This happened back when I was in elementary school.

At the time, I lived in a municipal housing project out in the Tokyo suburbs.

The rent was cheap, but the buildings were super run-down, and it wasn't the safest neighborhood.

On the ground floor of our building, there was a greasy Chinese restaurant,

and the owner's son was a total terror.

He looked to be around elementary school age,

but he never seemed to go to school.

He was always dressed in filthy rags with snot dripping from his nose,

bullying a kid with special needs who lived nearby,

or beating stray cats with sticks.

One day, when my tight-knit group of four friends was hanging out,

he suddenly charged over and flipped up my skirt.

"What is wrong with you?!"

I yelled.

"Tch,"

he scoffed, kicking me in the back with all his might.

I slammed chest-first onto the ground, tearing up from the agonizing pain,

and when I looked up, he was staring down at me with a creepy, twisted smirk.

None of us wanted anything to do with him,

so whenever we spotted him,

we would go play somewhere else.

Yet no matter where we went, he'd somehow stalk us,

popping up out of nowhere

to harass and mess with us over and over.

Days went on like that,

until one afternoon when we were playing in the park as usual.

Sitting on top of the giant slide structure we called "Whale Mountain," there were four bottles of juice.

Tucked underneath the four bottles was a piece of paper

with "FREE TAKE ONE" scrawled across it in messy handwriting.

Right away, one of my friends, A,

piped up, "I know what this means! It means they're giving them away for free!"

and started getting all excited.

"Uhh, you really shouldn't! It's literally just sitting out on the ground," I warned,

but A insisted, "It's totally fine! I call this one!"

and grabbed a bottle.

Seeing her take one, B and C jumped in too.

"Then I want this one!" "I'll take this one!"

And just like that, both of them snatched up a bottle.

"Guess you don't want any, huh?"

A said with a slightly smug grin,

twisting the cap off

and greedily chugging the juice down.

She had barely taken about three big gulps

when—"BLLLEEEGGHH!"

A violently sprayed the juice everywhere,

erupting into a fit

of frantic, hacking coughs.

"That's what you get for drinking so fast! Hahaha!"

The three of us burst out laughing.

But A just kept coughing and wheezing violently.

"Are you okay?"

I asked, stepping closer.

"Nnngghhh—"

A let out a strangled groan, threw up a brownish fluid, and collapsed right onto the ground.

We instantly panicked and started screaming.

"A! A!" "Are you okay?! A?!"

Foam began bubbling at the corners of her mouth as she clawed desperately at her chest.

"It burns! It burns! Mommy!"

she shrieked, writhing on the dirt in sheer agony.

Hearing our terrified screams and wailing, an older woman from the neighborhood came sprinting over.

"What's going on?! What did you girls do?!"

she demanded.

"A drank some random juice left on the ground!"

we sobbed, trying to explain through our frantic tears.

Without hesitation, the woman said,

"I'm calling an ambulance!"

and dashed back home to use the phone,

leaving us standing helplessly around A in sheer terror.

That was when I suddenly felt eyes on me.

I glanced around, and peering out from between the park bushes,

crouched the son from the Chinese restaurant, watching us.

He was staring right at us with a look of pure glee,

and the sight of that smile chilled me to the absolute bone.

The other two girls hadn't noticed,

but the second he realized I was looking straight at him,

he darted away and vanished in a flash.

After that, the paramedics arrived and we were interrogated about everything;

between our parents and our teachers grilling us, it was a living nightmare.

Thankfully, A avoided any permanent damage,

and she was able to return to school a week later.

However, tests later revealed that the juice had been laced with pesticide,

turning the whole incident into a massive scandal.

Yet,

in the end, the culprit was never caught.

In my heart, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who did it, but I never told a single soul about the boy from the Chinese restaurant.

Or rather, I was too petrified to speak.

I was consumed by the dread that if I ratted him out, he would come after me next.

Not long after, the restaurant closed down and was replaced by a convenience store.

I have no clue where that boy ended up,

but even now, more than ten years later, I still cannot bring myself to set foot inside a Chinese restaurant.