I want to tell you about a weird, creepy friend I had. You know how there's always that one kid who's constantly smiling? The harmless type who never badmouths anyone, just smiles all the time. There was one in my middle school too. A guy named S. We became friends by chance. Side-parted hair, squinty eyes. An ordinary-looking face, not ugly or anything. Average height, I think. He looked like someone straight out of a manga. Plus, his posture was ridiculously straight—like he had a ruler taped to his spine. For some reason, though, the rest of the class hated his guts. Middle schoolers are sensitive like that, right?

They'd get into huge fights over the smallest things, or turn it into bullying. Back then, I just figured that’s how things were, so I didn't pay it much mind.

S was just... easy to be around. There was no malice to him, and he had a refined way of laughing. He didn't guffaw or anything. I liked that he was quiet. The guys talking behind his back didn't seem interested in me, either. So for a while, we were able to just be regular friends.

That said, S did have a few strange quirks. First was school lunch. He absolutely refused to eat it. He wouldn't take a single bite, not caring in the least even when the homeroom teacher chewed him out for it.

In fact, I'd never seen S eat a single thing in front of me.

Also, he sometimes smelled grassy—like green juice, or some kind of plant. The bullies used to yell, "Man, you stink!" so it definitely wasn't just me who noticed.

Another thing was that he refused to talk about his family. Strictly off-limits. A total no-go. He obstinately refused to say a word. He'd never tell me where he lived, either.

I didn't have many friends, so S meant a lot to me. Even back then I thought he was pretty weird, but I didn't care. I used to comfort him a lot, telling him, "Don't sweat it."

Since we were both in cultural clubs, our after-school activities were pretty light. So we often hung out at my place after school. S's family was apparently pretty strict, so they never bought him video games. He played them like he was completely possessed. I really enjoyed those times. He'd linger until right before dinner at my house and leave around evening. Not every day, though. S apparently went to a cram school, so he only came to my place about two days a week. S was ridiculously smart, too. He was top of the class on midterm and final exams. He used to help me study a lot. When I mentioned that to my mom, she got super excited. "Don't worry about the money, just go to the same cram school as S!" she told me.

I figured, "Hey, that sounds kind of fun," so I casually asked him, "Which cram school do you go to?" At that, his eyes darted around for a second, and he said, "I don't want to tell you." S was basically a yes-man. Even if someone dumped cleaning duty on him or forced him to do something unpleasant, he'd just smile and say, "Sure." It probably wasn't any fun for the bullies, since nothing they did seemed to phase him. And yet, THAT S was saying "no"? I was taken aback at first, but then I started getting kind of annoyed, and a bad idea popped into my head. I decided to tail him.

Cram schools are always by the train station, right? Even in the countryside, that rule seems to apply, so sure enough, they were concentrated around the station. S went to cram school on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. After mulling it over, I decided to tail him on a Friday. After parting ways at our usual intersection, I doubled back and came out through an alley.

He was heading toward the station. Tailing someone is surprisingly easy, I thought. As we got closer to the main station area, various cram school signs came into view. I followed S while trying to figure out which one he was going to, but he didn't enter any of the buildings. He just walked right past the station. Was it a cram school on the outskirts? Nope. That's weird, I thought as I kept following him. The buildings gradually thinned out into a narrow lane. I maintained my distance from S, blindly continuing my tail. Then, suddenly, a white compact car pulled over to the curb right in front of me. In the driver's seat was a young woman who looked about twenty. She looked like a businesswoman in a sharp, tailored suit. She rolled down the window and asked in a cheerful tone, "Are you [My Name]-kun, by any chance?"

Her voice was creepy. Raspy, or maybe blown out. Different from being hoarse from drinking or shouting. If I say she sounded like an old hag despite her looks, do you get what I mean? She gave a crinkly smile, exactly like S. Something about that smile terrified me. She was pretty, but her makeup was ridiculously thick. You know those idol impersonators who wear way too much makeup? Just like that. The area around her eyes was pitch black, and it made me feel deeply uneasy just looking at her. On top of that, she was an older woman I'd never met before. I was scared out of my mind. Flustered, I gave a vague, "Uh, yeah..." "I knew it. I'm S's mother." She spoke with a thick, syrupy drawl, yet her tone was completely flat and monotonic. When she finished speaking, her face split into a wide, slimy grin. Even now, thinking of that smile gives me the creeps. I was really surprised. She was far too young compared to my own mom. I even wondered if she was a stepmother. I gave a quick nod and tried to walk past, but she called out to me again. "Get in. I'll give you a ride home."

Looking closely at the car, the paint was peeling off in spots. It was covered in rust, looking like it had never been properly maintained. S himself was nowhere to be seen—he'd vanished while I was talking to his mother. Honestly, I wanted to run away. My intuition told me she was dangerous. But she was S's mother, and it would be stupid to start a fight over this. Plus, I was genuinely curious if I could ask her about the cram school. After hesitating for a moment, I decided to get into the car. Even from the back seat, I could see the cup-holder ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts.

It didn't take long for me to regret getting in. S's mother set off without even asking where I lived. "Where are we going?" I asked. "Home," was her only response. But we were driving in the opposite direction of my house. I figured we might be heading to S's place. Part of me dreaded it, but another part was kind of thrilled. S had been so dead set against sharing anything about his home, so I really was curious. Inside the car, strange classical music played on an endless loop. Stealing glances at her from the back seat, she really did look young. Not just her style—her skin was distinctly that of someone in her twenties.

Ah, they really are related, I thought. Her back was held perfectly straight. There were so many things I wanted to ask, but I held back. I felt a bit guilty myself. I had gotten in out of curiosity, but I knew S would hate this. I decided that once we reached his house, I'd make up some excuse and leave right away. We drove for about forty minutes before the car abruptly stopped. "We're here." It was an area behind a housing complex that even a lifelong local like me rarely visited. S's house was an ordinary single-story bungalow. In a word, it was a dump. I had somewhat guessed as much from the condition of her car, but it felt out of place. His mother was dressed neatly, and her suit looked expensive. I had taken it for granted that S came from a good family, so... well, it just didn't match the image I had. Remembering what I'd decided in the car, I tried to take my leave. "I just remembered I have something to do, so I'll be going," I said. She replied, "I'll be sure to tell S that you came by." She had me trapped. I froze for a moment, unable to say a word. After thinking for a second, I blurted out, "Oh, I'll wait for S." I agreed to go inside with S's mother. Naturally, she flashed that slimy grin again.

What do you call them, corrugated panels? Those wavy, transparent sheets. They looked really old, with patches where they'd been reinforced here and there. The inside of the house was an obvious hoarder house. Not like the extreme ones featured on TV, though. Just a place that radiated sheer carelessness. Flyers from months ago were scattered on the floor, and random magazines were strewn all over the place. Trash was tied up in plastic bags, but none of it had been taken outside. I wondered if S really lived here. Passing through the entryway, I was shown into the living room. It was fairly spacious, maybe around two hundred square feet. "Sit wherever you like. I'll whip up some food." Leaving it at that, S's mother headed toward a filthy kitchen. Give me a break, I thought. I'm a bit of a germaphobe—the kind of guy who can't even eat rice balls rolled by a friend's mom. I stole a glance at the kitchen, and there was a mountain of unwashed dishes. It totally killed my appetite.

There was another problem, too. Sitting at the table right in front of me was another person. An emaciated woman. She just sat there in dead silence. She looked pretty young, too. Not S's younger sister. She was definitely older than me, around the same age as S's mother. She was wearing only a camisole, and she looked freezing. Normally, a middle school boy would get excited seeing a woman in skimpy clothing, right? I didn't feel anything like that. She was a gaunt, skeletal woman. She didn't even look up when I walked into the room. She just sat there dazedly, with perfect posture. S's mother completely ignored her, humming a tune as she prepared the meal. I suddenly understood completely why S had never wanted me over.

It didn't take very long. "It's ready," S's mother said, bringing over two bowls. One for me, and one for the other woman.

The moment I saw the food, I regretted coming to this house with every fiber of my being. What she served was a green, sludgy mass. It looked somewhat like porridge, but not like a wild herb porridge—a much nastier, moss-like shade. The dishes clearly hadn't been washed properly; there was crusty residue stuck to the rim of the bowl. Separated oil—maybe from that old grime?—floated glistening on the surface. I felt like throwing up right then and there. Then it hit me. S's breath. That grassy smell. You've got to be kidding me, I thought, looking over at S's mother. She was standing there with a smile, her eyes commanding me to eat. I couldn't bring myself to touch it, but the other woman started gorging on it, scooping it up with her bare hands without looking away. "Not hungry?" S's mother asked, smiling so hard her face wrinkled up. Oh man, do I really have to eat this? I was thinking, when I heard the front door open. Staring at the entrance to the living room, S was standing there. He was home.

S kept repeating, "Why... why..." over and over like a delirium. His face was ghostly pale. Before I could offer an explanation, his mother cut in. "Welcome home. Dinner's ready." S shuffled toward me in a daze. That seemed to annoy his mother, who asked again, "S. Are you listening to me?" "Ah, Mom. Why is he...?" The moment he said that, S's mother, who had been smiling all this time, completely snapped. "It's not 'Mom,' it's 'Mother'! How many times do I have to tell you?! S, are you saying you don't want to be part of my family?! Should I call HIM over here?!"

Her squinty eyes snapped wide open, her face twisting into a demonic rage. S and the other woman were trembling violently, and I was utterly bewildered. "Is it him?! Did HE mess you up?! It's you, isn't it?! You're the reason S has gone bad! YOUUUUUUU!!" S's mother turned her fury on me. Pathetically enough, all I could manage was a few stuttered "Uh"s and "Wh-what"s. She stomped toward me and grabbed a bowl. I thought she was going to hurl that green sludge right at me. "I-I just remembered I have somewhere to be! I'm leaving!" I blurted out instinctively. At that, she replied: "Oh, really? Take care on your way back."

S's mother was back to smiling. She stared at me with that same crinkled smile. It was as if her explosive rage from a second ago had never happened.

I don't remember much of what happened after that. I don't recall how I got home or what I did afterward. I was just profoundly grateful that the next day was Saturday, since I didn't have to see anyone for a while. When I went to school after the weekend, S wasn't there. In fact, I never saw S ever again after that day. Without returning to school even once, he transferred away a short while later. The teacher said there had been a death in the family. I just couldn't let it go, so after some time passed, I went to ask the teacher about it.

Since the teacher knew how close S and I were, he made an exception and told me. S's mother had been sickly and hospitalized for a long time. When she passed away, his father couldn't raise S on his own, so they moved far away to rely on the father's side of the family. That was what the teacher had heard at the funeral. Doesn't that sound weird? I said to him, "Was S's mom that young woman?" The teacher looked puzzled and said, "She looked about my age." There was no way she looked like a fifty-something middle-aged guy. So I asked him:

"Were there two young women around?" "No, it was just the dad and S. I didn't see any women."

After school that day, I built up the courage to visit S's house. That house—the bungalow I'd been brought to in the car. The door wasn't locked. I thought someone might be there, but there was no response. Of course not—a month had already passed since he transferred. My heart pounding in my chest, I stepped inside and stood there dumbfounded.

The room was cluttered in the exact same way as that day. S hadn't been living there. And yet, they had been acting as if they lived there. Creeped out to my core, I bolted out of the house. On my way out, I noticed something that sent a chill down my spine. The white compact car was parked in the yard.

I'd only known S since middle school, so I didn't know anything about his past. The ones who bullied him were his classmates from elementary school. No matter who I asked or how much I pressed, nobody would tell me about his past. Even now as an adult, I still don't know the truth.

Even today, whenever I see a woman wearing heavy makeup, I shudder. The face of that self-proclaimed mother pops right back into my mind.