I’m Not Good with Scary Stories

A scary story?

Huh, already?

Well... it’s not like I don’t have any. But it’s not a proper one. It’s not like I saw something in a tunnel or heard something weird at a hospital or anything like that.

Oh, I really can’t handle those kinds of things, so I’m glad it’s not one of those. Yes.

It’s more like a strange story than a scary one.

...Do you want to hear it?

Oh, well, then...

I used to live in an apartment.

It was a completely normal place. It was a bit of a walk from the station, and I think it was probably quite old, but the rent was cheap. I had started living alone, so I couldn’t afford luxuries like being close to the station or having an automatic lock.

The kitchen was really small, with only one burner, and you’d bump your elbow on the sink when washing dishes. Do you know what I mean? Haha, yes, that kind of thing.

You enter the front door and the kitchen is right there, and beyond that is a room about six tatami mats in size. At the very back of that room, there’s a corridor, or rather, a passageway.

To the right is the unit bathroom.

If you go straight ahead, there’s a wall.

It’s really just a dead end.

There’s no storage, no windows, nothing but a solid wall.

That’s why when I first viewed it, I thought it was a little strange.

No, not in a scary way.

“Why is there a little bit of extra space here?” Like, “Why would they deliberately create a dead end?”

But old buildings sometimes have strange layouts, don’t they? I don’t know if it’s because of the pillars, or if it was renovated a long time ago.

So, I thought, well, maybe that’s how it is.

...And you ‘know...

That corridor, from the entrance to my room to the dead-end wall, was only six steps.

Oh, you don’t normally count like that, do you? I understand.

But I’ve always had this strange habit. When I go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I walk in the dark because it’s too much trouble to turn on the light, and then I unconsciously count.

One, two, three, four, five, six.

Then I reach the wall.

And when I stretch out my right hand, it’s the bathroom door.

It’s always been like that.

From the day I moved until the last day I packed my things out.

During the day, of course, but also at night, mostly.

...Mostly, that is.

Oh, no, did you just laugh?

No, no, that’s not what I meant.

Um, well...

So when the seventh step happened, I knew right away.

That day was definitely a weekday.

I had part-time work the next day, so I went to bed before midnight as usual. I didn’t stay up that late back then. It’s no good now. I fall asleep while watching videos. Oh, that’s irrelevant. Sorry.

Anyway, I woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom.

I didn’t check the clock, but I remember feeling strangely wide awake.

But I didn’t feel like it was dark enough to turn on the light. I left the room as usual.

The curtains were closed, so it was pitch black, and I couldn’t see the end of the hallway at all.

But I thought, “Well, it’s only six steps.”

One, two, three, four, five, six.

My feet should have stopped there.

But they didn’t stop.

I took a seventh step.

I thought, “Oh.”

You know how sometimes when you’re half-asleep, you feel like you’ve taken an extra step on the stairs? I wondered if it was something like that. So, I wasn’t particularly scared at the time.

So I stretched out my right hand.

Usually, my fingers would hit the wall or the edge of the bathroom door.

But this time, there was nothing.

There was only air.

...No, really, I know that doesn’t make any sense.

I felt the same way at the time.

That’s when I woke up a little.

I suddenly felt like the air in the hallway had gotten colder.

Even though it was pitch black, I felt like the area ahead continued a little further, still black.

“Still black” sounds strange, I know. It wasn’t that it suddenly became brighter and I could see, but the way the darkness was positioned gave me the feeling that “there’s more to go.”

I really hated that.

I frantically searched for the bathroom switch with my left hand.

You know, the small one you press with a click, like in old houses.

I tapped the wall, finally found it, and pressed it.

There was a click, and the moment a yellowish light came on,

it was indeed a dead end.

Six steps ahead, a whitish wall.

The usual cheap wallpaper.

To the right, the toilet door.

There was really nothing there.

So, at that point, I thought, “Ah, I must have been half-asleep.”

That’s what I thought.

Or rather, I tried to think that.

So, I went into the toilet, did my business, and washed my hands. When I looked in the mirror, I had a really weird look on my face. I even laughed at myself.

“Wow, I’m really tired,” I wondered.

That’s how it felt.

So, with the lights off, it should have ended there.

...But when I opened the bathroom door.

From the dead end of the hallway.

A ‘pat’.

I heard the sound of slippers.