Book 3 A Book No One Knows, Viewed Upside Down “Musubu… Hey, Mu-su-bu!” A not-so-angelic voice called out close enough to brush the edge of my ear. Though sinister, obscene, and chilling all at once, I couldn’t help but be charmed by it. Ah, what a lovely voice it is. Frightening yet enchanting, it might have belonged to, say, the devilish daughter of a noble—someone who would ecstatically drain every drop of lifeblood from a snake she had cut up, then dangle its corpse from a high building, wearing a sweet smile all the while. An image of a beautiful girl with long, glossy black hair and a slim body, her bloodred lips moving as she call out to me, floated into my mind. I shivered all the way down to my fingertips. “Do you love me? Musubu?” Of course I do, no doubt about it. Instead of answering, I gently traced the word princess with my index finger over her cover. I touched it ever so lightly, so lightly it wasn’t clear whether I was really touching her at all. She let out a small sigh, as if she were stirring slightly. She was like a black kitten that was narrowing its eyes and purring. “Hey? Do you love me? Musubu. Do you care about me? Are you in love with me?” She repeated her question in a slightly curt and arrogant voice, prodding me for an answer. Recently, she had been acting spoiled a lot. It’s probably because she suspects me of keeping a mistress named Steamy in another room. As a princess, she had a lot of pride, so I absolutely had not said anything about it to her. Nevertheless, she still burned with a sense of rivalry against Steamy, and she seemed to want me to reaffirm that I loved her more than the other book. Last night, too, when I had started to leave the room to go take a bath, she had spoken up with uncharacteristic restlessness. “Y-you… You could take me with you, if you’d like.” “Huh? But won’t it be boring, waiting in the changing room?” “……Mm.” After a brief silence, she returned a reply both chilly and bashful. “I could go w-with you… You could take me in, with…you.” “Huh?! You want to get in the bath together? You’ll let me read you in the bath? Wow, that would be the greatest! Wait, hang on a sec. You got me all hot and bothered for a moment there. If you get into the bath with me, the steam will wrinkle up all your pages.” “W-wrinkle…up?” The image of the princess with long black hair returned to my mind’s eye, and she seemed to be on the verge of tears. “Besides, imagine if I slipped and dropped you into the water?” “!” She gasped, more afraid than before. This was the girl who so disliked water that even when we were just walking outside, she would demand I put her inside my clothes and protect her if a single raindrop fell from the sky. I imagined she would feel nothing but fear and anxiety in a bathroom with a full tub. Despite that, she put on her bravest front and insisted: “If you wrap me neatly in a plastic bag so I don’t get wet…I’ll be fine.” “But if I do that, I can’t read you.” “W-well, in that case, you should hold on to me carefully so that you don’t drop me.” No matter what I told her might happen, she wouldn’t give up on the idea of bathing with me, so— “All right, just for a little while.” I headed for the bathroom, cradling her in my arms. Even while I undressed in the changing room, she trembled. She was obviously frightened. Once I was naked, I carefully picked her up in both hands and gently wrapped her in a towel. She was still quivering. After that, she went silent, as if she were holding her breath. “You don’t have to force yourself. I know you’re probably concerned about Steamy and all, but you’re the only one I love, Princess Yonaga, and I’m not getting in the bath with any other books, her included.” “Th-that’s…got nothing to do with this.” “Sure, but…” Her fear was obvious. When I hesitated to take her in with me, she said something in a voice filled with desperate resolve that threatened to move me to tears. “B-besides…if you haven’t gotten into the bath with any other books, then that would make me your…first.” Oh, that really got me going. My heart pounded in my chest, and my face grew hot, even though I wasn’t soaking in the bath yet. My girlfriend is too cute. “Understood. I’ll protect you.” I brought my face in close to the book and whispered to her in a manly way, then stepped into the steam-filled bathroom with her in my arms. “Ohhh.” She let out an adorable moan. As I sank into the hot water, she chastised me: “You mustn’t drop me! It would be absolutely awful if you dropped me, you know.” “It’s all right. Trust me.” She made a bashful squeak as I gently unwound the towel from her slim body. To reduce the effects of the steam somewhat, I placed the towel I had just taken off her onto the side of the bathtub and laid Princes Yonaga down on top of it. “All right, I’m reading.” “Mm-hmm…” “Let’s take it slow today, okay?” “Mm-hmm…” Encouraging the nervous, trembling book the whole while, I turned her pages even more gently and carefully than usual. Ah! To think that the day has come when I can read my beloved girlfriend in the bath. I could almost see the indigo princess blushing pink. So as not to tax her too much, I stayed in the bath for only a short while. Still, it was a very intense experience for both of us. “We smell the same…” After I went back to my room, the princess, enveloped in the scent of my bath salts, mumbled softly to herself from atop my bed, making me swoon all over again. “Was I…your first, Musubu?” Such an adorable question, whispered in such a delicate, bashful voice. I squeezed her tight against my chest. “Of course you were. You’re my one and only love, Princess Yonaga.” “I love you, Musubu. I really do.” She sounded genuinely happy as she graced me with words she usually never let slip. Today, an aftertaste of that shared joy still lingered, and she continued pleading with me. “Come on, tell me out loud—tell me you love me!” But we’re at school… I broke into a grin while tracing the word with my finger, princess, princess, princess… “You have to say it…or I’ll cut off your ears!” she threatened. Augh! I just can’t handle that she can have such childish voice and sound so arrogant at the same time, I thought. I’m liable to follow any order she gives! Well, it’s probably fine… I’m sure no one can hear me right now. I bet I can say it. Yeah. I’m saying it. “I love you…” Suddenly, the image of the princess vanished before my eyes. “So sorry, but this is an emergency.” In front of the desk, in place of the slim book with the indigo cover—in place of my beloved Princess Yonaga—stood a tall, handsome boy. The third-year student whom everyone called the Campus Prince, Haruto Himekura. “It’s not often that you come to my classroom, Haruto. You usually send me a message over LINE or a text.” “I sent you something over LINE, but you didn’t read it, so I figured you were enjoying your time with your girlfriend and wouldn’t answer your phone for a while. Thus, I had to come in person.” It was lunchtime. I was following Haruto to the music hall after he had crushed the fleeting, tender moment I’d shared with my girlfriend. Inside the music hall were all the orchestra clubrooms. Haruto had served as conductor for the orchestra club since his first year at the school. Usually, when I had something to discuss with Haruto, we did it in the conference room of the music hall. We talked there because no one would overhear our more…complicated conversations. Today, too, we sat across from each other on expensive-looking leather sofas, and Haruto quickly launched into the topic at hand. “Do you know Takanari Wakasako, a first-year in the orchestra club? The one who caused a bit of an uproar around school lately?” “Sorry, I’m not up on current events.” “Right, I ought to know by now that you live in a different dimension from everyone else, Musubu.” He probably meant that as soon as I started turning the pages of a book, my surroundings faded away as I let myself be absorbed in conversation with it. In fact, my special ability to hear the voices of books was the whole reason a commoner like me sat here conversing casually with the Campus Prince. Haruto proceeded to tell me about this Wakasako person. He played cello in the orchestra club, was a serious and diligent student, got good grades, and was trusted by his peers. In the middle of orchestra practice the day before, he had suddenly launched a furious verbal attack against all the second-year students. “They were just using the club’s copier to photocopy some notes they had borrowed from another second-year club member. All of a sudden, he ripped the plug out of the wall and told everyone off, accusing them of cheating. Everyone was flabbergasted.” “That’s cheating, isn’t it?! Stop it right now!” “Huh? Wakasako, what are you talking about?” “All of it, it’s all crooked! Using club equipment to make personal copies and copying another person’s assignment to hand in as your own! It’s evil!” “Okay, weirdo…” Sure, you could technically argue that plagiarizing someone else’s assignment isn’t right, but everyone does it. Even I’ve written book reports for people in exchange for copying their summer homework assignments. It’s not something a first-year would normally go out of his way to chastise upperclassmen about. The upperclassmen had seemed more taken aback than angry at the usually quiet Wakasako’s indignant outburst. But he hadn’t stopped there. Later on, after school, Wakasako had suddenly taken off running down a hallway while shouting in a strange voice. “By night—I’ll be eaten by night!” His eyes had been bloodshot and his hair disheveled as he yelled, and he sprinted down the hallway from end to end, until he collapsed with a crash and had to be carried off to the health room. That was yesterday. “‘I’ll be eaten by night’…? What does that mean?” I asked. Haruto shook his head. “I talked a little with Wakasako when he arrived at school this morning, but he says his head suddenly heated up like it was boiling over and that he doesn’t remember anything after that. It was the same when he scolded the upperclassmen—all he could tell me was that his head got hot and he had a feeling that what they were doing was ‘unacceptable.’ Wakasako himself seemed frightened by his own behavior.” Haruto told me that when he asked Wakasako if anything had changed in his life recently or if he was troubled by anything, Wakasako had cast his eyes downward and answered: “Five days ago, in the school library after classes, my head suddenly got hot, and I collapsed… The next day was Saturday, and I went to the hospital to get checked out, but nothing was out of order.” “He collapsed in the library…?” I see—so that’s why I’ve been summoned. “That’s right, the library. The place where tens of thousands of books reside. This is where you come in, right, Musubu? Besides, there’s the matter of repaying the favor I did for Mr. Sasaki.” He was right. When I had requested Haruto’s cooperation to sell Mayu Mayu’s newest book, I had been warned that the debt would be considerable. “Got it—I’ll take the job. I’d like to hear Wakasako’s side of the story first, though…” And so, Haruto summoned Wakasako to the library after school, where the whole incident had started. “What will we talk about with him, Haruto?” “I wonder if he’ll provide us with more details about when he collapsed here.” Wakasako had a slim build, eyes that smiled, and a clever look about him. He leaned his cheek against his right hand and regarded us suspiciously. I had expected as much. He had been expressly summoned to the library, which had been reserved through Haruto’s connections, and now some stranger was standing in front of him as if he owned the place. “Sorry, but who is this guy?” He scrutinized me cautiously. “Musubu knows a lot about books. He’s often passing through the library, so I thought he might know something, and I asked him to come.” “Nice to meet you. I’m Musubu Enoki. I’m in the same grade as you, first year, Class 1.” “…Hi.” Wakasako squinted at me with even greater suspicion. From the look in his eyes, I could tell he was wondering how the fact that I knew a lot about books and went to the library often was supposed to help. Perhaps he tended to be brusque, because he repositioned his right hand almost as if to hide his own face and quickly averted his eyes from me, then responded curtly, “I told you everything yesterday. I came to do some research in the library, then my head heated up, and I fainted. That’s it.” I spoke up. “At that time, were you reading any particular book?” “…I don’t remember.” “All right, where did you collapse? Let’s try going there.” For some reason, Wakasako didn’t seem be in the mood to listen to what I had to say, but when Haruto pressed him on, Wakasako rubbed his hand over his face again and started walking reluctantly. We went past the study area with its neat rows of tables and chairs and headed into a section of the library where the bookshelves towered over us like a forest. Squeezing between the many volumes packed tight onto the shelves, we proceeded deeper into the stacks. The library at Seijou Academy was as large as a university library and housed a vast collection of books. You couldn’t reach the top shelves just by stretching your arms up, so stepladders had been placed around the room. If an earthquake were to occur at this moment, we would likely be entombed in massive quantities of paper and ink. For just for a moment, I was absorbed in the thought that that would be a very happy death indeed. I might be a little too into books. “Musubu, whose story did you come to read today?” Oh, I hear a voice calling out to me. “It’s me, isn’t it, Musubu?” “Musubuuu, it’s time you got around to reading us!” I listened carefully to the many voices reaching out to me from the shelves. “What’s up, Musubu? You look so solemn—what happened?” “Heh-heh, three boys having a secret meeting in the library?” “You don’t have your crazy-jealous girlfriend with you today?” I can hear the voices of books. The loudest and most fiercely insistent are the shiny new publications piled up in bookstores. Books in the library are usually pretty calm, though sometimes one will ask hopefully if I’m tired and need something to read during a break from my studies. Maybe the books were livelier than usual because I hadn’t visited the library in a while. “The tall, handsome boy with Musubu is the Campus Prince, you know!” “It’s true. Once, a girl with long, beautiful hair confessed her love to him right before my eyes. She was devastated when he turned her down.” “Before that girl, there was the sexy teacher with the mole by her mouth. Man, did she complain about it when the prince artfully brushed off her advances.” Well, this is awkward. I’m not here to find out about the state of Haruto’s love life. But the sexy teacher with the mole by her mouth? That’s got to be the music teacher… No, no, I’ve got to let it go. I pretended I hadn’t heard anything, and we proceeded ever deeper. Eventually, Wakasako ground to a halt near the shelves that held collections of modern Japanese literature. “I think it was around here,” he said bluntly over his shoulder. Kouyou Ozaki, Shimei Futabatei, Saneatsu Mushanokouji, Souseki Natsume, Ryūnosuke Akutagawa, Osamu Dazai…it was a meeting of the literary masters. All these books had stood the test of time, and their voices were as dignified as their weighty, imposing appearances. However, they didn’t chatter like the other books, preferring to keep to themselves…until something happened. Suddenly, I heard a sharp shriek deep in my ear that pierced me to the core. “I’m scared!” “There are so many corpses!” “We’ll be eaten by the darkness!” What? What’s this? The books were astir. So many voices combined and competed with one another that I couldn’t tell which titles they belonged to. Their cries echoed together inside my mind. All the voices seemed singularly obsessed with something, and it made the hair stand up on the back of my neck and sent a cold shudder up my spine. I had only experienced books shouting over one another in a whirlwind of fear like this once before. It was during that terrifying, sorrowful, blood-soaked incident— The voices stacked one on top of the other, and the cacophony intensified. “The crows!” “The bodies are just—” “No one knows they’re here.” “No one, no one, no one—” Oh no, they’re dragging me in! Against a bright-red background that made it look as if the backs of my eyeballs had been doused in blood, I saw black crows circling countless corpses spread out on the ground. The sweet and sour scent of death hit the back of my throat and made me gag. I could feel bittersweet saliva accumulating in my mouth, as if I was about to throw up, when I noticed that someone beside me had already dropped to his knees before I did. It was Wakasako. As he shielded the right side of his face with his palm, his eyes were wide with fear. His whole body shook violently, and his breathing was ragged. A hoarse voice escaped from his quivering lips. “I’ll be devoured… I’ll be swallowed up…” His wide-open eyes gradually turned red, and his voice trembled uncontrollably as he bent backward to look up at the ceiling and release a terrible shriek. Haruto knelt down on the floor, grabbed Wakasako by both shoulders, and peered into his face. “Wakasako, are you all right?!” He met Wakasako’s eyes with a strong, direct gaze. Wakasako had placed his hand over the right side of his face and had been panting, but now his breathing calmed a little as the look of madness faded from his eyes. “It was foolish of me to force you to return to the very spot where something so awful happened. Let’s go to the nurse’s office.” “No…um…I’m fine. I’m sorry for losing my composure. I don’t know why, but my head suddenly got hot again…” With assistance from Haruto, Wakasako stood up. Still concerned, Haruto asked, “You said, ‘I’ll be devoured.’ Does that jog your memory at all?” Wakasako hung his head weakly and place his right hand on his cheek. Ah…again. That same gesture. “I said that? I’m sorry. I don’t remember…” “It’s all right. I’m sure you’re just tired. You usually try so hard to be considerate of others. Seems like you’d better go home and rest today, after all. I’ll send you with my driver.” Wakasako tried countless times to turn down the favor, but in the end, Haruto overcame his reluctance. “Consider it an order from an upperclassman.” The whole time this was going on, the books were whispering like a bunch of ghosts gathered in a graveyard. “There are so many corpses.” “The crows are coming for the bodies.” “The darkness—the night—” “I think Wakasako has been infected by the books.” Once Wakasako had been placed under the care of the Himekura family’s personal driver, Haruto and I returned to the conference room of the music hall. Casting down his eyes with a look of distress, Haruto mumbled, “That’s got to be it.” Both Haruto and I had witnessed people falling ill with symptoms similar to Wakasako’s before. Book sickness. I suspect that many people have experienced a mild form of this malady. It occurs when someone reads a book and goes too deep into the world of the text, entering a trancelike state where they can’t quite manage to come back to reality. Almost as if a part of their mind is stuck inside the story. They feel the sorrows, hardships, and joys of the characters as their own. If you fell under the influence of the novel Daddy-Long-Legs, you would start writing down every little thing about your daily life in a letter and hide in the shadows to watch over a girl who interested you. That would constitute a less-dangerous manifestation of the illness. But it would be far more serious if you were infected by The Stranger and were driven to kill someone because the sun was in your eyes, for instance. The infected individual Haruto and I had encountered before had thought he and the character in the book were one and the same. He honestly believed he had done something terrible. Just thinking about it made my stomach twist in knots. The memory of that incident still deeply scarred my heart, and I didn’t want anything like that to happen ever again. If Wakasako had lost himself under the influence of some book, I knew I had to do my utmost to assist him. No, not only Wakasako. I wanted to help the book that had become the source of this trouble through no fault of its own— “Somehow or other, we’ve got to identify the book causing the illness. I’m going back to the library to ask around. Please tell me anything else you know about Wakasako.” Haruto must be feeling the same way as me. We can’t let something like that happen ever again. Never again! Haruto looked soberly into my eyes. “Understood. I’ll try not to let Wakasako out of my sight.” “Musubu…I don’t want you to get involved with this.” That night— As I sat at my desk at home, intently devouring the data Haruto had sent me on my phone about Wakasako, Princess Yonaga beseeched me again and again in frigid, sensuous tones from where she sat behind me on the bed. “…It sounds like the book that infected this boy contains many references to corpses… It’s dangerous… Besides, if the other books around it are the same type, then… Musubu, you too…might get…drawn in and infected…” “I’ll be fine. I’ll be careful so that won’t happen.” “…Musubu, because you can hear the voices of books…it’s easy for your emotions to get away from you… Far easier than it is for a normal human… Remember that time before…” “Only I can hear the voices of books and people alike, so only I can stop anything like that from happening again. I can’t just not do something. Both Wakasako and the book causing this must be in terrible agony.” Wasn’t it the same for you? I didn’t say that part out loud, but Princess Yonaga must also have been thinking about her own complicated history. She remained silent. “…” Then, in a feeble voice, she muttered, “…I don’t care…about some other book. Even if every other book and person in the world were destroyed, I wouldn’t mind so long as you were safe…” Her scenario bordered on absurdity, but I was sure she was really just worried about me. “Thanks. But this is my role to play.” For as long as I can remember, I have been able to hear the voices of books just like those of any other. I’ve always thought that surely there must be some meaning to it, some grander purpose. That was why I couldn’t ignore any voice, no matter how small. I spun my chair around to face Princess Yonaga and smiled resolutely. “I am a voice for books, after all.” My anxious girlfriend let out an overburdened groan. “…I hate when you’re thinking about other books… Musubu.” I looked back at my phone and continued to read, but she kept on weeping. “…I hate it…Musubu… I hate it…hate it…utterly hate it…!” I’d better sort this out quickly to put Princess Yonaga’s mind at ease… I proceeded to memorize all the information on Wakasako. His stellar grades in middle school had allowed him to gain admittance to the famous private school Seijou Academy, where he maintained his position at the top of his class. Among his classmates, he tended to be a sort of peacekeeper, and even second- and third-year upperclassmen sometimes relied on his help. His hobbies are— Huh? Math? This says he got third place for participating in a nationwide mental math competition when he was in middle school… Incredible. I’m sure he must be quite a logical person. Just what kind of book could cause an infection that would make someone like that start running around the halls shouting in strange voices and lashing out at upperclassmen for copying someone else’s assignment? Let’s start there. If we can’t identify the source of the disease, then a cure will be hard to come by. Let me think back on what Wakasako blurted out in the library, along with whatever those books were muttering about. “I’ll be devoured… I’ll be swallowed up…” “By the night—I’ll be eaten by night!” The key word was night. Be swallowed up by night? And then there were the “corpses.” “There are so many corpses.” “The bodies are just— The bodies—” “No one knows they’re here.” The vision I saw lined up with what the books were saying. Bodies piled up in a heap in the darkness. A murder of black crows dotting the red sky. Hmm, a novel that depicts corpses scattered about everywhere, giving off the stench of death… It reminded me a great deal of the indigo book who was watching me from behind like a teary-eyed girl, with bitter anxiety. Fortunately, she contained images of swarming snakes, not a flock of crows. I got the feeling Wakasako’s lashing out at the upperclassmen was genuine. Moreover, it stemmed from anger rather than fear. “Anger,” huh…? That’s probably another key word. So then, what could Wakasako be angry about? What was so unacceptable, exactly? A story about an angry man…? With corpses scattered about? And crows…? The title felt as if it was on the tip of my tongue, but it wouldn’t come to me. The following morning, I went to the library again before classes started and stood before the modern Japanese literature section to ask the books whether they knew anything about the novel that could have infected Wakasako. “I don’t know,” a voice whispered. “I don’t know,” another added. That was all I really got. “No one knows.” “We don’t know.” “Dunno.” “Do as you please, just leave me out of it.” The voices reverberating from all around me kept coming faster and louder, so I left for class without a single clue to go on, much less a title. Corpses…corpses… Ugh, I really wish I had more to go on than that. I puzzled over dead bodies and the smell of death all throughout lunch like some sort of creep, while Princess Yonaga anxiously interrogated me from inside my pocket. “Musubu…you’re zoning out, and your glasses are all askew… It’s strange. Did you get…infected?” I hurried to adjust my glasses, then turned to Princess Yonaga and whispered, “Look, I’m not infected, okay? Ah, let’s eat outside for a little change of pace, shall we?” I left the classroom carrying my mother’s homemade lunch. Well then, where should we go? Walking down the hallway in thought, I caught sight of Wakasako. In one hand, he carried a bag from the school canteen. I jogged to close the distance between us. “Wakasako! Are you going to lunch now?” I asked. “Wanna eat together?” “Musubu, no!” From my pocket, Princess Yonaga voiced her objection. Sorry, I promise to read you once this incident is cleared up. “You are…?” “Musubu Enoki. First year, Class 1, student number eight. My hobby is reading, my special skill is reading, and I spend my weekends browsing bookstores or libraries and reading at home.” Wakasako looked at me as if I were some sort of alien when I launched into a full self-introduction there in the hallway, but then I told him, “Haruto asked me to help with your situation. There’s something I’d like to ask you, so would you come with me for a bit?” He accepted, despite an obvious lack of enthusiasm. The timid voice of Princess Yonaga escaped from my pocket. “Imbecile… I hate you… I’ll set a curse upon you!” We sat beside each other on a bench outside. The courtyard at Seijou Academy had been styled in the image of an English garden and featured a rose arch and a flower clock. The mid-July sun was dazzling, but the tree branches above our heads provided comfortable shade, and the breeze was cool. This spot had been the right choice. “Are you feeling all right now?” “…Yeah. I feel bad for making Haruto worry about me, though.” “Don’t let it bother you. He likes taking care of people.” Though Haruto, too, had a dark side, he was fundamentally a gentleman. The type of person who never failed to lend a hand if he saw someone in trouble, who personally safeguarded the peace at the school. That’s why he was always sticking his nose into this, that, and the other and setting up jobs for me. “Enoki, you’re…really close to Haruto, huh? You’re in different clubs, so how do you know each other? I was wondering, are you, like, his relative or something?” “No, no. My family is descended from generations of commoners. We don’t have any relation to such a distinguished lineage. Look, even my lunch is utterly ordinary.” I showed him my unimpressive lunch box containing a rolled omelet, some fried stuff left over from last night’s dinner, broccoli salad, and rice with a pickled plum on top. Wakasako seemed to let down his guard a bit. “Books brought Haruto and me together. He’s quite the reader as well. I guess you could say we’re book buddies.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly. Though I had altered a few details. “Is that so?” Wakasako seemed to understand, but he still appeared somewhat restless. He placed his hand on the right side of his face and muttered, “…So you wanted to ask me something?” “Right, you said you don’t remember whether you were reading a book when you collapsed in the library, right?” “Yeah.” According to Haruto, Wakasako had grabbed a bookshelf as he collapsed, and the books that had fallen off had scattered around the area. The librarian who had found Wakasako didn’t remember any of the titles, but he had fallen in front of the modern Japanese literature section, so it was most likely a book from somewhere around there. “What were you looking for in the library?” I asked. “An assignment came up in my class to write a haiku, so I thought I would find a few to reference.” “Ah, we had that assignment in my class, too. You’re a real serious student, going out of your way to research before you write. But the poetry section where the haiku books are is three shelves past the Japanese literature section.” “Oh…is it?” “Why were you lying in front of the Japanese literature anthologies?” “I don’t usually use the school library much, so I don’t have a great sense for which books are where. I must have ended up there by accident.” “Hmm, guess so.” It’s easy enough to end up wandering around areas outside the section you’re looking for in an unfamiliar library or bookshop. “What kind of books do you like, Wakasako?” “What books do I like?” Wakasako looked as though he didn’t quite understand the intent of my question. “I don’t read anything besides textbooks. I prefer numbers to words. Well, if there were a book filled with nothing but rows of numbers, I’d probably like reading it, I guess.” A book with lots of numbers, eh…? Hmm…I suppose there must be some people in this world who think lists of numbers might make a decent novel, but I can’t even begin to imagine how a person would act if they got infected by a book like that. Maybe they would suddenly start writing out equations in chalk on the hallway walls? But I have a feeling they wouldn’t prance around shouting in a strange voice about being “swallowed up” by night. “By the way, I heard you took third place at a national mental-math competition. That’s impressive. How many digits do you think you can calculate in your head?” “My best is sixteen.” “Sixteen digits! That’s without using a calculator—you just look at the problem and answer? You must be a genius.” “It’s not all that impressive. If you picture an abacus in your mind and use the beads to do your calculations, anyone can do it.” “No, I doubt it. I can’t even do two-digit addition without writing it down on paper. You’re really amazing!” “…That’s not true.” Wakasako didn’t seem very enthused, even while being praised. My genuine amazement didn’t seem to matter to him. “From my perspective, placing third in the country is amazing. Besides that, Haruto tells me you’re the manager for the first-years in the orchestra club and that the upperclassmen depend on you for stuff, too.” Out of nowhere, a flash of savage emotion crossed Wakasako’s eyes. Anger, annoyance, dissatisfaction, frustration—all those emotions jostled together and let sparks fly. He pressed his palm tight against his own right cheek, as if trying to hold back some destructive urge. As he was doing that, he spoke low enough to growl. “No one depends on me for anything.” “Huh? But—” “I was not recommended for the role of manager.” His expression darkened, as if obscured by a gray cloud. I gulped. “The role of manager?” I asked. With his hand on his right cheek, he looked down at his feet. “In the orchestra club, aside from the club president and the director, there are leaders for each instrument section and leaders for each grade. The grade leaders are called managers. During the first semester, the second-year leader was also in charge of the first-years, but at the start of the second semester, one first-year student was selected to take over the job, on the recommendation of the second- and third-year members. The selection took place last week. I was not recommended by anyone, so I’m not the manager.” Wakasako’s lips curled in mortification. A shadow fell over the area below his downturned eyes, making him seem even more miserable. “Is it really such an important position?” “…Every year, the club president is chosen from among the managers. So I have to become a manager first.” “You want to be orchestra club president, Wakasako?” “If I can list ‘president of the orchestra club at Seijou Academy’ on my resume, I’ll be able to get a direct recommendation into any university I want.” He smiled in self-deprecation, as though he wondered why he was explaining all this to a guy he had just met. To become the orchestra club president, he would have to first assume the post of first-year manager. And to do that, he needed the backing of the upperclassmen—hence his inability to become a manager. He probably felt that coveted university recommendation slipping further and further away. “Your grades are top of the class, too, aren’t they? With that kind of standing, at a school like ours, you should be able to apply anywhere you want, even if you have to take the exam like everyone else.” “People told me that in middle school, too. ‘With your grades, you’re sure to get in anywhere,’ they said. But that didn’t turn out to be true. In fact, I failed spectacularly at getting into my first-choice high school.” Oh really…? But Seijou Academy is a well-known and exclusive college prep school, outfitted with facilities on par with a university, though there are ultra-high-level prep schools with superior academic standings. My mom always complains about tuition being too high… I imagined the school Wakasako had his eye on in middle school was one of those ultra-competitive schools. After being told he would definitely succeed, I bet he failed to score high enough and ended up at our school. Since the orchestra club had a reputation for getting its members strong recommendations, he must have joined to secure an ironclad resume. Wakasako seemed like a hardworking person, so I was sure he steadily gained the trust of the upperclassmen. But for whatever reason, he couldn’t get them to back him for the position of manager, the leader of the first-year students. As an outsider, I couldn’t begin to guess why. What a shocking situation… Considering his feelings made my own chest throb with pain. “Well…now the stage is set for your comeback. From my perspective, taking third at a mental-math competition is plenty amazing. I think you’re brilliant.” “The guy who got first place mentioned offhand in his victory interview that he doesn’t even practice regularly. His talent is on a totally different level from mine. I work and work and work and only make it as far as third place. A guy like that was born a genius. Me? I’m…ordinary. I’ve got no future.” Wakasako’s voice was like a dark night right before it rains, clammy and gloomy. Then he fell completely silent, the palm of his hand still glued to his right cheek. How can he say he’s got no future? He’s only fifteen or sixteen, still in his first year of high school! His grades were outstanding, he wasn’t bad looking, and he was taller than me. He put in effort at club activities every day, and he had a goal in mind. Compared with Wakasako, I was a boring four-eyed baby face, and I probably wasn’t getting taller any time soon. I spent my days self-indulgently absorbed in the world of books, and if I could, I’d spend the rest of my life leisurely reading. I’d be over the moon if I could shut myself away in a room filled with books to live out the rest of my days… Princess Yonaga would get jealous and insist she hated the other books being in there with us, but she was cute even when she was upset. I’m such a weird guy for getting so worked up over wild delusions… “Augh!” My sudden cry startled Wakasako and caused him to lift his head. Princess Yonaga also gasped from inside my pocket. “Wh-what happened?” Wakasako asked. “You’re worried about your future, with all you have going for you, but when I try to imagine what the future holds for a guy like me, who’s not good for anything other than reading books—” “What kind of future…do you see?” “I envision myself lazing about, buried under books, reclining on a bed flooded with them! I see a recluse! A shut-in! This is bad! I’m in real trouble!” Despite my genuine distress, Princess Yonaga was snarky as usual. “Just die, then.” Wakasako regarded me blankly, his mouth hanging open. He continued to stare, as if observing some mysterious creature, so I frowned as hard as I could and tried to look pitiful. “Hey, what should I do?” I asked. “I dunno,” he quipped, unconcerned. Then the bell rang, and lunchtime came to an end. Wakasako had barely touched the bread he had purchased at the canteen. “We didn’t even get to eat. Sorry.” “It’s fine. I didn’t feel much like eating anyway,” he replied, then put the bread back into its bag before returning to his own classroom. His expression is softer than it was when I invited him to lunch, and he certainly seems to have lightened up, but…I don’t think Wakasako’s gotten over being left out of the recommendations for orchestra manager yet… Maybe that’s related to the cause of his infection… But I wonder—why wasn’t Wakasako recommended in the first place? From everything Haruto’s told me, he seems to be trusted by his peers. From inside my pocket, Princess Yonaga spoke up. “Musubu, are you imagining a future where you’re buried in books other than me…? Is that what lurks in your heart? I’ll curse, curse, curse, curse you!” “Darkness mode” was back with a vengeance. When I relayed the details of what I had discussed with Wakasako to Haruto in the conference room after school, he frowned. “I see… So Wakasako is that consumed with not making manager, huh…? He always acted normal in front of everyone, but he did make all sorts of blunders, you know.” What kind of blunders? Haruto grimaced, an expression uncharacteristic of him. “I thought Wakasako was one of the front-runners, wasn’t he?” I asked. “Why didn’t he get the recommendation?” “Ah, well, I also considered him a favorite,” Haruto replied. “But right before the selection was made, an unsavory rumor spread about him.” “What rumor?” “It goes that, back in middle school, Wakasako pushed a classmate off a second-story veranda, seriously injuring him…” “What, straitlaced Wakasako? No way.” “Apparently, several other boys were there when their classmate went flying off the veranda. But Wakasako was trying to stop them from bullying the other boy. He didn’t do the pushing.” “So then why is that rumor going around? Is that what caused him to miss out on the recommendation?” “Exactly. Club members supporting a rival candidate seemed to have conjured up the story, pretending it was gossip. Dammit, if only I had realized sooner!” Haruto was genuinely vexed. Haruto always acts like nothing fazes him, but I guess even a prince has his limits… He’s still a third-year in high school, so I suppose that’s only natural. “Do you think Wakasako knows he didn’t get the position because of the rumor?” “I wonder…” If he did know, he was probably devasted. I imagine he felt anger and emptiness. “…I’ve got no future.” Wakasako must have felt hopeless in the face of everything, hopeless enough to let those words slip from his anguished face. So snapping suddenly at the upperclassmen might also have been… “That’s cheating, isn’t it?! Stop it right now!” Having lost his chance because of foul play, the smallest act of unfairness must have infuriated him. Or maybe the upperclassmen making copies of their assignments were the perpetrators who had spread the rumor? “That’s cheating, isn’t it?!” A protagonist who loathes dishonesty… Something clicked in the back of my mind. Ah…I can almost see it. Just then, a spine-chilling voice emanated from my bag. “Upside down…” A voice equal parts enticing, horrific, and haughty—a devilish voice. I looked down in terror at the school backpack by my side. Was that Princess Yonaga…? I was just talking to Haruto. I wasn’t being unfaithful. Wait, no, this voice feels like— “…Saw everything…upside down…” This lifeless utterance, devoid of any emotion, was the same as the voices that had spoken in chorus in the library—and the same as the voice from that time— Fingers unsteady, I unzipped my bag. I pulled out the slim volume with the indigo cover and held it in both hands, then brought my face so close to it that my glasses almost touched it. “Princess Yonaga, it’s me! It’s Musubu! Can you hear me?” People contract book sickness when they were too fully absorbed in the world of the book. And books could get sick, too—through contact with an infected person, the source book could imprint on their minds and enchant them just the same. Princess Yonaga had been there to hear my conversation with Wakasako in the garden today, so maybe now she was resonating with the problem book, just as the other books in the library had? Meanwhile, Haruto stared dumbstruck at his friend suddenly shouting at a book. “Princess Yonaga. Can you hear me? Answer me!” “I don’t know you.” All the blood drained from my face when I heard the hollow voice. “I don’t associate with cheaters… I loathe them. Hmph!” I heaved a sigh of relief at Princess Yonaga’s adorable protest, grateful she was her usual self. “Musubu, what did your girlfriend have to say?” Haruto inquired. “Apparently, she loathes cheaters.” “…Do you think you could have your lovers’ quarrels on your own time?” Haruto looked exasperated, but I was glad Princess Yonaga had returned to normal. My heart nearly stopped when she said she didn’t know me. Hang on. Come to think of it, the books in the library were chanting the same words. “I don’t know.” “No one knows.” “We don’t know.” “Dunno.” “Do as you please, just leave me out of it.” And then there was what Princess Yonaga had indifferently grumbled about while resonating with Wakasako. “Saw everything…upside down.” Upside down? Reversal of good and evil. A world reflected upside down. Crows at twilight. The darkness of night. “No one knows.” “Haruto, has Wakasako always touched his cheek?” “No, but now that you mention it, he has been doing it a lot lately.” Just as a light bulb went off in my head and a single title materialized in my mind, Haruto’s smartphone vibrated. As soon as he looked down at the screen, he stood up and started speaking with someone. “I saw your message on LINE. How’s Wakasako?” Something must have happened to him! Haruto’s voice faltered, his expression turning stern. Urging me to follow with a flick of his head, he walked off as he continued his phone call. My heart rate rose, and sweat oozed from my palms. As I was about to return Princess Yonaga to my backpack and follow behind Haruto, she called to me. “Take me with you, too.” “But—” But you might resonate with the book again. “If you leave me behind, I’ll never let you read me again.” I frantically tucked Princess Yonaga into my pocket and chased after Haruto. As we descended in the elevator, Haruto grimly relayed to me the contents of his phone call. “Sounds like Wakasako had another fight with the upperclassmen. They say he fled from the room shouting in a strange voice.” The same upperclassmen who had been trying to copy assignments earlier were trying to push their own duties in the orchestra club off onto the first-years. Wakasako had overheard their exchange and had suddenly snapped at them again. “I won’t stand for dishonesty!” “This is just normal stuff! Everyone does it, geez.” The moment one of the upperclassmen responded to him, Wakasako had started to shake violently and screamed peculiarly. Then he’d thrown himself toward the upperclassman, violently ripped the other boy’s uniform jacket and shirt, and fled the room grasping the clothes tight, all while spouting nonsense. “It’s normal! Totally normal!” Haruto broke into a sprint as soon as the elevator doors opened, and I followed suit. As we ran, another message came in with Wakasako’s whereabouts. He had left the music hall and headed straight for the classroom building like a hurricane, dashing up the stairs with bloodshot eyes. Up and— —up and— —up he went. That’s right. If the book that infected Wakasako is the one I think it is, he’ll become obsessed with climbing higher and higher. Just like the man in the story—in the rain, out of work, with no place to go. At a loss, he decides to finally break out of his hopeless stupor by climbing up and up, trying to get higher. We were running at full speed, so my breath was strained. On top of that, I was getting dizzy, and I knew that if I lost focus, I would probably fall face-first on the floor. The distance between Haruto and me widened. Shit, get it together, legs! My knees were leaden. I could barely lift them. As I was on the verge of exploding with frustration, my shoulders heaving in time with my breaths, something whispered to me from my pocket, “I don’t know… I don’t know…” Perhaps I was resonating with the source of the voice, because a vision of a bloodred setting sun and crows scattered through the sky like black sesame seeds clouded my view. Could Princess Yonaga be intentionally resonating with me in order to show me this? The crows gradually joined all their hoarse voices into one, forming a black ring in the sky. Below them stood an imposing gate and… “…just a single cricket clinging to a huge red pillar from which the lacquer was peeling here and there.” Haruto was dashing up the stairs two at a time. I could only take them one by one. Up and up and up. “To do something when there was nothing to be done, he would have to be prepared to do anything at all. If he hesitated, he would end up starving to death against an earthen wall or in the roadside dirt.” Haruto finally arrived at the door that led to the roof and thrust it open. Once he climbed up, there before him, the corpses— “Wakasakooo!” Haruto’s scream pierced my ears as I finished climbing the stairs, dripping with sweat. “Come back, Wakasako!’’ Haruto was calling out to him. When I finally emerged onto the roof, a damp breeze blew against my cheek. The sky was painted the red color of sunset, and the roof and water tower were also tinged a dull scarlet, like blood had been spilled everywhere. My panting would not cease, and as I staggered forward and looked around, I spotted Wakasako hunched over, halfway up the water tower ladder. Haruto was yelling at him to come down. Even I shouted with all the volume I could muster, my shoulders heaving with every breath and my steps as unsteady as an old man’s. “Wakasako! I figured out the title of the story you read in the library!” Maybe he didn’t hear me. He exhaled violently from his open mouth and clung to the ladder, face still stiff with fear. “You read Ryūnosuke Akutagawa’s ‘Rashōmon’! Wakasako, you’ve been infected by ‘Rashōmon’!” Haruto turned around to look at me. Wakasako’s eyes were still locked on the sky. I wondered what he glimpsed in that moment. A murder of crows, sprinkled like so many flying sesame seeds against a bloody evening sky? A mountain of corpses, abandoned in the room at the top of a gatehouse? “Wakasako, you told me you don’t read any books other than your textbooks, but ‘Rashōmon’ is a famous story studied in school, so you must be familiar with it, right? On that day, when you visited the school library and passed in front of the literature anthologies, a copy containing ‘Rashōmon’ caught your eye, and you picked it up.” Why had Wakasako selected that title? I was certain the book had whispered to him. “You look like you don’t have anywhere to go. How about taking shelter from the rain for a bit?” I did not believe the book had any evil intentions. After all, normal humans couldn’t hear the voices of books. But Wakasako happened to be in exactly the same circumstances as the servant in “Rashōmon.” Though he couldn’t hear the invitation, his heart had sensed it, and he was enchanted by it. “When you went to the library, you had lost your chance to become a manager and were depressed, right? You joined the orchestra club and immediately put in an honest effort to become the leader of the first-years, even winning the trust of the upperclassmen. Despite all that—a baseless, damaging rumor about your middle school days cost you everyone’s support. You were worried all your hard work had gone to waste again, weren’t you? You weren’t sure what you were going to do next. Your future looked dark as night.” “I don’t know! I don’t know!” Wakasako shouted down at us, still clinging to the water tower ladder. “I don’t know! I don’t know!” Haruto placed a hand on the ladder and was about to climb up, but I urged to him to wait, then resumed speaking. “The servant in ‘Rashōmon’ feels the same way as you, Wakasako. He’s been dismissed by the master he served for many years and has no idea how he will live through the next day. With no place to go, he takes shelter under the Rashōmon gate, driven there by the rain, at a loss for what to do.” In the capital city where the servant lives, natural disasters including an earthquake, a whirlwind, fires, and famine have compounded on one another, leading to total decline. The Rashōmon gate houses foxes, thieves, and even unclaimed corpses that have been abandoned. With an eye toward those corpses, a murder of crows flies in a circle over the gate at sunset. In this wretched place, the servant agonizes over his options. He no longer has the privilege of relying on moral means to get through his hopeless situation. “The servant deliberates over whether to lower himself to thievery, but he wavers in the face of a firm decision. If he is resolved to live, he is certain a life of crime can’t be avoided. But he hesitates to actively make that vision a reality and can’t work up the courage to commit evil acts.” Shaking the ladder, Wakasako groaned. “Uuurgh, evil— I can’t be evil…! Dishonesty is unacceptable! I mustn’t become like the rabble!” His voice shook. Wakasako knew that the upperclassmen who had backed his rival candidate had spread the false rumor and spurred his fall. It must have been too late whenever he’d realized it, and by then, he had already lost everything to the antagonists who had perpetrated the wrongdoing. Doing the right thing hadn’t helped him at all. In fact, he had lost everything. In that case, wasn’t stooping to their level the next best thing? Conduct himself a bit more cunningly and do whatever it took, no matter how dishonest—surely he must have grappled with the idea and been consumed by inner conflict. Because he’s such an upstanding guy. “The servant, hoping to find a place where he can shelter from the driving rain and sleep for the night, climbs up the stairs in one of the pillars to get to the top floor of the Rashōmon gatehouse. But something prevents him from finishing the climb, doesn’t it? At the top of the staircase, terrible things lie in wait, the likes of which the servant has never seen or experienced before. If he can push through despite his fear, he will know he has the makings of a rogue in him. He must be holding out that hope as he climbs!” If he doesn’t become a thief, he will starve and die in the gutter like a dog. Yet he can’t commit to evil. Just like how Wakasako had regretted doing the right thing and flirted with the idea of becoming immoral but couldn’t commit to a decision. The servant, too, has sought higher ground, while worrying over a huge pimple that has formed on his right cheek. Wakasako and the servant from the story shared the same feelings, and on that day, “Rashōmon” had called out to him. He had picked up the anthology and resonated with the servant’s indecision and been infected by it. I was certain he had started repeatedly touching his right cheek because he felt as though a pimple had sprouted there. “In the room at the top of the Rashōmon gatehouse, countless bodies have been callously discarded, and the stench of their decomposition hangs in the air. An emaciated old woman with a shock of white hair traipses among the bodies, plucking long hairs from the head of a female corpse one by one like a grooming monkey. The moment he beholds the old woman, the servant realizes the unforgivable evil of her actions and abandons his plan to become a thief. He is filled with hatred for the woman. He probably feels so indignant about her actions because he, too, has been debating whether to go down the path of evil.” Surely the woman’s actions repulse the servant. He must find her detestable, this old woman so calmly committing an act of desecration. Many readers could not decipher what was going on in the servant’s heart, but to others, it was all too clear. Wakasako also surely— “Wakasako, you understand why the servant detests the old woman, right? After all, when the upperclassmen of the orchestra club committed a minor offense right before your eyes, as if it was only natural, your mind went blank with anger. You couldn’t accept their actions, right?” He shook the ladder hard. “I was—just angry! But—do you think I could stand to be lumped in with such foul company? Dishonesty is wrong, no matter if everyone is doing it. The more you deny the truth, the more you’ll lose your way and the more you’ll suffer, right?” And now he, too, was suffering. “The servant points his sword at the old woman and demands to know what she is doing there,” I continued. “Her answer is mundane—that she is planning to take the hair and make wigs. The servant despairs, and at the same time, a new kind of loathing wells up inside him alongside icy scorn. But the old woman counters the servant. ‘What I am doing is not evil. If I don’t do this, I’ll starve to death. I don’t have any other option,’ she says.” “This is just normal stuff! Everyone does it, geez.” That’s how the upperclassmen answered an underclassman who had challenged their actions. Those words flipped a dangerous switch in Wakasako, who was by that time infected by “Rashōmon.” The old woman in the story insists that she cannot help but commit an evil act. The upperclassmen had insisted that what they were doing was okay because everyone did it. “When the servant hears the old woman’s words, he takes the hand covering his pimple off his cheek and says, ‘Well then, you won’t begrudge me if I take your clothes. If I don’t do that, I’ll starve to death.’—Then he strips the old woman of her kimono, dashes back down the ladder, and disappears into the night. “The old woman crawls to the top of the ladder, sticks her head out of the opening upside down, and peers out at the space beneath the gate but sees only pitch-black night outside. “‘What happened to the lowly servant, no one knows.’ So it is written, and so the story ends.” “Saw everything…upside down.” That’s where Princess Yonaga’s words had pointed. The old woman, who sticks her head out upside down from the top story of the gatehouse. Reversal of good and evil. “When the upperclassmen told Wakasako that everyone did what they were doing and so it was nothing to worry about, his feelings and the feelings of the servant in the story aligned. That’s why he ripped off that guy’s clothes and ran off with them—” Overhead, an animalistic scream rang out. Wakasako was twisting his body around in anguish. “Raaahhhhh! Aaaarghhh! Aaaaaaaahhhh!” “Shit, Musubu, he’s lost control of himself! If he loses his grip in that position and falls, he’ll be seriously injured!” “Wait, just a little more—” Sweat beaded on my forehead and my head rang like an alarm bell as I held Haruto back. My mind flashed back to the bloodred sky and the piled-up bodies, the images flickering across my vision. The smell of decay clung to the inside of my nose, making me nauseated. The bodies! The rotting bodies! The heap of bodies! The bodies crawling with maggots! The stinking bodies— “Aaaaaaah! I’ll be eaten! By the darkness—by the night—I’ll be swallowed up! Aaaaaaah!” Wakasako’s screams sounded just like my own— “Musubu…Musubu…don’t get too entranced. If you let yourself be drawn in by any book other than me, I’ll curse you. I’m a hundred times more brutal and fearful and charming, aren’t I?” I almost fell under the story’s influence, but Princess Yonaga’s desperate, cherubic voice broke the spell. Surely that was why she had asked me to bring her with me. So that she could bring me back to myself. Thank you, Princess Yonaga. It’s because of you that I can hold my ground. Something landed heavily on my head. It was the uniform Wakasako had been holding at his side. He let go of the ladder with one hand and hung his head, pressing that hand to his right cheek while violently writhing. “Watch out, Wakasako!” Haruto called. But he didn’t seem to hear his warning. He was single-mindedly chanting the phrases “I’ll be eaten. I’ll be swallowed up.” The servant, who strips the kimono from the old woman. Wakasako, who had seized the shirt and jacket from the orchestra club upperclassman. Both of them had crossed a line after vacillating between good and evil and had ultimately chosen evil, then disappeared into the darkness. Where they went, no one knew. “I don’t know.” “I don’t know.” “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.” Princess Yonaga’s words. The chorus of books in the library. “I don’t know.” “What happened to the lowly servant, no one knows.” Wakasako must have feared that once he finished reading the final line, he would be swallowed up by the cold darkness and plummet into an endless abyss. In that case, there was something I had to communicate to him. “Wakasako! What do you think is the best part of ‘Rashōmon’?” I shouted my question loudly as he trembled with his right hand pressed against his cheek, muttering something about fearing the darkness would devour him. “Is it that it’s a brief and dispassionate story?” I asked. “Or is it the vacillation of the servant?” “Or perhaps it’s the ultimate reversal of good and evil?” A boy who could hear the voices of books, and a boy who was being possessed by one. I faced Wakasako and revealed to him the true nature of the book imbued with the spirit of the great genius Ryūnosuke Akutagawa! “Ah, all these things are incredible! In the course of such a brief story, the reader is surprised, conflicted, and drawn into the story again and again. Just as you would expect from a bestseller that’s been read continuously for a hundred years! But what elevates this work to an eternal masterpiece is that last line!” The sky had completely darkened, and the damp breeze had chilled. Wakasako had stopped screaming and now merely trembled. His right hand clutched his cheek again. “‘What happened to the lowly servant, no one knows.’—Thanks to this single sentence, ‘Rashōmon’ achieved immortal brilliance. What thoughts stirred in you when you read that final line, Wakasako? How did you feel?” My words, the ambiguity of the final line, and the overwhelming fear he felt—they all must have flashed vividly into his mind and triggered something. He howled like a beast again. “Aaaaaaaah!” “That’s right—after you shuddered in horror, you were filled with fear. You imagined that the servant, who chooses evil, being swallowed up by the endless darkness and falling into the eternal pit of hell, didn’t you? And you believed that you, too, were destined for that same fate and would fall ever lower. You were scared, scared, scared, so scared you couldn’t stand it, right?”
Chapter 6
54 min read