Back in college, Ozawa had a friend called E who was in the same major; E told him about a picture.
He’d said it was a drawing that depicted “something like a torii.”
E was a pure, innocent country boy who had moved from the Tohoku region to Tokyo for college.
His student ID number was close to Ozawa’s, so they had plenty of chances to talk with each other from day one. They even hung out around town together every now and then.
This story happened in the fall of the year I met Ozawa.
Now in his second year, E had become more cosmopolitan and had even dyed his hair brown. One day, he approached Ozawa in the cafeteria during lunch.
“I joined an entrepreneurs’ club. I plan to start my own business after graduation.”
E told Ozawa how he had been recruited at a café near campus. A couple sitting at the table next to his asked for a recommendation on a restaurant in the area, and the conversation progressed from there. They commented on E’s keen business sense and invited him to join their club.
As E spoke animatedly about his future prospects, Ozawa realized that a pair of city dwellers were aiming to hoodwink his naive friend.
He explained they would most likely demand exorbitant membership fees and then try to lure him into a multilevel marketing scheme that would ruin him, but E didn’t listen.
Instead, E began pressuring Ozawa to attend one of their meetings, declaring that once he joined, he’d see the club’s obvious benefits.
Unable to stop his friend, Ozawa began to distance himself from E, praying that the club was somehow an honest enterprise.
But Ozawa didn’t have to worry about avoiding E, because for half a year, he didn’t see him on campus even once. It seemed he was hardly attending classes anymore.
Ozawa eventually ran into him at a convenience store near campus. At this point, his friend looked quite haggard. The first words out of E’s mouth when he saw Ozawa were:
“I was wrong. They were dangerous.”
E had relished every activity the club offered.
They hosted seminars where actual CEOs revealed the secrets to their success, and study sessions designed to help members realize their full potential. Before joining, E had been attending college every day without any purpose or direction. But after he joined the club, his outlook had changed completely. He stopped prioritizing his classes, and his life began to revolve around the club.
Most of the members were university students like E who all shared the same passion for the club. E loved spending time with them, discussing their dreams for the future.
A few months into that life, an executive approached E.
The man invited E to a special party that only select members could attend. The club’s leader, who was a board member at a big company, was going to host the party at his own home.
E immediately accepted. If he could impress the club’s leader, it would help launch his future career.
When he arrived at the director’s house, E had to pinch himself.
The man lived in the penthouse of a towering condominium in a classy part of Tokyo. Inside was a spacious living room decorated with expensive furniture, including a large table covered with succulent catering. A separate room was dedicated to the leader’s art collection, and it was overflowing with strange objects, paintings, and art pieces that E had a hard time guessing the value of.
A few more than ten attendees stood around the room, glasses in hand as they discussed business. E couldn’t believe he’d been invited to attend such an event, and he was full of excitement.
Roughly two hours later, the lights suddenly dimmed, and a projector’s beam filled a large white wall to one side of the room.
The other partygoers immediately burst into a round of applause, so E assumed some regular event was about to start.
As everyone watched, a picture appeared on the wall.
It was an abstract drawing of a black torii that looked like an amateur’s sketch, so E assumed it was some kind of artwork.
Everyone cheered. Then, after a short silence, they all began to speak at once, bathed in the light of the projector.
“Ruki emu dojie uzume”
“Meshi taga haha aoeoizu memi ochikudo”
“Zogi tsufuie hamo sumo ooe”
“Airuzu mesoudzu jiemifu oporeru tozue”
“Doiishime koyoi asu pikuso”
“Suei mikururu rueoki munashi”
“Aoie fuzumodzui seroo aburuiso”
“Chimemi fuzuroite tottusumo iteto bunaru ike komiteru”
“Fueo iepushi”
“Ritsu fuitoto mina oi oerutsu”
“Shikoe ributsui tote mizu”
E had no idea what was happening.
Paying E no mind, the others continued to blabber gibberish to one another as though it all made perfect sense.
Something far beyond E’s understanding was unfolding before him.
Scared senseless, E roused his courage and tried saying something to the person closest to him.
Every member of the vociferous crowd went silent and stared at him.
The only sound in the room was the hum of the projector as a sea of blank faces stared at E through the faint light.
Each set of eyes observing him were empty, hollow, and lacked any hint of emotion.
Unable to contain his fear any longer, E dashed out of the room and went home.
The following day, he received a text from the club’s leader, the man who had invited him to the party.
“Thank you for attending yesterday. It was such a great party. I’m sure it was a good experience for you, too.”
The message made it sound like nothing had happened, so for a second, E wondered if he had somehow imagined it all. But the memory of his fear was so vivid that E couldn’t dismiss it as a dream, and he cut ties with the club.
A month or so later, just as his nerves had finally begun to settle, he came back to his apartment from his shift at work to find a white paper attached to his door. It was the picture from the party.
From that day forward, no matter how many times he tore the paper off, it would return.
It haunted him, driving him to insomnia.
One sleepless night, as E tossed in bed, he heard a small noise from the direction of the front door. He turned toward the sound and saw the mail slot creak open.
A pair of eyes peered in at him from outside.
Their dull glint reminded E of the gazes of those people at the party.
The eyes stared straight ahead, motionless, but clearly observing him.
He held their gaze for what seemed like an eternity, before the mail slot closed and he heard footsteps slowly receding into the distance.
The next morning, the picture was back on his door.
✦ ✦ ✦
“The picture in E’s story only has a torii. But the way it keeps coming back and the image of the torii both match the sticker.”
After finishing this tale, Ozawa continued, as if trying to lighten the mood.
“Well, even if someone is spreading some kind of curse, we’re not exorcists or saviors. Let’s just focus on gathering more information. In his interview, K said that the most important thing for readers is enjoyment, and I agree. But I’d rather report the truth than make up a story that’s only loosely based on reality. I hope you’ll stick with me until the end.”
Honestly, I didn’t want anything more to do with this thing. The more I involved myself, the more likely it seemed I’d wind up in danger. That was how I felt, anyway. But I’d accepted the job from Ozawa, so I had to keep working…