This is the second part of a series called Mirror. If you haven't read Part One, start here.
I didn't sleep that night.
I lay on my futon with my eyes open and listened to the house. The wind. The pipes. The small sounds every house makes when it thinks nobody's awake. And underneath all of it — a low, humming silence. The same silence I'd heard at Shinzo's house.
I kept thinking about the bell.
The way it swung. The way it moved without anyone touching it. The way the air around it was warm.
I told myself I imagined it. I told myself I was tired. I told myself the wind had done it. There was a wind that night. There had to be.
But I didn't believe myself. Not really.
I got up at some point — I don't know when. Maybe two. Maybe three. I walked to the kitchen. I drank a glass of water. I looked out the window.
The shrine was visible from my window. Small. Distant. A dark shape on the hill against the sky.
The bell was still swinging.
I watched it for a long time. Then I went back to bed. I didn't sleep. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence.
The next morning, I asked my mother about the bell.
We were in the kitchen. She was making breakfast. I was sitting at the table, holding a cup of tea I wasn't drinking.
"Mom," I said. "Has the shrine bell ever rung on its own?"
She didn't turn around. "What?"
"The bell. At the shrine. Has it ever rung on its own?"
She was quiet for a moment. Then she said: "Why are you asking?"
"I heard it. Last night."
She turned around. She looked at me. Her face was — strange. Not surprised. Not confused. Something else. Something I couldn't name.
"You heard it," she said.
"Yes."
She looked at me for a long moment. Then she turned back to the stove.
"Eat your breakfast," she said. "You'll be late for school."
"Mom —"
"Eat."
I ate. I didn't taste anything.
At school, I looked for Hanzo.
I don't know why. I just — did. Something was pulling me toward him. Something I couldn't explain.
He wasn't in class. He wasn't in the corridor. He wasn't in the yard. I asked three people. None of them had seen him. None of them had heard of him.
"Hanzo?" one of them said. "Who's Hanzo?"
I stared at him. "Hanzo. From our class. He sits near the window."
The boy frowned. "I don't know who you're talking about."
I asked someone else. Same answer. Same blank look.
I asked a teacher. She looked at me like I'd asked her about a ghost.
"There's no student named Hanzo in this school," she said.
"There is," I said. "He was in my class. He was —"
"There isn't."
She said it flatly. Not angry. Not annoyed. Just — flat. Like she was reading from a card.
I didn't ask anyone else.
I went to Hanzo's house after school.
I don't know why. I just — did. The same way I'd gone to the shrine. The same way I'd gone to Shinzo's house. Something was pulling me. Something I couldn't name.
The house was still there. Small. Wooden. Weathered. The door was still open.
I walked inside. The same as before. The same emptiness. The same cold. The same photograph on the shrine in the corner.
But something was different.
The photograph was gone.
I stared at the empty shrine. I stared at the spot where the photograph had been. There was a small rectangle of dust where it had sat.
Someone had been here.
Someone had taken it.
I turned around. I looked at the room. Nothing else had changed. The furniture. The walls. The silence. All the same.
But the photograph was gone.
I walked out. I didn't close the door. I walked home.
That night, I went to the shrine again.
I don't know why. I just — did. The same as always. The gate was open. The bell was swinging. The air was warm.
I sat on the steps. I looked down at the village. I thought about Shinzo. I thought about Hanzo. I thought about the photograph. I thought about the teacher who said Hanzo didn't exist.
Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
And then — behind me — I heard something.
Not footsteps this time.
A voice.
"You're the only one who remembers him."
I turned.
There was a girl standing at the top of the steps. My age. Wearing a school uniform I didn't recognize. She was looking at me with an expression I couldn't read.
"What?" I said.
"Hanzo," she said. "You're the only one who remembers him. Everyone else — they've forgotten. They've all forgotten."
I stared at her.
"Who are you?"
She smiled. It was a small smile. A tired smile. The kind of smile you see on people who have been carrying something heavy for a very long time.
"My name is Rei," she said. "And I think we need to talk."
Part Three coming soon.
— Om
nice Executed for next part
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