My dad is originally from deep in the mountains of a certain prefecture in the Chugoku region, and apparently, there was a terrifying custom practiced there. Mind you, back then I didn't know the details. Dad said the acts carried out were too sickening to even speak of, so he refused to tell the whole story to me while I was still a kid.

By the time I reached high school, I had completely forgotten about Dad's hometown.

Shortly after summer vacation started, Dad blurted out during dinner with a tense expression on his face, "...We have to go back to my parents' house for Obon." We only visited his family's place once a year at most, but I had never seen him bring it up looking so drained.

"Oh, really?"

In stark contrast to Dad, Mom was completely detached and indifferent, but a subtle sense of anxiety crept over me.

On the day of Obon, our family got packed up and climbed into the car.

Knowing we had a nearly two-hour drive ahead of us to Grandpa's house, I got over my initial annoyance and decided I'd just use the time to take a nap. Dad, on the other hand, was fidgeting restlessly and gnawing on his thumb nail.

I’d never seen Dad look so visibly shaken before. Did he really hate Grandpa that much? I tried to dig up hazy memories, but felt a bit pathetic realizing I barely remembered anything about him.

I think the last time I saw Grandpa was when I started middle school. He didn't smile much, but he was pretty generous with spending money, so I had a decent impression of him. Still, there was no denying that his strict demeanor wore on my nerves, leaving me with a faint sense of discomfort around him.

"[Name], don't fool around when we get there. Listen carefully to your grandfather."

"...Uh, yeah."

Dad wasn't usually the nagging type, but for some reason, he kept his face almost entirely blank while driving as he gave me that warning in the back seat. A jolt of tension ran through me, and unable to think of anything else to say, I just nodded obediently.

About two hours later, I braced myself in front of an old-fashioned Japanese house looming at the top of a stone wall on a spacious plot of land. Grandpa's house was as ancient as ever, but the neatly manicured garden made it obvious at a glance that the master of the house was in good health. Walking across the stone pavers at the entrance, I pressed the simple doorbell, and a few seconds later, Grandpa slid open the front door.

"Ah, good to see you made it."

Though Grandpa was retired and living a quiet life, his build rivaled or even surpassed Dad's broad frame. The sweeping glance he gave Dad, Mom, and then me made it clear his commanding aura hadn't faded at all.

You'd think being at her in-laws' place would make Mom feel out of place, but whether Grandpa was open-minded or just genuinely didn't care, he treated her like a real daughter in a good way—telling her, "Make yourself at home"—though in a bad way, it felt almost like indifference.

Grandma had already passed away, but Mom told me she was a gentle soul who I used to be very attached to. Mom must have really warmed up to Grandma too, considering how she'd occasionally look back fondly on how much fun they had cooking together.

Thinking about it, I wondered if Grandpa's cold detachment was caused by Grandma's passing, but when I asked Dad, he told me Grandpa had always lacked warmth.

After dinner, while I was lounging around watching TV in the living room, Dad came back with Grandpa and said,

"Sorry, but Dad and I have somewhere to go tomorrow. Can you two watch the house?"

He made the request with a complicated expression, making me wonder if he was actually sorry about it.

Mom and I exchanged a glance and quickly agreed, but a slight curiosity made me ask what business they had. Grandpa simply snapped in a low voice, "You don't need to know," before walking off. Dad added, "Alright, so that's the plan for tomorrow," and left the room as well, leaving me feeling thoroughly unsettled.

"Do you know what they're doing?"

"No idea."

I casually asked Mom, but predictable as ever, I got a blunt reply. Just as I was pondering where Dad was going without even telling Mom, she let out a soft "Oh," making me look at her.

"Come to think of it, something similar might have happened when we visited a long time ago."

Mom placed a hand on her chin and stared up at the ceiling.

Knowing she always looked up like that whenever she tried to recall something, I didn't think much of it and pressed on.

"When?"

"Back when you were really small."

Still lying down, Mom held her hand horizontal just slightly higher than me, saying, "Around this tall." Judging by that height, it was probably before I started school, but unfortunately, I had no memory of it whatsoever.

According to Mom, when we visited about twelve years ago, Grandpa had similarly taken Dad and headed off somewhere. When she asked why back then, Grandpa had shut her down just like he did today, so she quickly backed off, though Grandma had rubbed her back and reassured her, "It's alright."

Mom said she didn't understand it then and still didn't now. Naturally, I didn't have the answer either, so I just said, "What's that all about?" and went back to lounging around.

The next day, Grandpa took Dad and left early in the morning, leaving Mom and me with nothing to do. Even if we wanted to go grocery shopping, the supermarket was a dozens-of-minutes drive away, and there were no entertainment spots around here.

Mom mentioned how she used to pass the time cooking and chatting with Grandma when she was alive, but her eyes looked somewhat lonely.

Doing nothing in particular, we boiled some somen noodles for lunch and spent the afternoon watching TV, and before we knew it, dusk had arrived.

By the time night fully set in, Mom and I were finishing up dinner preparations, and just as we set the food on the table, Dad and Grandpa returned.

"We're back."

"Welcome home, Father, dear."

When Mom and I went to greet them at the entrance, Grandpa was taking off his shoes normally, but Dad's face was ashen grey, staring listlessly at the floor. It was painfully obvious something was wrong. When I peered into his face and asked, "Are you okay?", he blinked his hollow eyes and muttered, "Ah... yeah," before stepping inside.

Even during dinner, Dad kept sighing, looking completely absent-minded. In the end, he left most of his meal untouched and went straight back to his bedroom.

Worried that he was feeling genuinely sick, I expressed concern, but Grandpa calmly said, "He's just tired from the strain, nothing to worry about," while loudly crunching on pickles.

Mom and I shared the habit of becoming even more suspicious when told not to worry, but with Grandpa standing right there, all I could do was nod obediently.

Early the next morning, my uncle's family arrived. He was Dad's older brother—Grandpa's eldest son—and his family consisted of three people: my uncle, his wife, and his bratty son, S, who was two years older than me.

I had met him once back in middle school, but I was shocked to see him now with bleached blonde hair and ear piercings, looking quite flashy. As I was realizing how much people can change once they enter high school, S spotted me and immediately started acting like a big brother, saying, "Long time no see." Well, I didn't dislike S, so after greeting him, we talked in the living room. Before long, like real brothers, we were getting hyped up discussing recent manga we were into and trash-talking about whether we had girlfriends.

However, Dad still wore an unreadable, gloomy expression, and Uncle's complexion also seemed terribly pale, though I couldn't be entirely sure since I hadn't seen him in so long.

What's more, right after arriving, Uncle abruptly said, "We need to talk for a moment," leaving his wife and S behind as he, Dad, and Grandpa disappeared into another room.

Auntie and Mom got into a non-stop conversation, while S and I were quietly bonding in a different way, sneaking glances at NSFW images on our phones. Suddenly, S said something strange.

"My dad's acting really weird."

It was a statement that hit the exact center of my own anxiety.

Latching onto S's topic, I mentioned how my dad was acting strange too. S muttered, "For real?" and his face darkened into a detective-like seriousness.

"Actually, my dad said something a while ago..."

S then shared a story his dad had let slip once while drinking.

The story was a local legend or ghost story of sorts, about a certain 'forbidden ground' existing somewhere in these parts. An monstrous anomaly had allegedly been enshrined there since ancient times, and anyone who trespassed without permission would be cursed for generations. However, a method was set up to lift the curse, and that method was a 'human pillar.'

"Are we talking about Dragon Quest here?"

When I cracked a half-joke, S scowled, twisting his mouth shut, and snapped, "Shut up and listen."

A 'human pillar' meant exactly what it sounded like, but in this context, it referred to a person chosen to shoulder the curse. As a rule, the candidate had to be someone who had set foot on the forbidden ground.

For example, if a person entered alone, they would be offered as the human pillar. If a group entered, it was fine as long as a single representative became the sacrifice.

However, the details of what happened to that human pillar were utterly gruesome.

The human pillar would be beaten senseless by several local adults until unconscious, then bound hand and foot and placed inside a palanquin before being carried to the edge of the forbidden ground. Prayers were offered near the palanquin in that state, after which the palanquin was abandoned on the spot, and they would return a week later. If the human pillar inside was still alive, it would be extended for another week, but if they were dead, the body would be removed from the palanquin and stuffed into a wooden tub.

Then it would be buried somewhere in the forbidden ground, turning the human pillar into something akin to a self-mummified monk.

"That's pretty sick."

I interjected again, but the story wasn't over.

Apparently, the ritual only reached a milestone once the human pillar became a self-mummified monk. Every twelve years, a portion of that body had to be severed and returned to the forbidden ground. In short, limbs and head would be cut off over twelve-year cycles—five times total—taking roughly 60 years to fully lift the curse, S explained.

"If it's a group, the others probably perform the ritual, but if it's just one person, who does it?"

"Supposedly family or relatives. If there aren't any, villagers I guess."

S didn't seem to know the fine details on that point and chuckled while digging at his nose.

It was a creepy ghost story, no doubt, but I suddenly wondered what connection it could possibly have to our fathers' strange behavior. S brought up the idea that since his dad talked about it, maybe our dads were actually performing that ritual.

"No, no, no way."

I laughed it off, but S pressed on.

"I mean, human sacrifices might be out, but couldn't they be doing some weird ritual like that? Or maybe it's some cult stuff. Country places always keep old customs alive, right?"

Hearing those words, I pondered for a moment before accepting it quite easily.

Sure, a creepy urban-legend scenario like the one Uncle told couldn't exist in the modern world, but local customs or religious ceremonies originating from this land might very well still remain. If so, Grandpa and Dad keeping secrets from us made sense as guilt over such things, and Dad's ill condition could be explained by his disgust toward those rituals.

That was when S made a proposal.

"So look, next time the old men head out, let me and you tail them."

"For real?"

Seeing the mischievous, sly grin on S's face, I felt a surge of excitement inside. Thinking about what would happen if Grandpa caught us made me hesitate, but more than that, curiosity about what our dads were hiding drove me forward.

That night, as if right on cue, Dad stood up saying, "I'm heading out for a bit," and walked toward the entrance with Uncle and Grandpa. S and I exchanged glances—"This is it!"—and putting on innocent faces, we asked, "Where are you going?" Grandpa gave the exact response I expected: "You don't need to know."

Just before Mom and Auntie stepped up to the front door to see them off, S blurted out to the mothers, "Well, we've got an early start tomorrow, so we're going to sleep now," and promptly made his exit. I followed right behind him at a brisk pace. Grandpa was staring intently at us as we left, which left an impression, but the moment our eyes met, he quickly turned away.

S and I had prepared sandals inside our room beforehand. Returning to the room, we slipped right out the window into the garden.

Holding our breath, we peeked around the front entrance and saw Dad and the others filing out with flashlights lit.

It looked like they were traveling on foot at this hour.

We had agreed to call it off early if they took a car, but since they were walking, S and I smirked at each other silently, confident we could tail them.

From there, we began following them, walking for nearly ten minutes. We cut across the narrow paths between rice paddies and proceeded down an unpaved country road until we came upon a grand torii gate. Just as I thought Dad and the others had business at the shrine, they passed through the torii and headed in a completely different direction from the main hall. Continuing down a narrow trail, we arrived at a forested area surrounded entirely by dense trees, and Dad's group began climbing a gentle hill.

"Is there really something way out here?"

"Starting to feel like some cult stuff."

I was contemplating the remote landscape, but S was thoroughly enjoying the situation. Though, like S said, rather than ghost stories or ancient traditions, it felt more like something tied to a cult-like religion. I wondered if they were performing prayers deep in the mountains night after night, but we soon lost sight of our answer.

"Huh? Where'd they go?"

Keeping our distance so Dad wouldn't spot us backfired. Without flashlights, S and I completely lost sight of them in the middle of these woods.

That said, since it had been a single straight path up to this point, we didn't feel like we were in deep trouble. Knowing we could just turn back and get home at worst, we stayed completely calm.

"Maybe that way?"

S pointed toward one side of a fork in the path. Along that path, barely visible in the moonlight, stood a barrier made of stanchion posts with a slack rope strung across it. Paper streamers hung from the rope at regular intervals, swaying quietly.

"Let's check it out."

Following S's lead, I ducked under the rope and began walking into the damp air.

I could tell the environment had changed slightly by the species of trees growing around us and the ground beneath our feet, which had turned muddy like a wetland. But perhaps because my night vision wasn't great, I couldn't get any solid proof that Dad's group had taken this path. I just followed behind S's back, nothing more.

Ignoring the occasional cries of collared scops owls, we ventured deep inside. Despite it being summer, a cold, tense chill pierced my skin, making me shiver slightly. Perhaps due to excessive moisture in the air, my hair started feeling damp and matted. Still, S didn't stop, likely because the faint moonlight allowed him to see just enough of the path ahead. Even so, as I watched S's back, I found myself vaguely lost in thought, wondering what purpose Dad and the others had coming all the way out here.

"Hey, [Name], you listening?"

"Huh? Uh, what?"

Suddenly called by S, I snapped my head up. I had apparently been immersed in my own world and failed to respond to his calls until just now. S tapped my shoulder with an exasperated look and pointed off in a completely random direction.

"Look, that thing over there. Can you see it?"

S spoke in an unusually low whisper. Sensing he had either found Dad's trail or spotted the men themselves, I silenced my voice as well. Looking in the direction he pointed, I didn't see Dad or the others anywhere, so I asked, "Where are they?" but S shook his head.

"No, that white thing over there."

S raised his finger again to guide my gaze. Dozens of meters away inside the thicket, behind the trunk of a single tree, something white was poking out as if peeking at us.

A pale shape standing out in the pitch darkness was thoroughly eerie, but I understood what S wanted to show me.

"What is that?"

I voiced the honest question in my mind, but that was a mistake. As if to resolve my doubt, S took the lead, saying, "Let's get a little closer," and started walking forward.

Now, I'm generally fine with dark roads or ghost stories, but I certainly didn't have the stomach to casually stroll through a pitch-black forest. I felt a sense of respect for S's reckless courage in a moment like this, but I slowly trailed behind his fast-moving figure.

Then, S suddenly came to a dead halt.

I didn't know why he stopped, but figuring I'd find out once I caught up, I whispered, "Did you find something?" while closing the distance between us. S didn't twitch a muscle, but as I reached him, I placed a hand on his shoulder and asked, "S?"

S rotated his neck perfectly parallel, like a swivel chair turning around.

But the moment I saw his face when he turned, a gasp left my throat: "Whoa—!"

A massive swarm of moths was plastered over S's eyes and mouth, writhing and piling over one another. Facing S, who remained frozen rigid even after turning around, I collapsed backward onto my rear.

"S!? A-Are you okay!"

I looked up at S, my voice trembling.

S stood frozen for a few moments, but then, as if snapping back to his senses, he began spitting frantically: "Ugh! Ptui! Ptui!" He swatted the moths off his face and spat repeatedly.

"W-What the hell!? Ptui! Ugh!"

He was severely panicked, but seeing his normal reaction brought me a wave of relief.

"Are you alright?"

"Y-Yeah."

Having spat out most of the filth, S regained his composure, looking around the surroundings with a puzzled tilt of his head.

"Something wrong?"

When I asked out of genuine confusion, S mumbled, "No..." But just as he scanned the area once more, his mouth began trembling violently, letting out faint sounds: "A-A-A..."

Following his gaze, I saw the same white thing from earlier peeking out from behind a tree in the distance, watching us just as before. As I strained my eyes, wondering what on earth it was, S suddenly erupted into a bizarre screech: "KYOOOOO! KYOOOOO!"

The sudden, deafening shriek nearly made my heart jump straight out of my chest.

"S?"

When I turned to look at him, S's face was twisted wide open into a gaping mouth. Screeching that weird, manic "KYOOOOO!" over and over as if he had lost his mind, he contorted his body, tumbled onto the ground, and began thrashing around frantically like a caterpillar. And even while writhing, he kept bellowing, "KYOOOOO! KYOOOOO! KYOOOOO!", like an animal calling out to its pack.

What kind of nightmare was this?

My mind couldn't process the fact that S had suddenly broken down. All I could do was stand frozen beside the shrieking boy, completely at a loss for what to do.

As I stood there bewildered, a blinding light struck my face, making me squint.

"Over there!"

I heard someone shouting in the distance. It was almost certainly Grandpa's furious voice. Right after that thought crossed my mind, as if confirming it, he bellowed from afar, "Is that [Name]?! You damn fool!"

Grandpa rushed over to where I stood, and the moment we met, he delivered a sharp blow to the top of my head. It hurt terribly, but it snapped me back to reality, and I noticed Dad and Uncle breathing heavily right behind him.

Then I saw that none of them were looking at me—they were all staring down at S, who was lying on the ground still screaming, their faces pale as sheets.

"U-Um, S suddenly turned into this..."

I didn't know how to explain it, but I did my best to tell Grandpa and the others how we ended up here. When I mentioned that S started acting like this right after saying he saw a white thing, Uncle collapsed to his knees, while Grandpa and Dad clutched their heads. Yet I still couldn't grasp the gravity of the situation.

"Why did you go in there...?"

Grandpa let out a heavy sigh, looking deeply shaken. He scolded me, asking if I didn't see the keep-out rope, but when I admitted I ignored it and walked in anyway, another fist came flying at my head.

"There's no choice..."

While I endured the pain on my head, Grandpa slowly stepped closer to S. Seeing this, Uncle and Dad followed suit, but when Grandpa gave a sharp order—"[Name], close your eyes"—the three of them suddenly began kicking S repeatedly.

Uncle wept as he kicked him, crying, "Damn it, damn it, forgive me!" while Grandpa repeated cryptic commands like "Get out!"

And amidst it all, S continued to scream "KYOOOOO!" even while being kicked. Witnessing this scene of absolute madness, I felt a sensation of my consciousness fading away, as if I were stuck in a waking nightmare.

Or rather, I actually had lost consciousness, because when I came to, I was lying on the floor of a wooden room. I tried to sit up immediately, but my body lacked balance and I rolled over. Realizing my limbs weren't moving freely, I looked down and saw that my hands and feet were tightly bound.

Where was I? Looking up, I saw a space resembling the main hall of a shrine, filled with various ritual paraphernalia. Beside me, a short distance away, lay S, bound in the exact same manner.

Furthermore, at the deepest part of the room, flickering flames rose into the air, and standing before them was a man dressed like a Shinto priest, muttering incantations under his breath while occasionally waving an ohnusa wand.

Behind him, Grandpa and the others sat quietly, appearing to offer solemn prayers.

"...Dad?"

As if reacting to my voice, Dad turned around, and Grandpa snapped his head back as well.

However, when I asked questions like "Where are we?" or "Why am I tied up?", Dad consistently countered with a single question: "Do you know who I am?" Realizing I wouldn't get anywhere otherwise, I resignedly answered, "Of course I do, Dad." After Dad and Grandpa exchanged a look, Grandpa walked right up above my head and firmly pressed an index finger to his lips: "Just hold still and endure it for a bit."

He was implicitly warning me to stay quiet, and I wasn't stupid enough to raise a scene in such an incomprehensible situation.

However, after listening silently for a while to what sounded like the priest's purification prayers, S, who had been lying motionless like a corpse, suddenly began thrashing around like a caterpillar.

"KYOOOOO! KYOOOOO!"

Hearing that scream made me painfully aware that what happened in the woods wasn't a dream.

The instant S shrieked, Uncle began kicking S again, repeating, "Get out!" S then slumped back down into quiet stillness, only to let out another monstrous shriek dozens of minutes later, prompting Uncle to kick and subdue him all over again. I was forced to watch this process repeat countless times.

Perhaps three hours passed.

Just as I was starting to lose sensation in my limbs, the priest's incantations finally came to an end.

Standing up smoothly, the priest bowed to Grandpa and the others, saying, "Thank you for your patience," and they bowed deeply in return.

"How will things turn out?"

When Grandpa inquired with utmost deference, the priest wore a grim expression and replied, "For now, I suppose we can only wait and see."

Receiving those words, Uncle looked utterly devastated and worn out. But as Dad untied my bonds, I stretched my body with everything I had, soaking in the immense relief of finally being freed.

"What about S?"

When I asked Grandpa over Dad's shoulder, Grandpa let out a long, heavy sigh.

"Consider it so that you won't be seeing him for a while."

Grandpa answered as if draining all emotion from his voice.

I wanted to ask why, but Dad pushed me forward as if to distance me from the place, forcing me to walk out of the shrine hall with him across the grounds. Looking at Dad's silent back, I instinctively realized we wouldn't be returning to Grandpa's house.

Along the way, Dad, who had been dead silent, finally opened his heavy mouth.

"Did you see something out there?"

As he asked this without breaking his pace, I reflected on what happened in the mountains. Following S into the fork in the path, walking for a bit, and then seeing a white object alongside S. I told Dad how S, who was the one to point out the white object, suddenly went crazy right after.

"Did you see that white object clearly?"

I felt a slight sense of discomfort at Dad's phrasing, but I squeezed out whatever information I could recall. A white thing. A white shadow. Something like a human figure. Come to think of it, the white thing poking out from behind the tree looked strikingly like a person peeking out. Like someone resting a hand against a wall and thrusting just their face forward.

As I blurted out these fragmented details, Dad suddenly stopped in his tracks and yelled, "Stop it!", which was incredibly rare for him.

"If you didn't see it clearly, it's better if you don't try to remember."

Then, Dad pinched the bridge of his nose, his lips trembling.

"What was that thing? What's going to happen to S?"

Staring at Dad, I threw out the questions that were plaguing me. Perhaps feeling he couldn't hide it any longer, or perhaps deciding it was okay to tell me, Dad let out a deep sigh before he began speaking.

"I stepped into that place once when I was a kid, too."

Dad's story was eerily similar to the ghost story S had told me.

When Dad was in elementary school, on the way back from a village festival, he passed near those mountains and trespassed out of a dare. A friend named A saw the exact same white object. He was with about five friends at the time, but only A saw the 'face' of that white thing. Just as A was about to describe its features, he went insane, just like S did.

They immediately called the adults, but while A's parents were holding down their thrashing son, A stopped moving after a while. Everyone present, including Dad, was in total panic, but eventually, an old landowner arrived, brought him to the shrine, and performed a ritual just like the one earlier. Once the lengthy ritual ended, the kids besides A were sent home, but a few days later, Dad heard from his parents that A had died.

Where the story diverged from S's tale was what happened next.

After A's death, for some reason, the four children who had been present that night were gathered together, Dad included. They were each handed a small jar containing a piece of A's remains—likely a piece of arm bone—and led into those same mountains. Continuing past the keep-out rope, there was a cliff about the height of a two-story house. Atop that cliff stood a small shrine, and an authoritative priest instructed the terrified kids to throw the jars containing the bone up onto the cliff. Unsure of what else to do, Dad and the others tossed their jars upward. Naturally, the sound of shattering jars echoed from the cliff top, while the priest chanted incantations and waved his ohnusa wand repeatedly.

And Dad revealed that this Obon marked the fifth time that ritual was being performed.

S had mentioned in his story that the ritual had to be repeated five times in total. I gasped, realizing that part of his tale was actually true.

"...Is S going to die?"

I blurted out the immediate dread looming over me.

Dad wore a grave expression and stayed silent for a moment, lost in thought. But eventually,

"Just kidding."

He formed dimples on his cheeks and chuckled.

I blurted out, "You've gotta be lying!" before wiping away cold sweat in overwhelming relief. I felt embarrassed for getting swallowed up by Dad's insanely convincing performance, but knowing his story was a lie brought a refreshing sense of freedom.

I convinced myself they had just put on an act to punish S and me for sneaking into a forbidden area.

Though considering how badly S had been beaten, I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him.

"So, is S going to be grounded by Uncle for a while then?"

With the tension released, I brought it up casually, but Dad murmured in an extraordinarily faint whisper,

"...We might not be able to see S for a while."

Catching up to Dad as he resumed walking, I voiced a random question that crossed my mind.

"That story earlier sounded just like the one S told me. Is it a local ghost story? By the way, what happened to your other friends after that?"

When I asked,

"Everyone besides me passed away,"

Dad told me quietly.

Lacking any way to confirm whether those words were a joke or the truth, I wiped fresh sweat from my forehead and simply nodded, "Oh, I see."

Two days later, our family headed home earlier than planned.

In truth, we were originally scheduled to return the previous night, but as usual, Dad had to step out late at night with Grandpa and Uncle for business, leaving us to watch the house with Auntie. Naturally, S hadn't returned home since that night. Auntie relentlessly interrogated Uncle about his whereabouts, but Uncle brushed it off evasively, insisting, "He's just reflecting on his behavior."

Unable to trace her son, Auntie even asked me, "Do you know what happened to make him get grounded?" But since Dad and Grandpa had strictly forbidden me from speaking a word about that night, I had no choice but to play dumb.

However, seeing how thoroughly they were isolating S—likely confining him at that shrine—I assumed he must have incurred someone's immense wrath.

After all those events, I returned home.

Four months passed. The season shifted to winter, and right after New Year's, when the Obon incident had completely faded from my mind, Mom returned to the living room after a phone call with a stern expression.

"What's wrong?"

"Well..."

In contrast to my casual question, Mom spoke with a grave tone.

She told me that S had gone missing.

Mom had been talking to Auntie on the phone until just now. Auntie was practically hysterical and speaking incoherently, but piecing it together, she hadn't seen S since that day during Obon. Of course, she had pressed Uncle for answers, but Uncle obstinately maintained that S had run away somewhere. In the end, Auntie went to file a missing person report, but because Uncle told the police that S was a troublemaker, they treated it as a runaway case rather than a disappearance, refusing to accept the report.

Four months had passed quickly since S vanished, but Auntie, consumed by thoughts of her suddenly absent son, gradually became emotionally unstable and was now seeing a psychiatrist.

Hearing the update about S from Mom, I was deeply shaken.

I think I managed to hide it from Mom, but inside, I was shivering violently as memories of that night flooded back.

That evening, when I was alone with Dad after he came home, I brought up what I heard from Mom. Dad simply murmured calmly, "I see."

And as an overwhelming wave of dread washed over me at his reaction, Dad suddenly stopped me and said,

"[Name], twelve years from now, you're coming with me to Grandpa's house. Don't forget."

Dad left me with just those words before heading upstairs to his bedroom to change.

Meanwhile, I stood frozen alone in the room. Countless memories swirled wildly inside my head, finally fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. S was probably gone for good. I had no solid proof, but an undeniable conviction took root inside me.

It was the conclusion drawn by the story I heard from S, and the story Dad told me.

That night, after seeing something, S screeched and was kicked by Uncle and the others. After being bound, he underwent a strange exorcism by the priest, went insane again, and was kicked repeatedly by Uncle to quiet him down.

These were indisputable facts.

On that day, S might have ceased to be S.

If the stories Dad and S told me were true even in parts, does that mean I was cursed simply for setting foot on that forbidden ground? If the area past that keep-out rope was indeed the forbidden ground, was S turned into a human pillar?

The only time I'll find out the answer is likely during Obon, twelve years from now.

I can only pray that what Dad told me as a joke doesn't turn out to be true.