Nanaka was trembling. Once upon a time, Aoyama supposed, he’d been like her. Innocent enough to take the Bible at face value and believe in heaven and hell as literal truths. It was probably the kind of cliché every generation spouted at some point, but he’d assumed kids these days weren’t so accepting of stuff like that. He found the idea that Nanaka was still so innocent quite moving. He thought hard, searching for the right words.
“Sure is a scary story.”
No matter what kind of bizarre problems people had brought his grandfather, he’d always started by trying to build a rapport between them. Nanaka nodded absently. The cuffs of her thin cardigan were creased where she’d been gripping them tightly.
“We had ‘Seven Mysteries’ stories when I was in school, too.”
“You did…?”
“Yeah. I went to Aoba South Elementary, just like you. Ours were a little different, although we also didn’t have a seventh one.”
“Wow, I didn’t know… Was Haruko in any of them?”
“Uh… No, I’ve never heard that story before…”
Nanaka’s face clouded over, and Aoyama hurried to course-correct.
“But there was a story a lot like hers.”
Technically, he wasn’t lying. A story that supposedly cursed the person who heard it wasn’t all that rare. The most famous example was probably “Kashima-san.” There were lots of different variations, but most commonly, the tale involved a lady named Reiko Kashima, who was driven by a man’s abuse to fling herself into the path of a train, hoping to end her life. The oncoming train sliced through her torso but didn’t kill her, and she spent many agonizing hours lying there before finally succumbing to blood loss.
People who heard this story would supposedly encounter Reiko at night, and she would ask them questions that required specific answers.
“Do you need your arms?”
“I’m using them.”
“Do you need your legs?”
“I’m using them.”
“Who told you my story?”
“It was Reiko Kashima.”
Unless they answered the questions in the above manner, Reiko would rip off the person’s arms and legs and leave them to die. Aoyama had first heard that story from his sister. He’d been afraid to fall asleep for several days afterward. But he needn’t have worried—it was all made-up. None of it ever actually happened.
He did his best to reassure Nanaka there was no need for her to be afraid. Her friends were probably only pretending they’d seen Haruko just to freak her out, like Shouko had done to him when they were little. Aoyama had been the kind of kid others enjoyed teasing, and he got the feeling Nanaka was similar.
He was hoping all this would put the girl at ease a little, but when he glanced at her face, she looked as tense as ever. In fact, perhaps she was even gloomier. Then she opened her mouth and uttered a strangled, wordless cry, like that of a dying bird.
“What’s the matter?!”
“I-I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
Her face was white as a sheet. She was shaking like a leaf.
“I told you… I told you the story, Kouki. What do I do now? You…you haven’t done anything wrong. You were so nice, listening to me. You didn’t make fun of me for it, and I…”
Sobbing and sniffling, Nanaka apologized over and over again.
“It’s all right. The story said it only worked if you told someone at school, didn’t it? I’m a grown-up, and I’m not a teacher, so I’ll be fine. Besides, this whole thing is just made-up. It’s not like anything’s really going to happen.”
“Kouki… Thank you. Thanks for trying to make me feel better. But…you’re wrong.”
She gripped her scrunched-up cuffs even tighter.
“I’ve seen her.”
“What?”
The girl looked Aoyama dead in the eyes.
“Haruko. She’s already in my dreams.”
Tears welled up at the corners of her eyes and started to run down her face.
“Tonight…will be the second night.”