Chapter 4 The Invisible Girl
Wataru was hearing voices again.
It was the same phenomenon he had experienced the night he met Mr. Daimatsu. His mouth felt strangely dry.
“So you’re a liar.”
Sure, it sounded like a girl’s voice, but Wataru knew it was an echo or something, probably coming from the neighbor’s TV. That was it. His neighbors were watching some television show with the volume cranked too loud. His father had complained when they moved in that the walls in this building were thinner than had been advertised.
“Ignoring me won’t make me go away.”
Now she was sulking. It must be a soap opera.
“Why did you lie to your friend? Is that the kind of person you are? Was I wrong about you?”
Definitely a soap opera. Wataru hesitantly looked around the room, but nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. His mother had changed the comforter on his bed. The old one had a blue check pattern, but this one was yellow. The spines of the books were aligned neatly on his bookshelf as usual. The shelf below them held the volumes of the Children’s Illustrated Encyclopedia that his grandmother in Chiba had given him as a present for being accepted into his elementary school. He couldn’t believe it when he had heard the set cost something like ¥200,000. If she was going to spend that kind of money, he wished she would have bought him a computer instead! When he pointed this out to her she had snapped and said the set of encyclopedias was just fine for a kid in grade school. He could buy himself a computer when he grew up, she said. Adding insult to injury, the volumes took up a huge amount of space on his bookshelf.
He scanned the familiar scene: calendar on the wall, rug on the floor, eraser shavings on his desktop, light fixture on the ceiling.
Wataru hunched over and peered beneath his desk, the movement accidentally causing his chair to scoot back several inches. No one hiding under there, of course.
He swung around sharply and took a look under the bed. He felt like a special agent searching a criminal’s hideout. All he needed was a windbreaker with the big FBI logo on the back, a bulletproof vest, and a gun in a shoulder holster.
The only thing he spied under his bed was a lone dust bunny—a guerilla soldier who had somehow evaded his mother’s despotic cleaning tactics, unexpectedly discovered and forced to surrender.
“I’m not hiding,” the girl’s voice giggled from nowhere.
Wataru stood up and slowly moved back to his chair. His heart shrank to the size of a ping-pong ball and ricocheted around his body, leaving a cold hollow in his chest.
“Where are you?” Wataru asked quietly.
It was weird. He couldn’t pinpoint the direction her voice was coming from. It didn’t seem to be coming from the ceiling, or the walls, from in front or behind him, or from the floor. It resonated in his head, right where his own voice should be, but distinctly different.
“I’m not hiding,” the voice said in a sing-song, “but you can’t find me, either. I mean, it doesn’t make any sense to look for something that isn’t hiding. Why do the things people search for need to be hidden? Do they search for things because they’re hidden, or are things hidden because they’re searching?”
Wataru scowled and, for lack of a better direction, looked up at the ceiling when he answered. “What are you? What are you talking about?”
“I’m right beside you,” answered the voice.
Wataru’s eyes opened wide. If there was a ghost in the room he wanted to grab his camera and take a picture of it. He sprang from his chair, flung open his door, and sprinted to the living room, the door slamming shut behind him. The family television was happily singing the latest catchy jingle for no one’s benefit. He didn’t see Kuniko anywhere. She had to be taking a bath—she always left the TV on when she was taking a bath.
Wataru knew there was a disposable camera in the drawer next to the couch. His parents had bought it for a family trip to the zoo last month. There were twenty shots on the roll, but, in classic fashion, they had taken only three or four.
Wataru yanked open the drawer. There it was! Camera in hand, he ran back to his room.
Wait. He couldn’t just charge in there and start snapping pictures blindly. He pressed his back to the wall next to the closed door, waiting until his breath returned to normal. He was an FBI man again. And this time, Special Agent Mitani was on his own, without any backup. This would be a solo mission. Gently, he turned the doorknob and began to push. The door opened an inch, then a foot. He slid inside without making a sound.
Holding his right arm with the camera behind his back, Wataru leaned against the door to close it. The fugitive hadn’t noticed—maybe. This vicious criminal was wearing a special invisiwave-emitting suit—or something. That sounded silly, but the point was, she wasn’t visible to the naked eye. Heck of a time to forget the infrared goggles, Agent Mitani.
Taking a deep breath, Wataru whipped out the camera from behind his back and triggered the shutter, an agent squeezing off a shot from his handgun.
Or not. He had forgotten to wind the film.
That was the problem with disposable cameras. Whoever took the last picture was supposed to wind the film right afterward, and they never did.
Well, the cat was out of the bag now. Wataru wound the film like a madman and pressed the shutter button again. He spun around the room, taking shot after shot. His mind was totally focused. He photographed the ceiling, the space under his bed, the shadow of his desk chair. He took photos behind him and he took them squatting down. Not a corner of the room was missed. No comforter was left unturned.
The camera ran out of film. Wataru wiped off the sweat that had beaded on the tip of his nose and took a seat on the floor. It hadn’t been particularly strenuous, but he found himself breathing hard just the same.
“Even if you didn’t get a good shot, you can always just lie and say you did,” the girl’s voice teasingly suggested. It sounded like she was talking from the right side of the room.
Wataru tensed, the camera falling from his stiff fingers into his lap.
“And if you did get a good shot, you can always just lie and say you didn’t,” the voice said from the left side of the room.
“Saying you have something that you don’t makes it yours. Saying you don’t have something you do makes it go away,” the voice whispered right in Wataru’s ear.
The next time she spoke, the voice came from the ceiling, each word falling like drops of rain.
“You are everything in the world, because you are the world.”
Wataru noticed that the tone of the voice seemed to be changing. The sing-song was gone, replaced with a sort of…sadness. Wataru felt trapped and confused. He lifted his head to the ceiling. “Where are you?”
He could feel his heart finally returning to its normal size and place. Thump. Thump. Thump. Wataru counted five beats before the voice answered.
“I think you already know.”
And then she was gone. Wataru couldn’t see her or even figure out where the girl’s voice was coming from, but Wataru knew she wasn’t in his room anymore. It was like…like the connection had been dropped.
Wataru’s neck and back were soaked with sweat. His hands were trembling. Twice he tried picking up the camera he had dropped in his lap, but both times it slid out of his trembling fingers.
I think you already know.
How could he? The voice sounded too nice—nothing like any of the girls in Wataru’s class. He would know if it were one of his friends.
Who in the world could it be?
Wataru suddenly felt abandoned. Or was it he who had abandoned her? Somehow, it felt like both.
The money left over from Wataru’s monthly allowance wasn’t enough to pay for one-hour development for the disposable camera. He would have to take it to a drugstore and pick it up the next day. And since the store wasn’t open when Wataru went to school in the morning, he would have to drop the camera off in the afternoon, further delaying the process. This, he thought, was the disadvantage of being a kid.
Wataru had hidden a secret stash of money in an empty cookie tin, which he kept behind the comic books on the shelf next to his desk. He was saving up for Eldritch Stone Saga III, the latest installment in one of his favorite video game series, due to go on sale in September. If he dipped into that money now, he could develop the photos more quickly. He slid the comic books from the shelf to reveal the illustration on the side of the tin: a cream-colored bunny happily munching cookies. Wataru stared at the bunny for a while. Finally he shook his head and replaced the comic books. It was the middle of June. If he spent the money now, he wouldn’t have time to save up enough to buy the game when it came out.
In the end, Wataru slipped the disposable camera into his school backpack and took it to the drugstore the following afternoon. The slip of paper the clerk gave him said the pictures would be ready for pickup after four o’clock the day after tomorrow. The day after tomorrow! He read the slip again and again, his heart sinking. How could he stay in that room for so long without knowing?
Wataru trudged out to the neighborhood shops, finding himself in front of the video game store he often frequented with Katchan. The windows of the small storefront were plastered with video game posters. Peering inside, Wataru could make out rows and rows of game software along with monitor screens advertising newly released products.
A poster for Eldritch Stone Saga III had been placed right next to the sliding door at the front of the store. The game magazines had already run images of the main characters and even some screenshots, but the poster featured a far simpler design: fluffy white clouds hanging in a blue sky. In the center of the scene was a sailboat, its sails full of wind, flying above the sea through the air. Wataru had already determined that the boat belonged to the main character.
A handwritten note on the top of the poster read, “On Sale September 20th! Preorders Begin August 20th!” Someone had used a thick, red marker to add the words “Price: ¥6,800.”
Wataru considered the price. He knew he had made the right choice by not using the money in the cookie can. He didn’t know about other kids, but Wataru thought ¥6,800 was a lot of money. That’s why he’d started saving up the moment he had seen the ads in the magazines.
As a general rule, pleading and begging fell on deaf ears in the Mitani household. Promises of future good deeds, such as “I’ll do better on my next math exam” or “I’ll get up early every day during summer vacation” never seemed to work. It was the same with citing past successes, like “My grades were good last semester!” or “I did well on my last exam!” The one and only exception had been the time his parents agreed to buy the fourteen-inch television for his room. Wataru had celebrated at first. Finally, he’d managed to talk his parents into buying him something. But quickly he realized they had their own motives for buying it.
“We think you’re old enough to choose what to watch on your own,” they had said, “and we’re interested to see what it is you’ll choose.” If he had to report to his parents about every show he saw, that was no better than sharing a TV!
Akira was particularly strict when it came to money. “I don’t want you thinking along the lines of ‘I did this much work, so I deserve that much in return’ when you make important decisions in your life,” he would say. “You’ve got to work for yourself, not for rewards.”
“Wow, your parents are super strict!” was Katchan’s comment when he heard about it, and Wataru couldn’t deny it. He understood why they did it: if his parents never listened when he pleaded for more allowance, he had to learn to be pragmatic about his money from an early age. The things Wataru wanted to buy weren’t necessarily the things he could afford to buy, so he had to adjust his desires to match reality.
Katchan wasn’t the only one who thought Wataru’s parents were “super strict.” His uncle did too.
“He’s just a little kid, Akira! Why not cut him some slack?” Uncle Lou would occasionally argue on Wataru’s behalf. “It feels good to get a reward after working hard, just like your friends—right, Wataru?”
“You don’t have any kids, so you don’t know what it’s like to raise one,” Wataru’s father would say dismissively. “As a parent, you can’t always take the child’s side. It’s irresponsible.”
Akira’s child-rearing methods weren’t the only bone of contention between him and Satoru Mitani. In fact, they saw nearly everything differently. Uncle Lou tended to look at the big picture; Wataru’s father was methodical and precise. Uncle Lou didn’t have a lot of patience for extended arguments or discussions; Akira would happily debate until his opponent collapsed from exhaustion.
Which isn’t to say the two brothers didn’t get along. They hardly ever fought, and seemed to enjoy having a drink together during the holidays. By most standards, they had a pretty good relationship.
Wataru noticed, however, that something was changing of late. Normally, his uncle would back down when an argument got too heated. But now, when they discussed Wataru’s business, Uncle Lou never gave up.
These conversations made Wataru more uncomfortable than either he or his uncle ever realized. But, he loved his parents and he loved Uncle Lou, so he was confident that things would work themselves out.
Whenever Wataru visited Chiba, his uncle would often slip him some pocket money. “Don’t tell your dad,” he would say, but Wataru always did. Starting the year before, the amounts had grown to sizes too large for him to feel comfortable keeping quiet about. Whenever Wataru reported another gift to his parents, they would take it and put it in his bank account. Every once in a while, they showed him the balance so that he knew how much he had saved. This tradition had begun when Wataru received his first gift of New Year’s pocket money at the age of four.
“We don’t want him getting used to carrying around a lot of cash,” his father would explain to Wataru’s grandparents when he took the gifts for safekeeping.
Wataru’s grandmother in Odawara would occasionally give him even larger gifts than his uncle. She was also more secretive about it, as though she were wary of what Wataru’s father might think. Regardless, Wataru always dutifully reported the gifts, and they went into his savings account straight away.
All this meant that Wataru didn’t have money to burn. Katchan wasn’t the only one who was surprised at Wataru’s situation. One of his classmates reacted in shock when he heard the story. “I’d flip out on them if I were you,” he had advised with all seriousness. It made Wataru uncomfortable because it sounded like code for “you’re acting like a total wimp.”
One time, Wataru tried asking Kuniko about his allowance. “I don’t feel like you and Dad are too strict,” he had begun, “but all my friends say you are.” Were his parents really strict? If not, why were they so different from everyone else’s families?
It had not been the best timing. It was right in the middle of the uproar over the Kenji Ishioka joyriding incident, and Kuniko was furious. Kenji spent money like water. Rumor had it that Kenji got so much money in allowance every month that he could buy ten copies of a game like Eldritch Stone Saga III and still have some left over. Kenji himself claimed he had no idea how much he spent. There was no need to keep track—his parents gave him money any time he asked for it.
Worse, Kenji’s mother was proud of it. “Our son will never have to worry about money,” she had boasted during the very PTA meeting called because of her son’s wild ride through the schoolyard. To the other parents, the meaning was clear: “our son will never have to worry about money because we’re rich, and we’ll pay whatever it takes to patch the problem up.”
Kuniko had been furious. She couldn’t believe her ears. No wonder their kid is out of control! But PTA meetings—along with the rest of the country—are run democratically, and freedom of speech is guaranteed. No matter how much you wanted to, you couldn’t just throw someone out for having a condescending attitude. Kuniko was unable to take her frustrations out on Mrs. Ishioka directly, so she came home frustrated, seething like a witch’s cauldron on the verge of boiling over.
And that was when Wataru decided to ask about his allowance.
“Oh, so you want a big allowance, just like that Ishioka boy?” Kuniko snapped. “You really disappoint me, Wataru.”
Wataru didn’t know—couldn’t know—how he might have disappointed his mother, but he reflexively apologized just the same. Retreating to his room, he felt like a sinking ship, plunging to the bottom of an unfathomably deep sea. He resolved never to broach the subject of money with his parents again.
Wataru was a logical kid; he had his father to thank for that. He knew it wasn’t right for children to carry around large sums of money. And he knew it was better to work for himself rather than focus purely on financial rewards. Okay, Dad, fine, I get it. Still, it was only natural for him to want some kind of reassurance. All he needed was an explanation, something that he could parrot when classmates accused his family of being overly strict. He never really doubted his parents’ good intentions, anyway. A simple conversation would have been all he needed to turn the situation around and wear their strictness as a badge of honor.
As it was, Wataru got sad every time he thought about the incident. It was simply a case of bad timing. It was nobody’s fault, but he felt bad just the same. As for his small allowance, Wataru accepted it as a fact of life. Sure, it was occasionally inconvenient, but there was an upside as well. People always said that waiting for something made you appreciate it more, and Wataru was a living example of that. He could walk by the store, gaze at the Eldritch Stone Saga III poster, save his money bit by bit and excitedly count the days until the release date. Kids like Kenji would never experience happiness like this, no matter how many copies of the game they could afford with their huge allowances.
Wataru tried to force the mysterious girl’s voice out of his head until the pictures were developed. But the more he tried to not think about her, the more real she became in his mind. His every thought veered between rose-colored dreams and all-consuming dark fantasies.
Who is she?
Where does she come from?
What does she look like?
Is she human?
A ghost?
A fairy?
That was it. She had to be a fairy, like the one that was supposed to guide the player in Saga III. In the previous game of the series, she was just a minor character who showed up now and then for comic relief. In the first game of the series, however, Neena the Fairy had been a major member of the cast. The hero would never have made it up Wight Cliff without her help. Without question, she had been Wataru’s favorite. He had spent hours raising her strength to the point where she could face the last dungeon of the game, but just before the climactic battle, there was a fully animated scene featuring Neena that confounded his strategy.
“This is as far as we fairies can go,” Neena said, and just like that, she dropped out of the game. Wataru nearly threw his controller to the floor. In the throes of disappointment, he had called Katchan for moral support.
“What, you didn’t know?” Katchan asked incredulously, making Wataru feel even worse. “The last boss monster, the Elemental Guard, used to be chief of the fairies guarding the Kingdom of Toma. If you had her in your party, it’d be fairies fighting each other! Of course you had to get rid of her.”
“I didn’t know!”
“Well, did you trigger the event at Noru Spring? No? Well, that’s your problem. You learn the whole deal there. Looks like you screwed up. Sucks to be you, man.”
In the end, Wataru had to start all over again. All the time spent building up Neena’s powers had been a waste.
In the world of Eldritch Stone Saga, fairies were tiny enough to fit on a child’s palm. They wore pretty, ballerina-like dresses and had wings on their backs. Neena fit the typical fairy profile. She wouldn’t ever think of doing evil. She talked back sometimes, but she also knew a lot of things. She was chipper, kind, and cute—and always would be, thanks to a lifespan far exceeding that of humans.
What if she’s a fairy, like Neena?
Waves of hope and anxiety washed over Wataru. He knew he couldn’t tell anyone about the voice, not even Katchan, not yet. It was all too fantastic sounding. If there was anything to see, Wataru planned to show the pictures to Katchan right away. But without photographic evidence, his friend would laugh him out of the room. He might even start worrying about him.
Wataru ran to the drugstore the moment school let out. He found himself checking his watch at every stoplight and crosswalk. Five to four, four to four, three to four…
Wataru reached the photo counter at ten seconds to four o’clock.
Only one customer was ahead of him: a plump, middle-aged woman. She was locked in some sort of negotiation with a clerk wearing a white lab coat.
Wataru craned his neck to see behind the counter. He spotted a rack of long envelopes containing finished pictures. There were a lot—maybe twenty total. Each had a tag listing the customer’s name. Wataru strained his eyes looking for “Mitani.” There it was! The fifth envelope from the front! Wataru’s pictures had been developed for sure.
“It didn’t work at all,” the plump woman pouted, “and I switched medications on your recommendation, even though it was more expensive.”
“I understand, ma’am,” replied the cashier, lowering her eyes with obvious discomfort. “Maybe you need to give it more time? Everyone’s talking about this drug. It’s the next big thing. “
“Everyone? Then why hadn’t I heard of it until you told me?”
The clerk shrugged.
“Look, all I ask is that you let me exchange it for something else. It’s pointless to keep taking something that just isn’t working.”
“But it’s already been opened, ma’am.”
“That’s beside the point! It doesn’t work! We’re talking about medicine, here! What don’t you understand? I want something new and I want it now.”
The woman was brandishing a box of antacids, a brand that Wataru often saw advertised on TV. He peered around the store in frustration, searching for another clerk. It was a big drugstore. Usually there were more people working. For whatever reason, though, nobody was around today. He was growing impatient.
“E-excuse me,” Wataru began, hesitantly peeking around the middle-aged woman. “I’m here to pick up my pictures…”
“I’m sorry, but I’m helping this customer,” replied the clerk with an apologetic smile.
“Wait your turn!” snapped the plump woman ahead of Wataru.
“Perhaps I can interest you in this brand instead,” the clerk said to the woman. She was holding up a free trial package of antacid tablets.
“I don’t want a different one,” she said, taking the offered box anyway. “Does it work?”
“It’s new and based on a Chinese herbal remedy. It’s supposed to be highly effective for upset stomachs and digestive problems, and it’s got a refreshing flavor.”
“I doubt that,” said the woman. She lifted the sample to her nose and sniffed. Her nose wrinkled. “Smells funny.”
The clerk smiled nervously, saying nothing. Wataru caught her eye and silently mouthed the word “pictures.”
“All right. I’ll take it,” the woman said at last, stuffing it into a huge bag already bulging with other purchases.
Wataru felt as relieved as the clerk looked. But the woman didn’t move. She stood in place, stubbornly scanning the racks of medicines displayed behind the counter.
“I’m also looking for some cold medicine,” she said. “And not a strong one—I have a sensitive stomach. And I don’t want anything that makes me drowsy. Everything you carry always makes me sleepy. Maybe you’ve gotten something new?” She moved to one side to get a better look at the row of cold remedies. Wataru took the opportunity to gently elbow ahead of the plump customer.
“Um, Mitani. Wataru Mitani. I came here to pick up my photos,” he said, stretching out an arm to show his receipt.
The clerk glanced at the plump woman for a moment. Then, with a brief nod, she took a step toward the rack of photo envelopes. Wataru felt a warm breeze on the back of his neck. He spun around to find the woman snorting in frustration.
“How rude!” the woman bellowed, angrily glaring at Wataru. “I told you to wait your turn!”
“I’m sorry. I thought you were finished.”
“You’ve got some nerve, young man! If your parents were here I’d give them a stern talking to!” she seethed, stepping back from the counter. “Didn’t they ever teach you to respect your elders?”
The clerk came back to the counter, holding the envelope Wataru had spotted earlier. She slid several pictures out of the envelope and showed them to Wataru.
“These the ones?”
“Yes, they are.”
Wataru felt the plump woman glaring down at him as he paid for the photos. He did his best to ignore her. The cashier appeared to be doing the same. He pitied her for having to deal with people like the woman. A bad customer’s still a customer…
Outside, Wataru ran as quickly as his legs could take him. He looked up after a while to find he was across the street from the haunted building. His lungs were aching, his cheeks burned, and his hands shook with anticipation. He hadn’t wanted to open the photos in the drugstore; he wanted somewhere with more privacy. And home was out of the question. He’d used up a perfectly good disposable camera without asking permission—and on a fairy! He couldn’t let his mother see the photos.
Wataru had stopped, but his heart was beating wildly. He looked around, trying to catch his breath. What about Mihashi Shrine? There’s a bench and it’s nice and bright there. Plus it’s always empty.
Wataru crossed the street and walked through the faded red torii gate. The shrine itself was a small building, with red pillars supporting a green roof. New benches flanked either side. They were always empty…
Someone was sitting on the bench to the left.
It was Mitsuru Ashikawa.
He was reading a book. It looked thick and heavy. The spine had to be at least five inches thick. Wataru gawked at him. That perfect face. That perfect hair. Just like a mannequin.
Mitsuru looked up briefly and then resumed reading. Wataru was nothing to him, a passing sparrow, a dog, a dead leaf or piece of litter drifting in the wind.
Maybe he doesn’t remember me, Wataru thought, desperately trying to put a positive spin on the situation. That must be it.
“Uh…hi,” Wataru croaked. It came out so weakly he almost laughed.
Mitsuru didn’t even notice.
Wataru’s mouth had half-formed the greeting for a second time when Mitsuru finally glanced up. His eyes flickered over Wataru’s face for the briefest of moments before returning to his book again.
Warmth began to creep up Wataru’s cheeks. It was strange. Why was he embarrassed? Mitsuru was the one being rude. Wataru was just trying to be friendly.
“Uh…We’re in cram school together,” Wataru finally managed to sputter. I’m qualified to talk to you, really. Permission to speak freely, sir? Mitsuru raised his eyes. This time, they lingered on him. It reminded Wataru of their first encounter outside the classroom. He had noticed Mitsuru’s eyelashes then—long like a fashion model’s—and now those same eyelashes fluttered over him, inspecting him.
And then Mitsuru was reading his book again. A light breeze wafted down from the temple’s roof, gently tousling both boys’ hair.
“My name’s Wataru. Wataru Mitani. I’m a friend of Miyahara’s…and, uh…”
Mitsuru slammed his book shut with a sudden clap. The cover was cobalt blue. It looked quite old.
“So?” Mitsuru asked impatiently.
“I, uh, heard that you were really smart,” Wataru continued. “Miyahara told me. And then you did really well the other day in cram school, and…” Wataru lost track of what he was saying.
Mitsuru’s perfect face regarded Wataru emotionlessly.
“So what?”
It took an eternity for Wataru to realize that he was being asked a question. But he had no idea how to answer.
“I. Said. So. What?” Mitsuru repeated himself slowly, as if speaking to a child.
Suddenly Wataru felt his embarrassment lifting. So what, indeed! It was painfully obvious that Mitsuru had no interest in talking to Wataru, let alone making friends. Whatever it was, it wasn’t Wataru’s fault. Why is he so cold?
“Look, I’m in the middle of reading.” Mitsuru sighed, his fingers indicating the cover of his book. Wataru looked but couldn’t make out the title.
“Uh…okay,” Wataru managed, sounding even weaker than before. Mitsuru rolled his eyes and resumed reading.
Wataru could have turned and walked away. He could have gotten angry. He might even have been forgiven for throwing a handful of gravel at Mitsuru—he was too far away to actually hit him, anyway. The kid certainly deserved it. Wataru was only trying to start a conversation.
But instead, he just stood there, entranced by Mitsuru Ashikawa’s strange charisma. The odd combination of adoration and insecurity he felt wouldn’t let him write the other boy off as a simple jerk.
“I heard you took a picture of a ghost here,” Wataru blurted. Mitsuru’s face slowly swiveled up, his book lying open on his lap. His expression remained impassive, but Wataru cheered inwardly. That got his attention.
“You said people shouldn’t make a fuss about it,” Wataru went on. “I think so too.” Mitsuru’s eyes twitched—a sure sign of interest. Wataru felt a smile creep slowly to his lips. “I know it’s not easy for everyone to do, of course. Sure, it’s stupid to freak out over a ghost but there are strange things out there. That’s why you’ve got to approach them with a cool mind, with…”
“Photographs,” Mitsuru said, cutting him off.
“What?”
“I see you have photographs.”
It was true. Wataru was still clutching the envelope of photos from the drugstore. That was the entire reason he’d come here in the first place. In fact, Wataru had been about to mention them, but Mitsuru beat him to it.
His embarrassment returned. Wataru’s stomach lurched as though he’d just stepped onto a high-speed elevator. “I might, uh…I might have taken pictures of a ghost too.”
Wataru hurried over to Mitsuru, his feet lifting across the gravel like he was walking on air. One part of Wataru was furious at himself for acting like some kind of awestruck fool. Another part was jumping for joy that he was actually talking to Mitsuru Ashikawa. Why, they might even become friends.
“I took these in my room.” Wataru nervously began fumbling through the envelope with shaking hands. “You know what fairies are, right? Like the ones in Eldritch Stone Saga? Well, I think there’s one in my room. I heard it speaking… and not just once, but twice!”
As the son of Akira Mitani, man of logic, reason, and rationality, Wataru would rather have bitten off his own tongue and died from massive blood loss before allowing himself to spew such irrational chatter. But, every once in a while, even the most normal of people act in ways that surprise themselves, doing things they might never have imagined themselves doing because they’re excited, or they’re obsessed, or they’re in love…not that Wataru realized any of this. “I took so many shots I’m sure I got it—check it out!”
Hand shaking, he drew the photos he had taken of his room from the envelope and handed them over to Mitsuru. In the process, he managed to drop the thin plastic sleeve containing the negatives and a few pictures from the zoo onto the ground. Wataru quickly scooped them up and placed them in a pile on the seat next to Mitsuru. He would have sat down, but the boy didn’t move from his spot in the center of the bench, and there wasn’t enough room on either side.
Wataru had taken close to twenty photos. He watched nervously while Mitsuru shuffled through them rapidly like someone leafing through trading cards looking for something valuable. Mitsuru finished and flashed a smile at Wataru for the first time.
“Where is it?”
It took a few seconds for Wataru to realize that Mitsuru meant the fairy.
“You didn’t see it?”
“Nothing. Looks like pictures of an empty room.” Mitsuru shrugged. His smile was gone. Now he was holding the stack of photographs in front of Wataru’s nose.
After a pause, Wataru snatched them back. He started clumsily leafing through them. His hands were shaking. “No way!” Wataru cried, shuffling wildly. Several of the photographs slipped through his fumbling fingers, fluttering down to rest on the tops of his running shoes.
It was like Mitsuru said: pictures of an empty room. The walls, the curtains, even the pattern on his comforter—all were perfectly clear. He could even make out the titles of the textbooks he kept in the little hutch atop his cluttered desk.
But no sign of the fairy.
No golden hair. No flowing robes. Nothing. Zip. Nada.
Wataru slowly raised his head and looked at Mitsuru. The boy had returned to his book again. It was as though Wataru had never even been there.
“I know what I heard…” Wataru began, the words trailing off and disappearing the moment they left his lips. “It was so close. I thought the camera would catch it for sure.”
“You had a dream,” Mitsuru said quietly, his eyes never leaving the book.
“What?” Wataru took a step closer. He could barely hear what the boy was saying.
“A dream. You had a dream,” Mitsuru repeated, flipping a page. “You must’ve been half asleep. You heard someone who wasn’t there.”
“Yeah, but it happened to me twice!”
“So you were half asleep twice, then.” Mitsuru flipped another page. The next page was blank. Perhaps he had reached the end of a chapter. Mitsuru sighed and looked up. “You’ll step on them.”
“What?” Wataru’s brow furrowed. What is it this time?
“Your pictures. They’re right in front of your feet.”
He was right. The tip of Wataru’s right shoe was already stepping on the corner of one of the zoo pictures. He looked down at it. Wataru and his mother were smiling and standing in front of the elephant cage. A zookeeper had just given the elephant an apple.
“I didn’t take a picture of a ghost,” said Mitsuru as Wataru squatted down to retrieve his photographs from the gravel. It was as though he had been waiting for Wataru to look away to speak. “I took a blurry picture of an azalea. Everyone freaked out and got excited because it’s more fun that way. That’s all.”
“But you said …”
“I said people shouldn’t make a fuss about such things. You agreed with me, didn’t you? I heard you say so just now.” Mitsuru looked a little angry now. His eyes gleamed. “You know, if that’s the way you really feel, it’s a little weird trying to take pictures of a fairy. Pretty hypocritical.”
Now it felt like he was being scolded.
“Look, I know it sounds strange, but I swear I heard a girl’s voice and there was nobody around but me.” Wataru raised his voice to be more assertive, but it seemed like every sentence came out weaker than the next.
“Like I said, you were dreaming. I wouldn’t waste my time taking any more pictures, if I were you,” Mitsuru said, cocking his head slightly. “You say people shouldn’t make a fuss, and here you are making a fuss all on your own. You’re kind of contradicting yourself, don’t you think?”
Wataru wracked his brain for a choice retort. He knew he had to come up with something soon, or he felt like he might burst into tears. Quite suddenly he felt a need to use the bathroom.
What was with this boy? Talking to him was like talking to an adult, but worse.
“If you ask me, there’s a much bigger problem here than a missing fairy,” Mitsuru said, his voice perfectly measured.
Wataru carefully blinked to keep the tears back. His eyes searched Mitsuru’s face. “What kind of problem?”
“That depends on your point of view,” Mitsuru replied calmly. He raised his book vertically, nestled a bookmark in between the pages, and slammed it shut. Then he tucked the hefty tome under his arm and stood up. A chill went down Wataru’s spine. Is our conversation going to end like this?
“You’re saying I have a problem?”
“I don’t recall saying that.”
“Yes, you did!” Wataru shouted. Once again he felt like crying. Now I’m angry.
Mitsuru cocked his head again, studying Wataru as if he were preparing to dissect some strange creature. “Do you have a father?” he asked, neither his eyes nor his expression changing in the slightest. Only his lips moved.
“What?” Wataru replied in shock.
“A father. Do you have one?”
“O-of course I do!”
Mitsuru blinked. “Does he like having his picture taken?” Mitsuru’s questions were getting weirder and weirder.
“What do you care?”
Mitsuru indicated the pictures in Wataru’s hands with a jut of his smoothly cleft chin. “Those pictures—your dad’s not in a single one.”
Wataru looked down. He hadn’t noticed if he was or wasn’t.
“Check them out yourself after you go home, or you can take my word for it: he’s nowhere to be seen. They’re all of you and your mom.”
Wataru said the first thing that came to mind. “So my dad likes taking pictures. That’s all.”
“Sure,” Mitsuru said smugly, “if you say so.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than Mitsuru turned and began walking away. Wataru stood in silence until Mitsuru reached the shrine’s red torii gate. He wasn’t done with this conversation by far, but Mitsuru kept walking.
“What’s your problem?” Wataru called after him. “Why do you have to act like such a jerk?”
Mitsuru disappeared down the street without slowing down. Silence descended over the shrine grounds. Somewhere, a bird began to chirp.
Who does that guy think he is?
Wataru was exhausted. Holding the pictures carefully, he walked back to the bench Mitsuru had just occupied and sat down. He looked up, aware that he was seeing the world as Mitsuru had seen it just moments before. It meant nothing to him. The azaleas had already bloomed and faded. Their petals lay scattered across the ground. Wataru was all alone in Mihashi Shrine.
One by one he checked the pictures, starting with the ones of his room. As he expected, none of them revealed anything about the girl with the voice like honey. He glanced through the photos from the zoo. Wataru mugging for the camera in front of a flock of flamingoes. Kuniko tossing the pigeons some popcorn. It was a bright, sunny day—Kuniko and Wataru were squinting and smiling.
And Akira Mitani was nowhere to be seen, just like Mitsuru had said.