Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

The light of Shio-maki Lighthouse - visible directly across from our workplace at the Coastal Research Institute - was suddenly snuffed out without warning one midnight when the North Pacific's signature veil-like fog hung thick and viscous in the air. Though the Fisheries Experiment Station and the lighthouse fell under different jurisdictions, they shared the sea as their workplace—or rather, in this remote region far from any village, separated only by a small inlet where we coexisted amicably... No, more accurately, compared to our dreary daily grind of being shackled to microscopes while scrutinizing fish eggs and kelp fronds, how greedily did Shio-maki Lighthouse—with its enigmatic form that nightly cast secretive, sparkling beams into distant stormy seas—stir restless yearning in our inquisitive hearts! Therefore, when roused by the night watch, Director Touya and I raced along the dark coastal path toward Shio-maki Point with the fervor of starved men lunging at a meal.

Shio-maki Point was a rocky promontory jutting half a nautical mile into the sea, its offshore waters riddled with treacherous reefs. The Kuril Current descending along the Sanriku Coast would collide head-on with a northward branch of warm currents several nautical miles north of this cape, transforming into violent undercurrents that surged into Shio-maki’s reef zone. There, thwarted by countless submarine ridges, these forces erupted upward to create a turbulent clash of opposing tides upon the surface. Therefore, on foggy nights especially, accidents were frequent, and among sailors, it was called Demon’s Cape and greatly feared.

However, beginning about three or four months prior, an extremely strange rumor had started circulating, centered around the crew of a cargo ship that had narrowly escaped shipwreck at that time. The rumor was that Shio-maki Lighthouse’s beacon would occasionally act strangely, particularly on nights of thick fog. The lighthouse’s standard light pattern was a white flash every fifteen seconds, but for some reason, it would occasionally emit a single flash every thirty seconds instead. However, this thirty-second interval between flashes precisely matched the light pattern of Inuboe Lighthouse. Thus, when homebound steamships from northern waters—already battered by days of relentless fog and grueling navigation—carelessly mistook this suspicious light rhythm, they would joyfully think they'd finally sighted Inuboe Cape and attempt a wide starboard turn, only to immediately run aground on the reefs and be sucked into a massive whirlpool. Among sailors, there are many rumormongers. Just as these outlandish rumors—whether lies or truth—began taking firm root in sailors’ minds, growing more elaborate with each telling, an incident occurred about a month prior: on another fog-drenched night, a cargo ship that had again run aground near Shio-maki’s waters spent dozens of minutes transmitting distress signals, repeatedly reporting anomalies at Shio-maki Lighthouse before vanishing without a trace. There, the problem abruptly became public knowledge, and finally Shio-maki Lighthouse received a stern warning from the ministry.

However, this lighthouse was a third-class facility directly managed by the Ministry of Communications Lighthouse Bureau; it had two fully qualified keepers and currently housed six people including their families and a custodian. Moreover, one of these two keepers was an exceptionally capable man—an elderly keeper who embodied solemn dignity. Approaching sixty years of age and named Joroku Kazama, he lived with his daughter Midori; his grave demeanor—which carried echoes of an old samurai’s bearing—had become an object of reverence among the people. What made this elderly keeper all the more reliable was his exceptional passion for science and his remarkably unsuperstitious nature for his age. When confronted with investigative advisories from the ministry, he brusquely dismissed them with remarks like: “Since watchmen take turns guarding the lighthouse every night, such absurdities are impossible. These anomalies are likely accidental patterns created by deep fog currents or massive flocks of migratory birds swarming toward the light through the mist—phenomena that people then embellish with fanciful details until they breed groundless fears.”

However, betraying this solemn old keeper’s confident declaration, Shio-maki Lighthouse finally triggered a catastrophic anomaly. At first, the precisely timed fifteen-second flashes abruptly transformed into an eerie steady glow. Then, as if casting some mysterious luminous trail into the gray fog—lingering faintly for mere seconds like a distant fire—they suddenly dissolved into unmistakably ominous darkness. Only the foghorn’s pleading blasts could occasionally be heard—low and heavy—between the ceaseless crash of waves.

Now—before we knew it, we had soon arrived at the tip of Shio-maki Point. Just as the thirty-meter-tall white tower, now devoid of light, began to loom dimly through the fog, we suddenly encountered two men emerging wordlessly from the darkness ahead. They were Mitamura, the lighthouse’s wireless technician, and Sano, the custodian.

“Ah... sirs...” As soon as the short custodian noticed us, he immediately ran out and called out.

“Why, you’ve come at just the right time!” Then Mitamura, the wireless technician, cut in as if to override him,

“The wireless isn’t working due to a malfunction.” “I was just about to go up to the research institute to ask for assistance.”

From their strangely restless and awkward demeanor, I realized that no ordinary incident had occurred. As we walked back together, Mitamura, the wireless technician, said—

“Actually, something terrible has happened to Watchman Tomoda,” Mitamura said, his voice strained with unease. “Since it’s all so peculiar... well, Mr. Kazama will give you the full explanation.” From behind us came Sano’s trembling voice, uttering something absurd: “It’s finally come out.” “What has?” Director Touya demanded sharply.

Director Touya pressed sharply. Then the custodian shook his head two or three times as if disowning his own words,

“Y-yes… th-the ghost… it’s done come out…”

II

Before long, we passed through the concrete gate and entered the brightly lit lighthouse grounds. On the right side stood three small government residences in a row, and on the left was the wireless room—all brightly lit—but the lighthouse's crown facing the sea at the center remained pitch black. Beneath that white tower—which rose faintly into the darkness like the rounded belly of a female wrestler illuminated by residual ground light—old keeper Joroku Kazama, his salt-and-pepper beard giving him the bearing of General Nogi, appeared to be urgently restraining a fair-skinned middle-aged woman. But upon noticing us, he immediately entrusted the woman to custodian Sano, sent her off toward the staff quarters, and came over.

“That is Mr. Tomoda’s wife, Aki-san.” “She’s suffering from severe nervous exhaustion, so we can’t show her the scene until she’s calmer.” “Good heavens, this has become an unimaginable catastrophe.”

With those words, Old Keeper Kazama tried to light the candle in his hand lantern, but his trembling hands kept extinguishing the flame, forcing him to strike match after match repeatedly. I had met Old Keeper Kazama several times before, but this was the first time I had ever seen him staggering unsteadily like this. Not a trace remained of his dignified samurai-like demeanor as he stood before us, constantly causing the candle flame to quiver minutely while quietly opening the lighthouse’s entrance door and turning to speak.

“...Well, regardless... Please come see the scene for yourselves.”

At that point, Director Touya, I, and Mitamura followed the old keeper into the dimly lit stairwell. However, after entering the tower and closing the door behind him, the old keeper suddenly pressed himself against it as though merging with its surface, lowered his voice abruptly, and spoke in a pleading tone. “……I have seen a ghost… for the first time in my life…”

That Old Man Kazama—known as a pillar of reliability—had now utterly changed to speak such words. I found myself involuntarily stiffening. “...No—let me begin from the start.”

Old Man Kazama led the way ahead of us and said while climbing the dark, steep spiral staircase. That voice echoed through the long, tall tower interior once more, accompanied by an indescribably muffled, murmuring echo.

“...I was off duty tonight, but as Watchman Tomoda had been assisting with wireless operations during the day recently, he would occasionally doze off from exhaustion—strange rumors were spreading—and moreover, my wayward daughter was feeling unwell tonight... With all that, I found myself unable to sleep deeply... Then it occurred about an hour ago... First, in my half-awake state, I suddenly heard a tremendous crash like shattering glass from above the roof.” “Almost at the same moment, from that direction came a violent metallic clang—as if machinery were breaking apart.” “Startled upright, I remained frozen momentarily. But realizing such sounds from overhead could only originate from this lighthouse, I became gripped by unbearable dread and rushed out to the staff quarters’ entrance.” “When I looked up, the lamp room at the tower’s summit had gone completely dark.” “I instinctively shouted at the top of my voice, calling up to Mr. Tomoda who should have been on duty in the lamp room.” “Then, instead of any reply, an enormous ground-shaking rumble erupted from the tower’s foundation.” “When I grasped the severity and hurried out, I encountered Mr. Mitamura emerging from the wireless room in equal haste.”

The old keeper paused there to catch his breath. This spiral staircase, which seemed liable to induce some sort of illusion, severely wore on my nerves.

Mitamura, the wireless technician, who had been climbing up behind us, interjected at this moment.

“Exactly as he said.” “I heard the same eerie sound as Mr. Kazama did.” “And when we arrived at the entrance below... from above this tower’s summit... I heard a low yet hair-raising groan... Mr. Tomoda’s... Then... before that groan had even subsided... I heard an indescribably ghostly voice—” “A ghost’s voice?” Mr. Touya pressed sharply.

“Yes, it was indeed a ghost’s voice!” “That couldn’t possibly be a human voice!... It sounded like laughing one moment and crying the next... Yes, exactly like a toy balloon whistle!” “Among migratory birds,” the old keeper interjected, “there are those that make sounds similar to that, but...”

“No—it does resemble that, but it’s entirely different.” “Rather, it’s much more akin to the cry of a cat in heat.” “Ah yes yes, that’s right.”

Old Keeper Kazama responded. “...So then, I first entrusted Mr. Mitamura with handling the wireless communications and climbed this staircase relying on candlelight.” “And in this top lamp room that also serves as the duty room... I finally encountered something terrifying...” “A ghost?” said Director Touya. “Yes… That thing smashed through the crucial glass windows surrounding the lamp room from outside and forced its way in.”

Just then, Mitamura, the wireless technician, pointed at the stairs before him and let out a loud cry. When we looked, the faint candlelight revealed a flow of thick, dark blood pooled on the stair treads, dripping down from the risers in slow, heavy drops. I involuntarily held my breath. And without uttering a word, we rushed into the lamp room—where we finally witnessed the true traces of the monster’s wanton destruction.

A massive hole had opened in the side of the large cylindrical glass window encircling the lamp room that faced the dark outer sea, spiderweb-like cracks radiating in all directions. When cold sea wind rushed through the hole sweeping fog inward, the precarious candle flame sizzled and sputtered. Illuminated by that dim light, the massive triangular lamp—fitted with a large Fresnel lens and solidly installed at the center of the small circular room—had sustained severe damage to part of its structure. From its darkened burner mouth, petroleum gas appeared to be leaking, emitting a faint hissing sound. Around the edge of the massive lamp frame—supported by a large cup-shaped mercury trough and floating in place—was installed a large gear characteristic of rotating lighthouses. However, the intricate swivel mechanism connected to that gear had been mercilessly shattered, and the rope that should have been suspending the counterweight—the lamp’s rotational power source—within the tower’s central cavity had been cleanly severed.

But more than anything else, what made us involuntarily avert our eyes was the corpse of Watchman Tomoda lying limp and twisted beside the destroyed swivel mechanism, blood spewing from his mouth and his eyeballs bulging out. And there, atop his abdomen, sat a massive rock fragment soaked with moisture, embedded as though digging in.

“...This is terrible... That’s an enormous rock.” Mr. Touya broke the silence. “Well, that must weigh forty or fifty kan,” said Mr. Mitamura. “Even if two grown men tried to carry this thing, they couldn’t get it up to the top of this tower... Let alone smash through this thirty-meter-high glass window from the outer sea and hurl it inside—this is truly the work of a specter.”

“And what of this ghost you saw?”

Mr. Touya turned toward Old Keeper Kazama. Old Keeper Kazama twitched and grimaced,

“...As I mentioned earlier, the moment I entered this room, that dreadful thing leapt into the sea from the deck outside the shattered glass window... It was... something like an enormous boiled octopus—slimy and waterlogged, a flabby red mass...”

“Octopus?”

Director Touya tilted his head. “If it’s an octopus, those suckers might’ve let it climb all the way up here.”

I said jokingly. Mr. Touya then, “Well, in coastal seas affected by cold currents like these, there are giant water octopuses measuring two or three meters... but they aren’t red like that.”

With that, he began tilting his head repeatedly. When I looked, the linoleum-covered floor indeed bore traces of a specter’s rampage—scattered shards of glass and a sea of blood mingled with a slimy, filthy-colored liquid smeared indiscriminately across the surface, emitting an indescribably fishy stench that permeated the room.

III “...I can’t make sense of it.”

After a moment, Mr. Touya blurted out.

“I can’t make heads or tails of it… but this much I do understand,” he said, unclasping his arms. “By synthesizing our Institute’s duty reports and your accounts… first, this large rock smashed through the glass window, entered the room, destroyed the lamp and swivel mechanism, and crushed the watchman.” “And at that very moment, the lamp’s rotation stopped—the flashing light became stationary—and soon the gas pipe malfunction extinguished it entirely... Meanwhile, the rope coiled around the shattered swivel mechanism snapped, sending what you might call the rotational power counterweight—or rather, that thing—plummeting down the thirty-meter cylindrical shaft running vertically through the tower’s core with a thud that shook the ground... The watchman let out a death-throe groan... Yes.” “And at that moment, the ghost intrudes—letting out strange cries and trailing this eerie secretion... But beyond that point, I can’t make sense of it at all…………”

“I have never encountered anything like this in my entire life!”

Old Keeper Kazama blurted out. Then Director Touya turned to Old Keeper Kazama and asked, “In any case, what did you do after discovering this tragedy?” “Startled, I began descending and encountered Mr. Mitamura coming up midway,” Kazama replied. “Because the wireless wasn’t working,” interjected Mitamura, the wireless technician. Old Keeper Kazama continued, “The antenna stretched from that iron pillar to this window’s railing had been severed by the large rock… So I went down intending to rouse the custodian while Mr. Mitamura headed for the scene—we parted ways immediately.” “But something had to be done. After hesitating awhile, I had Mr. Mitamura and the custodian go request assistance from the Institute.”

“Ah, I see.” “I’m afraid I haven’t been of any help at all,” said Mr. Touya, as if regaining his composure. “Well, we can’t stay like this... Right, Mr. Kazama—you should ensure the evidence at the scene remains untouched and immediately prepare the backup lamp.” “The sea is pitch black... And Mr. Mitamura, please repair the antenna and get communications operational as soon as possible.” “We’ll assist as well.”

There, the two men hesitated for a while, but eventually, as if urged on by the sound of the waves, they restlessly descended. And so, each of us suppressing our intense excitement, we once again looked around the disarrayed room in a daze.

However, there I unexpectedly made a significant discovery—it was a single dull hatchet I picked up from a dim corner of the room. Moreover, clinging to its blunt blade was what appeared to be dark red blood. At this discovery Mr. Touya's face changed color. He immediately crouched down and began intently examining Watchman Tomoda's corpse anew. Before long he discovered a fresh fatal wound above the corpse's right ear—apparently inflicted by this hatchet—and stood up.

“Look here—judging from how the blood has clotted at this wound, this injury appears to have been the true fatal blow inflicted earlier... Meaning Watchman Tomoda was already dead when that stone came crashing in... But if so, those groans reportedly heard after the stone’s impact couldn’t have come from a corpse... This complicates things significantly.” “Then that too must have been the ghost’s groaning?”

"I blurted out without thinking."

However, Mr. Touya did not answer that and continued to ponder intensely, but eventually changed his tone and said.

“Hey, you… First and foremost, I think identifying the origin of this bizarre rogue rock takes priority… Look, judging by how this rock fragment lacks any barnacles or periwinkles—those rocky shore organisms swarming along this coastline—this thing couldn’t have come from below the high-tide line. That said, given its dampness level, it’s certainly not from inland either. Tell me—how about we take a walk along that spray-drenched shoreline down there while we’re at it?”

Thus, before long, we arrived at the water’s edge at the base of the lighthouse.

There, a wind that cut to the bone swept in from the dark open sea, mercilessly battering us with spray from the rocky waves and fog. However, we soon discovered—almost gropingly—on a particularly tall, towering rock at the base of the tower where the waves crashed most violently against the shore, several similar rock fragments lying drenched in spray. However, quite unexpectedly, I found myself picking up what appeared to be a thick rope—snaking through a crevice in the rock from beneath my feet on that same boulder—that seemed to extend from the water’s edge into the sea. Hmm? When I gave it a tug, it came slithering out. Complacently, I hauled it in. It was surprisingly long. Just when I thought I’d reached its end—strangely enough—there, securely twisted to it was another, much thinner string this time. I pulled. But this one too proved similarly long. Having finally finished hauling in all of it, I—

“This is strange.” I involuntarily let out an odd noise, even to myself. Then Mr. Touya, who had been staring fixedly at my peculiar haul all this time,

“...This is getting interesting.” “Hey you! How could this go unconsidered?!” With that, he took the rope from me and said, “Let’s find out what this was used for.” Then he began walking.

When we returned to the compound, there at the front of the warehouse, Mr. Mitamura was busily pulling out a bundle of wire and doing something. Mr. Touya promptly began. "This rope belongs to the lighthouse, doesn't it?"

“Yes, it is.” “It’s the one we have plenty of stored in the warehouse.” “Oh, this one has a string attached… Hmm, where did you find this?”

However, Mr. Touya did not even attempt to answer and kept frequently looking up at the dark sky, but eventually posed an abrupt question.

“The height of this lighthouse to the lamp room floor was thirty meters.” “Then you, measure this rope’s length.”

Mr. Mitamura, the wireless technician, began measuring with the measuring tape at hand.

“Both the rope and string measure twenty-six meters each.” “What? Twenty-six meters?… Wait a minute…”

Once again，he glared intently at the darkened sky for some time，

“Hey, Mr. Mitamura. How much does that rotating lamp weigh?”

“Well, it must weigh at least one ton.” “One ton… One ton would be over 266 kan. Then that counterweight—the one that descends the thirty-six-meter cylinder while rotating the lamp—must be quite heavy, wouldn’t you say?” “Hmm, I suppose it’s easily 80 kan (about 300 kilograms)... Like a giant millstone... Once that thing creaks all the way down, they wind it back up again.”

“I see. When was the last time they wound it up recently?”

“Yesterday afternoon.” “So that means the counterweight was still up near the top of the tower tonight, correct?” “Yes.”

“No—thank you very much. Oh, and I’ll have them let me take a short break in this wireless room.” With those words, Mr. Touya pulled me into the wireless room and closed the door,

“Now then, you—it’s gradually becoming clear.” “First, hear out the hypothesis I’ve constructed.”

IV

Mr. Touya sat down in a nearby chair and, while taking a puff, began to speak.

“First, whether it’s a monster or a human, that audacious vandal must have let down one end of this thick rope from the lamp room at the top of the tower through a small ventilation hole beneath the glass window onto the high rock outside. Then they would descend below, tie the end of the thick rope—which was dangling with that rock fragment—onto the rock surface, and climb back up to the tower top. Then, taking the end of the rope left in the lamp room, they would open the rotating mechanism’s cover and tie it—using what you might call a loose hitch or a slipknot—to the handle of the counterweight that had nearly reached the top of the cylinder. To the short end of this slipknot, which would come undone with a slight tug, they would attach this thin string precisely in this manner. Finally, they would take that hatchet and chop through the rope coiled around the mechanism’s winch. Then…”

“Ah, so it’s like a well bucket.” I blurted out. “So you’re saying they utilized the tremendous gravitational force of that nearly 100-kan counterweight to send the massive rock crashing in violently.” “But if that’s the case, then the rumble from the counterweight should have occurred almost simultaneously with the sounds of the glass windows and machinery breaking, but…” “Of course I considered that point,” Mr. Touya continued. “But look here—the rope is four meters shorter than the thirty-meter depth of the cylinder where the counterweight falls, whether by design or accident.” “In short, that rumbling wasn’t caused by—as one might claim—the rope damaged when the rotating mechanism was shattered by that rampaging rock hurled by a monster from the sea, which then gradually frayed over time until it finally snapped and let the counterweight fall naturally. No. It was the work of that mysterious figure who killed Watchman Tomoda and destroyed the lamp room using the method I just described. After the destruction, they pulled that thin string—one end tied to the slipknot on the counterweight’s handle, the other left within reach in the lamp room—and sure enough, the slipknot came undone. The counterweight, which had been dangling midway, abruptly plummeted to the bottom of the cylinder.” “And it was this that produced the earth-shaking rumble which the two witnesses reported hearing some time after the sounds of breaking glass and machinery.”

“I see.”

I demonstrated my understanding.

“Meanwhile, that mysterious figure would pull up the untied rope, release the rock fragment that had been placed on Watchman Tomoda’s abdomen, and—since descending via the stairs would risk being spotted by anyone alarmed by the noise and coming up—tie another slipknot to the deck railing outside the lamp room in the same manner. Then they would climb down along the rope to the high rock below.” “The rock stands five or six meters higher than the base of the tower.” “Then they would undo the slipknot and throw the now-useless rope into the sea…”

“I see, brilliant.” I let out an involuntary exclamation of admiration.

“If that’s the case, even a man with no strength could manage it easily if he just moves a bit.” “So ultimately, does this come down to whether it was the work of a ghost or a human?”

“Well, that’s the question,” said Director Touya while standing up. “Now that we see how the rampaging stone’s mechanism works, there’s a meticulousness to it that undeniably points to human handiwork. But on the other hand, that upright and honest man, Kazama the keeper, insists he truly saw an apparition, and there’s the matter of the filthy water scattered across the lamp room floor, not to mention those strange groans and cries… Ah, regardless—let’s go back up the tower one more time.”

So we returned to the dimly lit lamp room at the top of the tower. However, there at the top, Mr. Mitamura had arrived ahead of us, carrying several pieces of equipment. When he saw us, he proposed, “I’m about to begin installing the antenna—if you’ll pardon the imposition, could I trouble you for some assistance?” So I stood on the precarious deck outside the glass window—it was nothing more than holding the ends of some wires, becoming an impromptu electrician.

The wind had grown considerably stronger, scattering even that thick fog bit by bit—but in its place, the waves rose higher, their vertigo-inducing crests snapping sharply white against the rocky promontory thirty meters directly below the deck where we stood. “It’s quite high up here,” said Mr. Touya. “To think someone climbed down using just a rope from this height…” Then abruptly shifting to a vigorous tone, he addressed Mr. Mitamura—who had been working nearby—with an odd request.

“Excuse me, but could you show me your palm for a moment?” Ah—Mr. Touya intended to identify the culprit through calluses on their palms. This was a brilliant plan!

However, no calluses had formed on Mr. Mitamura's palms. Mr. Touya suddenly began fidgeting, then left me and Mr. Mitamura behind on the tower and hurriedly descended with an awkward air. As I watched while assisting with the antenna work, Mr. Touya, who had soon descended to the ground, approached old man Kazama emerging from the direction of the staff quarters,

“Is the emergency lamp still not ready?” he said. “No, not yet… We still have to clean up first.”

Old Man Kazama's voice was strangely lacking in energy. “Excuse me, but could you show me your palm for a moment?”

Sure enough, he began. No sooner had I thought, "This is getting interesting," than it became clear that old man Kazama's palms showed no calluses either. Before long, the elderly keeper entered the warehouse while Mr. Touya now headed toward the staff quarters. Then they disappeared from our view. The antenna installation proved exceedingly difficult. My hands throbbed as though they might fracture. To make matters worse, the bitter cold here made me dizzy.

But just as that arduous task was nearing completion, Director Touya came rushing back in with an intensely strained expression.

Mr. Touya was clearly struggling to suppress extraordinary agitation as he spoke in fragmented bursts. "...That wife was lashing out at the custodian—saying there's no way she couldn't see her own husband's body... I think it'd be better to let her see it sooner rather than later..." "What about their palms?" I asked impatiently. "What about their palms... Well, neither the custodian nor the wife had developed any calluses."

“So, it really was an apparition’s…” “No—wait a moment… After that, I took the liberty of visiting Mr. Kazama’s adjacent staff quarters—naturally intending to meet his daughter… And there, I made an extraordinary discovery!”

“A tremendous discovery?” “So were there calluses on the sleeping daughter Midori-san’s palms?” “No—that’s not it.” “This goes way beyond that!” “Then has something happened to Miss Midori?”

“That’s no joking matter! I never intended to see the daughter in the first place. She wasn’t in any of the rooms.”

“Midori-san wasn’t there⁉”

Mr. Mitamura noticed. Then Mr. Touya, suddenly thrusting his large shadow forward in the dim candlelight, “Yeah—instead I met that red squirming ghost the old man said he saw here!”

Five Before long, paying no heed to my astonishment, Mr. Touya addressed Technician Mitamura in a formal tone. "By the way, Mr. Mitamura. When you came up here immediately after the incident occurred, you encountered Mr. Kazama partway up the stairs, correct? Wasn’t he holding something in his hand?" "Now that you mention it… He had taken off his suit jacket and was holding it like this in his right hand." "I see. Thank you. Then let me ask one more thing. How old is that young woman?"

“Well, probably twenty-eight.”

“How is her conduct?” “Huh? Her conduct?… Well, no—by all accounts, she was an extremely clever, good girl, but…” “No—this stays strictly between us, so speak without holding back.”

“Well… It was good before… but that… you see…” Mr. Mitamura replied with evident discomfort, “……It all began this time last year—she became involved with an engineer from a cargo ship who’d been staying at Mr. Kazama’s house for a while. Running away from home was where it all went wrong… They say she managed to get by around Yokohama afterward, but since the sailor wasn’t reliable—well, as these things go—she wound up pregnant and abandoned by her lover. About six months ago, she came slinking back here.”

“Hmm, so...” “……And so, she was once an exceptionally cheerful young woman, but after that, she seemed to change completely as a person… Given those circumstances, naturally even her father, Mr. Kazama, came to view her with cold disdain at every turn… It’s truly pitiful when you consider it…”

Having said that, Technician Mitamura made an unpleasant face, as if involuntarily regretting his own flippant remark, and rubbed his hands together. However, Mr. Touya—who had been listening silently until now—eventually raised his dark face and muttered.

“...I’ve begun to grasp who tampered with that runaway rock’s mechanism.”

“Who on earth was it?! Was it the daughter, or…?” “Of course it was the daughter—Midori-san.” Then Mr. Touya quietly sat down in a nearby chair, placed both elbows on his knees, clasped his fingers together before him, tilted his head hesitantly, and began speaking in fragments. “...This may venture too far into speculation... yet my deductions persistently converge here. Though matters of romance lie outside my expertise... let us posit there existed a pure-hearted lighthouse keeper’s daughter here.” “One day, she fell for a sailor rescued from a Naniwa vessel. However, her father—a man of utmost severity—refused to countenance such feelings.” “Naturally, the young lovers sought to pursue their sweet dream together... Yet when love’s fruit ripened within her, the man’s heart had already sailed to distant shores... Betrayed in her devotion, she returned home bearing unbearable hatred... Her father’s icy reception drove her to madness, while phantom ships passing nightly seared that hatred ever deeper into her soul.” “Her loathing for the man became hatred for sailors; her hatred for sailors transformed into loathing for ships themselves. As if to sink every last vessel, she finally breached strict protocols—on fog-thick nights, exploiting the watchman’s drowsy moments, she wrought unspeakable sabotage upon the sailors’ beacon... Then one night, discovered by the watchman, she—in panicked frenzy—swung a nearby hatchet at his skull.” “And though bewildered by her terrible crime, she tampered with the runaway boulder’s mechanism to conceal her deeds... Indeed, this might also be viewed as part of her premeditated scheme to destroy the lighthouse...”

“Then what about that terrifying monster?” I blurted out.

“There was no such thing.”

“But you yourself…”

“Now wait,” he said sharply. “Don’t go breaking up the story…… That old man was strict to his core—honest, duty-bound. He’d already been looking sideways at his daughter; forgiving such an outrageous crime would’ve been unthinkable.” “Yet despite all that,” Touya continued, “the moment he heard that noise and came rushing up here, something in him snapped. He started spinning the biggest lie of his life—conjuring up a monster to hide his daughter’s guilt.”

"But then what becomes of these traces of the monster's rampage? What about this strange water, those groans Mr. Mitamura definitely heard, and those bizarre cries?" "Now listen... When that old keeper climbed these stairs with a lit candle, trembling in terror, what do you think he saw in this lamp room? Not the shattered glass window." "Not the broken machinery." "Not Tomoda Kanshu's corpse." "Listen." "He saw two living people!" "...the unfortunate daughter who committed a terrible crime, was discovered by her strict father, and in her half-maddened state plunged headfirst into the sea from beyond the glass window—beyond saving—and then... another... a slippery, squishy red softness like an octopus... yes, his robust first grandchild born prematurely from psychological shock and physical strain!"

I involuntarily gasped. Ah! So that was it! So that was why those eerie groans had been nothing but the agony of convulsive labor pains; those strange balloon whistle-like cries, nothing but a healthy newborn’s first wail; that suspicious murky water, nothing but light amniotic fluid having fulfilled its role of protecting the fetus—even I myself was now struck dumb by this belated realization. And in that moment when Old Keeper Kazama saw his adorable first grandchild’s face and felt human frailty surge from the depths of his heart, I too began to somehow keenly feel I could understand his emotional state.

Just at that moment, quietly disrupting my pleasant dream, the creaking of the door was heard, and soon Old Keeper Joroku Kazama—his swollen eyelids glistening dully in the dim light—appeared dejectedly at the entrance.