It Isn't Just On A Phone..

The final bell rang, sounding less like a release and more like a starter pistol for my daily panic marathon. I took a deep breath, fighting the urge to sprint out the door before my brain could fully register the creeping threat of the Ubume.

"Ishikawa," I said, my voice sounding louder than I intended. "Wait up. Let's walk to the station."

I saw her shoulders jump. Ueno turned, her eyes wide, like I’d just proposed we rob the school cafeteria. The flustered look that had made her bolt yesterday was back, but intensified. She played with a strand of her hair, glanced at the clock, then at the floor.

"Y-yeah... okay... sure," she stammered, her voice barely a squeak.

Wait. My mind, already an absolute mess, registered her reaction. Does she... like me or something?

The thought was so jarring, so utterly out of place amidst my existential crisis about being crushed by a folklore statue, that I reacted instantly and physically. My hand snapped up, and I delivered a swift, stinging slap across my own cheek.

Ueno gasped, startled by the sudden, self-inflicted violence.

Idiot! I roared internally. Don't get ahead of yourself, you narcissistic moron! You're literally being haunted by a death-goddess! Get a grip!

"Just... uh... mosquito," I mumbled, trying to wave it off. "A really big one."

Ueno just blinked at me, her flush deepening, but she mercifully didn't ask any follow-up questions. We started our journey, a shared silence hanging between us, but it quickly dissolved. Step by nervous step, the conversation flowed more easily than it ever had before. We talked about a terrible shōnen anime ending and the injustice of mandatory school uniforms. For the first time, I felt like a regular, un-haunted kid.

The conversation eventually landed on family, and I found myself asking about her dad.

Ueno's smile softened, taking on a faraway quality. "He's great. Best dad ever, obviously," she said, kicking a loose pebble. "But, you know... he adopted me. I don't really know any of the specifics. When, why, who my real parents are. He just says it's a 'long, complicated story' and changes the subject faster than a fly."

Hearing that made something click in my own stress-riddled brain. It wasn't pity, but a weird kind of sympathy. Here was Ueno, someone with an actual, grounded-in-reality tragedy, and she was handling it with sunshine and snacks. Meanwhile, I was freaking out over a terrifying ghost that only I could see. My problem was ridiculous. Her problem was genuinely sad.

We reached the station. The usual place where we'd split off—me to the local line, her to the express. We passed through the ticket gates, the electronic beep of our cards momentarily breaking the comfortable rhythm of our footsteps.

Then, I looked up.

On the wall of the spacious transit area was one of those giant, reflective station mirrors, the kind used to make the place look less like a concrete tomb. I glanced at it, a habit now, a sick test to see if the world was still sane.

And there she was.

The Ubume.

She was unmistakable, right in the center of the reflection, about twenty feet behind us. The blood-tinged dress, the bowed head, the terrifyingly familiar mess of hair, and the weeping.

My heart didn't just pound; it delivered a physical shockwave through my chest, like someone had cranked a car battery directly to my sternum.

But this time was different. For the first time, she moved.

In the mirror, I saw her pale, skeletal arms slowly, deliberately, begin to extend. They stretched forward, unnaturally long and thin, reaching out, not necessarily to touch me, but to claim me.

Protection.

Before my rational brain could even deploy a single thought, I surged forward, grabbing Ueno's hand in a viselike grip. Her skin was warm, solid, and real. It was a purely instinctual act, driven by the primal, desperate need to protect the one real thing I had left.

"Move!" I barked, dragging her violently toward my platform.

"Shiraishi-kun! What in the—" she started, but I was already sprinting.

We dove into the carriage of my train just as the pneumatic sigh of the doors started to close. I didn't stop until I was huddled on the floor between the seats, hyperventilating.

The train lurched forward. Ueno, having been yanked across the station like a ragdoll, was understandably furious.

"Shiraishi-kun! What was that?! You nearly broke my arm! Are you playing some kind of freaking bizarre survival game!? Because if you are, you're the only one who got the-!"

She stopped mid-reprimand.

I was muttering to myself, unaware she was even speaking. My voice was tight and shaky.

"Why, why, why? This doesn't make sense. I thought she only appeared on my phone! Why was she there? How did I see her through a mirror? When did she learn to move?!"

My internal monologue had spilled out, a toxic stream of paranoia and terror. I was shaking, on the verge of a full panic attack. The safe reality I’d been clinging to had just been shredded by a moving ghost in a mirror.

Ueno saw it—the sheer, unadulterated distress. Her anger evaporated instantly, replaced by concern. She carefully sat down next to me, then slowly, hesitantly, leaned in and hugged me.

The intimacy was profound. It wasn't the kind of hug you give a friend after they win a soccer game. It was a grounding, protective embrace. It felt like my mind, a chaotic mess of static and screams, had suddenly connected to an outlet. It was like I was a piece of scrap iron and she was the industrial magnet strong enough to lift a car, pulling me out of the deep, dark hole I’d fallen into.

My frantic breathing slowed. The shaking subsided. I inhaled the faint, familiar scent of her shampoo and finally felt something other than terror: safety.

I pulled back, suddenly aware of the awkwardness of our position on the carriage floor. I scrambled up and gave her the most intense, full-body bow of appreciation I could manage without hitting my head on the seat. "Thank you. I... I really needed that."

A few minutes later, the train hissed to a stop at my district. It was 7:00 PM. The sky outside was already a deep, inky black.

Ueno looked from the platform sign to the schedule board, her face falling.

"So... uhm," she started, the awkwardness quickly returning. "The train for my district isn't arriving until midnight."

We stared at the board. Who on earth designed this ridiculous schedule? Did they assume everyone had a teleportation device?

She glanced at me, then looked away, her face blazing a deep, neon red that could probably power a small city.

"I don't want to stay here until then... Can I... s-stay at your..." she couldn't finish the question, her eyes wide with mortification.

I knew the answer. Staying out here until midnight would be miserable, freezing, and honestly, given the night’s events, terrifying. I mean, it's just for a few hours right?

"It's fine," I said, trying for a casual air that didn't match the tremor in my voice. "I was... thinking the same thing, too. You know? Can't have you getting a fever... haha..."

I laughed—a terrible, strangled sound that was about 90% panic and 10% pure, unadulterated teenage embarrassment. I was laughing because the entire situation was hilariously absurd: My life was a paranormal disaster, and the immediate problem was solving a stayover logistical crisis with the girl who might like me.

The Ubume could wait. Right now, I had to figure out how to explain a completely flustered girl to my parents.