Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

The light of Sashiomisaki Lighthouse—visible directly across from the coastal research institute where we worked—had abruptly vanished as though snuffed out, without so much as a whisper of warning, on a midnight when the air hung thick and viscous beneath the North Pacific’s signature veil of fog.

Though the Fisheries Research Institute and the lighthouse fell under separate jurisdictions, they shared the sea as their workplace—and in this remote, desolate region far from any village, separated only by a small inlet, they coexisted amicably. Or rather, compared to our dreary daily routine—forever hunched over microscopes, engaged in endless battles of will against fish eggs and kelp fronds—the enigmatic silhouette of Sashiomisaki Lighthouse, which nightly cast its secretive glimmers twinkling rhythmically into the distant stormy seas, stirred within our inquisitive hearts an insatiable longing like nothing else. So Director Touya—roused from his night shift—and I, upon hearing of the emergency, raced down the dark coastal path toward Sashiomisaki Cape with the desperate urgency of starved men lunging at their first meal in days.

Sashiomisaki Cape was a rocky promontory jutting half a nautical mile into the sea, its offshore waters riddled with malignant reefs. Here, the Kuril cold current—flowing south along the Sanriku coast—had clashed head-on with a northward branch of warm current several nautical miles north of the cape. Transformed into a ferocious undercurrent, it plunged into the reef zone around Sashiomisaki, colliding with countless undersea ridges and surging violently upward to create a chaotic maelstrom of competing tides across the surface. Therefore, on nights of thick fog especially, accidents were frequent, and among sailors, it was called the Devil’s Cape and greatly feared.

However, beginning about three or four months prior, a most peculiar rumor began circulating, centered around the crew of a cargo ship that had narrowly avoided running aground and sinking at the time. The rumor was that the light of Sashiomisaki Lighthouse would occasionally act strangely—particularly on nights of dense fog. Originally, this lighthouse’s light characteristic was a white flash emitted every fifteen seconds, but through some trick of circumstance, it would sometimes emit a single flash every thirty seconds instead. Yet this light characteristic—emitting a single flash every thirty seconds—was unmistakably that of Inuboe Lighthouse. Thus, steamships returning from northern seas, after days of arduous navigation tormented by unrelenting fog, would carelessly misidentify that eerie thirty-second rhythm. Thinking they’d finally spotted Inuboezaki, if they attempted a wide starboard detour, they would immediately run aground on the reefs and be sucked into a great whirlpool. Sailors tend to be superstitious types. Just as these outlandish rumors—whether lies or truth—began taking tenacious root in the sailors’ minds, growing more elaborate with each retelling, an incident occurred about a month prior: on another thickly fogged night, yet another cargo ship had run aground off Sashiomisaki. Over tens of minutes in its distress signals, it repeatedly reported anomalies at Sashiomisaki Lighthouse before vanishing without a trace.

Here, the problem abruptly became public, and finally, Sashiomisaki 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, staffed by two proper keepers; their families and a janitor brought the total number of residents to six people. Moreover, one of these two keepers was an exceptionally reliable old man—the very embodiment of solemnity. Approaching sixty years of age and named Kazama Joroku, he lived alone with his daughter Midori. His dignified character, which somehow carried echoes of an ancient samurai warrior, had become an object of reverence among the people. What made this veteran keeper all the more dependable was his extraordinary passion for science—defying his age in being remarkably unsuperstitious. Even when confronted with investigative warnings from the ministry, he brusquely dismissed them: “With keepers maintaining nightly shifts at the lighthouse, such absurdities are inconceivable. It’s likely mere fluctuations in illumination caused by dense gas currents or vast flocks of migratory birds swarming toward the beacon through that fog—embellished with fantastical details by superstitious minds.”

But betraying this solemn veteran keeper’s declaration, Sashiomisaki Lighthouse had finally precipitated a decisive catastrophe. At first, the precise fifteen-second flashes transformed abruptly into an eerie steady light. Then, trailing some mysterious luminous tail into the gray fog—letting it drift faintly for barely two seconds like a distant flame—they suddenly dissolved into unmistakably ominous darkness. Only the foghorn—its low, heavy blasts like something pleading for salvation—could intermittently be heard between the lulls of the tides.

Now then—before we knew it, we had reached the tip of Sashiomisaki Cape. Just as the thirty-meter-tall white tower, now devoid of light, began emerging dimly through the fog, two men suddenly materialized from the darkness ahead without uttering a word. They were Mitamura, the lighthouse's wireless technician, and Sano, the janitor. "...Ah... everyone..." The diminutive janitor spotted us and immediately broke into a run as he called out.

“Why, this is... You’ve come at just the right time.”

Then Mitamura, the technician, cut in abruptly—

“The wireless is down due to a malfunction. I was just about to head to the research institute to request assistance.” From the strangely restless and awkward demeanor of the two men, I thought—no ordinary incident had occurred.

As we walked back together, Mitamura, the technician, said. “Actually, something terrible has happened to Keeper Tomoda who was on duty.” “It’s all very strange, but... well, Mr. Kazama will explain the details.”

Then, behind us, the janitor said something preposterous in a trembling voice.

“It’s here... It’s finally here...” “What appeared?”

“What appeared?” Director Touya demanded. Then the janitor shook his head two or three times as if recoiling from his own words, “Y-yes... Th-the g-g-ghost... It’s 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, and on the left was the wireless room—all brightly lit—but the lighthouse’s crown facing the sea at the center was plunged into pitch darkness. Beneath the white tower—looming dimly in the darkness like the belly of a female sumo wrestler under the residual glow of ground-level lights—Old Keeper Kazama, with his salt-and-pepper beard reminiscent of General Nogi, appeared to be restraining a fair-skinned middle-aged woman. But upon noticing us, he immediately entrusted her to Sano the janitor, sent her off toward the government residences, and approached.

“That is Mr. Tomoda’s wife, Aki-san.” “She’s suffering from severe mental distress, so we can’t let her see the scene until she’s calmed down a bit more.” “Good heavens, this has turned into an absolute disaster.” With that, 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 after match. I had met this old keeper several times before, but this was the first time I had ever seen him stagger so. Not a trace remained of that dignified bearing reminiscent of an ancient samurai. While keeping the candle flame constantly trembling with minute quivers, he led us forward, quietly opened the lighthouse’s entrance door, and turned back to speak.

“Well... In any case, please come see the scene for yourselves.” Thereupon, Director Touya, Mitamura the wireless technician, and I—the three of us—followed the old keeper into the dimly lit stairwell. However, the old keeper—having entered the tower and closed the door—now suddenly lowered his voice as if pressing close and spoke imploringly. “...For the first time in my life... I saw a ghost...” That even Old Kazama—who had been known as a resolute man—had transformed so completely as to utter such words made me feel my body stiffen involuntarily.

“...No, let me explain from the beginning.”

Old Keeper Kazama said as he led us up the dark, steep spiral staircase. His voice echoed through the long tower interior once more, accompanied by an indescribably muffled reverberation that resembled whispered echoes. “……I was off duty tonight, but Keeper Tomoda has been helping with wireless tasks during daytime lately, so he tires easily and dozes off at times. With strange rumors circulating… and my wayward daughter feeling unwell tonight… well, between everything, I couldn’t sleep soundly… Then, about an hour ago… First, half-asleep, I heard a tremendous crash like shattering glass from above.” “Almost immediately after, from the same direction came a violent metallic clang—as if machinery were breaking apart.” “Startled upright, I stood dumbfounded momentarily. But since such sounds from overhead could only originate from this lighthouse itself, unbearable anxiety seized me—I rushed out to the government quarters’ entrance.” “When I looked up, the lamp room at the tower’s summit lay dark—completely extinguished.” “Without thinking, I shouted at the top of my lungs for Mr. Tomoda—who should have been on duty there.” “Instead of any reply came a thunderous rumble from this tower’s base.” “When I hurried outside—certain disaster had struck—I encountered Mr. Mitamura bursting forth from the wireless room across the way in equal panic.”

The old keeper paused here to catch his breath. This spiral staircase， liable to induce some sort of optical illusion， was severely fraying my nerves. Mr. Mitamura， the technician， who had been climbing up behind us， interjected at this moment. “That’s exactly right.” “I also heard an eerie sound， just like Mr. Kazama did.” “And when we arrived at the entrance below， we heard a low yet hair-raising moan coming from the top of this tower… It must have been Mr. Tomoda’s… And before that moan could even fade， this time we heard an utterly indescribable ghostly voice.”

“A ghost’s voice?”

Director Touya demanded with grave intensity. “Yes—it was a ghost’s voice! That couldn’t possibly be human!... One moment it laughed, the next it wept... Yes! Just like a toy balloon whistle!” “Some migratory birds make similar calls,” interjected the old keeper.

said the old keeper. “No, it does resemble that, but it’s entirely different from those.” “Rather, it’s much more similar to the cry of a cat in heat.” “Ah, right, right. That’s how it was.” Kazama the keeper took over and said. “……So I first entrusted Mr. Mitamura with handling the wireless and began climbing this staircase relying on candlelight.” “And in this lamp room/on-duty room at the summit… I finally encountered something horrifying—”

“Is it a ghost?”

Director Touya said.

“That’s right… That thing smashed through the crucial glass windows surrounding the lamp room from outside with a large rock and forced its way in.”

Just at that moment, Mitamura the technician pointed at the staircase before his eyes and let out a loud cry. Illuminated by the faint candlelight, a pool of dusky black blood that had collected on the stair treads was dripping down from the riser—drop by drop. I instinctively held my breath. And without a word, we rushed into the lamp room—where we finally witnessed the true traces of the monster’s rampage.

The large glass windows encircling the cylindrical lamp room—those facing the pitch-black outer sea—had a gaping hole with spiderweb cracks radiating in all directions. When a cold sea gust whooshed in through the breach, the precarious candle flame hissed and sputtered. Illumined by that dim light, the massive triangular lamp—fitted with a Fresnel lens and solidly installed at the center of the small circular room—had sustained severe damage to one section. From its darkened burner mouth, petroleum gas appeared to be leaking, hissing faintly. Around the edge of the massive lamp’s base frame—supported by a large cup-shaped mercury trough—was installed a large gear unique to rotating lighthouses; 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 hollow had been cleanly severed.

But what was most ghastly—what made us involuntarily avert our eyes—was the corpse of Keeper Tomoda lying limp and twisted beside the destroyed swivel mechanism, vomiting blood from his mouth with both eyeballs protruding. And there, atop his abdomen, sat an enormous, sodden rock fragment, biting into him as though devouring his flesh.

“...This is awful… It’s an enormous rock.”

Director Touya spoke up.

“Hmm, this must weigh forty or fifty kan—about 150 to 187 kilograms,” said Mr. Mitamura. “Even two grown men couldn’t haul this up to the top of the tower… Let alone smash through this thirty-meter-high glass window from the open sea and hurl it inside! This can only be the work of a supernatural being.” “And what of this ghost you claim to have seen?”

Director Touya turned to face Old Keeper Kazama. Then the old keeper grimaced convulsively, “...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, dripping wet, a squishy red monstrosity...”

“Octopus?”

Director Touya tilted his head quizzically. “If it’s an octopus, since they have suckers, one could make it up here.”

“If it’s an octopus, since they have suckers, one might climb up this far,” I said jokingly.

At this, Director Touya, “No, in coastal waters like these affected by cold currents, there are giant water octopuses two to three meters long… but they aren’t red like that.” Having said that, he began tilting his head repeatedly. Looking around, the linoleum-covered floor indeed bore traces of a monster’s rampage—countless glass shards and a sea of blood scattered everywhere alongside a slimy, filth-colored liquid smeared thickly across every surface without order—and this vile substance filled the room with an indescribably fishy stench.

III “...Can’t say.”

After a moment, Director Touya blurted out. “I can’t make sense of any of it… But this much is clear,” he said, unfolding his arms. “Synthesizing our institute’s duty logs with your accounts… First, this massive rock smashed through the glass window into the room, destroyed both lamp and swivel mechanism, and crushed the keeper on duty.” “The instant that happened, the lamp’s rotation halted—the flash became a fixed light—then soon after, the gas line failed and the light went out… Meanwhile, the rope wound around the shattered swivel mechanism snapped—what you’d call the counterweight—plunged down the thirty-meter cylindrical shaft running vertically through the tower’s core with a ground-shaking crash… The keeper emitted a death rattle… That’s the sequence.” “And at that precise moment—uttering an unnatural cry while dripping this repulsive secretion—the ghost forced its way in… But beyond that point… It defies all comprehension…………”

“I’ve never encountered anything like this in all my life!”

Old Keeper Kazama spat out the words. Then Director Touya turned to face Old Keeper Kazama, "In any case—what did you do after discovering this tragedy?"

“I was startled, headed downstairs, and on the way met Mr. Mitamura, who was coming up.”

“Because the wireless wasn’t working.”

Mitamura the technician said. Then Old Man Kazama, "The antenna strung from that steel pole over there to the handrail in front of this glass window had been severed by the boulder... So then, I went downstairs intending to rouse the janitor, while Mr. Mitamura headed to the scene—we parted ways immediately." "But in any case, something had to be done, so after hesitating for a while, I sent Mr. Mitamura and the janitor to request reinforcements from the institute."

“Oh, is that so? I’m afraid we haven’t been of any help at all,” said Director Touya, as if snapping back to himself. “Well, we can’t just stand around like this... Right—Mr. Kazama, you should prepare the emergency light immediately, making sure not to disturb the evidence at the scene. The sea is pitch black... Then, Mr. Mitamura, please repair the antenna and get communications up and running as soon as possible. We’ll lend a hand as well.”

There, the two men hesitated for a moment, but soon, as if urged on by the sound of the waves, they restlessly began descending.

And we, each suppressing our intense excitement, once again looked around the disarrayed room in stunned silence.

However, here, I unwittingly made a crucial discovery. It was a single dull hatchet that I picked up from a dim corner of the room. Moreover, dark, clotted blood clung to that dull blade.

At this discovery, Director Touya visibly changed color and immediately crouched down to begin scrutinizing Keeper Tomoda’s corpse anew. But before long, he stood up after finding a fresh fatal wound—apparently inflicted by this hatchet—on the right side of the corpse’s head above the ear.

“This—judging from how the blood clotted in this wound—this injury appears to be the true fatal blow inflicted first… Which means Keeper Tomoda was already dead when that stone came crashing in… But then, that groan they say was heard after the stone’s impact couldn’t belong to a corpse… This changes things quite a bit.” “Then that too must have been the ghost’s groan?”

“Then that too must have been the ghost’s groan?” I blurted out. However, Director Touya did not answer this, continuing to groan in deep thought, but eventually changed his tone and spoke.

“Hey, you… First and foremost, I think identifying where this bizarre rampaging stone came from takes priority… Look—judging by how this rock fragment lacks any barnacles or periwinkles like those covering every inch of this shoreline’s reefs, it couldn’t possibly have been submerged below the high-tide line. That said, given its dampness, it’s certainly not from inland mountains either. Tell me—how about we take a stroll along that spray-drenched shoreline down there while we’re at it?”

Therefore, before long, we descended to the shoreline at the base of the lighthouse.

There, a wind as sharp as a blade blowing in from the dark open sea mercilessly drenched us with spray from the shorebreak and mist. But almost immediately, we discovered—nearly by feel—several similar rock fragments soaked in spray, tumbling about atop a particularly tall rock that loomed at the base of the tower where the waves crashed most violently against the shore. However, quite unexpectedly, I picked up a thick rope that seemed to be submerged from the shoreline into the sea, snaking through a crevice in the rock right at my feet on the same rock. Hmm? When I gave it a tug, it slid out with a slippery resistance. I hauled it in nonchalantly. It was surprisingly long. Just when I thought I’d reached its end, strangely enough, there was another cord attached—this time a much thinner one—securely twisted onto the tip. I pulled. But this too was similarly long. Finally having hauled in all of it, I—

“How strange,” I let out a strange sound, even to my own ears. Then Director Touya, who had been staring fixedly at my strange haul all this time, “...This’s getting interesting. “Hey you! How could anyone possibly not consider this?!”

Having said that, he took the rope from me and,

“Let’s ask what this was used for.”

and he started walking.

When we returned to the compound, there at the front of the warehouse was Mr. Mitamura, the technician, pulling out a bundle of wire and busily working on something. Director Touya immediately began. “This rope belongs to the lighthouse, doesn’t it?” “Yes, it is. “There are plenty stored in the warehouse.” “Oh, one with a string like this attached… Hmm, where did you find this?” However, Director Touya made no attempt to answer, instead persistently gazing up at the inky sky, but soon posed an abrupt question.

“The height of this lighthouse to the lamp room floor was thirty meters, correct?” “Then you there—measure this rope’s length.” Mr. Mitamura began measuring with the tape measure at hand.

“...Both the rope and the string measure twenty-six meters each.”

“What? Twenty-six meters?… Wait a minute—” And again, after glaring at the dark sky for a while,

“Now, Mr. Mitamura. How much does that rotating lamp weigh?” “Well, it must be at least one ton.” “One ton… One ton would be over 266 kan. So that counterweight—or rather, the driving weight—that descends 36 meters down the cylindrical shaft while rotating the lamp round and round... It must be quite heavy, wouldn’t you say?” “Yes, eighty kan would be more than enough… It’s like a large millstone… Once that thing slowly, grindingly descends all the way down, they wind it back up again.”

“I see. When did they last wind it up?” “Yesterday afternoon.” “So tonight, the counterweight was still up in the tower, then?”

“Yes.” “No, thank you very much. Oh, and I’ll have you allow me to take a short break here in the wireless room.” With that, Director Touya pulled me into the wireless room and closed the door, “Now, you—I’m starting to piece things together bit by bit.” “First off, listen to the hypothesis I’ve constructed.”

4

Director Touya sat down in a nearby chair, lit a smoke, and began to speak. “First—whether monster or human—that brazen vandal took one end of this thick rope from the lamp room at the tower’s peak, threaded it through the small vent beneath the glass pane, and draped it down onto that high rock outside.” “Then they’d climb down to secure the dangling end of the thick rope around that rock fragment we saw, before scaling back up to the tower’s summit.” “Next, they’d open the rotating mechanism’s cover and tie the rope’s other end—the one left in the lamp room—to the handle of the counterweight that had nearly reached the top of the shaft. Whether you call it a slipknot or a quick-release hitch, they fastened it so a slight tug would undo it. They attached this thin string here to that hitch’s short end, then used the hatchet we found to chop through the winch rope coiled around the mechanism.” “Then…”

“Ah—so it’s like a well bucket!”

I interjected. “So you’re saying they used the tremendous gravitational force of that nearly hundred-kan counterweight to send the massive stone crashing in?” “But if that’s the case, then the counterweight’s earth-shaking rumble should have occurred almost simultaneously with the sounds of the glass windows and machinery breaking—” “Of course I considered that point,” Director 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.” “So in other words, that ground-shaking rumble wasn’t caused by—say—the rope damaged when the rotating mechanism was shattered by the rampaging stone thrown in by a sea monster gradually deteriorating until it finally snapped, letting the counterweight fall naturally and create the rumble. Instead, it was caused when the mysterious figure—who murdered Keeper Tomoda and destroyed the lamp room through the method I just described—pulled on that thin string after the destruction. One end of this string was tied to the quick-release knot on the counterweight’s handle, while the other end remained in their hand in the lamp room. When pulled, sure enough, the quick-release knot came undone, and the counterweight—which had been hanging midway—suddenly plummeted to the bottom of the cylinder.” “And it was this that produced the ground-shaking rumble which the two witnesses reported hearing some time after the sounds of the glass and machinery breaking.”

“I see.” I nodded in understanding.

"The mysterious figure hauled up the loosened rope and untied the rock fragment that had settled on Keeper Tomoda’s abdomen. Since descending the stairs risked being spotted by anyone alarmed by the noise and coming up, they tied the rope to the handrail of the lamp room’s outer deck with another quick-release knot and used it to climb down to the high rock below—a rock five or six meters higher than the base of the tower. Then they untied the quick-release knot and tossed the now-unnecessary rope into the sea…"

“I see, that’s brilliant.”

I involuntarily let out a cry of admiration. "In that case, even a man with no strength could easily do it if he just moved a little." "So in the end, does this come down to being the work of a ghost or the work of a human?"

“Well, that’s the question,” Director Touya said as he stood up. “Now that we’ve come to understand how the rampaging stone’s mechanism works, there’s an undeniable intricacy to it that can only be human handiwork.” “But on the other hand, that upright and honest Keeper Kazama insists he truly saw an apparition—not to mention the foul water scattered across the lamp room floor and those strange groans and cries… Ah well—let’s go back up to inspect the tower again.”

So we arrived once more at the dimly lit lamp room atop the tower. Yet there stood Mr. Mitamura, having climbed up ahead of us while carrying several pieces of equipment. When he saw us, he requested—apologies for the imposition—if we could lend him a hand with the upcoming antenna installation work. So I stood on the precarious deck outside the glass window and, with nothing more than a few ends of wire in hand, became an impromptu electrician.

The wind had grown considerably stronger, dispersing even that thick fog bit by bit, but in its place the waves rose higher, their dizzying crests shattering white against the rocky outcrop thirty meters directly below the deck where we stood.

“It’s quite high up here,” said Director Touya. “Climbing down from this height while clinging to a rope must be quite a task…” Then, abruptly shifting to a cheerful tone, he blurted out something peculiar to Mr. Mitamura, who had been working nearby. “Excuse me—could you show me your palm for a moment?” Ah—Director Touya meant to identify the culprit through calluses on their palm. What a brilliant plan!

However, there were no calluses on Mr. Mitamura’s palms. Director Touya suddenly began fidgeting, then left me and Mr. Mitamura behind on the tower in a flustered manner as he hurriedly descended. As I assisted with the antenna installation while keeping watch, Director Touya—who had just reached ground level—approached old man Kazama emerging from the staff quarters. “Is the emergency light still not ready?” he said. “No—we still need to clean up first.”

Old Man Kazama’s voice sounded strangely lifeless. “Excuse me, but could you show me your palm for a moment?”

Sure enough, he began.

No sooner had I thought things were getting interesting than it became apparent that Old Man Kazama’s palms, too, bore no calluses. Soon, the old keeper entered the storage shed, while Director Touya set off toward the staff quarters this time. And they vanished from our view. The antenna installation proved quite challenging. My hands began to ache as if they might break. On top of that, it was terribly cold up here, and I felt dizzy. But just as that arduous task was nearing completion, Director Touya came flying back in with an intensely strained expression.

Director Touya was clearly struggling to contain an extraordinary excitement, and spoke in fragmented bursts. “...The wife—there’s no way she shouldn’t see her husband’s corpse—she was lashing out at the janitor... I think it’d be better to let her see it sooner rather than later...”

“What about the palms?” I asked impatiently. “What about the palms… Well, neither the janitor nor the wife had any calluses.” “So then, it really was a monster’s…” “No, wait a moment… After that, I had them let me into Mr. Kazama’s neighboring staff quarters—of course intending to meet his daughter—and there, I made a great discovery!”

“A great discovery? Then, did the sleeping Miss Midori have calluses on her palms?” “No, that’s not it. Far from it!”

“Then has something happened to her?”

“Don’t be absurd! I never saw Miss Midori at all. She wasn’t in any of the rooms.”

“Miss Midori wasn’t there⁉” Mr. Mitamura interjected. Then Director Touya, his large shadow suddenly lurching forward in the dim candlelight,

“Well, instead, I encountered… that red, squirming ghost the old man claimed to have seen here earlier!”

V Before long, Director Touya, ignoring my astonished self, addressed Mr. Mitamura in a formal tone.

“By the way, Mr. Mitamura. When you came up here immediately after the incident occurred, you encountered Mr. Kazama on the staircase midway, correct? Mr. Kazama—was he holding anything in his hands?” “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 allow me to ask one more thing.” “How old is that young woman?” “Well, probably twenty-eight.”

“What about her character?” “Huh? Her character?… Well, no—they say she was a very clever, good girl, but…”

“No, this is strictly between us, so please speak without reserve.” “W-well… She used to be fine before… but… um…” Mr. Mitamura looked terribly troubled, “...It was around this time last year—a cargo ship engineer who’d been staying temporarily at Mr. Kazama’s house became involved with her, and running away from home was the start of it all... They say she managed to get by around Yokohama afterward, but with that no-good sailor as her partner, things went true to form: she ended up pregnant, abandoned by her lover, and slunk back here about half a year ago...”

“Hmm, so…” “...Well, she used to be such a bright young woman, but after that incident, her whole character changed completely... Given those circumstances, naturally her father Mr. Kazama came to view her with constant disapproval over every little thing... Truly pitiful when you think about it...”

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

“...I’m starting to get an inkling of who the one manipulating that rampaging stone mechanism might be.” “Who on earth is that?! Is it the daughter, or…?” “Of course, it’s Miss Midori.”

And then Director Touya quietly sat down in a nearby chair, rested his elbows on both knees, clasped his fingers together in front of him, and—tilting his head hesitantly—began speaking haltingly.

“...This may perhaps lean too much into speculation... but no matter what, my imagination keeps veering inexorably in this direction.” “Moreover—while romance lies rather outside my field of expertise—let us suppose there existed a pure-hearted lighthouse keeper’s daughter here.” “One day, she fell in love with a sailor rescued from a Naniwa vessel.” “However, her father—a man of utmost strictness—refused to countenance his daughter’s affections.” “Naturally, the young pair pursued their sweet dreams together... Yet when love’s fruit ripened within her womb, the man’s heart had already sailed to distant shores... Betrayed in her singular devotion, she returned home bearing unbearable hatred... Her father’s icy reception then stoked her heart to madness, while nightly visions of ships gliding through offshore mists seared brands of resentment into her very soul.” “Her hatred for that man became hatred for all sailors; her hatred for sailors became hatred for every ship. Resolved to sink them all, she finally breached strictest protocols—night after fog-laden night exploiting the keeper’s drowsy moments to commit unspeakable sabotage at that beacon sailors called their lifeline... Until one night when the keeper discovered her—whereupon she, startled beyond reason, swung a nearby hatchet down upon his skull.” “And though reeling from her terrible crime, she manipulated that rampaging stone contraption to hide all traces... Indeed, this might well align with her long-hatched scheme to destroy the lighthouse itself...”

“Then what on earth happens to that terrifying monster?”

I inadvertently interjected.

“There was no such thing.”

“But you yourself—” “Now wait a moment.” “Please don’t derail the explanation—that old man was exceedingly strict, honest, and responsible—there’s no way he would forgive his already-disdained daughter for such an outrageous crime.” “Yet despite this, from the very moment he heard the noise and rushed up here, his feelings underwent an abrupt transformation—he told the grandest lie of his life, fabricating a monster to begin concealing his daughter’s crime.”

“But if that’s the case，what about all these traces of the monster’s rampage? And what about this suspicious water，those groans that Mr．Mitamura definitely heard，and the strange cries?”

“Now listen… When that veteran keeper came climbing up those stairs trembling with terror, candle in hand—what do you think he saw in this lamp room? Not the shattered glass window.” “Not broken machinery either.” “Not Keeper Tomoda’s corpse either.” “Listen well.” “He saw two living beings!” “…The unfortunate daughter who’d committed a terrible crime—discovered by her stern father—plunging headfirst into the sea from beyond the glass window in half-mad desperation… And another… A slippery, squirming red mass like an octopus… Yes! His first grandchild—born prematurely yet vigorous from psychological shock and overwork-induced labor!…”

I gasped involuntarily.

Ah, so that's it! That's what happened! So that eerie groaning had been the agonizing labor pains of convulsive childbirth; those strange balloon-whistle-like cries had been a healthy newborn’s wail; that suspicious murky liquid had been light amniotic fluid no longer protecting its fetus—could it all be true? I found myself overwhelmed by belated astonishment at my own realization. And in that moment when Old Keeper Kazama saw his dear first grandchild’s face—when he felt human frailty surge from the depths of his heart—I too began to feel as though I somehow understood his state of mind.

Just at that moment—shattering my pleasant reverie—the quiet creak of a door was heard, and soon the dejected Old Keeper Kazama Joroku appeared silently in the doorway, his swollen eyelids dimly reflecting the faint light.