Ever since I retired, hiking has been my main hobby. Not hardcore mountaineering with heavy gear tackling famous peaks, but what you’d call light hiking. Even at that level, you truly realize how wonderful nature is. You get mesmerized by the changing seasons, listen closely to wild birds and the sound of the wind, breathe in the crisp air, and get drunk on the feeling of your five senses sharpening. You forget the noise of the city and the grind of work, claiming a brief moment of freedom. On top of that, it doesn't cost much money—I think it's the ultimate healthy, wholesome hobby.

On a typical weekend, I headed out to a nearby mountain. It takes just under an hour from my house to reach my go-to spot, which has a well-maintained trekking trail that makes it safe and enjoyable even for a beginner like me. I drove to the trail entrance as usual. On the way, I passed a temple and a cemetery before arriving safely at the trailhead. After doing some light stretching, I set off onto the path.

The trekking trail starts with a gentle incline. I walked leisurely along the open mountain path, taking in the distant peaks. I admit I don't have much physical stamina, so even a gentle trail like this is pretty tough when starting out. But as you push through, out of breath, a moment arrives when that tightness in your chest suddenly melts away. I call it the moment 'my body adjusts to the mountain.' I picture the mountain air passing through my lungs, circulating through my blood vessels, and reaching my heart. To put it another way, I get the illusion that the mountain has accepted me.

After walking for about an hour, the trail reached its first fork. Both paths lead to the same spot, but turning left takes you down a long, gentle trail, while turning right leads up a short, steep climb. Since I was feeling good that day, I chose the right fork. Unlike the path before, it was narrow and steep. It was somewhat demanding, but to a body already adjusted to the mountain, even the effort felt good. By the time I finished the ascent, a famous giant rock came into view. It was even considered a local 'power spot.' I decided to take a break there.

The giant rock was named Zazen Rock, after a story that a high-ranking monk used to sit in Zen meditation there long ago. A common enough tale, really. I sat there munching on a light meal bought at a convenience store while listening to the wild birds. Bathed in the sunlight filtering through the trees, I soaked in a blissful moment of pure comfort.

After resting a bit, I reached another fork a short distance ahead. Going left would keep me on the official course, while turning right meant taking a long detour that loops back past the trail entrance to the vicinity of the temple I had passed earlier. Usually, I'd turn left, but that day I picked the right fork to loop past the temple and head back to the trailhead. Since this path deviates from the main course, you rarely run into anyone. Instead—though I hate to say it—you see an awful lot of 'Beware of Bears' signs, haha. That day was no exception, and I continued down the path without meeting a soul. After walking a while, I spotted a smartphone lying on the side of the trail. I picked it up; though dirty, the power was still on. Given that it had rained the day before, I was surprised it wasn't broken.

The lock screen showed a young child. From the overall look and feel of the phone, I got the impression it belonged to someone elderly like me, so the kid was probably their grandchild. Feeling a bit guilty, I decided to peek at the contents. The owner must have absolutely adored the kid—the photo album was filled with pictures of what looked like that same grandchild. Being a grandparent myself, I could deeply relate to that doting affection.

Thinking how heartbroken the owner must be to lose a phone so filled with love for their grandchild, I decided to take it to a police box. Remembering there was a police box at the foot of the mountain, I thought I'd first try to contact one of the owner's relatives to let them know I was turning it in. Checking the call history, I saw many outgoing calls to someone named Toshiko Yamada (alias). Praying she was the owner's spouse, I dialed the number.

"The number you have dialed is no longer in service."

I couldn't believe my ears. The most recent outgoing call to Toshiko Yamada was just two days ago. Assuming the phone was dropped yesterday, the call was made just the day before that. Yet it wouldn't go through... Could the other person really have canceled their contract in such a short window of time? I proceeded to call the next numbers in the call history, top to bottom.

"The number you have dialed is no longer in service."

I tried several more numbers, but the same cold message played ruthlessly over and over. I tried picking random numbers from the contacts list. Yet every single number led to the same recording saying it was no longer in service. Was it unpaid bills? A glitch? To double-check, I decided to call my own phone from the found smartphone.

As soon as I heard the ringback tone over the receiver, my own smartphone began to ring. That meant this phone wasn't broken at all. Just to be sure, I picked up the call to connect it.

"Hello?" Calling my own phone felt a bit embarrassing, but thankfully no one was around to see it. I confirmed that my voice was clearly audible through my phone, coming from the smartphone I had picked up.

So there didn't seem to be any kind of technical failure. If so, had every single person dialed really happened to cancel their phone service by sheer coincidence? As I was wondering how such a coincidence could even be possible—

"Give it back..."

A faint voice came from the receiver. I think it was a deep, gruff voice, like an old man's.

I wasn't sure where it came from, or if it was even a real voice to begin with, but in that moment, that's what it sounded like to me.

A sudden, powerful gust of wind made me shudder. I was gripped by a sudden, terrifying sense that I had picked up something unearthly—that I had touched upon something forbidden. I wanted to throw the creepy smartphone away right then, but thinking of the owner's feelings and all those memories of their beloved grandchild, I couldn't bring myself to just toss it out. Yet aside from that emotion, I had begun to feel a gaze on me, as if something was watching my every move, making it even harder to let go of the device.

Saddled with indescribable feelings, I decided to hurry down the mountain. Staying there felt like a terrible idea. This trail was already one where you rarely encountered anyone. That only heightened my desperate urge to escape the strange, watchful presence I had been feeling, and despite my age, I sprinted down the mountain path.

Out of breath, I finally made it back to the temple, where tourists and hikers came into view. Before I realized it, the feeling of being watched was gone. Breathing a sigh of relief, I returned to my car and drove down to the police box at the foot of the mountain.

Inside the police box was a middle-aged officer who looked like he had nothing better to do. I first explained that I had found a smartphone in the mountains. He mentioned he owned a large German Shepherd and hiked up there often, so he immediately understood the location. I then honestly told him that, wanting to inform someone who knew the owner that I was turning it in, I had randomly dialed a few numbers.

"So... you went ahead and looked through the contents of this phone on your own?" "W-well, yes, I suppose it came down to that..." "I really can't say I approve of that sort of thing." The officer looked at the phone I handed him with a suspicious glare.

"And when I called those numbers, every single one played an announcement saying it was no longer in service." "Well, then the people in the contacts list must have canceled their lines." "I called over ten numbers! Isn't it strange that not a single one went through? Besides, I called my own phone from that smartphone, and the call connected just fine..." "Hmm. Well, we won't know for sure until we look into it..." Saying he would look into it, the officer proceeded to take down a lost property report from me. As he took my statement, I re-explained the date, time, and exact location where I found it.

"In the event that the owner of this phone is found, you have the right as the finder to receive a reward. Is it okay if we share your contact information with them?" "No, that's fine. I didn't pick it up looking for a reward." After exchanging a few more words, he handed me a lost property receipt, ending the procedure. All told, it had taken about an hour, but I felt satisfied that I had safely turned it in.

A few days later, just as I was forgetting about the whole thing, a phone call came in. It was a number I didn't recognize, but I answered it anyway.

"Is this [Name]?! Mind your own damn business!! Don't think you're getting away with this!!"

[Name] was indeed my real name, but I was suddenly bombarded with foul language. Judging by the tone, it sounded like an elderly woman. The call cut off immediately after that single outburst. Stunned, I thought how incredibly rude it was, and opened my call log to call back and give them a piece of my mind.

(Wait... this number...) It was an unfamiliar number, but something about it felt strangely familiar. Could it be...? I scrolled back through my call history.

...There it was. I remembered that on the day I found the smartphone, I had called my own phone. And along with that, I realized I hadn't deleted my own number from the found phone's call history.

Leaving my number in the call history was my own mistake, but that gave no one the right to suddenly call and hurl abuse at me. It's not like I did it expecting gratitude, but being spoken to like that made my blood boil. I had done nothing to deserve that kind of language; if anything, I deserved a thank-you. Unable to stomach the anger, I readied my thumb to hit the call button... Wait a second. How did they know my name? I paused and thought it through calmly.

(The smartphone only had my phone number on it. If so, that police officer must have given them my name.) Even though I explicitly told him I didn't want a reward and didn't need my information passed along, what a loose-lipped cop! Thinking about how reckless rural police officers can be, I felt an intense urge to call and complain to him.

I dialed the number listed on the receipt.

"Hello, [Location] Police Substation." "Hello, my name is [Name]."

"Ah, from the other day! Is something wrong?" "You could say that..." I explained that I had just received an unprovoked tirade from someone over the phone, and that even though I had left a record in the outgoing call history, they knew my name—something they shouldn't have known.

"I told you I didn't want a reward, didn't I? Did you give out my personal information?" "No, wait! Hold on a second, I'm not following. You're saying the owner contacted you directly?" "That's what I've been telling you! They called me from the exact same number as that smartphone I found!" "Please calm down! Just calm down for a second!" Perhaps sensing how worked up I was, the officer cut in to soothe me.

"Mr. [Name], that's simply impossible." "Huh? What do you mean?" After a short pause, the officer spoke.

"The smartphone you found... is still right here in our lost property storage." "...Huh?" "The owner hasn't shown up yet. And besides... the battery is completely dead and it won't turn on. I'm looking right at it in my hands, and it won't even react. So isn't it just a wrong number?"

After hanging up, I stared at that number on my screen. The unspeakable horror I had felt when I first picked up the phone came rushing back. It's best not to get involved any further... Feeling a lingering thread of dread from the woman's words, I deleted the number from my call log.

It's been a month since then, and nothing out of the ordinary has happened around me. I can only pray that things continue this way without incident. However, lately, I feel like those sharp, watchful eyes tracking me have become more frequent. No, maybe it's just my imagination and there's actually nothing there. I might just be overly sensitive because of what was said on that call, but I can't help feeling terrified of this gaze—whether it's real or just my imagination.