Authors: Miyuki Miyabe
Wataru ran to the drugstore the moment school let out. He found himself checking his watch at every stoplight and crosswalk.
Five to four, four to four, three to four…
Wataru reached the photo counter at ten seconds to four o’clock.
Only one customer was ahead of him: a plump, middle-aged woman. She was locked in some sort of negotiation with a clerk wearing a white lab coat.
Wataru craned his neck to see behind the counter. He spotted a rack of long envelopes containing finished pictures. There were a lot—maybe twenty total. Each had a tag listing the customer’s name. Wataru strained his eyes looking for “Mitani.” There it was! The fifth envelope from the front! Wataru’s pictures had been developed for sure.
“It didn’t work at all,” the plump woman pouted, “and I switched medications on your recommendation, even though it was more expensive.”
“I understand, ma’am,” replied the cashier, lowering her eyes with obvious discomfort. “Maybe you need to give it more time? Everyone’s talking about this drug. It’s the next big thing. “
“Everyone? Then why hadn’t I heard of it until you told me?”
The clerk shrugged.
“Look, all I ask is that you let me exchange it for something else. It’s pointless to keep taking something that just isn’t working.”
“But it’s already been opened, ma’am.”
“That’s beside the point! It doesn’t work! We’re talking about medicine, here! What don’t you understand? I want something new and I want it now.”
The woman was brandishing a box of antacids, a brand that Wataru often saw advertised on TV. He peered around the store in frustration, searching for another clerk. It was a big drugstore. Usually there were more people working. For whatever reason, though, nobody was around today. He was growing impatient.
“E-excuse me,” Wataru began, hesitantly peeking around the middle-aged woman. “I’m here to pick up my pictures…”
“I’m sorry, but I’m helping this customer,” replied the clerk with an apologetic smile.
“Wait your turn!” snapped the plump woman ahead of Wataru.
“Perhaps I can interest you in this brand instead,” the clerk said to the woman. She was holding up a free trial package of antacid tablets.
“I don’t want a different one,” she said, taking the offered box anyway. “Does it work?”
“It’s new and based on a Chinese herbal remedy. It’s supposed to be highly effective for upset stomachs and digestive problems, and it’s got a refreshing flavor.”
“I doubt that,” said the woman. She lifted the sample to her nose and sniffed. Her nose wrinkled. “Smells funny.”
The clerk smiled nervously, saying nothing. Wataru caught her eye and silently mouthed the word “pictures.”
“All right. I’ll take it,” the woman said at last, stuffing it into a huge bag already bulging with other purchases.
Wataru felt as relieved as the clerk looked. But the woman didn’t move. She stood in place, stubbornly scanning the racks of medicines displayed behind the counter.
“I’m also looking for some cold medicine,” she said. “And not a strong one—I have a sensitive stomach. And I don’t want anything that makes me drowsy. Everything you carry always makes me sleepy. Maybe you’ve gotten something new?” She moved to one side to get a better look at the row of cold remedies. Wataru took the opportunity to gently elbow ahead of the plump customer.
“Um, Mitani. Wataru Mitani. I came here to pick up my photos,” he said, stretching out an arm to show his receipt.
The clerk glanced at the plump woman for a moment. Then, with a brief nod, she took a step toward the rack of photo envelopes. Wataru felt a warm breeze on the back of his neck. He spun around to find the woman snorting in frustration.
“How rude!” the woman bellowed, angrily glaring at Wataru. “I told you to wait your turn!”
“I’m sorry. I thought you were finished.”
“You’ve got some nerve, young man! If your parents were here I’d give them a stern talking to!” she seethed, stepping back from the counter. “Didn’t they ever teach you to respect your elders?”
The clerk came back to the counter, holding the envelope Wataru had spotted earlier. She slid several pictures out of the envelope and showed them to Wataru.
“These the ones?”
“Yes, they are.”
Wataru felt the plump woman glaring down at him as he paid for the photos. He did his best to ignore her. The cashier appeared to be doing the same. He pitied her for having to deal with people like the woman.
A bad customer’s still a customer…
Outside, Wataru ran as quickly as his legs could take him. He looked up after a while to find he was across the street from the haunted building. His lungs were aching, his cheeks burned, and his hands shook with anticipation. He hadn’t wanted to open the photos in the drugstore; he wanted somewhere with more privacy. And home was out of the question. He’d used up a perfectly good disposable camera without asking permission—and on a fairy! He couldn’t let his mother see the photos.
Wataru had stopped, but his heart was beating wildly. He looked around, trying to catch his breath.
What about Mihashi Shrine? There’s a bench and it’s nice and bright there. Plus it’s always empty
.
Wataru crossed the street and walked through the faded red torii gate. The shrine itself was a small building, with red pillars supporting a green roof. New benches flanked either side. They were always empty…
Someone was sitting on the bench to the left.
It was Mitsuru Ashikawa.
He was reading a book. It looked thick and heavy. The spine had to be at least five inches thick. Wataru gawked at him. That perfect face. That perfect hair. Just like a mannequin.
Mitsuru looked up briefly and then resumed reading. Wataru was nothing to him, a passing sparrow, a dog, a dead leaf or piece of litter drifting in the wind.
Maybe he doesn’t remember me,
Wataru thought, desperately trying to put a positive spin on the situation.
That must be it.
“Uh…hi,” Wataru croaked. It came out so weakly he almost laughed.
Mitsuru didn’t even notice.
Wataru’s mouth had half-formed the greeting for a second time when Mitsuru finally glanced up. His eyes flickered over Wataru’s face for the briefest of moments before returning to his book again.
Warmth began to creep up Wataru’s cheeks. It was strange. Why was he embarrassed? Mitsuru was the one being rude. Wataru was just trying to be friendly.
“Uh…We’re in cram school together,” Wataru finally managed to sputter.
I’m qualified to talk to you, really. Permission to speak freely, sir?
Mitsuru raised his eyes. This time, they lingered on him. It reminded Wataru of their first encounter outside the classroom. He had noticed Mitsuru’s eyelashes then—long like a fashion model’s—and now those same eyelashes fluttered over him, inspecting him.
And then Mitsuru was reading his book again. A light breeze wafted down from the temple’s roof, gently tousling both boys’ hair.
“My name’s Wataru. Wataru Mitani. I’m a friend of Miyahara’s…and, uh…”
Mitsuru slammed his book shut with a sudden clap. The cover was cobalt blue. It looked quite old.
“So?” Mitsuru asked impatiently.
“I, uh, heard that you were really smart,” Wataru continued. “Miyahara told me. And then you did really well the other day in cram school, and…” Wataru lost track of what he was saying.
Mitsuru’s perfect face regarded Wataru emotionlessly.
“So what?”
It took an eternity for Wataru to realize that he was being asked a question. But he had no idea how to answer.
“I. Said. So. What?” Mitsuru repeated himself slowly, as if speaking to a child.
Suddenly Wataru felt his embarrassment lifting.
So what, indeed!
It was painfully obvious that Mitsuru had no interest in talking to Wataru, let alone making friends. Whatever it was, it wasn’t Wataru’s fault.
Why is he so cold?
“Look, I’m in the middle of reading.” Mitsuru sighed, his fingers indicating the cover of his book. Wataru looked but couldn’t make out the title.
“Uh…okay,” Wataru managed, sounding even weaker than before. Mitsuru rolled his eyes and resumed reading.
Wataru could have turned and walked away. He could have gotten angry. He might even have been forgiven for throwing a handful of gravel at Mitsuru—he was too far away to actually hit him, anyway. The kid certainly deserved it. Wataru was only trying to start a conversation.
But instead, he just stood there, entranced by Mitsuru Ashikawa’s strange charisma. The odd combination of adoration and insecurity he felt wouldn’t let him write the other boy off as a simple jerk.
“I heard you took a picture of a ghost here,” Wataru blurted. Mitsuru’s face slowly swiveled up, his book lying open on his lap. His expression remained impassive, but Wataru cheered inwardly.
That got his attention.
“You said people shouldn’t make a fuss about it,” Wataru went on. “I think so too.” Mitsuru’s eyes twitched—a sure sign of interest. Wataru felt a smile creep slowly to his lips. “I know it’s not easy for everyone to do, of course. Sure, it’s stupid to freak out over a ghost but there
are
strange things out there. That’s why you’ve got to approach them with a cool mind, with…”
“Photographs,” Mitsuru said, cutting him off.
“What?”
“I see you have photographs.”
It was true. Wataru was still clutching the envelope of photos from the drugstore. That was the entire reason he’d come here in the first place. In fact, Wataru had been about to mention them, but Mitsuru beat him to it.
His embarrassment returned. Wataru’s stomach lurched as though he’d just stepped onto a high-speed elevator. “I might, uh…I might have taken pictures of a ghost too.”
Wataru hurried over to Mitsuru, his feet lifting across the gravel like he was walking on air. One part of Wataru was furious at himself for acting like some kind of awestruck fool. Another part was jumping for joy that he was actually talking to Mitsuru Ashikawa. Why, they might even become friends.
“I took these in my room.” Wataru nervously began fumbling through the envelope with shaking hands. “You know what fairies are, right? Like the ones in
Eldritch Stone Saga
? Well, I think there’s one in my room. I heard it speaking… and not just once, but twice!”
As the son of Akira Mitani, man of logic, reason, and rationality, Wataru would rather have bitten off his own tongue and died from massive blood loss before allowing himself to spew such irrational chatter. But, every once in a while, even the most normal of people act in ways that surprise themselves, doing things they might never have imagined themselves doing because they’re excited, or they’re obsessed, or they’re in love…not that Wataru realized any of this. “I took so many shots I’m sure I got it—check it out!”
Hand shaking, he drew the photos he had taken of his room from the envelope and handed them over to Mitsuru. In the process, he managed to drop the thin plastic sleeve containing the negatives and a few pictures from the zoo onto the ground. Wataru quickly scooped them up and placed them in a pile on the seat next to Mitsuru. He would have sat down, but the boy didn’t move from his spot in the center of the bench, and there wasn’t enough room on either side.
Wataru had taken close to twenty photos. He watched nervously while Mitsuru shuffled through them rapidly like someone leafing through trading cards looking for something valuable. Mitsuru finished and flashed a smile at Wataru for the first time.
“Where is it?”
It took a few seconds for Wataru to realize that Mitsuru meant the fairy.
“You didn’t see it?”
“Nothing. Looks like pictures of an empty room.” Mitsuru shrugged. His smile was gone. Now he was holding the stack of photographs in front of Wataru’s nose.
After a pause, Wataru snatched them back. He started clumsily leafing through them. His hands were shaking. “No way!” Wataru cried, shuffling wildly. Several of the photographs slipped through his fumbling fingers, fluttering down to rest on the tops of his running shoes.
It was like Mitsuru said: pictures of an empty room. The walls, the curtains, even the pattern on his comforter—all were perfectly clear. He could even make out the titles of the textbooks he kept in the little hutch atop his cluttered desk.
But no sign of the fairy.
No golden hair. No flowing robes. Nothing. Zip. Nada.
Wataru slowly raised his head and looked at Mitsuru. The boy had returned to his book again. It was as though Wataru had never even been there.
“I know what I heard…” Wataru began, the words trailing off and disappearing the moment they left his lips. “It was so close. I thought the camera would catch it for sure.”
“You had a dream,” Mitsuru said quietly, his eyes never leaving the book.
“What?” Wataru took a step closer. He could barely hear what the boy was saying.
“A dream. You had a dream,” Mitsuru repeated, flipping a page. “You must’ve been half asleep. You heard someone who wasn’t there.”
“Yeah, but it happened to me twice!”