About

I am a child born between the head of a prestigious family and his mistress. The head died long ago, but I was recently contacted by the main house, asking me to perform a task that only I could do. I possess no spiritual power or divine abilities. They said 'the ritual' must be performed once a year by someone with a strong bloodline connection to the main house. Even setting aside the bloodline requirements, there are several rules, and it seems there was no one available to perform it this year because of them. Upon arriving at the main house, I was greeted by the unpleasant remarks of the eldest daughter and son, and the polite greetings of the second and third daughters. When I was guided to an inner room, a frail, elderly grandmother, unable to even leave her bed, offered a strained greeting. The ritual involves locking oneself alone in a storehouse overnight and opening a wooden box. The contents of the box are unknown even to the eldest son, the eldest daughter, and the servants. Even the second and third daughters, who have performed the ritual before, seem unable to remember what was inside. This is because they are made to drink alcohol before entering the storehouse. It must be incredibly strong, as a single cup makes one stumble. In that state, one goes to the storehouse and opens the box. Whether it's due to the intoxication or the act of opening the box, memories from that point onward become hazy. The act of opening it takes only a few minutes, but one must stay in the pitch-black storehouse with the box for the entire night. The way they determine if the ritual was actually performed is by checking for marks on the arms or shoulders that look like grip marks or scratches. After being guided to my room, I saw an old kimono and a wig. I put them on and stepped out. The servants handed me a cup of alcohol. As I brought it to my lips, I felt a wave of nausea. This isn't alcohol. A foul stench stung my nose. The explanation earlier said a single cup would make me stumble. Am I supposed to be locked in a storehouse after drinking a drug that causes such an effect? I stood up quietly, went out to the hallway, and poured the liquid into the yard. When asked if I was ready, I mumbled a response, pretending to be drunk. The storehouse looked clean, as if it had been built recently. As I was practically pushed inside, the heavy door closed and locked behind me. I stopped pretending to stumble and looked around. The floor was spotless, without a speck of dust, and there was a ladder leading to the second floor. The box I was supposed to open was up there. I climbed the ladder and sat before the box. I tried to touch it, but I hesitated, so I gave it a firm push with my knee. It was heavy. 'Ah, there's a person folded up inside this,' I thought, and immediately wondered, 'Wait, why did I think that?' It wasn't logic or calculation; the thought just suddenly popped into my head. As expected, I felt uneasy about opening that box. I climbed down the ladder and returned to the door. I decided to just grip my own arms tightly to leave marks or lightly scratch myself to deceive the family. Then— *Thump.* A sound came from the second floor. Startled, I looked up. *Thump. Thump.* Something was moving. I didn't want to see it, but if I didn't, my imagination would only make it scarier. I stepped onto the ladder as slowly as possible, climbing one rung at a time. After finally reaching the second floor, I peeked in. The box that had been sitting inside had moved toward me. It was approaching little by little, as if walking or hopping with a sound. As if to say, 'Aren't you going to open it?' *Thump. Thump.*