Case 12: The Gravestone of a Sixteen-Year-Old (1)

The pale face of a woman appeared there.

The woman, her hair half white, stared motionlessly at me with a hollow expression on her face. I could hear my heartbeat race a mile a minute. My repeated gasps echoed and melted away in the dark room. The woman’s face looked seemed to float in the air, and her eyes, which were slightly out of focus, looked as though they were seeing right through me at something unknown.

Even after I finally realized that the woman was a portrait hanging on a wall, my knees continued to tremble – and from the bottom of my heart, I wanted to cry as I thought about it every time: Why the heck am I doing something like this again? ‘Give me a break’, I groaned, turned the light behind me, and another pale face appeared in the pitch-black darkness.

“Eeeek……!”

When I unintentionally shrieked—

“It’s too bright.” I heard a voice so calm that I froze.

Yoishi Mitsurugi moved her beautiful face away from my light, and then silently passed me by without a word. The sound of her footsteps on the floor rang out in a creepy, creaking noise.

“H…hey, Yoishi. Wait for me.”

Yoishi was in her high school uniform today as well. I don’t know if you’d call it traditional or gothic, but it’s a uniform entirely in black with a black blazer and a black skirt, so when we come to search a vacant house late at night with no electricity, she would always completely blend in with the darkness.

“That was the first one.” Yoishi spoke somewhat happily. “And this is the second one.”

On the corridor wall where she aimed her light, was a painting. It was indeed a portrait. The same woman from before was depicted on it. The same clothes, the same hair, the same expression. Her creepy, somewhat out of focus gaze looking off somewhere was also the same, and the composition of the painting, which drew her from the top of her head down to her breasts was very much the same – but, something felt slightly off. Well, I guess that was to be expected given that they were two different drawings of the same woman.

I tried not to think too deeply about it, and followed Yoishi as she ventured further into the manor.

As I recall, no one lived in this abandoned mansion for about seven years now. A middle-aged woman who was a painter is said to have lived here. That being said, I felt that there were an unusually large number of abandoned furnishings you wouldn’t find in a normal household. Vases of a strange shape, animal shaped plates, carpets with bizarre patterns– in short, the things scattered here and there were things that only a person of a particular sensibility would enjoy.

“Where is the sixth portrait, I wonder?”

Muttering that, Yoishi crossed the hall with no hesitation in her step whatsoever.

“Why do people who see that portrait go missing? And does the sixth portrait truly exist?”

Her words, spun like a whisper, reverberated in the darkness, like a craftsman’s fingers had flicked a narrow and hard wine glass. At that moment I heard a snap from somewhere. It could have been from outside the house, or it could have echoed from the darkness right next to me. Either way, it seemed to me like someone invisible was rejoicing. And as always, I regretted my actions.

--Dammit, I shouldn’t have come here.

It was a cold December afternoon -- the day before Christmas.

On that day, I had something on my mind, so I asked for the day off from my part-time job at the Italian restaurant. My boss and colleagues were half cold and half sarcastic, asking me If I had a date, but I still felt really sorry towards them. For some reason, the Japanese enjoy Christmas with great enthusiasm, even though the vast majority don’t believe in Christianity. Moreover, tonight was Christmas Eve, a time more exciting than the day itself. For couples in society, it seemed to be customary to have dinner at a fancy restaurant on Christmas Eve, and the Italian restaurant I worked at was coincidentally very well known in the neighborhood as one such place.

Understandably, the reservations were jam packed, and the restaurant employees were probably about to be in for a world of pain from here on.

I easily imagined that would be the case when I submitted my shift, but – I had suddenly realized something. At a time like Christmas Eve, I imagined Yoishi Mitsurugi’s sad figure alone in the loft of my apartment, browsing occult websites. Wouldn’t it at least be better to buy a cheap cake, pop some party poppers and say, ‘Merry Christmas!’ with some stacked cups? She might not have any interest at all in the birthday of a saint who died two-thousand years ago, but even so, a sound high school girl wouldn’t be browsing occult websites on Christmas Eve. At least, not one I’d seen or heard of. And if I went to my part-time job, she would end up being reduced to one of those rare high school girls. That was far and away from the ‘Yoishi Mitsurugi Rehabilitation Plan’ I had aimed for. Feeling that strange sense of duty, I took the day off, despite feeling sorry about it. After my supplementary lectures at university, I headed straight back to my apartment, when I realized – I didn’t exactly know what we should do on Christmas that would be enjoyable?

Should we have dinner at a fancy restaurant?

Or should we go to an area of dazzling lights filled with couples?

--It happened at that moment.

My apartment door suddenly burst open without even as much as a knock.

“Nagito, I’m glad you’re here.”

“…Oh, Ooki?”

The person grinning at the entrance of my door was my university batchmate from the art department, Mitsuru Ooki. He wore a worn-out T-shirt, a wrinkled thin jumper over it, and jeans with holes in them, his usual attire which looked to be quite cold.

“As expected, you’re at home even though it’s Christmas Eve.”

Saying that, Mitsuru Ooki shamelessly barged in without even waiting for an invitation.

“Do you know why I’m here?”

“I keep telling you, I’m not psychic. Why are you here?”

“You’re an expert on scary stories, right?”

“No, I’m not an expert.”

“Really? Aren’t you always reading creepy books in the clubroom?”

Those would be the basic occult-related material that Kirshna-san gave me. But I didn’t feel they were scary or creepy at all, probably because those research materials were academic or folkloristic in nature.

“Listen, Ooki.”

I began to explain to Ooki, who had sat down next to me with a thud before I’d realized.

“As far as the occult is concerned, liking it and being good at it are two very different things. It’s true that I do quite love to read and hear scary stories. But if you were to ask me if I was an expert, then my answer would have to be a hard no. In fact, I’d say I’m a coward compared to the countless occult maniacs on ‘Ikaigabuchi’, I’m a gutless person who’s especially scared of paranormal phenomenon and have no tolerance for it whatsoever, just by talking to me about a bloody woman who has a hollow gaze is enough to burn the image into my brain and make me have sleepless nights.”

“I know quite well that you’re a coward. But still, you have more tolerance than the average person, right? You know a lot of stuff, right?”

“I don’t have tolerance, nor do I know stuff, but I still end up getting involved in the occult, that’s the problem.”

“Well, that’s fine. I want to hear your opinion on something.”

Ooki then pulled the electric heater I was using close to him and began to speak.

“There is – or, I should say, there was -- a female painter by the name of Shizue Namikawa. She’s generally unknown, but from time to time, when her works are exhibited, they have a unique style, attracting interest and admiration from many experts.”

“By ’was’ – you mean to say she’s dead?”

“Yes. She’s been dead for a long time now.”

I felt something strange in the way he said it, and I too sat down on the floor. It seemed like it was going to be an interesting story.

“She was a strange one, for sure. I mean, artists are known to be strange in general, but she was especially strange. She learned how to draw oil paintings by herself after crossing the age of 30, never had any solo exhibitions, and only rarely ever entered competitions around the country. However, even if she won, she’d never appear in person. Eventually, there were over a dozen uncollected prizes to her name. Then, the other day, a person in charge of the competitions really wanted to hand her the prize in person, so he sent over someone to the address where the paintings came from. That house was close to here – but, it seemed no one had lived there for almost seven years.”

“…Huh? What does that mean?”

“It means that the painter known as Shizue Namikawa wasn’t in this world anymore.”

“Uh huh...”

A shudder crawled up from under my feet, and I repositioned my cross-legged legs.

“The organizers checked it with the city and found her death certificate had been submitted seven years ago in August when she was 41 years of age. She was married once in her 20s, but her husband passed away. She had no other relatives and it seems she lived alone for the rest of her life. The place of her death was inside that mansion. One morning, a neighbor called the police and reported her mailbox being full of circulars and mail, and her body was discovered inside. The cause of death seemed to be heart failure, as there was no evidence of criminal wrongdoing. Since she didn’t have any relatives, she was cremated by the city, and her cremated remains are still kept in the city’s ossuary.”

“So that means that the person who sent the picture was someone who pretended to be Shizue Namikawa – Or does that mean it was Shizue Namikawa herself, who was supposed to be dead?”

I connected the story in an unscrupulous, yet exciting way, and in reply:

“Well, the latter possibility isn’t obvious to normal people.”

Ooki tilted his hand to his mouth, seemingly gesturing for something to drink. I reluctantly reached out for the electric water boiler, brewed a pot of tea, and handed it over to him. He took a loud sip and grunted, “Delicious,” before continuing his story.

“So that’s where the official story ends, but the problem comes after that. I was working part-time with the competition organizers the other day and heard it from them directly, it seems there were a lot of strange things about that house.”

“A lot, you say?”

“There are rumors that suggest someone might still be living there.”

“…Hm.”

In short, I guess they want to say that it’s Shizue Namikawa’s ghost.

But recently, I found that I was no longer afraid of the formulaic ghost stories. Was it because I became involved in ‘Ikaigabuchi’ and faced real ghosts? So I arrogantly put on an air of seniority as someone experienced in the path of the occult, and spoke:

“You see, Ooki. This something a person I respect said: ninety-nine percent of the ghost stories in this world are in this world are lies, delusions, and misunderstandings. Isn't there a hobo inhabiting that place or something?"

But Ooki went “Well, hear me out,” and began to narrate.

“You see, it happened just last month. All the competition organizers consulted together, and decided together with the city officials to enter that house. She was a local artist, and they thought that if she still had other paintings, they could hold a private exhibition as a memorial to her. So, as expected, they found quite a few intact paintings in the house. Among them was a quintet of paintings that were thought to be self-portraits were especially wonderful, so they were catalogued along with other conspicuous paintings, and arranged to be taken out at a later date. However, this is where things start to get strange. When the transporter came to pick up the paintings and entered the manor, he found six self-portraits instead of five.”

“Huh? Couldn’t it be a simple mistake?”

“Of course, he thought that was the case at first. But not only he was a transporter, he specialized in paintings. He had an eye for aesthetics far beyond that of an average person. He compared it to the catalogue, and as a result – determined that there really was one more painting after all, so he contacted the organizers to have them check again. Thereupon, the organizer’s appraiser visited the house once more, and confirmed that there was indeed one more self-portrait with the same composition as that of the original quintet. Having no other choice, he seemed to have rewritten the catalogue, however, one day, the appraiser went missing.”

“…..”

“Furthermore, the transporter who first discovered the sixth portrait is now missing too. He didn’t come to work for a while, and a missing person report was filed by his family. After that, the selection of the next person in charge became difficult, so the talk of the solo exhibition died down. Well, I guess everyone felt something creepy about the whole thing. The painter passed away seven years ago. Despite that, her works continue to be sent into competitions. The self-portraits that increased in number at the house. And before you knew it, people began to whisper. Isn’t Shizue Namikawa still inside that house?”

I unintentionally took a gulp, when—

“--How wonderful.”

I suddenly heard a voice, and looked up to see a white face peering in from the loft.

“A….AGGHHHHH….!!”

Ooki, who usually moves so boldly, or what could be called a dull dragging motion, immediately flipped over, and I panicked when I saw him.

“It's here! It's here! A ghost!”

“No, calm down Ooki.”

“AGHH, how can I stay calm? Can’t you see it? Or are you already possessed?”

“I can see her. I can see and hear her. It’s hard to deny that she’s ‘possessed’, but she’s not a ghost or anything. She has legs, eats, sleeps, and browses the internet, a flesh and blood human. Although she doesn’t take baths.”

“…What?”

Ooki, who had his face covered in a cushion, finally raised his head. Thereupon, the pure white, long haired high school girl with miraculous facial features slowly descended the ladder from the loft. No, describing her appearance too positively will lead to misunderstandings, so I should mention that she slept in the loft since she came back from her high school’s end-of-term ceremony today. Her black blouse was wrinkled, and her hair was disheveled in a shaggy way.

“She’s Yoishi Mitsurugi, my flat mate.”

“F-flat mate?”

Yoishi bowed her head ever so slightly. But it was so slight you wouldn’t notice it unless you were used to it, and Ooki surely didn’t notice.

“Why? Since when have you – Is she your girlfriend? And moreover, she’s a high schooler? Dammit, you cunning bastard, you've been enjoying Christmas Eve, haven’t you?”

He turned blue, and then red in a jiffy, what a busy guy.

“That’s not it. Even though me may look like we’re living together, to be honest, she’s parasitizing in the loft portion of my apartment. But anyway, forget about Yoishi and please continue.”

Ooki sat in the formal position for a while as he stared blankly at Yoishi, before eventually clearing his throat once, and drank the last drop of the now lukewarm tea.

“Umm, now where was I… actually, that’s as far as the story goes. In short, that’s how the story of Shizue Namikawa’s solo exhibition was put to rest, and all that’s left is a creepy rumor. Did the self-portraits that were supposed to be a quintet, really increase? What would happen if you were to see the sixth one? The person who told me was scared, saying they didn’t know. So, I came all the way out here to let you know, since you really love scary stories. If you’re thankful, then treat me to something. I haven’t eaten well in the past two days, so a beef bowl would be fine.”

--This bastard, he really did come to scrounge some free food out of me.

As I glared at Ooki’s sloppy face—

“Say, is it alright if I ask you something?”

Yoishi suddenly interjected.

“Does that self-portrait only have a face? Or is it from chest up or a full body portrait?”

Ooki answered, somewhat taken aback by the sudden question.

“Umm…. No, sorry, I didn’t ask that much.”

“Did anyone else see it? Are the appraiser and the transporter the only ones missing?”

“There were probably more people who entered the Namikawa residence, but those two were the only ones who appraised the painting… the others probably didn’t see the sixth self-portrait. I didn’t hear about anyone else disappearing.”

“—Hmm.”

Yoishi whispered that much as she fell silent. Eventually, she staggered up and went back into the loft. As she was climbing the ladder, I was worried her pants would be exposed through her short skirt, but Ooki too was an innocent guy who intentionally averted his eyes.

“…I know I’m late to say it, but she sure is beautiful.”

“Well, her appearance anyway.”

“Where did you meet her?”

“Where? There’s no other answer besides her springing out from an occult site, is there?”

“Springing out from?”

While we were talking in hushed tones, I heard the laptop computer being booted up in the loft, and the sound of vigorous keystrokes eventually started to emanate. Apparently, she was searching for something. And that clacking noise made me recall something.

It was the strange website Sako had told me about in exchange for the job I did. The shadily titled, ‘Heaven on earth’, was a website of negative people devoted to propagating negative words and deeds, in short, it was a site for assembling those who wished to commit suicide. And the person with the handle ‘Lost child’, who was treated as their queen – seemed to have been Yoishi. How I surmised ‘Lost child’ to be Yoishi was due to her deep spiritual knowledge, and her peculiar manner of speech. Words like “It’s strange,” and her unique way of ending sentences, which doesn’t conform to the speech patterns of girls in this day and age, and which was definitely not used in writing.* And even there, Yoishi a.k.a ‘Lost child’, spoke indifferently of death. And her unique views on life and death, as well as her spiritual knowledge were popular with those netizens who excessively glorified death. When ‘Lost child’ logged in, they started posting ‘Descent’ like a cult, as if some god had descended.

--What the hell was she was doing at a place like this?

At the time, I was shocked, disgusted, and a little aggravated. I didn’t know why I felt aggravated at the time, but for the time being, I read all past posts from ‘Lost child’ related to death on the website. And – what I found out, was that this site was a little different from the suicide websites that were currently popular. Rather than being a place to gather a suicide buddy or to encourage suicide, the atmosphere was more like that of a university seminar in a sense, with everyone discussing the afterlife and those who had found the answer left (or perhaps committed suicide?). And instead of a professor, the person leading the discussion was ‘Lost child’, a.k.a Yoishi.

To those who longed for death, ‘Lost child’ did not praise suicide, nor did she denounce it, she merely continued posting her views on life and death with indifference. But at times, her words had a strange gravity about them. As a result, the number of people like me who had been caught up in them had multiplied, and the site thrived as a result.

What will you do if someone triggered by your words really did commit suicide?

Or was that not a problem since the site was only for people who were suicidal to begin with?

I didn’t know. Anyway, taking a glance at her old posts, the feeling I got was that Lost child’s occultic posts were interesting for the moment, and that there was a strange equilibrium there, as if someone who came here to commit suicide was discouraged from doing so.

As I drew that memory in my mind—

I heard Yoishi’s voice saying, ‘hmm’, up from the loft.

“—Did you figure something out?”

“The name of the atelier is ‘Grave keeper’.”

“Grave keeper?”

“I found out when I saw the address, it’s a solitary place behind the Tokyo Metropolitan cemetery. Maybe that’s why.”

After that, Yoishi’s face suddenly peeked out from the loft, and I realized. Her eyes had that bewitching glow about them. The hollow glass bead-look in her eyes was absent, and instead, a dark colored light shone within.

…Oh shit.

What was I gonna do if she asked me to go there? Until now, I had thought that Yoishi was pushing ahead to the world beyond to regain the feeling of ‘fear’ she had lost for some reason or other. And I thought I’d sort of accompany her in this rescue operation. 

However, now that I had found out about that site – what if Yoishi yearned for death itself? Wouldn’t that change the meaning of the haunted spot investigations?

Yoishi then asked me something incomprehensible:

“Say, have you heard of Hilbert’s infinite hotel paradox?”

“Hilbe…what?”

“David Hilbert. A German mathematician who died seventy years ago. The twenty-three Hilbert problems he presented in 1900 led to the Riemann hypothesis, a theory that stands unsolved to this day in the world of mathematics – but leaving that aside. The problem is the theory of infinity he proposed.”

“…I don’t know what you mean, but, say, could you come down here to talk. My neck hurts like this.”

Me and Ooki still had our heads looking up at the ceiling. However, Yoishi ignored me and continued speaking while looking down on us.

“To explain it in simple terms, it’s a though experiment which states that there exists an infinity larger than any infinity. For example, say there was a hotel with an infinite number of guest rooms. But all the rooms are full. At certain times, a new guest will arrive. Because of the rooms being full, the hotel shouldn’t be able to accept any new guests, but the guest insists on staying. What would you do if you were the manager of that hotel?”

“…”

I looked sideways at Ooki who had a foolish look on his face. He shrugged his shoulders in silence, so it couldn’t be helped, I answered after putting my fist to my lips and thinking it through.

“What to do, you ask… but there really is no other choice here.”

“No, you can still allow them in.”

“Allow them in? But the rooms are full, right?”

I rebutted while raising my head, and Yoishi spoke while looking down at me.

“The answer is to move the guests to the adjacent room in order. If you did that, the first room will become empty, allowing a guest to enter.”

“…Hey, that’s cheating.”

I said something like that – when I realized.

“Ah…I see, so it’s a paradox because the number of rooms is supposedly infinite?”

“That’s right. You must be relieved after listening to the solution now. A hotel like that can’t exist in reality, it’s simply a thought experiment. it’s definitely never the case, but--”

Yoishi’s voice abruptly turned to a whisper, and a sudden chill came over me. It was as if the strong cold outside blew into my room alone. It felt as if something would once again shake the earth I stood on.

“But what if something similar to that did occur in reality? Right, for instance, in the atelier with the title of ‘Grave keeper’.”

“……”

“Say, do you want to know?”

I took a gulp and shook my head.

“I don’t want to know.”