I clutched my familiar “Peter”—the one that had patchwork-colored teeth and looked like a mouse—and sank into the sofa in my living room. I was so tired. The last few days had been mentally exhausting. When I got up in the morning, I was so exhausted I couldn’t stand up. Even running a comb through my hair felt like it required too much effort.
I stretched out an unsteady hand for the remote and turned on the TV. It was a big TV appropriate for the luxurious living room, but compared to the latest high-definition models, it was bulky and ugly. The family had been using it for twenty years. We’d had to hook an HD tuner to it to keep it alive at all. It was like a zombie.
It had originally been brought from somewhere by my brother. Since we hadn’t had a TV until he’d brought it, I’d spent my younger years without one. I remembered being so excited when he set it up.
I loved everything that my brother did. To me, he was like a god. Or maybe even more than that.
He was my world. But...
“That detective...” I saw his face in my mind and found myself whispering hatefully.
He had come to my shop several days ago. He was a very rude man. Yes, it was thanks to him that I’d been so tired these past few days. When I thought back to how disgusting I’d looked and how much I’d embarrassed myself just because he’d brought up my brother, it made me feel terribly depressed.
The world displayed on the TV was so colorful and alive compared to the faded gloom of the house. I stared at it and thought back to when he’d visited several days ago.
“My name is Moritsuka, and I’m with the Musashino police. That’s Moritsuka, okay? Not ‘zu.’ Nice to meet you.” The tiny man in the trench coat had come into my shop right after I’d opened. “I knew your brother back when he was alive...”
I was so shocked when I heard him say those words that I’d told him all about my memories of my brother.
Of course... not all of them.
“I see. So your brother’s room is the same as it was.”
“Yes,” I replied hesitantly.
As I was talking to him, I realized that there was no way my brother would ever spend time with a shallow, callous man like this. This Moritsuka guy was lying. His goal must have been to bring up my brother and cause me distress.
“Hmm, but doesn’t it get all dusty? Do you clean it? Knowing you, I suppose you would. This shop is very clean, after all. Man, I love the atmosphere in here!” He grinned and looked around as if he wanted me to watch him do it.
The House of Crimson had no open windows. The only light source was a single exposed bulb. There was no way to tell in the gloom whether the place was properly being cleaned or not.
I stared at Moritsuka’s face. He looked a lot younger than I usually envisioned a detective. If you told me he was younger than I was, I’d probably believe you.
〈He doesn’t look like a customer. A short man in a beige trench coat. He looks like a kid, but he sure doesn’t move like one.〉
That’s how the devil had once described the person who was sneaking around my store. The description matched. It was the same person... probably.
“So what do you want?”
Moritsuka’s attitude was upsetting me. He seemed to be doing it deliberately. I was angry at him for bringing up my brother, too. I wanted him to tell me what he was here for and then leave.
“Oh, how rude of me. Actually, I have a question for you.”
“If it’s about my brother, I’ve already—”
“The Kotoribako. You know what that is, right?” Moritsuka interrupted me. He ignored my obvious surprise and continued. “It was found on the grounds of Enmeiji yesterday. An obviously handmade—and very poorly so—wooden box. You can imagine what I’m talking about, right?”
“...No,” I lied. Due to the nature of my job, I knew a lot about old “rituals” like that. I’d once researched the legend of the Kotoribako.
“Oh, really? The investigators say that it was a wooden box, just big enough for one person to hold.”
I didn’t respond.
“The box itself was poorly made, but when I looked at it carefully, I saw that it was like some kind of puzzle. So I googled it. And then I found out that it looked just like a box called a ‘Kotoribako.’”
That I knew well. The devil had told me about a white boy at Enmeiji, holding the Kotoribako—or more precisely, something that looked like the Kotoribako. That was what Moritsuka was trying to get me to talk about. But how did he know I was involved, in a small way, with the Enmeiji incident?
“Then you have no idea? Where would someone even make such a thing?”
“I couldn’t say. I have no idea.”
“I’m sure.” Moritsuka gave up easily. It was as if he wanted to say that he knew that’s how I would answer. “They’re supposedly made in Hakone, as a kind of local arts-and-crafts thing. But the ones they make there are a different size, and a different, well... everything.”
The Kotoribako.
This detective knew exactly what it was, and he was asking me about it anyway. Everything he did seemed to be designed to test me. As the subject of his “tests,” I was starting to get angry. Moritsuka knew I was getting mad too, and he was counting on it. I felt a slight urge to vomit.
“By the way, did you make all those dolls there yourself? They’re very well made.” Moritsuka pointed at my familiars, which were lined up on the shelf behind me.
“Thank you.”
“I’m a bit embarrassed to say it, but I’m not good with my hands. I’ve always wanted to make a figure based on a Vanguard card, but I doubt I’ll ever be able to do it. Oh, but it’s always important to try, isn’t it? Where do you buy the materials for those things? Yuzawaya?”
The detective walked around the table and went to touch one of them.
“Would you please not touch them? Those are my familiars. I use them in my black magic rituals.”
“Oh, how rude of me. I’m sorry, I’m just the kind of guy who needs to pick something up and feel it in his hands.” The detective bowed and walked back. “It’s the same with clothes and shoes, you know? Lately, there are more places to buy them online, and a lot of people just buy based off pictures, but I can’t believe that anybody would do that. If you don’t try it on yourself, you don’t know if it’s really for you.”
He kept talking and talking. I took a brief glance around the shop, half-ignoring him.
I couldn’t hear the devil’s voice. I couldn’t sense him, either. Was he here, but simply silently observing me? Or had he not come at all today?
“Detective, if there’s nothing else I can do for you, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“Oh, wait, wait,” the detective said. “Um, well... Inside that box they found at Enmeiji was a corpse that was all smashed up like mincemeat.” Evidently, he had no intention of sugarcoating his words.
I may have been running a black magic agency, but I was still a teenage girl. Then again, refusing to show the slightest degree of consideration was probably part of his plan as well.
“We were able to ID the body based on her possessions. It was Chizu Kawabata, a local high school girl. We’re waiting for forensics to come back with more details. Does anything strike you as curious about this?”
“Yes. I’m curious why you’re asking me.”
There was no reason for this detective to be watching me. Of course, I knew about what had happened at Enmeiji, but I hadn’t learned about it in real time. And I definitely hadn’t gone to Enmeiji myself.
Was it really proper to say that I was involved? Or was this Moritsuka uninterested in the Enmeiji murder and simply planning to arrest me for the crime of using a devil to curse people?
“I’d hoped that since you know a lot about black magic and curses, you might have noticed something that we missed.”
“Black magic is my specialty, yes, but why me? There are many people who are more famous, aren’t there?”
“Yes, but actually, when I looked at the phone book in the station, your shop’s name was at the top of the list.”
“My shop isn’t listed in the phone book.”
“Oh, it’s not?”
Moritsuka had told an obvious lie and didn’t seem in the least perturbed to be called out on it. His attitude was bad enough, but more than anything, his smile was upsetting me. He covered all his emotions with that smile and forced his enemy to let their guard down. It was like a light in the darkness luring moths to their death.
What a terrible heart this man had. It was the exact opposite of my brother’s gentle, encompassing smile.
“By the way, how have things been lately?”
“Things?” I asked.
“Cursed anyone?”
“That’s my job.”
“Have any of your clients recently been especially vengeful? Any politicians plunking down huge sums of cash? Or perhaps...”
And then he stopped himself and looked at me. The smile was still on his lips.
“Or perhaps someone came to you with a giant pile of hair and asked you to kill its owner?”
The sharp light in his eyes broke through my expressionless shell, and I grimaced. He knew about that job. He must’ve spent a lot of time hanging around here.