The television station was near Akasaka’s bustling commercial district—close enough to her talent agency’s office to make walking her only option. She could have taken a taxi, but she didn’t want to inconvenience a driver by only riding for the minimum fare. Besides, she’d been feeling like she hadn’t been getting enough exercise and figured a little walk would do her good.
But even if she might have annoyed the driver, she should have taken a taxi. That, or she should have insisted that someone from the office walk with her to the TV station—for just minutes after so casually deciding to leave the office alone and on foot, she would again be confronted by blood-chilling terror.
Something’s wrong, Yukiko thought.
She had just turned onto a side street near the train station. Small shops lined the narrow and sleepy street. Some were little two-story mom-and-pop operations with their residences above the street level shop and only old, weather-beaten signs to announce their presence. Others were greengrocers with fruits and vegetables left out in bins with nary a customer or proprietor in sight.
The street was so quiet that it made the bustle and noise of the nearby commercial district seem like it hadn’t existed at all. Yukiko always took this street when walking to the TV station, and she recognized immediately that something was off—though she didn’t know what.
Something was out of place on this familiar street. But what?
Yukiko stopped to observe.
There was the candy store that always seemed to be under the watch of the same old woman every time Yukiko passed by. Next to the store, there was a run-down cigarette stand, a greengrocer, and a shoe store.
Yukiko liked that this street was never busy. Just a few dozen meters away were teeming crowds, yet this street alone seemed left behind from another time. It offered her nostalgia and a kind of comforting loneliness. Walking past those old shops often reminded her of her hometown.
But on this day, it felt cold and unwelcoming.
Unable to locate the cause of this change, Yukiko thought, Oh well, and started walking again. Just a few steps later, she stopped anew. A group of excited children had gathered at the other end of the street. There were maybe ten of them, happily bouncing and laughing.
That’s what’s different, Yukiko realized.
Children didn’t usually come to play here. When she’d turned onto this street, she must have caught a glimpse of them, and the impression they’d left on her subconscious mind had transformed the street into something unfamiliar.
That must be what’s different. I’m sure of it.
Having solved the mystery, Yukiko’s spirits lifted. With a sigh of relief, she walked toward the children.
They were each holding a red balloon. Someone in the middle of their circle was handing them out—probably to advertise for some nearby department store.
The sight reminded Yukiko of her own childhood. Handing out balloons on a street corner was a common way for stores to drum up business, and as a child she had received many balloons that way, much to her delight. One time, it had made her so happy that she started skipping along, and the balloon slipped from her hand and floated away into the sky.
Yukiko approached the circle of children in hopes of getting a balloon for herself, for old times’ sake.
That was when the hidden figure stood up in the center of the circle.
It was a person in an animal mascot suit, nearly twice as tall as the children, and until that moment, it must have been kneeling down to hand out the balloons.
Yukiko froze.
Immediately, she closed her eyes. Something inside her told her she mustn’t look.
But her eyes disobeyed. They slowly opened.
Why can’t I keep my eyes closed? she asked herself, with increasing panic. I can’t look. I know it!
Just as her eyelids were halfway open, her mind recognized what it was she was seeing.
The animal costume had a rotund body, oversized head, and two long, slender ears—it was a rabbit.
It was the rabbit. The source of her terror. The thing that had taught her fear like she had never known. It stood there, right before her eyes.
For a moment, she wondered if Kanda’s wind-up figure had grown to ten times its size to appear here before her. The thought made her more perplexed than afraid.
But soon, her eyes opened all the way, and they stared unblinking at the rabbit. His head creaked around, fixing big round eyes on Yukiko. His right eye was distorted and drooping.
There was no room for doubt or denial. This was the same rabbit that had glided his disgusting hands up and down her life-size twin.
He seemed to recognize her. When their eyes met, the suit’s ears perked up.
Keeping her eyes locked on the rabbit, Yukiko slowly backed away, careful not to make any sudden movements that might provoke him. After an excruciatingly long and frightful while, she managed to circle around the rabbit’s back. Quickly, she turned and slipped out the end of the street.
She exited onto a main thoroughfare complete with its typical traffic of cars and bustling crowds. The TV station was just across the road and down a little to the right.
Yukiko patted down her chest and exhaled in relief. Yoriko was inside the station, along with the staff and crew members, many of whom were familiar to her. Once she got inside, she would be safe.
Yukiko ran up the stairs of the elevated pedestrian crossing. If she had looked over her shoulder, she would have seen something that would have made her heart leap out of her chest.
Just a few steps behind her, something followed. Whenever she went faster, it too sped up. Whenever she slowed down, it slowed down, too. Her pursuer carefully kept the distance between them the same. It seemed to be enjoying the chase.
It was, of course, the rabbit. He chased behind her, with nearly silent footsteps.
Out of breath and shoulders heaving, Yukiko reached the TV station entrance. Her fear and distress melted away, and her legs went weak. Putting force into each step, she walked up to the front doors.
She saw her reflection in the glass. Her hair was a mess, her skin blemished, and her eyes sunken. She looked like an entirely different person.
I look so old like this, she thought, with a self-deprecating smirk.
Then the little smirk froze.
Beside the exhausted woman’s reflection was that of another—the rabbit.
Yukiko swallowed a startled cry.
The rabbit stood right next to her, haunting her like a ghost. His smile seemed to be directed at her frightened expression.