Rain fell in a soft drizzle as Reiko and Shin stepped off the bus. The countryside was quiet — too quiet — the kind of silence that seemed to swallow sound rather than offer peace. Shin held the umbrella between them while Reiko clutched a faded letter in her coat pocket, its edges worn from constant reading.
They had traced it to a sleepy village east of Hairama. A return address scrawled on yellowing paper. The handwriting belonged to Seijiro Sakuma.
The letter had been tucked between pages of one of Seijiro's old sketchbooks, hidden in a wooden chest beneath Otaki's floorboards. It spoke of a woman — Aiko — and a promise Seijiro never fulfilled.
"Do you think she's still alive?" Shin asked.
"I don't know," Reiko replied. "But if anyone knew the truth about what happened to him… it'd be her."
They approached a modest house at the edge of a sloping hill, half-swallowed by wisteria vines. It looked untouched by time, with ceramic wind chimes tinkling under the eaves and an old gate leaning into rust.
Reiko hesitated at the entrance.
Shin gently touched her elbow. "We've come this far."
She nodded and rang the bell.
A child answered.
He was no older than seven, with round eyes and a head of uncombed black hair. He stared up at them, solemn and silent.
"Is your grandmother home?" Reiko asked softly.
He blinked, then turned and ran inside.
Moments later, a woman stepped out — her grey-streaked hair tied neatly, her presence quiet but unshakable. Her eyes widened when she saw Reiko.
"You… you look like him," she whispered.
Reiko's breath caught. "You knew Seijiro Sakuma?"
Aiko's hands trembled slightly. "Come in."
The living room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a lamp and the grey daylight bleeding through lace curtains. Aiko served tea with slow, deliberate grace, then sat across from them, folding her hands in her lap.
"I never thought anyone from the Sakuma family would come here," she said. "Let alone his niece."
Reiko leaned forward. "He never told anyone about you. Not even Otaki."
"He wouldn't," Aiko murmured. "He was protecting me."
Shin frowned. "From what?"
Aiko's eyes darkened.
"I met Seijiro when I was just out of high school. He used to visit the lake nearby — sketching, mostly. Said the air helped him think. We grew close. Fell in love. He told me about the voices, the visions. I believed him. I saw some of them too."
Reiko stiffened. "You could see spirits?"
"Yes," she said softly. "And I think that's why they came for him. The house he lived in… it was cursed. Not haunted. Cursed."
Reiko's skin prickled.
"I warned him to leave," Aiko continued. "I told him the thing in the well wasn't just a ghost. It was something older. Something trapped. But he didn't listen. He thought he could help it. Talk to it. He was always kind like that."
Shin's voice was low. "The girl in the well. Okiku."
Aiko flinched at the name.
"She called herself that, yes. But that wasn't her real name. She was a vessel. A mirror. She showed people what they feared most. And she wanted Seijiro to join her."
Reiko's blood turned cold. "What do you mean?"
"She didn't push him," Aiko whispered. "He jumped. She made him believe he had no choice."
The room fell into oppressive silence.
Reiko's hands trembled.
"But… Otaki said he saw her. That she asked him to count."
"He did," Aiko said. "But he never told anyone what came after."
She stood, walked to a cabinet, and pulled out a small, locked box. From it, she retrieved a photograph — creased and faded. In it stood Seijiro, smiling faintly, his arm around a young Aiko. Behind them loomed the Sakuma estate. But in the corner of the photograph, almost too faint to see…
A girl.
Black hair hanging over her face. Barefoot. Watching.
"She was always there," Aiko said, voice shaking. "Even in the daytime. Sometimes, Seijiro would speak to her when he thought I wasn't listening. He said she was lonely. That she wanted someone to stay."
Reiko stared at the photo.
"After Seijiro died," Aiko went on, "I tried to move on. But I had a son. His name was Nari. And when he was four years old… he told me a girl came to him in his dreams. Told him to count the stones around the well. He said she had Seijiro's eyes."
Reiko's breath caught. "Where is your son now?"
Aiko smiled, but it was hollow.
"Gone. He vanished a year later. No signs. No clues. Just like the others. And then… my granddaughter was born. Her name is Mai."
The child from earlier peeked into the room.
Reiko looked at him — really looked. The shape of his eyes. His quiet intensity.
He looked like a Sakuma.
"I kept Mai far from the estate," Aiko said. "But lately… she's been hearing voices too."
Reiko stood, her limbs heavy.
"It's happening again," she said. "The curse didn't die with Okiku. It's alive. And it's spreading."
Aiko nodded. "That's why you have to be careful, Reiko. You were chosen too."
Reiko turned sharply. "Chosen for what?"
Aiko's voice dropped to a whisper. "To carry them. Like your mother did. Like Seijiro. Spirits are drawn to sorrow. And your family has so much of it."
Shin stepped beside Reiko, his hand brushing hers. "We need to go back," he said. "Back to the estate. There's more we haven't seen."
Aiko touched Reiko's arm before she left. "Be careful near the well. It remembers. And it doesn't let go."
That night, back at the Sakuma estate, Reiko stood by the plum tree, staring at the old well. It was overgrown with moss, the stone slick with years of rain and rot.
"I dreamed of this place last night," she whispered. "Before we found the letter. I saw Seijiro standing here. But… he wasn't alone."
Shin glanced at the well's edge. "Something's down there."
Reiko took a step closer. Her ears filled with a faint hum — not sound exactly, but pressure.
"I think she's waiting," she said.
"For what?" Shin asked.
Reiko's gaze didn't leave the mouth of the well.
"For someone to take his place."
Behind them, the plum blossoms fell like snow.
And beneath their feet, something moved.
To Be Continued