, further stimulating her imagination. Her mind would forge images for each of the spirits. Eventually, she would pluck up enough courage to open the door and peek out, knowing that she couldn’t just stay in the outhouse all night. Of course, there were never any ghosts awaiting her.
Seated at the threshold, her back to the corridor behind her, she focused on the dark shape of her shadow thrown against the front door, illuminated by the light behind her. It was only her shadow. There were no other flickers of movement.
Saeko had finished taking her boots off but sat rooted to the spot. Her heart beat violently in her chest. She had to take control before her imagination took over like at the hospital and completely paralyzed her; that was the last thing she needed. She turned slowly to face the corridor and stepped up to the wooden floor, taking loud, deliberate steps, flipping on every light switch that she passed. Almost running now, she stumbled into the living room and switched the lights on as quickly as she could. What a contrast to when they had filmed Shigeko Torii entering the house — the cameras had followed her slowly, purposefully playing up the atmosphere of suspense. Saeko came to a standstill and tried to calm herself, taking deep breaths. She scanned the room. The open-style kitchen space, the dining table, all the kitchen utensils, and other household items were stacked neatly, functionally, on the series of shelves lined against the wall. The small aquarium sat on the sideboard. Above it, the red bandana pinned to a corkboard.
It was all as she remembered, there was no doubt about it. But Saeko was still unable to shake the feeling that something was out of place. She thought back to when she had been knocked unconscious when the earthquake had hit — a month ago now. She saw the scene unfold in slow motion, the images having been carved into her memory. One of the shelves had tipped sideways, spilling its contents down from above. It had all happened at once: the crack to her head, the crashing reverberations of sound as countless plates smashed against the floor.
The sound of crashing — that was it. Saeko remembered seeing the shattered remains of plates and cups on the floor, bits scattered everywhere. Looking around now, she saw no sign that it had ever happened. The shelves were all back in their original place, the crockery neatly stacked inside behind closed glass doors. She looked down at the floor. It was clean, probably cleaner than it had been before the earthquake.
Had Hashiba and crew cleaned up afterwards? Even if they had, everything looked just too neat, too perfect. Saeko picked up the TV remote control from the dining table and pushed the power button; she hardly realized what she was doing. She waited as the screen came on, rubbing her eyes. Her chest felt tight, her breathing labored.