Chapter 17: The Investigator who Stayed the Night.
I prepared something simple.
Rice. Miso soup. A few pickled vegetables. It wasn't much, but it was warm and filling. I set the bowls on the low table and sat across from Aiko.
She looked at the food with genuine appreciation.
"This looks wonderful," she said. "Thank you for having me."
"Thank you for staying."
We ate in comfortable silence for a while. The evening was quiet. The lantern light flickered. Outside, the village had settled into its usual nighttime stillness.
Aiko broke the silence first.
"Tell me about your life in the city," she said. "Before you came here."
I paused, chopsticks halfway to my mouth.
"There's not much to tell," I said. "I had a job. An apartment. The usual routine."
"What did you do?"
"Office work. Nothing exciting. I sat at a desk, answered emails, attended meetings." I shrugged. "It paid the bills."
"Did you like it?"
I thought about it. The endless stream of notifications. The way the days blurred together until I couldn't tell one from the next.
"No," I said. "I didn't like it."
Aiko nodded. "I understand that. Sometimes you need to leave something behind to find what you're looking for."
"And what are you looking for?" I asked.
She smiled. "I'm still figuring that out."
The conversation continued. She asked about my daily life, about what I did here, about how I spent my time. I told her about the mornings, the rice, the sweeping. I told her about the quiet, the way the village seemed to slow everything down.
"It feels different here," I said. "Slower. Calmer. Like I can breathe again."
Aiko listened. Her eyes were warm, curious.
"I can see why you stayed," she said.
Eventually, Aiko set down her chopsticks.
"Can I ask you something?"
I looked at her.
"Why did you ask me to stay?"
I hesitated.
The question hung in the air between us. I considered telling her the truth, about the singing, the children. About the things that moved in the dark.
But I couldn't.
Not yet.
"People here don't go outside after dark," I said. "It's just a village custom."
Aiko's eyes narrowed slightly. She was interested now.
"Why?"
I avoided her eyes. I focused on the rice in my bowl, the steam rising from the miso soup.
"It's just a village custom," I repeated. "The villagers are superstitious. They believe it's safer to stay inside at night."
Aiko studied me for a moment. I could feel her gaze on my face, weighing my words.
"That's a strange custom," she said.
I gave a small smile.
"Every village has strange customs."
She didn't push. But I could tell she was curious. Her eyes lingered on me for a moment longer, then she looked down at her bowl.
"Thank you for dinner," she said. "And for letting me stay."
"Of course," I said.
The night continued. The conversation shifted to lighter topics, her work, her travels, the places she had seen.
But I knew she hadn't forgotten my answer.
And I knew she would ask about it again.
After dinner, I prepared a futon for Aiko.
I showed her where she could sleep, the same place Kiri had used, the same thin mattress, the same folded blanket. She set her bag down and thanked me.
"This is very kind of you," she said. "I don't want to impose."
"You're not imposing," I said. "It's better this way."
She looked toward the window. Outside, the village was completely dark. No lights beyond the houses. No figures walking. No movement at all. The streets were empty, the silence absolute.
"So everyone really does stay inside," she said quietly.
I didn't answer.
She turned to me, her expression curious.
"Have you always followed that custom?"
I hesitated. "I learned to."
She waited for more. I didn't give it.
"Goodnight, Aiko-san," I said. "Sleep well."
She nodded slowly. "Goodnight, Hikaru-san."
I walked to my own futon. I lay down. I stared at the ceiling.
The night was quiet.
But I didn't sleep.
***
Morning came.
Sunlight filtered through the gap in the curtains. The birds were singing. The village was waking up. I had managed a few hours of restless sleep, but the weight of the night still pressed against my eyelids.
Then I heard it.
Three soft knocks at the door.
I sat up. The familiar rhythm was unmistakable.
Aiko stirred from her futon, blinking in the morning light.
"Is someone at the door?" she asked.
I nodded. I stood up and walked to the door. I opened it.
Hinata stood outside as usual.
Her geta were dusted with the morning dew. Her yukata was slightly too large. The frayed persimmon ribbon was tied around her wrist. Her smile was bright.
"Good morning, Hikaru-san!" she said.
Then she noticed Aiko.
Her eyes widened. Her head tilted. She looked at the investigator, then back at me.
"Who's that?" she asked.
"This is Aiko-san," I said. "We've met her before, remember?"
Hinata's brow furrowed. "An investigator? Oh… from the market."
"Yes," I said.
Hinata looked at Aiko with new eyes, curious, cautious, interested. She studied her for a long moment.
Then she turned to me.
"Why didn't you ask me to stay too?" she asked.
The question caught me off guard. I laughed before I could stop myself.
"Because I didn't know you wanted to stay."
Hinata pouted. "I always want to stay."
Aiko stepped forward. She knelt down to Hinata's height, her smile warm and open.
"You must be Hinata," she said. "I've heard so much about you."
Hinata's eyes brightened. "You have?"
"Yes. Hikaru told me about you last night. She said you help her with the rice. And you sweep the path."
Hinata nodded proudly. "I'm very good at sweeping."
"I can tell," Aiko said.
Hinata grinned. The morning sun caught her face, warm and golden.
For a moment, the village felt ordinary.
The mystery was still there, waiting. The shrine, the singing, the darkness. But in that moment, with Hinata's laughter and the warmth of the morning light, I could almost forget.
Almost.
The morning passed quietly.
Aiko gathered her equipment, her notebook, her recorder, a small bag of devices I didn't recognize. She moved with practiced efficiency, checking each item before packing it away.
I stood by the door, watching her.
She paused at the threshold and turned to face me.
"We're heading up the mountain today," she said. "To the shrine."
I nodded. I had expected this.
She studied me for a moment. Then she asked:
"Would you like to come?"
The question hung in the air.
I immediately shook my head. "I have things to do."
Aiko's expression didn't change. She nodded, accepting my answer.
"Alright," she said.
But she gave me a knowing look. A look that said she understood, perhaps more than I wanted her to.
"Another time, then," she said.
She stepped outside. The morning light caught her face, warm and golden.
"Goodbye, Hikaru-san."
"Goodbye, Aiko-san."
She walked down the path. I watched her go.
The other investigators were waiting at the edge of the village. Takeshi had his camera. Kenji had his devices. They turned when they saw her, their faces expectant.
Aiko said something to them. They nodded. Then the three of them turned toward the mountain.
I stood at my door and watched them disappear.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that I should have gone with them.
I turned and went inside, then I heard noises coming from the kitchen.
The soft clink of a pot. The rustle of a cloth. The familiar sound of small feet padding across the wooden floor.
I smiled.
Hinata was already helping herself to breakfast preparations.
She stood on her stool, the same stool she always used, her small hands reaching for the rice pot. She had already measured the grains, rinsed them, set them over the flame. The water was beginning to simmer.
I walked over and joined her.
She didn't turn. Her focus was on the pot. "I thought you might be hungry. You didn't eat much yesterday."
"I wasn't hungry."
"You're always not hungry," she said. "That's why I have to help."
I laughed softly. "I suppose you're right."
We worked together.
I prepared the vegetables. She stirred the rice. The morning light filled the kitchen, warm and golden. The small space felt alive with the rhythm of our movements.
Hinata chatted happily while we worked. She told me about the cat again, it had stolen another fish, this time from a different vendor. She told me about the bird's nest, how the eggs had hatched, how the mother bird was constantly bringing food to her chicks. She told me about a dream she had, a dream about flying over the mountains, seeing everything from above.
I listened. I smiled. I let her voice fill the empty spaces.
Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she paused.
"Hikaru-san..."
"Hmm?"
She looked at the rice pot, her small hands still holding the paddle.
"What do those people want from this village?"
I stopped what I was doing.
The knife in my hand hovered over the cutting board. I looked at her.
Her question was simple. Innocent. The kind of question a child might ask about anything unfamiliar.
But I realized something.
Hinata had been watching the investigators. She had seen them walking through the village. She had heard the whispers, the questions, the uneasy murmurs. She knew they were looking for something.
I set down the knife.
"Why do you ask?" I said carefully.
She shrugged, a small, casual movement.
"I don't know."
She went back to stirring the rice.
I watched her silently.
Her face was calm, ordinary. The same face I had seen every morning for months. The same face that had smiled at me, laughed at my jokes, asked me endless questions about the world.
But something about the question lingered.
She had noticed the investigators. She had wondered why they were here. She had asked me, not anyone else.
I didn't know what to say.
Outside, somewhere in the distance, a bell rang.
The sound was faint, carried on the morning breeze. I had never heard it before.
I looked toward the window.
The mountain was still there. The mist was beginning to lift.
I turned back to Hinata.
"They're looking for answers," I said.
Hinata nodded slowly.
"Will they find them?" she asked.
I was quiet for a moment.
"I don't know," I said.
Hinata looked at me. Her dark eyes were unreadable.
Then she smiled.
"You're good at finding things," she said. "You found me."
I felt something tighten in my chest.
"Yes," I said. "I did."
I went back to the vegetables.
Hinata went back to the rice.
The morning continued.
But the question lingered.
And I knew I had to find the answers.
For her.
For the village.
For myself.
What will happen next...
Next time, same time, same place.
