Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Edogawa Ranpo

Corpse Thieves

A gold-plated funeral car was circling endlessly through Tokyo's streets, apparently without destination. Upon closer inspection, a coffin draped in white cloth lay inside. Though uncertain whether it contained a corpse, the hearse's aimless roaming through district after district—without accompanying vehicles—appeared profoundly unnatural. It showed no signs of returning from funeral duties. Nor did it seem en route to new employment—the timing made no sense. The lingering spring daylight already neared its demise.

Was it due to the unseasonable weather that the driver had gone mad? Or had he forgotten where the garage was located? It was an uncannily bizarre funeral car, but since not a single soul trailed its path, it continued circling endlessly—round and round—without arousing suspicion. Eventually, as the streetlamps' glow intensified across the towns and stars began flickering in the sky—as though it had awaited full nightfall—the deranged funeral car halted abruptly at the heart of an utterly desolate residential quarter near Yaraicho in Ushigome.

When the car stopped and the headlights were extinguished—as if that had been the signal—a pitch-dark, old-fashioned gate without even an entrance light creaked open, and a Western-suited man who seemed out of place at the gate appeared like a shadow. “Did it go smoothly?” It was a very low whisper. “It went smoothly. But drivin’ round and round since four o’clock this afternoon to keep folks from gettin’ suspicious ain’t no picnic, I tell ya.”

The funeral car driver, while alighting from the driver's seat, spoke in a manner reminiscent of a thief's henchman.

“Ufufufufu, you’ve done well.” “And the dear departed is indeed on board, I trust?”

“That’s all set. They never dreamed there’d be two gold-plated cars comin’, so they fell right into exactly the trap we laid. By now, that empty decoy coffin must be cracklin’ away in the crematorium’s furnace.” From the sound of their conversation, it appeared he had stolen someone’s corpse from the funeral parlor. Through some trick, they must have swapped the coffins—leaving an empty one in the real hearse while bringing the corpse-filled one here—transporting it all this way without arousing a shred of suspicion.

“Let’s save the talk for later—kindly carry the coffin into the house. If someone comes, it’ll be troublesome.”

“Ah, got it.” “Then give me a hand.” Thereupon, the two suspicious figures hoisted the heavy coffin and slipped through the gate into the estate. It was a dilapidated mansion bearing the marks of time—so ancient one might doubt such structures still existed in Tokyo. Likely built by a hatamoto or similar retainer class, its entire construction bore no resemblance to modern architecture. The men ascended the pitch-black entryway, their feet sinking into damp tatami as they carried the coffin toward an inner chamber.

It was a ten-tatami mat room with a shoin window. Though this room alone had a comparatively bright electric light hanging down, everything about it felt unnervingly gloomy—the darkened sliding doors, torn paper screens, rain-stained plaster walls, and sooty ceiling—giving the impression of an ancient haunted palace.

Under the electric light, the features of the two figures were revealed. The man who had driven the funeral car had a narrow forehead, a flattened nose, and an absurdly large mouth—features so grotesquely gorilla-like that he seemed scarcely human. The sight of his hair alone, slicked back in a gleaming all-back style, was repulsively grotesque enough to make one shudder. A soiled black suit with no dress shirt—the collar of a knit shirt visible right beneath—clothing that looked like that of a cheap chauffeur.

The other man wore a loose-fitting black velvet suit, with thick shoulder-length hair hanging down, a pallid face adorned with black glass Lloyd glasses, and a dense mustache—his entire appearance suggesting an artist. “As expected of you,” Lloyd Glasses Man said in a commendatory tone. “You weren’t suspected at all.” “Nah, ’s nothin’ at all,” Gorilla Man sniffled, his nostrils quivering as he licked his lips. “Yoshi’s guy did a fine job for us. If that bastard hadn’t infiltrated the funeral company’s driver beforehand, we wouldn’t’ve pulled off this stunt. While he was waitin’ halfway with the real hearse carryin’ an empty decoy coffin, I took the real one in our fake car and swapped ’em on the way to the crematorium. Them suckers never even noticed we switched the gold-plated cars! Bet they’re bawlin’ their eyes out right now—burnin’ that coffin fulla random bones we got from the taxidermist, thinkin’ it’s their precious daughter!”

“Ufufufufu, well done, well done.” “I suppose I must reward you all quite generously.” “……Now then, we’re finished here—return and prepare yourself as the groom.” “And don’t forget about the photographer tomorrow morning.” “The photos will be eight-by-ten.” “Got it covered.” “Just you wait—you’ll see what a proper groom I’ll make.” “Never dreamed I’d be holdin’ a wedding with such a looker.” “Sure would like a peek at the bride’s face.”

“Very well. Proceed. “Seeing it now would ruin the effect. “You must endure until the bridal makeup is fully completed. “I’ll demonstrate my skills. “Just one night’s patience.” “Well then, I suppose I’ll have to endure it. “What a tedious wait. “I’m counting on you to make her utterly radiant.” “Hehehe, certainly.” “Understood.”

Thereupon, Gorilla Man bid farewell and went outside, then drove off into nowhere in the funeral car—resembling a pitch-black shrine—with its headlights turned off.

The Dreadful Wedding When he was alone, Lloyd Glasses Man pried open the coffin lid and peered at the deceased inside. “Hmph. Even as a corpse, a beauty retains a certain allure.” “She hasn’t deteriorated much.” “This should work perfectly.” Muttering to himself, he heaved up the uncanny corpse and laid it upon the outer tatami mats. The electric light shone directly on the corpse’s waxen face.

Ah, what a beautiful corpse this was. She had not yet reached twenty years of age. She had likely succumbed to illness, yet showed little sign of wasting; her face and body retained a moderate fullness.

However, beautiful though she was, being a corpse, her beauty was one of transparent colorlessness. But wait—upon closer inspection, an indescribably repulsive deathly pallor suffused her entire face. A chilling netherworldly stench hung in the air. However beautiful she may have been, the corpse remained a terrifying thing.

“Now then, Miss, I shall do your makeup.” “After all, tomorrow is your joyous wedding day.” Lloyd Glasses Man brought out makeup tools from a large trunk in the corner of the room while speaking to the corpse. On the engawa sat a golden basin filled with water. Special oil for dissolving pigments had also been prepared. Now then, he was about to begin preparing the corpse’s face in the manner of an actor. Keeping her lying sideways, he first thoroughly washed her face with water, then applied cream as a base, followed by thick liquid white foundation, rouge, lipstick, powdered white face powder, and eyebrow ink—remarkable makeup skills for a man.

But that alone wasn’t enough. No matter how much he improved her complexion, her countenance showed no vitality. A corpse, or else a lifeless doll. The eyes were dead. He pried open the closed eyelids with his fingers and held them still—they remained open, yet clearly lacked the luster of living eyes. Thereupon, he took a paintbrush, applied shadowing around the sockets, dabbed rouge at the corners, and even painted the desiccated eyeballs themselves with oil pigments.

Next came the mouth. Even if he reddened the lips with lipstick alone, the muscles around the mouth slackened limply, lacking vitality. Thereupon, by firmly pressing upward on both ends of her lips with his fingers and holding this position for about twenty minutes, the muscles that had already begun to stiffen transformed their shape into what appeared to be a joyful smiling expression.

The corpse began to smile cheerfully. “Ah, gorgeous, simply gorgeous. This will do splendidly.” “Now then, it’s time for the head.” He lifted the daughter’s corpse up, propped it against the large trunk, and began deftly arranging her hair. The hair tools had also been properly prepared inside the trunk. Even if he were an artist, styling hair as well—he was a man full of surprises. Moreover, what he had styled in about an hour was a magnificent traditional bridal hairstyle—one so elaborate that even a professional would find it laborious.

After creating her face and styling her hair came dressing her in the wedding garments prepared within the trunk. Handling the recalcitrant corpse alone proved arduous work, yet he succeeded in neatly fastening the gaudy crested kimono and brocade obi. Then he hung the prepared pair of scrolls in the tokonoma alcove, positioned a vase, aligned two zabuton cushions facing forward, and seated the resplendently attired bride upright upon one of them. To prevent collapse against her backside went the trunk's support rod.

By the time all preparations were complete, the pale light of dawn had broken. Several hours later, exactly at the appointed time of ten o'clock, that Gorilla Man triumphantly stormed in. "How's this groom getup?" When shown into the sitting room, he first proudly flaunted his appearance. A crested kimono with Sendai silk hakama trousers, the pure white cord of his haori glaringly conspicuous. "Splendid." "A flawlessly impeccable groom." "Now then—what of the photographer?" "They oughta be here any minute." "Told 'em sharp at ten o'clock, see..."

Having said this, the Gorilla Man in crested hakama cut off his words with a startled look. “Hey, hey—what’s got you so spooked?” “That…” Gorilla Man stammered, “That’s… that’s the deceased we’ve been talking about? That…?” It was no wonder he was shocked. With her back to the alcove, the bride figure sat poised upright—no matter how one looked at her, she didn’t appear to be a corpse. The loveliness of her face, lips pursed tight in a sweet smile. She looked ready to place both hands on the floor at any moment, her eye rims flushed red, as though about to commence an Ogasawara-style formal greeting.

“Quite the masterpiece, don’t you think?” “Well I’ll be damned. That’s astonishing.” “This here’s the corpse?” “I tell ya, if it’s such a pretty corpse, I’d wanna make her my wife for real.” “Hence why we’re holding a wedding.” “But just takin’ photos together ain’t satisfyin’ enough.” “Can’t ya work some magic?” “Hahaha! You say ‘work magic,’ but what exactly d’you expect us to do with a corpse?”

As they were occupied thus, a voice sounded at the entryway. The photographer had arrived. “Now sit there properly lined up,” “Don’t let them notice anything,” “Keep your face straight and don’t utter a word.” Having left these instructions, Lloyd Glasses Man hurriedly made his way to the entrance.

Before long, the photographer, accompanied by an assistant, was shown into the sitting room. “Everything has been properly prepared. As we’re scheduled to depart for the ceremony venue shortly, I must ask you to work quickly.”

Lloyd Glasses Man bustled about frantically, putting on a show of busyness. The photographer thought something seemed off about the house's condition, but having already received payment upfront with no legitimate reason to object, he quickly adjusted his focus and ignited the magnesium flash. "We'll come collect the photos once they're ready since this house will be vacated in two or three days." "Make sure you don't miss the agreed deadline." After seeing the photographer out through the entrance and reiterating his instructions, Lloyd Glasses Man returned to the sitting room—only to freeze in shock.

Gorilla Man was gripping the Corpse Bride’s hand, kissing her palm, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, and murmuring something in her ear as though they were real newlyweds. “Hey, this is no joke. Stop this foolish behavior.” When he called out, Gorilla Man startled and recoiled, “Eheheheheh... Couldn’t help it—she’s just too beautiful.” he looked thoroughly embarrassed. “There, that’s settled. The dear groom has served his purpose. Go change into a kimono and come back now.”

“But I just can’t wrap my head around it.” “What’s all this even s’posed to do?” “That photo gonna be some kinda seed for somethin’?”

“Leave that matter to me.” “You lot need only keep silent and obey my orders.” “Within two or three days, you’ll all come to understand my magnificent design.”

“And what about this young lady’s corpse?” “Surely you’re not just gonna leave her dumped here?” “I’ve got that figured out too.” “Just wait and see.” “What kind of faces do you think those folks’ll make when they’re shocked?” “You know full well what I can do.” “Ufufufufufu... Somehow, even I’ve got a rough idea though.” “No doubt you’ll stage some horrifying spectacle like always.” “So that’s why we can’t leave your side.” “Ufufufufufu.”

Gorilla Man licked his lips and gave a sinister, knowing smile, looking thoroughly delighted.

Phantom Automobile

Now, shifting our tale—on that very night when the Corpse Bride’s wedding ceremony had been conducted, a large automobile glided luxuriantly down a certain boulevard in Kōjimachi Ward, its four imposing headlights glaring as it overtook rundown taxis in its path. Both the driver and assistant wore immaculate suits that showed no trace of sweat, their hair and beards meticulously groomed. Without haste or panic, maintaining a dignified composure, yet before one knew it, they were overtaking one car after another on the road. Even their driving technique somehow appeared refined.

The middle-aged gentleman seated inside the car was none other than Mr. Shōbei Nunobiki—reputed millionaire, president and director of Nunobiki Bank. A man of his stature naturally had such an automobile and such a driver—it was only fitting.

With his corpulent ruddy face, neatly trimmed mustache peppered with white, thick lips gripping a cigar—in form and stature, this was none other than Mr. Shōbei Nunobiki himself. But upon closer inspection, he seemed oddly deflated. He lacked his usual vigorous energy.

He was lost in thought. It was not a business matter. Even bankers are not necessarily always thinking about interest. He had been so consumed by a grief more profoundly human that he lost all sense of himself. Grief was not an external thing. Mr. Shōbei Nunobiki had just a few days prior lost his beloved only daughter, Teruko, and had only yesterday completed her funeral. A passing breeze had led to acute pneumonia, and despite their devoted nursing efforts, she had slipped away as quietly as a light snow melting away.

The groom had already been properly chosen. Junichi Toriai—a handsome, brilliant young clerk at Nunobiki Bank—had met the president’s approval, secured mutual consent between the families, and now awaited only the selection of an auspicious day. As her illness took a turn for the worse, Teruko—perhaps having already resigned herself to death—begged her parents to summon Junichi Toriai and did not leave his side for even a moment. And then, at the very moment she was about to breathe her last, she grasped Toriai’s hand,

“Father, Mother, please forgive me.” Apologizing, she requested a final kiss from Toriai. Toriai spilled tears as he pressed a chaste kiss to Teruko’s forehead, which had already begun growing cold. Mr. Shōbei Nunobiki found that scene—even now—flickering before his eyes like a phantom he couldn’t dispel. “Ah, how pitiful. How she must have wished not to die.” Quite right. “Quite right.” He whispered peevishly in his heart to the deceased.

While he had been lost in such thoughts of his deceased beloved daughter, the car suddenly swerved violently, causing his body to lurch sharply to the side and jolting the great banker back to stark reality.

When he looked, another car was blocking the way directly in front of him. At the critical moment when a collision seemed imminent, the driver’s skillful handling narrowly averted disaster.

“I’m terribly sorry.”

The driver of the other car leaned out of the window and politely apologized. Their driver, mindful of the luxury automobile’s prestige, maintained his dignity and refrained from crude shouting. Instead, he faced forward in silence, ignored the apology, and calmly set the car in motion. The other car also began to move. Given how close they had come to colliding, the two vehicles now starting off passed each other in opposite directions with their windows nearly touching.

Mr. Shōbei Nunobiki naturally looked at the other car’s window. The opposite window—no more than five inches from his eyes—imprinted itself on his vision whether he willed it or not. The window was open. Within it was a face like a white flower. As this window was also half-open, face and face confronted each other without any obstruction. In Mr. Shōbei Nunobiki’s head, something like a glittering firework spun rapidly. The sheer extremity of it left him neither able to make a sound nor even draw breath—it seemed as though his very breath had ceased.

Then came a familiar, dearly remembered voice crying out rapidly: “Oh, Father! Father! Help...” “No!—” she began to scream. Before the final syllable of “Help me” could escape her lips, someone clamped a hand over Teruko’s mouth and slid the window blinds shut with practiced smoothness.

It was unmistakably my daughter Teruko. “Ah! Teruko! Hey, stop the car!” “Chase that car!”

Shōbei Nunobiki stamped his feet inside the car and shouted. But their driver did not grasp the full details of the situation. While their driver, stunned by this sudden turn of events, hesitated in confusion, the other car shot forward like an arrow. “Chase that car now—whatever it takes!” “Hurry, hurry! What are you dawdling for?” At Mr. Shōbei Nunobiki’s madman-like commands, the driver finally turned the car around and set off. Though their vehicle had considerable speed, the U-turn and other maneuvers consumed precious time. Moreover, though small in size, the other car possessed reckless velocity.

Within four or five blocks of racing down the nighttime boulevard, they suddenly lost sight of the other car, uncertain which alleyway it had turned into. They circled around the vicinity, but nowhere could they spot any automobile resembling it. Having no alternative, Mr. Shōbei Nunobiki abandoned the search and directed the car back toward his residence once more. Yet upon reflection, he felt as though he'd been bewitched by a fox. Teruko had drawn her last breath before his very eyes several days prior—a proper funeral had even been conducted. He had personally witnessed her coffin being placed within the crematorium's furnace. That deceased Teruko could now be riding through town in an automobile—such a thing was utterly impossible.

But the girl from earlier had unmistakably borne Teruko’s face. It was unthinkable that there could be another person who resembled her so perfectly. Not only that—she had even called out "Father." There was no reason for someone else’s daughter to say such a thing. It was truly mysterious.

Could it be a delusion? Could some strange coincidence have caused me to experience such visions and auditory hallucinations? Or could it be that the ghost of his deceased daughter had wandered out from the realm of the dead, blended into the darkness of night, and come to meet her beloved father? Mr. Shōbei Nunobiki was at a complete loss as to how to interpret the figure of his daughter that had vanished like a passing assailant after grazing his eyes.

Because it was such an absurd matter, even after returning home, he refrained from confiding in his wife, Sonoko. He thought bringing up such trivial matters would only make her mother cry again. The voice of his daughter crying, “Father! Help…” lingered in his ears, and though it troubled him deeply, he couldn’t possibly bring such a dreamlike tale to the police to request a search. So Mr. Shōbei Nunobiki resolved to force himself to forget it, convinced it must have been a hallucination.

Toriai, the young man

But the strangeness did not end there. One morning four or five days later, Teruko’s former fiancé Junichi Toriai arrived pale-faced. On his way to work at the bank, he went out of his way to make a detour and visit the president’s residence.

At that very moment, Mr. Shōbei Nunobiki had been in his customary morning bath, but upon hearing of urgent business, he hurriedly exited the bath chamber and came out to the reception room.

“Something truly strange has occurred.” “I felt as though my mind had become altered—I couldn’t keep still—so I ended up disturbing you this early in the morning.”

When Toriai saw the president’s face, he suddenly began to say something strange. It was unbefitting of the usually composed young man.

“What’s the matter? Do take a seat.” Mr. Shōbei Nunobiki also sat down in a chair and took a hand-rolled cigarette from the desk. “I must ask something impertinent—did Teruko-san enter into marriage with someone during her lifetime?” Toriai said reproachfully, his pale face containing a faint hint of anger. Shōbei Nunobiki stared in surprise at the other’s face. He couldn’t help but wonder if this pitiful man had been driven mad by grief over losing Teruko.

“Don’t talk nonsense! As you well know, Teruko was a pure virgin without the slightest blemish. You were—and will always be—her only fiancé. Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Please look at this.” “Someone I don’t know mailed this to me this morning.”

Toriai frantically untied the cloth bundle, took out a large quarter-plate photograph, and thrust it before the president’s eyes while—

“Who on earth is this person? Since they’ve gone so far as to appear in a photograph like this, you must certainly know who they are!” His eyes changed color as he spoke in a lunging manner. Mr. Nunobiki took the photograph, and the moment he saw it, even he couldn’t help but turn pale with a start. There, wasn’t my daughter Teruko—dressed in a resplendent long-sleeved kimono with her hair in the Takashimada bridal style—photographed alongside some hideous young man I’d never seen before? It was unmistakably a wedding portrait.

The great banker stared at it fixedly; for a while he could only groan, but soon— “Who on earth sent this?” he asked. “I don’t know who it is. There’s no sender’s name.” “Hmm, I can’t make heads or tails of this either—I’ve never seen such a man before. And there’s no way my daughter—no matter how eccentric—would ever marry such an ugly brute who looks like a gorilla! It’s a prank. It has to be someone’s prank.”

Mr. Nunobiki declared with anger.

“However, a photographic trick couldn’t possibly work this well. I thought someone might have pasted your daughter’s face onto the torso of a woman in full formal attire and examined it closely, but there’s not the slightest trace of such alterations. It is undoubtedly genuine. Moreover, the name of the photo studio is printed on this mounting board. Even the telephone number is listed there. If we call this photographer and ask, we’ll know right away.” “Hahaha… There’s no need to call the photographer. I can state definitively. My daughter would never have had a wedding with such a man.”

“But just to be certain—if this truly were a prank—we must track down whoever did this and teach them a lesson! In any case, I believe we need to at least question the photographer.”

When he considered it, matters stood exactly as Toriai had stated. Even were she among the deceased, he could not allow his daughter to be subjected to such an indignity.

So they telephoned the photo studio noted on the mounting board and had the owner summoned.

Before long, the photographer—already familiar to readers—appeared in the great banker’s parlor, bowing deferentially. “Do you remember taking this photograph?” When presented with the aforementioned photo and glancing at it, he immediately recalled and answered. “I remember.” “It was taken during an on-site shoot just four or five days ago.” “It was an extremely urgent request, so I developed it with almost no retouching. Ah yes, if I recall correctly, the name was Mr. Arameda.” “It was such an unusual name that I remember it quite clearly.”

The photographer amiably chattered away.

“What did you say?! Four or five days ago, you say? That’s absurd! How could such a photo even exist? But where on earth did you take this?” “It was at an old mansion in S-chō, Ushigome Ward. Ah, that was… Yes, I remember now. It was the previous Sunday. I distinctly remember that the children’s school was closed that day.” “Huh? Sunday, you say?” Mr. Nunobiki and young Toriai cried out almost simultaneously. “Is that really true?”

“Oh, there is absolutely no mistake.” “In the afternoon, a light rain began to fall—that was the day.”

Indeed, if one were to speak of recent days when a light rain fell in the afternoon, there was none other than Sunday. “You’re not telling some joke, are you? This woman in the photograph is my daughter. She died from a sudden illness—today marks the eighth day. Do you understand now? The bride shown here died last Thursday and was cremated on Saturday. Could a corpse that was cremated on Saturday possibly be dressed in such elaborate attire and hold a wedding ceremony the very next day—Sunday?”

“Wh-wh-what do you mean?”

This time, it was the photographer who was utterly astonished.

The voice on the phone It was an impossibility. A corpse had leaned its face out from a car window and called out to her father. The corpse had held a wedding ceremony. In this modern age, should one believe in ghost stories? Not as a ghost story—could such a bizarre incident have truly occurred?

Even after the photographer had left, Mr. and Mrs. Nunobiki and young Toriai huddled together and discussed this inexplicable matter at length, but in the end, beyond feeling unsettled, no solutions presented themselves. “Could Teruko actually still be alive somewhere—confined against her will?” “I simply can’t shake this dreadful suspicion.” “Darling—surely there must be some way we can verify this?”

The wife, with eyes that seemed to chase the phantom of her deceased beloved daughter, clung to her husband’s wisdom.

"But that's theoretically impossible." "First off—how would you explain what's in the urn on our family altar?" "Those are undeniably Teruko's bones." "There's no way a corpse could have a double."

When it was pointed out, that was indeed the case. A corpse that had been cremated and had its bones collected could not possibly be alive. The idea of reporting this matter to the police had been raised, but doing so would only amplify the commotion and risk disturbing the deceased who was finally resting peacefully, so it was decided they should leave things be until more concrete facts could be ascertained.

“There must be some grave mistake somewhere.” “All of our minds might be going a little mad.” “We must refrain from rashly making a commotion.” It was only natural that Mr. Nunobiki feared having groundless rumors spread about him and being exposed to public shame. And so, with young Toriai heading off to work at the company and Mr. Nunobiki likewise leaving on business matters, the day ultimately ended in ambiguity. But then, late that night, as if coordinated, extraordinary events befell both Mr. Nunobiki and young Toriai.

First, regarding Mr. Nunobiki: late that same night, around twelve o’clock, he was roused from sleep by the voice of a maid just as he had drifted off. “Um, there’s a telephone call for you. They said they absolutely need you to come to the phone, Master…” “What a nuisance. Tell them to call back tomorrow. Where on earth is it from?”

In a groggy voice, Mr. Nunobiki scolded the maid. “Um... um...” The maid hesitated inexplicably in her speech and fidgeted nervously. When he looked at her, she appeared unnaturally pale, her very voice trembling as if terrified by something. “What’s wrong?” “Who’s calling?” “Um, she said she was Teruko.” “It was unmistakably the voice of our departed young lady.”

The maid finally said it and gazed timidly at the master, fearing she would be severely scolded. “Teruko? Hey, what nonsense are you spouting?” “How could a dead person be calling?!” “But she absolutely insists on speaking to Father, and no matter how many times I ask again, she just keeps saying, ‘Teruko! Teruko!’” The maid’s voice had turned tearful. As he listened, Mr. Nunobiki found himself drawn into a suspicious state of mind and began to feel that perhaps it really was Teruko.

And so, at any rate, he had the bedroom desk phone connected and picked up the receiver.

“I’m Nunobiki. Who are you?”

“Ah, Father! I’m Teruko. Do you understand? Teruko is alive!”

“Hey, Teruko! You… are you really Teruko? Where are you? What on earth has happened?” Even the composed veteran industrialist could not help but become utterly flustered upon receiving this astonishing telephone call.

“Father! I can’t say anything. Um, there are people nearby. I can’t say anything beyond what I’ve been ordered to. Otherwise they’ll kill me.” “Alright, I understand. Don’t worry—I will rescue you without fail. Now tell me what you’ve been ordered to say.”

After the call ended, Mr. Nunobiki considered having the telephone exchange trace the caller’s address but deliberately maintained a composed demeanor.

“Father! I’m sorry.” “I can’t believe I have to ask something this terrible of you, Father.” “…Um, they say you must ask Father to buy me back.” “I understand. Tell me quickly—how much ransom are they demanding?”

“Fifty thousand yen… and they say it must be in cash—which you yourself must bring—Father.”

“There, there—you’ve no need to worry.” “I will pay the ransom for you.” “And where should I take it?” “Well, Father, you called a photographer today, didn’t you?” “At that time, didn’t you hear about the vacant house in Ushigome S-chō?”

“Yeah, I heard.” “Are you there now?” “No, I’m not there now.” “But tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, I will be taken there.” “And they say they’ll send me back in exchange for Father’s money.” “Do you understand?” “To that vacant house in S-chō at ten o’clock in the morning… okay? You understand?” “I understand, I understand.” “Wait there calmly—Father will surely come to pick you up.” “And, um… if you tell the police or anything about this, they’ll kill me.” “I can’t say anything now, but there are so many of them—it’s a terrifying organization beyond imagination—so please be careful. …Oh! I won’t say anything.” “Yes, I’ll hang up, I’ll hang up.” “Well then, Father, truly…”

At that moment, the man who had been nearby apparently forced the receiver down, and the voice abruptly cut off.

It goes without saying that Mr. Nunobiki immediately called the telephone exchange and had them trace the caller’s location. However, all this revealed was just how exceedingly cautious their adversaries were. The call had originated from a public telephone in some rundown outlying district. Needless to say, the criminals had long since fled beyond reach. No amount of commotion now would allow him to overtake them. Mr. Nunobiki resolved to obey the gang’s demands and withhold reporting to the police. He’d frequently heard tales of calamity befalling those who defied such extortionists. The gang wanted fifty thousand yen. If he simply paid that sum, they’d presumably do no harm. Though fifty thousand yen constituted a fortune by ordinary standards, against Mr. Nunobiki’s assets it barely registered. Moreover, this sum would purchase the life of his irreplaceable only daughter. "There exists no bargain more favorable than this," concluded the magnanimous Mr. Nunobiki without further deliberation.

Nightmare

Now, the story shifts to the young man Junichi Toriai.

At nearly the same moment Mr. Nunobiki heard the voice of the deceased on that strange telephone call, Junichi Toriai—as if pulled by an invisible thread—was drawing closer to the eerie vacant house in Ushigome S-chō. That night, tormented by the nightmarish doubt of *Is my lover truly dead or still alive?* he had been wandering from one darkened town to another when, almost unconsciously, he found himself before the gate of the eerie house in S-chō.

Even as he thought there was no way that resplendently adorned bride could still be in this house, the decaying old structure somehow drew him in. He staggered unsteadily into the pitch-black gateway. The door yielded effortlessly to a single push.

When he took a step into the garden, there was a smell of decay in the darkness—an indescribably eerie feeling, as if he had entered a cave inhabited by demons. Ahead, tree branches—left to grow unchecked and now densely intertwined—blocked the path; when he pushed through them, a viscous spiderweb immediately clung to his face. The overgrown weeds reached knee-deep; his shoe soles squelched damply, making a sound as though he were trudging through a muddy swamp.

He thought in that darkness so tactile it might be touched: *Ah—I must be having a terrible nightmare now.* To such an extent was the vacant house dark, silent, and severed from reality.

Rustling through the tree branches and twisting through the garden, a rectangular white object resembling a movie screen came into view in the distance. One of the storm shutters on the veranda stood open, and inside it, a single candle burned forlornly. The dim, russet light of the candle appeared as white as a screen to eyes accustomed to the darkness.

There was another reason it appeared as a screen. Within that rectangular space of one storm shutter, there was the dim figure of a person. The candle’s round light—gradually fading as the flame receded—illuminated the figure from the chest up as though floating out. “Ah! Teruko-san!” Junichi Toriai inadvertently started to cry out but finally managed to suppress it. Swaying gently in the faint light of the candlestick, there in the depths of the veranda sat none other than Teruko Nunobiki. It was the figure of the lover who should have been dead.

So it was true. Teruko-san was indeed alive. And she had been waiting for me to come rescue her. It was the mysterious thread of Teruko-san’s heart that had drawn me here. Junichi Toriai approached his lover as if swimming through darkness, cold oily sweat streaming from armpits.

“Oh! Mr. Toriai! You’ve kindly come after all.” Suddenly, in the russet circular light of the candle, Teruko—without moving a muscle or changing her expression—spoke. The sight had a truly maddening sensation, as if ripped from a nightmare, but the young man had no leisure to doubt such things.

“Ah, thank goodness. “Teruko-san, I’ve come to pick you up. “Were you all alone in such a lonely place? “You were confined by someone, weren’t you? “Where did they go? “Are they keeping watch in the darkness further inside?” He approached, placed his hands on the veranda, leaned his face toward Teruko sitting about six feet further inside, and asked hurriedly. “No, there’s no one here. “I’m all by myself. “I was waiting.”

Teruko answered from within the candle’s halo, her face lonely and cold, without so much as a smile. She seemed somehow not of this world—more like a divine woman from another realm. “I’ve been waiting,” was pronounced forcefully, imbued with some strange meaning. The bizarre, unfamiliar accent made him startle so much that he thought, *Wait—is this really Teruko-san?* “Come on, let’s go back. Please hurry and come down from there. I’ll take you home, so…”

Even as the young man urged her, Teruko did not even stir. “No, I can’t go back now.” “Rather than that, please do come up here.” “And then, in this quiet room, just the two of us, let’s have a nice long talk.”

Something was off. Could it be that Teruko-san had suffered terribly at the hands of villains and lost her mind? When Toriai suddenly thought such things, his lover looked so forlorn and lonely that he found her pitiable, and tears began to spill. He removed his shoes and stepped up onto the veranda to lift Teruko, who showed no sign of moving.

Teruko had her hair done up in the traditional bridal hairstyle just as in the photograph, slightly disheveled with stray locks dangling over her forehead. When he noticed, she wore only a single underkimono with a vivid red pattern—her chest bare, her pure white skin exposed—possessing an indescribably eerie allure. As if signaling Toriai’s hesitant placement of his hand on Teruko’s soft shoulder after a moment’s pause, the veranda candle went out. When that lone ray of light vanished, what remained was a true darkness as if ink had been spilled.

“Ah! Oh no.” “I’ve put out the fire.” “I have matches—I’ll light one now.”

As his hand fumbled frantically to find a match, a lukewarm woman’s hand tightly grasped it.

“No, it’s all right.” “We’re better off without candles.” “You see? Mr. Toriai, you don’t understand.” “That candle—I was the one who blew it out.”

Along with that voice, something soft and fluffy coiled around the young man’s body like a snake, rendering him completely immobile. The other’s hot breath stirred the downy hairs on his cheek. The young man, covered in greasy sweat, was dragged deeper and deeper into the nightmare. It all felt maddeningly, unbearably eerie, but he naturally had no will to resist. “Hohohoho, Mr. Toriai.” “Do you understand?” “...the meaning of this—” After he finally managed to struggle free, a bright laugh echoed through the darkness.

“Ah—that voice…? “Who are you? “Is that not Teruko-san?”

The young man Toriai, who had been lying limp, opened his eyes wide in shock into the darkness. He could not recognize either her actions or her words as those of Teruko. And then there was that completely different voice. Had Teruko truly gone mad? Otherwise, was the soft-bodied creature in the darkness from the very beginning not Teruko but some other woman?

“No, I am Teruko.” “I am your fiancée, Teruko. Hohohoho.”

The voice in the darkness laughed again. It really was Teruko’s voice.

“You know, I want to kill you.” At the same time as that voice, a soft snake smoothly slithered and coiled around the young man’s neck.

“Stop it.” “Come now, let’s return.” “Your father and mother are worried to death.” The final words he had started to speak went unvoiced. For the coiled serpent had tightened its grip steadily, choking off his breath. “Gh—gh—stop...” “What are you—?” “Have you lost your mind—?” The young man writhed violently, powerless against the frail-seeming arms binding him. “Hohohohoho! It’s nothing serious.” “I’m strangling you.” “Do you understand?” “Mr. Toriai.”

The voice had changed completely again. The young man heard it with his bloodshot, throbbing ears. And then, the moment he realized something, he suddenly began thrashing about like a fish caught in a net, desperately flopping in a life-or-death struggle. "I know... I know... It's... you... Devil... devil." As he struggled, a death scream burst from the young man's mouth. In his final moments, he clearly realized that the woman in the darkness was not Teruko but an astonishing woman.

Dreadful Lovers' Suicide

The following morning, when the appointed ten o'clock arrived, Mr. Shōbei Nunobiki prepared fifty thousand yen in ransom money and quietly sneaked into the vacant house in S Town. He passed through the gate, opened the lattice door at the entrance, and called out softly for guidance. Then, perhaps because the storm shutters were closed, a man emerged shuffling from the pitch-dark inner room. Dressed in the usual funeral car driver's attire, he was a grotesque monster resembling a gorilla. Though the clothing differed, Mr. Nunobiki instantly recognized this as the groom from that photograph and felt an indescribable sense of disgust.

“I am Nunobiki. I’ve brought what we agreed on over the phone.” “Hand over my daughter straightaway, if you would.” Mr. Nunobiki suppressed his discomfort—so intense he wanted to strike the man—and spoke meekly.

“Oh, Mr. Nunobiki? “We’ve been expecting you.” “Well now, please do come in.” The Gorilla spoke in an unexpectedly human-like manner. “No, I won’t come in. “Bring my daughter here immediately, please.” “I have the money right here.” “But since the young lady is currently changing her clothes, please do come in for a moment.” “I see. “Then please guide me to the room where my daughter is.” Mr. Nunobiki, caught off guard by the man’s gentlemanly manner of speaking, found himself stepping into the entrance.

“Isn’t it awfully dim in here? Are the storm shutters closed?”

“Heh heh heh heh heh, it’s a vacant house, you see.” The monster laughed eerily. “Are you the one who masterminded this whole scheme? I’ve seen that photograph, but you didn’t actually go through with marrying my daughter, did you?” “Heh heh heh heh, you’re too kind. The young lady is valuable merchandise, you see. We wouldn’t dream of angering the buyer. That photograph was taken as proof—after all—that our work isn’t some lie.”

Gorilla Man was uncharacteristically on the verge of rubbing his hands together. "So, where is my daughter then?"

“Here she is. She is on the other side of this sliding door.” Gorilla Man placed his hand on the sliding door and attempted to open it.

“From what I can see, you appear to be alone here. Do you think that’s wise? Haven’t you considered the possibility that I might take my daughter and leave without handing over the money?” Mr. Nunobiki suddenly felt like teasing the man and said. “Heh heh heh heh heh, do you think we’d overlook that? I may seem to be alone, but I’m certainly not by myself, you see. In that sliding door, besides the young lady, there is also a man you know quite well, you see. Heh heh heh heh. Moreover, we’ve properly scouted out that you came here all alone like a gentleman, keeping it secret from the police, you see.”

“Hmph, you’re quite the scoundrel,” Mr. Nunobiki retorted. “But I’ve made my own preparations. If you try swindling me out of my daughter, look here! With this, I’m something of a marksmanship master.” He brandished the pistol he’d readied. “Oh now, perish the thought!” The Gorilla feigned shock. “Deceive our best client? Unthinkable! This transaction matters dearly to me too. We’d never dream of such misconduct toward a patron like yourself… Now then.”

As he spoke, Gorilla Man smoothly slid open the sliding door. But beyond the sliding door lay an impenetrable darkness where not even shapes could be discerned. Even if Teruko had been there, there would have been no way to see her. "Oh! It's pitch black in here!"

Mr. Nunobiki stuck his face out from between the sliding doors and fixed his gaze into the darkened room. And then, from behind the sliding door, something white shot out and covered his nose and mouth. When he gasped and tried to pull back, before he knew it, Gorilla Man had locked both his iron-like arms around him from behind, leaving him unable to budge an inch.

“Mmph! Mmph…”

As he moaned and shook his head, an eye-stinging, intense odor began permeating his entire body. And then, helplessly, Mr. Nunobiki soon lost consciousness. The white thing that flew out from behind the sliding door was—needless to say—a cloth soaked with anesthetic; there another villain had been lying in wait, striking him by surprise. How much time had passed? When he suddenly opened his eyes as if waking from a dream, Mr. Nunobiki found himself lying in a pitch-black room.

Realizing he had been thoroughly deceived by the thieves, he felt around inside his coat—and sure enough, the cloth-wrapped bundle of banknotes was gone. It appeared they had even taken the pistol, for even as he felt around the area, nothing came to his hands.

“Ah, it was my misjudgment.” “Treating thieves as gentlemen and showing magnanimity was an outrageous blunder.”

Mr. Nunobiki stood up with a bitter smile at his childish failure. Fortunately, there was no sign that he had been harmed anywhere. At least his life had been spared. He groped his way to the veranda and opened the storm shutters. After all, with it being this dark, he couldn’t even see his own surroundings. As he opened each storm shutter panel one by one, though it was a cloudy day, a brightness nearly blinding streamed into the room.

Mr. Nunobiki turned around and gazed at the tatami room. And then, he jolted and stood stock-still there.

He suspected that the anesthetic-induced dream hadn’t fully lifted.

What could have so shocked and terrified Mr. Nunobiki? The readers already knew. There lay the most bizarre entwined corpses of a man and woman in lovers’ suicide. Beneath lay the figure of Miss Teruko, clad only in a single under-robe. Lying dead on top of her was the young man Toriai, whom he had parted with just yesterday morning.

Indeed,the thieves had not lied. In this room,Missterukohad indeed been present. There was also another“man you know quite well.” However,both had died.

Mr. Nunobiki, dumbfounded, was staring fixedly at the strange lovers’ suicide victims.

Why had the thieves needed to kill these two? If they had already stolen the ransom money, there was no need to commit such a dangerous murder. When he approached a bit closer to look, he saw blue bruises on the young man Toriai’s neck and realized he had been strangled. At the same time, Mr. Nunobiki saw Miss Teruko’s skin. And yet, even though she was his own child, he shuddered and couldn’t help but turn his face away.

Teruko’s face and chest had been plastered with white powder as thick as a wall, leaving her skin’s texture nearly invisible—yet even so, lurid purple blotches had appeared where the powder cracked and across her limbs. Her eyes were whitish and cloudy, like a fish’s eyes, and parts of her skin had already broken down, sagging limply where it had peeled away. The most gruesome was her chest. Countless scratch marks had been inflicted everywhere, and atop breasts swollen like jellyfish, young Toriai’s death-throe-distorted fingers had dug deep into the flesh like rakes.

What a ghastly lovers' suicide this was. The man had died just moments ago, yet the woman’s flesh was already rotted and putrefied, clearly indicating that several days had passed since her death. Ghastly Marks It goes without saying that Mr. Nunobiki reported this bizarre incident to the police.

Upon receiving the urgent report, officials from the Prosecutor’s Office, Metropolitan Police Department, and jurisdictional police stations rushed to the scene, where an immediate and meticulous investigation was conducted. At the scene, not a single clue worth mentioning had been left behind. Of course, no belongings of the thieves remained, and not a single fingerprint could be discovered. Since the thieves had illegally occupied a vacant house, even when they investigated the owner, they gained nothing. Neither Mr. Nunobiki nor any of the young man Toriai’s acquaintances had the slightest idea why Miss Teruko or Toriai Junichi would have incurred such resentment.

However, there were two things that had become clearly understood. The first was Gorilla Man, whose face was exposed in the wedding photograph. That this man was a fellow criminal had become clear through Mr. Nunobiki’s testimony. Therefore, the police devoted all their efforts to tracking down the grotesque Gorilla Man, using the wedding photograph as their sole clue. The second clue—though this remained unknown to readers at this point—was what came to be referred to as the "criminals’ propaganda," an audacious self-introduction by the thieves that rendered the case even more bizarre and mysterious.

The thieves had left their calling card at the crime scene. But it was no ordinary paper calling card. Even these seasoned police officers, when they discovered this utterly sinister thief’s self-introduction, involuntarily let out a gasp and averted their faces.

At that moment, the officials had gathered around Miss Teruko’s corpse to examine it. The corpse—decomposed over several days since death—gave off an indescribable stench; its skin looked ready to slough off slickly at the slightest touch, making it excruciatingly difficult to remove the kimono. The thickly powdered face alone retained a doll-like beauty, while directly below its neck lay gray rotting flesh—a combination that created an indescribably bizarre sensation. The medical examiner and a police officer turned the corpse face down and worked together to strip off the lustrous under-robe. Beneath the spiraled unfurling of red crepe silk, Miss Teruko’s gray back appeared gruesome.

“Whoa, what a terrible wound!” Someone involuntarily shouted. The entire gray back was covered with deep black wound marks resembling earthworms crawling about. But what complex wounds had been inflicted! No—they were not wounds. It was some sort of indescribably bizarre thing… No, no—they’re definitely wound marks after all. If they weren’t wounds, how could such horrific earthworm-like swellings have formed? However, even if they were wounds, they were by no means ordinary wounds.

“Hey, somehow these wound marks are shaped like characters.” “Look here—the upper one forms the character ‘kyō’ [恐] for ‘terror’.” “Then ‘fu’ and ‘ō’.” “It’s ‘King of Terror.’” “It’s ‘King of Terror.’”

A detective shouted.

Indeed, upon closer inspection, the wound marks could be read as "King of Terror." It was unthinkable that the marks from the corpse’s decay could have accidentally formed such shapes. The thieves must have intentionally damaged the corpse with a dagger or similar instrument and engraved this horrifying mark upon it. For what purpose? Though one could not hastily reach a conclusion, imagining from the meaning of the characters, this was likely none other than the thieves’ self-introduction. Everyone had noticed that point. And their deduction had hit the mark.

And yet, what a gruesome idea those thieves had conceived. He had hacked the beautiful young woman’s body to pieces and engraved that utterly bizarre human flesh calling card. Through sensationalist reporting that devoted nearly an entire page of the newspapers, this unprecedented bizarre incident became known nationwide, providing people with an excellent topic of conversation. Why did the thieves have to commit such a cruel murder? What was the purpose of the staged lovers’ suicide? Who was this “King of Terror” carved into the beautiful corpse’s back? And was that nauseating Gorilla Man in the photograph even human, or some beast merely resembling one?

People lowered their voices and whispered these terrifying questions among themselves. The thieves had audaciously announced themselves through a human flesh calling card. On top of that, they even ostentatiously flaunted photographs of their fellow Gorilla Man. And yet, mysteriously, despite all the efforts of the police, the whereabouts of the thieves—of course—along with their identities and even the motives for the murders remained completely unknown. The famed detectives of the Metropolitan Police could do nothing but stand by with folded arms, muttering, “We’ve never encountered anything like this—bamboozled by a fox!”

Yet with what brazenness did these thieves act! Whether they deemed the authorities' investigation half-hearted or not, they employed truly outlandish methods to flaunt before the citizens—time and again—the very name they ought to have kept utterly concealed: “Behold this! Can you still not capture me?” If these thieves were not madmen, then they must be called unparalleled villains of ruthless wickedness—the sort that appears once in a century, one in ten million. Five rice grains.

Changing the subject, among the friends of the victim Toriai Junichi was a detective novelist who went by the strange pen name Randō Ōe. Despite the antiquated ring of his pen name "Randō," he was still a thirty-year-old writer who had gained considerable fame in those circles for his bizarre writing style and his eccentric propensity to meddle not only in fiction but also in real-life criminal cases. Given this nature of Randō, when he heard the full story of Junichi Toriai’s unnatural death, he not only lamented his friend’s misfortune but also seemed to harbor the ambition to personally investigate this bizarre criminal case—even going so far as to hint at this intention to friends and acquaintances.

He was still a single man living in an apartment, but he was no stranger to matters of the heart. Far from being ignorant of love, he was blessed with a lover of extraordinary caliber.

When it came to Hanazono Kyōko, anyone who read the newspapers would know of her. She was the daughter of Count Hanazono—a court noble family—who, despite her aristocratic status, was a vocalist accomplished enough to perform on opera stages; moreover, she was an extraordinary beauty. As for why this aristocratic young lady had taken such a peculiar fancy as to fall in love with an impoverished novelist like him—it was likely her fondness for detective stories that had sparked it—but among those who knew of this, there was not a single soul who did not envy Randō’s good fortune.

Today as well, Hanazono Kyōko came to visit Randō’s apartment. But unlike her usual self, she somehow had an unenthusiastic expression. “That’s strange. Is something wrong with you?” “You’re awfully gloomy today.”

Randō Ōe immediately noticed this and asked. "Yes, just a bit." "There was something indescribably strange that happened."

Kyōko took out a small paper package from the breast of her Western-style dress and placed it on the table.

“What do you mean by ‘bizarre occurrence’?”

“Early this morning, after seeing off a friend, while I was in the waiting room at Tokyo Station, a strange man suddenly spoke to me.” “And then?” “He tried to slip me this paper package. Then he said, ‘This is the promised medicine. If you take this, your voice will become much, much better,’ and hurried off somewhere.” “You didn’t make any such promise, did you?”

“No, I don’t remember a thing.” “And who was this man?”

“Of course I don’t know him. He had his hair long, almost like a bob cut, wore black clothes, and looked like an old-fashioned artist, you know.” Esteemed readers, does this account from Kyōko not remind you of someone? You see, the man who received Teruko Nunobiki’s corpse from Gorilla Man and applied that creepy makeup. That was indeed the guy wearing black clothes in the style of an artist.

But Randō Ōe, having no way of knowing this, asked as he opened the paper package labeled “medicine to improve one’s voice” on the table. “So, was there really medicine inside this?” “Yes, but… it’s something like dingy rice grains—a truly unsettling thing.” “Of course you didn’t swallow any, did you?” “Yes, if it were poison, that would be terrible.”

Sure enough, when he opened the paper package, there were five grayish rice grains carefully wrapped. _Could such a thing as grayish rice grains even exist? Or were they pills shaped like rice grains?_ But as Randō absently rolled the grains between his fingertips for some time, he suddenly discovered something. He abruptly stood up, retrieved a magnifying glass from the desk drawer, picked up one of the rice grains, and began examining it intently. “Kyōko-san, these really are just ordinary rice grains.” “But why are they so grayish?” “You didn’t even bother to examine this properly, did you?”

“Yes… I was too creeped out…” “You see—this dingy one has characters written on it.” “There are characters written all over the surface of these rice grains—so tiny you couldn’t read them even with a magnifying glass.” “Oh! Really?”

“Take a look.” “Look—see? The same three-character combination is lined up here, dozens upon dozens of them, packed tight.” When Kyōko peered through the magnifying glass, there beneath it were two enormous fingers like logs, and sandwiched between them was a rice grain the size of a large melon. And, on its surface, King of TerrorKing of TerrorKing of TerrorKing of Terror……… were densely packed with black characters. “Oh… when you say ‘King of Terror’…” Kyōko looked at the detective novelist’s face with a start.

“He’s the one who forced my friend Toriai-kun into that horrific lovers’ suicide.” “That bastard has pulled another trick like this.” “Just when he’d carved ‘King of Terror’ into Ms. Teruko Nunobiki’s corpse for show, now he does this.” “Could that fiend have noticed I’ve taken an interest in this case?” “Oh! How dreadful!” “What should I do?” “Might he have marked us as targets?” “And then—perhaps you and…”

Kyōko had already turned deathly pale.

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Are you saying that someone will make you and me commit lovers’ suicide again? No matter how demonic he may be, even the Devil can’t execute such intricate schemes so easily. Rest assured—I am here with you.” However, the Count’s daughter had become so thoroughly frightened that, claiming she was afraid of the journey home, she asked Randō to escort her all the way to her mansion.

Mysterious Skywriting

The next day, Randō Ōe received a telephone summons from a friend living in Kamakura. An urgent matter requiring discussion had arisen, but unfortunately he was bedridden with a cold; thus came the student’s voice—presumptuously requesting that Randō kindly trouble himself to arrive here by noon.

When he promptly went to check, what did he find? The friend who was supposed to be bedridden with a cold had left for Tokyo that morning and was not home, and when he questioned the live-in student about it, the student insisted he had no recollection of placing any such phone call.

"Huh, this is strange." So those rice grains yesterday really were the thief’s challenge after all? "Could it be something’s happened to Kyōko-san while I was away?" No sooner had this thought struck him than anxiety overwhelmed him. As he rushed back toward Tokyo—the instant he stepped out from his friend’s entryway—an oddity snagged his gaze. It was a leaflet resembling a newspaper extra crammed with bold headlines printed large enough to dominate its surface—yet as he tracked its wind-fluttered dance across the ground through narrowed eyes—there flashed those cursed characters: “King of Terror.”

"Oh!" he thought, giving chase, but a small dust devil carried the paper fragment ever onward. Before he knew it, drawn along by its path, he had descended the entire meandering slope leading to the coast. Finally catching the paper fragment and reading it, he thought it might be an extra edition about the mysterious thief, but no—it turned out to be yet another of the criminal’s eerie pranks. On the paper fragment, just like with the rice grains, the characters "King of Terror" in large headline type were densely packed across the entire surface, as if it were a type foundry’s sample sheet.

“It’s the thief’s advertising leaflet.” “But what a lunatic he is!” “To go around advertising his own name everywhere like this...” “Is he a fool? If not, then he’s a guy brimming with terrifying confidence.”

If you call it childishness, then childishness it certainly was—but it was precisely those with this brand of childishness who possessed exceptional originality. If one perused the criminal histories of East and West, it became clear: the greater the criminal, the more they possessed a childlike, absurd vanity—the kind incomprehensible to ordinary people. As he pondered these things and suddenly looked up to gaze at the coast—what was this?

On the coast where the swimming season had long passed, wasn’t there a vast crowd swarming about as if it were midsummer?

Those people were not wearing swimsuits, of course—fishermen’s wives, shop boys from coastal merchants, even city-style gentlemen and ladies mixed among them—all uniformly gazing up at the sky.

“Ah, an airplane.” Realizing this, he followed the crowd’s gazes upward and understood why this utterly ordinary aircraft held such a massive throng of spectators spellbound. Over an ocean as smooth as tatami matting, beneath a cloudless navy-blue sky stretching endlessly above, a lone airplane carved bold curves through the air. From its tail streamed a billowing ribbon of black smoke. This was it. The coastal crowd stood transfixed by this aerial spectacle.

As the aerialist’s wondrous feats—reversals, barrel rolls, and spirals—sent it darting freely through the air, smoke as sinister as storm clouds swiftly painted uncanny curves across the navy-blue sky. “Is that a navy airplane?”

When he approached the crowd and inquired, “Well, where could it be from? It’s completely out of the blue.” “There was nothing in the newspapers about it, you know.” That was the answer. “Oh! Look!” “How splendid!” “That airplane is drawing characters in the sky.” “Look! Look!”

Someone suddenly shouted out.

Indeed, upon closer inspection, there in the vast sky was a gigantic Roman letter—over a hundred meters square—streaking straight, curving round and round: first taking shape as a K. Next, spinning around and streaking in reverse, billowing smoke revealed a y, followed by o, f, u, o…… By the time the final "o" was completed, the initial "K" had blurred and begun to lose its shape—yet precisely because of this, the sky-filling characters pressed down upon those below with a nightmarish intensity that made oily sweat seep from underarms: *Kyofuo*... *Kyōfuo*... **King of Terror!**

“King of Terror, King of Terror” No sooner had whispers surged up among the crowd than—like a tsunami of madness—they instantly spread and swelled into an eerie chorus that enveloped the entire coastline. “It’s the King of Terror! The King of Terror! That guy’s on that airplane!” But what could be done against this high-altitude demon hovering a thousand meters above? Ignoring the clamoring crowd on the coast shouting “Look! Look!”, the demonic airplane, concealed within the smoke characters it had drawn itself, rapidly diminished in silhouette and vanished into the distant horizon where sea and sky merged.

Trailing Curves Even after the airplane had flown away, the smoke-screen characters he had left behind continued drifting across the vast sky—hazy and blurry, expanding endlessly like some sinister mirage that refused to dissipate. Randō Ōe, perhaps thoroughly overwhelmed by the demon’s excessively grandiose propaganda, stood vacantly on the coast long after the crowd had dispersed. But when he suddenly regained awareness, he discovered a peculiar figure standing motionless at the water’s edge about eighteen meters ahead—staring fixedly at him.

"Strange. Why is that guy staring at me?" Suspicions seethed within him. Hair like tangled mugwort, a tattered old cloth coat, a belt tied with rope. Maybe a beggar—but why would a beggar be staring at him like that? When he glared back intently, the beggar-like man averted his gaze awkwardly and trudged off. While walking, he kept glancing back furtively. His behavior was utterly suspicious.

Unable to abandon his pursuit, Randō found himself starting to follow the beggar. Across the wide sandy beach, weaving right and left and even doubling back at times, the beggar kept walking endlessly. His manner of walking looked entirely like an aimless stroll, but perhaps this was a scheme to bore Randō into abandoning his pursuit.

Circling around endlessly—had he been walking across the sandy beach for thirty minutes?—when suddenly he noticed five or six children making a commotion atop a high stone wall. They were pointing at the beggar and Randō, chattering excitedly.

“That’s letters!” “Those men are making letters!” “Can you read them?” “Can’t you read? That’s the English letter K!” This bizarre conversation struck Randō’s ears. Wondering just what the children were talking about, he looked back behind him but could find nothing that resembled letters. But he couldn’t dismiss the mention of “the letter K.” He suddenly noticed something and ran up the steep slope to the top of the high stone wall.

“Hey, what are you all talking about? Where are the letters?” When he asked the children, “Hey, Mister! You drew it yourself but don’t even know? Lookie here! There it is! That’s it!” When he looked over the sandy beach they had pointed out, there on the deserted expanse of ground—where the beggar’s footprints overlapped with Randō’s own shoe prints—stretched an uncanny curve so vast it strained the eyes. Indeed, when he climbed up here and looked, those footprints had clearly formed the shape of Roman letters.

Spanning approximately half a chō—absurdly gigantic characters. Due to their sheer enormity, even as I traced them with my own shoe prints, I hadn’t noticed them at all. Kyofuo... Just as I thought—the six characters of "King of Terror." Hmm... Could the smoke screen in the sky earlier be casting a shadow on the ground? With this strange thought, he looked up at the sky—but the smoke screen had already dissolved, leaving not a trace of haze there anymore. Then had the smoke characters fallen to the ground and seeped into that sandy beach? Even the great detective novelist couldn’t help but doubt whether something was wrong with his own mind.

What wasteful nonsense—ridiculous yet extraordinary—this criminal’s self-promotion was! Festering letters on a corpse’s skin; microscopic characters etched onto rice grains; smoke-screen characters mistaken for black clouds across the vast sky; sand letters formed by footprints upon the ground—what unholy phenomenon was unfolding here?

The criminals were scattering demonic propaganda leaflets everywhere they went. Every last grain of rice served as the criminal's calling card. The entire expanse of the sky served as the criminal's calling card. A madman? No—such an orderly feat of liberation could never have been executed by a mere madman. That bastard was in his right mind. He was in his right mind while pulling off this absurd prank. He was a big shot! The incident involving Ms. Teruko Nunobiki had been nothing more than a warm-up. That bastard was finally scattering his calling cards across the world now—wasn't he? Once the self-introduction was complete—wouldn't this lead straight to the main stage?

But this was no time to be thinking such things. In short, the culprit was that beggar. It was precisely because Randō had followed wherever the beggar walked that those characters had appeared. In other words, the creator of these strange letters had been that beggar. When he looked, the beggar was already five or six blocks ahead along the coast, now as small as a bean in the distance. "Hmph! You think I'll let you escape?" Randō scrambled down the stone wall and immediately gave chase. Nine meters... eighteen... thirty-six—in moments, the distance between them rapidly shrank.

When the beggar bastard looked back and saw his pursuer, he abruptly broke into a run—though he clearly wasn’t much of a sprinter. He staggered off in an awkward run, but was no match for the lanky Randō.

“Wait—I have questions.”

Finally, the pursuer’s simian arm reached the beggar’s collar hair.

Natsuko Kitagawa (Widow) The beggar, his collar hair seized, showed no sign of alarm; he stopped defiantly and swung around. Ōe’s face and the beggar’s face came within about a foot of each other, confronting one another head-on. Against the backdrop of the ash-gray sky over the coast, the beggar’s face loomed large in close-up.

Randō was so startled that he involuntarily released his grip. The beggar had hidden his face with long hair—undoubtedly a wig—so he had remained unnoticed until this very moment; this beggar was none other than Gorilla Man. Though Randō had never met Gorilla Man before, seeing that grotesque visage left him no choice but to recognize who stood before him. Beneath the disheveled wig resembling a specter’s mane lay a narrow forehead, bulging eyes, a flattened nose, thick lips, and a row of large, stark-white exposed teeth—he bellowed with laughter as if taunting, “How’s that for a surprise?” A face of laughter so monstrously grotesque it made one’s hair stand on end.

He had intentionally let Ōe catch up just to show this face. And then, as per his usual routine, he would stage a "King of Terror" demonstration before attempting to flee once more. It was a gorilla—neither its strength nor its speed were within human reach. Seizing the moment of Ōe’s momentary distraction, he abruptly broke into a run. He moved so swiftly—not just with his legs but using both hands as well—that it seemed he might break into a simian sprint at any moment.

“Damn you, wait!” Ōe couldn’t help but feel a strange indignation toward this beast. With no room for consideration of anything else，he was simply—inexplicably—irritated. He had no small confidence in his running ability. He suddenly broke into a sprint after Gorilla Man. Across the desolate beach stretched as far as the eye could see unfolded a desperate race between a grotesque beast and a human.

Gorilla Man ran a couple of blocks, scrambled up a sand dune, and veered toward the town. It was a desolate area flanked by woods and fields, with rows of hushed mansions standing quietly. The criminal wove between the tall hedges and concrete walls of those buildings, darting this way and that in frantic circles, but whether by miscalculation or mishap, he ended up dashing into a dead end formed by walls on all sides. Both sides were concrete walls over ten feet high. The dead end became a high stone wall, leaving no gap to escape into.

"Got him. "I've finally got you!" Randō Ōe charged toward his quarry with triumphant vigor. Eighteen meters now. Nine meters now.

Gorilla Man crouched at the base of the concrete wall and stopped moving. Had he finally resigned himself? Or was he bracing himself to pounce on his approaching pursuer? No, that wasn’t it. Just like a zoo monkey, he nimbly leaped onto the wall and, with astonishing speed, effortlessly scaled that over-ten-foot-high barrier. He had fled into the garden of an unidentified mansion. Randō was so stunned by his opponent’s extraordinary speed that he stood blankly at the base of the wall for an instant.

“Is that even human? No track and field athlete could match such speed,” he thought, unable to suppress a shudder as his opponent now struck him as some terrifying beast. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t even reach the top of the wall. He hurried around to the front gate and informed the mansion’s owner—there was no choice but to capture the monster. “Come on out! If you don’t come out, I’ll wait here till nightfall!”

Randō shouted at the top of his voice, took precautions against the enemy escaping over the wall again, muffled his footsteps, and swiftly circled around to the front gate.

Fortunately, the gate had been left wide open; he rushed in and pressed the bell at the entrance of the Western-style mansion. At that very moment, the door opened, and a Western-dressed woman showed her face.

“Oh! Mr. Ōe!”

The woman cried out in surprise. When he looked, it was Widow Natsuko Kitagawa - his ardent reader whom he knew.

"Oh! Ms. Kitagawa?" "I wanted to meet the master of this house." As Randō said hurriedly, "The master? But this is my house."

The young widow answered with a smile. Randō Ōe had met her before and had even received letters from her—he knew her address—but having never once visited, he couldn't help being slightly taken aback at seeing this imposing mansion. "Oh! Please do come in." "I was just about to go out, but it's no trouble." "Oh! Please do come in." "You've truly come to visit at last!" "No, there's no time for that." "I need you to show me the backyard." "And tell me—do you have any live-in students or male staff here?"

“No, unfortunately there are no live-in students, but the backyard—what about the backyard?” The young widow wore an utterly astonished expression, as though wondering if this detective novelist had gone completely mad.

“Anyway, please show me the backyard. I’ll explain the reason later.” With that abrupt declaration, he opened the wicker door and dashed toward the back of the building, but soon returned to Natsuko—who still stood at the entrance—with a look of disappointment, muttering something odd under his breath. “Since it’s all lawn, there are no footprints. He must have scaled the wall and escaped after all.” “Did someone enter the garden? How creepy! Who is it?” The widow shuddered uncontrollably.

“Please let me use the telephone. I must notify the police.” Randō rushed into the telephone room with Natsuko guiding him.

As Natsuko stood outside the telephone room straining to listen, she could intermittently hear a voice mentioning "the King of Terror" and "Gorilla Man." She gasped and couldn’t help turning pale. “Mr. Ōe, has something happened to Gorilla Man? “Could it be…”

After hanging up and emerging, Randō collided with Natsuko’s horrifically contorted face. “There’s no need to be so startled. The truth is, that Gorilla Man climbed over the rear wall of your residence and fled into the estate.” Upon hearing this, Natsuko gasped “Oh!” and staggered backward unsteadily.

*Sorcery.* Before long, several police officers rushed over and conducted a thorough search of the garden and every corner of the mansion grounds, but Gorilla Man was nowhere to be found. Most likely, while Randō was making his way to the front gate, he had scaled the wall once more and fled.

Even after the police officers had left, Natsuko did not let Randō go. "I’ve sent my live-in student on an errand some distance away, so with only women left here, I’m feeling rather uneasy. Even if it’s an imposition, would you be so kind as to stay and talk until he returns?" Being told this, Randō couldn’t help but feel a certain bewilderment. Though she was a widow, Natsuko was still only twenty-five or twenty-six years old and, moreover, exceedingly beautiful. Moreover, before they knew it, night had fallen—the decorative lamps in the parlor glowed crimson—and they naturally found themselves being treated to an elaborate dinner through circumstances beyond their control.

While they were discussing various topics—the “King of Terror,” detective novels versus real crime—sure enough, a maid appeared to announce that dinner was ready. The dining room was as luxuriously equipped as the parlor and spacious enough to accommodate over ten guests; on the large table’s pure white tablecloth, appetizing Japanese dishes were neatly arranged. “Since my husband passed away, we no longer employ a cook, so I must apologize for serving you the maid’s home cooking.”

Natsuko apologized with an alluring smile and reached for the Western liquor bottle on the table.

“Allow me to pour your drink.” Feeling increasingly bewildered, Randō reluctantly raised his glass.

Is it because I informed them about the Gorilla Man incident that I'm receiving such preferential treatment? Or because they respect me as the author of those novels they always read? Or perhaps... Randō couldn't help interrogating himself. Something felt wrong. That a young beautiful widow would associate with a novelist and exchange letters was peculiar enough. Moreover, she'd long passed the age of being starstruck by literary fame. There had to be ulterior motives. Those coquettish words—Allow me to pour your drink—symbolized a certain intent. As this realization crystallized, he even recalled the suggestive phrasing from the letters she'd sent him.

Although the pen name Randō was rather unimpressive, he was still a thirty-year-old young writer and a renowned handsome man among his fellow authors, making him someone who frequently faced such temptations. Therefore, no matter how beautiful the other party might be, he was not the type of naive young gentleman to be immediately swayed by such things; and because his heart belonged to the Count’s daughter Kyōko Hanazono—a woman impossible to forget even for an instant—this young widow’s preferential treatment was nothing but perplexing to him.

The alcohol he drank with trepidation failed to intoxicate him, while Natsuko, having shared a glass or two, became gently flushed and gradually more talkative and alluring.

“I must take my leave.” “If I’m late, they’ll worry at home.” When he attempted to refuse, “You say ‘home,’ but there’s no wife waiting there.” came the immediate counterattack. “Oh, but isn’t this perfectly fine? This liquor doesn’t suit your palate, does it? Right now—right now—I’ll go fetch something that suits your palate.” Natsuko stood up slightly unsteadily and, signaling with her hand—“Wait right there”—exited through one of the doors.

Though Randō insisted he wasn’t drunk, the potent Western liquor forced upon him left his head slightly feverish. The unexpected hospitality in this splendid mansion—no, it wasn’t just that—the skywritten messages from earlier, the sand-written characters, even Gorilla Man… all of it began to take on a surreal, nightmarish quality, as though he were caught in some dreadful dream. While he sat there dazedly, his cheek propped on his hand against the white tablecloth, suddenly—as if this too were part of the nightmare—a woman’s sharp scream rang out from somewhere in the house.

“Huh?” he thought, pricking up his ears. “Help! Help! Mr. Ōe, help!” The scream—devoid of any shame or restraint—was unmistakably Widow Natsuko. He couldn’t abandon her. Randō stood up as if in a dream and dashed out into the corridor. At the end of the corridor, the maids were packed together like sparrows, unable to move forward, pointing at the room across. The screams for help were unmistakably emanating from behind that door.

He abruptly opened the door and leaped into the room. “Damn you! You’re still here?!” He involuntarily shouted and grabbed the back of a nearby chair. A gorilla. Gorilla Man had mounted Natsuko and was strangling her throat. Natsuko tore the hem of her sky-blue dress as she resisted, frantically struggling. “Don’t interfere. You—get the hell outta here!” The thief turned crimson like a demon, glared at Randō with terrifying eyes, and growled in guttural bursts.

“Stop. If you don’t stop, I’ll beat you to death!”

Randō raised the chair aloft and positioned himself to bring it down upon Gorilla Man's head. "Quickly! Smash him now!" Natsuko twisted her face in lewd contortion, screaming between ragged gasps. "Hrngh—take this!"

Randō smashed down the raised chair with all his strength. “Gyah!” A bestial scream. Gorilla Man, his shoulder wounded, finally rose from atop Natsuko—then turned toward Randō, gnashing his large white teeth and emitting a dreadful growl as he lunged forward exactly like a great ape. The beast and man tangled into a single mass, rolling across the floor. Though Randō had some knowledge of judo, against this wild beast it proved utterly useless. After one roll, two rolls, three rolls, he ended up pinned beneath Gorilla Man.

“You impudent—I’ll strangle you to death!”

Gorilla Man’s hairy hands began relentlessly tightening around the throat. Randō had already exhausted his strength and had no energy left to push back. His ruddy face, being strangled, swelled and turned purple before his eyes. “Heh heh heh... How’s that feel, brat? Hurts, don’t it?” “Just a little more patience.” “You’ll black out soon and be off to paradise.” “Do you have any last words?” “Heh heh heh heh… Even if you wanted to say your last words, you can’t speak now, can ya?” The beast cruelly released his grip only to tighten it again, released and tightened, all while gradually increasing the force of both hands.

And then, suddenly—just as a sharp crack! of gunfire rang out—the room’s windowpane shattered with a crash, glass cascading down.

“Now let go—release those hands! If you don’t, your back’s next.” Behind the two men locked in struggle, Widow Natsuko Kitagawa—now gripping a small pistol—had appeared at some point, standing rigid with all her strength, teeth clenched. The hand holding the pistol trembled violently. Even such a fierce beast was no match for projectile weapons. Gorilla Man grudgingly released his hands and stood up, then began inching backward toward the door.

“Mr. Ōe, please stay strong! Are you all right?” “Are you all right?” Natsuko kept her pistol aimed and leaned over the fallen Randō as she shouted. Randō rubbed his throat and heaved himself up. He had not yet given in. As soon as he stood up, he roared and charged out. “Wait, you bastard! I won’t let you escape this time!”

While Natsuko was distracted by Randō, Gorilla Man had escaped through the door. Randō chased after him and rushed out into the corridor. Gorilla Man ran down the straight corridor—back hunched, scuttling like some crawling insect. Yet whether from confusion or panic, he was fleeing toward the direction opposite the entrance. The corridor ended at a room. Gorilla Man abruptly threw open its door and hid inside. Without a moment’s delay, Randō too leapt through that same doorway.

It appeared to be a guest bedroom—a room so sparsely furnished that there was nothing beyond a bed, a small desk, two chairs, and a small dresser. Except for under the bed, there was nowhere for a human to hide. The windows were latched from the inside. Moreover, iron bars were visible beyond the glass window. Nevertheless, when Randō rushed in and looked, there was no human figure there. Needless to say, he looked under the bed. Neither behind the small dresser nor behind the door—nowhere was Gorilla Man’s figure visible. It was strange. The monster had vanished like smoke.

At that moment, Natsuko timidly entered. “He has vanished completely. Surely there isn’t a secret door in this room…” Randō asked absentmindedly.

“There’s no such thing here, I assure you.” “He truly did flee into this room.” “There’s no doubt about it.” “By a mere step’s difference—I was the one who rushed in.” “A difference of mere seconds.” “And then he’d vanished without a trace.” Randō still felt as though a nightmare were tormenting him.

Then, over a long period of time, they thoroughly searched not only that bedroom but every single room, down to the corners of the kitchen—yet not a human soul appeared, let alone a single cat come leaping out.

Was Gorilla Man using ninjutsu, or had he mastered some simian sorcery unknown to humankind? But no matter how inhuman the creature might be, there was no way it could have transformed into smoke and vanished. There had to be some deception at play meant to obscure it from sight. What form that deception took would become clear in due course.

The Bathtub Specter

Once again, they requested police officers to come to the residence, and a search was conducted as before, but to no avail. When the commotion had settled down and the host and guest were once again seated facing each other in the previous dining room, it was already past nine o'clock at night.

“Thank you very much.” “If Sensei hadn’t been here, I don’t believe I would be sitting here talking like this now.”

Natsuko had the dining table cleared, offered tea to Randō, and finally began to speak in a composed manner. “Not at all—I’m the one,” he said. “If you hadn’t fired that pistol back then, I’d have lost my life. Still, I must say I admire your decisive action. That’s no ordinary feat.”

Randō, feeling sincere gratitude for his life being saved, praised Natsuko. "Oh my, what should I do? I showed you such an embarrassing sight... But if I hadn't done that, you would have been in danger." "Absolutely, it was dangerous. He was genuinely trying to kill me."

“It’s mutual, isn’t it? You save me, Sensei, and I save you—that’s how it is, isn’t it? I can’t help but feel this isn’t mere coincidence. I had a strange premonition that something like this would happen someday.” This young widow appeared terribly pleased by their mutual act of saving each other.

“Um… I know this is truly an inconvenience, but… um… wouldn’t you consider staying here tonight? The live-in student still hasn’t returned, and if Sensei doesn’t stay here with me… well, I simply couldn’t bring myself to sleep in this house. Please… I’m begging you. Moreover, returning to Tokyo at this hour would be quite difficult.”

Natsuko spoke in a coaxing tone and looked up at Randō.

“Well, I would be grateful to stay, but it would be rather presumptuous of me to impose on a lady living alone like this.” “Then, let’s decide that I’ll take my leave as soon as the student lodger returns.” “It’s fine even if the trains have stopped running.” “After all, I have friends in Kamakura as well.” Randō spoke with a truly troubled look. “Oh my, how stubborn you are.” “You shouldn’t embarrass me like this, you know.” Natsuko lowered her voice to a whisper, narrowed her eyes, and put on a resentful smile. Ah, that seductive allure! Randō felt as though he was gradually losing confidence.

Pull yourself together. You must not succumb to temptation. You have a lover to whom you've pledged your heart, don't you? Even for a single moment, is it acceptable to forget about Kyōko Hanazono? To weigh that lovely, pure maiden against this brazen older woman in your heart—what a despicably degraded man you are. "Well then, there's no help for it, I suppose. At least until the student lodger returns... You must be tired, Sensei. And you must have worked up a sweat—won't you take a bath? I had them prepare it earlier, so it should be ready by now."

Natsuko changed her approach and pressed seductively.

“No, I’ll manage after I return. Please don’t stand on ceremony.” Randō battled his own heart before hardening his resolve and replying. “Well then, I’ll excuse myself briefly. It’s truly improper to ask you to stand guard while I bathe, but I’ve become so disheveled that facing you is shameful. I’ll just wash my face. It will only take a moment—please wait here.”

Natsuko said something like a prostitute would and, upon seeing Randō nod, hurriedly left for the bathroom.

And after a while—Ah, what a cursed day this had been. Once again from what seemed to be the bathroom's direction, a shrill scream rang out. Was that Gorilla bastard lying in ambush in the bathroom this time? No sooner had this thought crossed his mind than Randō felt utterly exasperated. The scream continued ceaselessly. The maids became so terrified that rather than helping their mistress, they fled from before the bathroom while shouting, "It's horrible!" They could only keep crying out, "Madam! Madam!" over and over.

He couldn't just abandon her there. Though the bathroom was truly an inconvenient location, this was no time for such complaints and hesitation. Moreover, layered grudges against Gorilla Man weighed upon him. Randō asked a maid where the bathroom was located and raced there; upon arrival, he violently threw open its door.

But when he threw open the door and took in the bathroom at a glance, he suddenly felt dizzy and froze in his tracks. There, in a chaotic jumble, countless lumps of flesh were squirming. A kaleidoscope of human flesh—something like that—had spread out before him, filling his entire field of vision with a strange yet beautiful display. Startled by the overwhelming strangeness, for a while he couldn’t discern whether it was a dream or reality, but when he finally regained his composure and looked closely, he began to understand the bathroom’s bizarre structure.

The bathroom was an octagonal room made entirely of mirrors. Without any seams and composed entirely of thick glass mirrors encircling the bathtub in an octagonal shape—with even the ceiling made of the same mirrors—it was, so to speak, a gigantic kaleidoscope. Likely stemming from the extravagant whimsy of Natsuko’s late husband who delighted in peculiarities, it had been constructed not merely for bathing but as a kind of spectacle for visual amusement. The octagonal mirrors reflected each other, projecting dozens or hundreds of nude female figures; each time they shifted even slightly, it bloomed into all manner of fleshy blossoms just like when turning a kaleidoscope.

Natsuko, who had stood up in the bathtub while screaming, upon seeing Randō’s face—even she blushed in embarrassment—hurriedly hid her body back in the water and shouted with only her head protruding: “Sensei! This... this was floating in the bath! Such a horrifying thing bobbing right there!”

*So it wasn’t Gorilla Man this time?* “Excuse me. The maids were too frightened to come near. …What was floating?”

Randō, somewhat bashfully offering apologies, asked in return. “This! This!” Natsuko pointed disgustedly at an object in the corner of the bathtub, but perhaps unable to bear sharing the same bathwater with it, she resolutely grabbed the thing and flung it out of the tub. In that instant, Natsuko’s hand became three. Five-pronged fingers—fifteen in total—reflected in eight mirrors, transforming into countless wrists that danced.

The object that had been flung into the washing area was indeed a human wrist. It was a fresh, terrifyingly severed arm cut at the elbow. There it lay on the white tiles, quivering endlessly like konjac jelly. This was no ordinary matter. A severed arm couldn't have fallen from the sky nor gushed from the faucet. Someone had stealthily thrown it in and left it there. But this was no mere someone. It could only be that Gorilla Man. That bastard must have left this behind as a parting gift when he fled.

However, if there was a severed arm left here, there had to be someone whose arm had been cut off. Then, had they committed another horrific murder somewhere? "Oh, there's something written on this arm," he said. "It looks like a tattoo." Randō involuntarily stepped into the bathroom and peered down at the grotesque severed arm. "King... of... Terror," he muttered. "Ah—just as I thought. It's their work. This arm bears a tattoo of the King of Terror."

Yet again, it was a demonic propaganda message. “Oh! …Where…?”

Natsuko, also losing all composure, leaped out of the bathtub. In the eight mirrors, images of a completely naked beautiful woman from every angle squirmed seductively—no, rather terrifyingly—with twisting motions.

Something truly astonishing occurred. The lushly alluring, completely naked form of the young widow now lay before Randō’s eyes. Her skin, flushed and glossy from the bath’s warmth; each tiny hair glistening with imperceptible dewdrops; deep shadow lines contouring her entire body—all these transformed into hundreds upon thousands of images across the mirror surfaces: some facing backward, some sideways, some head-on, undulating and shifting.

If this had been an ordinary situation, Natsuko would have been so ashamed she wished to vanish, and Randō would have immediately covered his eyes and fled—but this was no ordinary moment. Before the two of them lay a gruesomely fresh human arm. All sense of shame, awkwardness, and even carnal desire had scattered away somewhere; their hearts were now utterly dominated by eeriness and terror. Perhaps thinking there was no end to this, Randō leaned over the severed arm and, enduring the revulsion, picked it up with two fingers.

When held up to the electric light and examined closely, it was unmistakably a woman’s—moreover, a young woman’s—arm. “Oh, how dreadful. Someone must have been killed.”

Even when Natsuko called out to him, Randō remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the fingertips of the severed arm. Gradually, gradually, his complexion began to change. His eyes flew open so wide they seemed ready to burst from their sockets, his mouth gaped slackly open, and his breathing grew increasingly violent. "Oh! What's happened to you? Sensei! Sensei!" Natsuko, alarmed by her companion's abnormal state, forgot her own nakedness and pressed close to Randō as she cried out. "I recognize this finger."

“Eh? What do you mean?” “Ah—how horrifying! I know who owns this arm. Let this be a mistake—but surely not…” Randō stopped mid-sentence and swayed as though about to collapse.

Ah, who in the world was this severed arm's owner that could so unsettle a man of his stature? And moreover, had his dreadful surmise struck true?

Disappearance of the Young Lady

Randō Ōe recognized the small scar on the little finger of the severed arm. He turned deathly pale and shouted. “I know who this arm belongs to. Someone I’m very close to. Madam, I can’t stay here like this. I must take my leave.” Randō attempted to hurriedly rush out of the bathroom.

“Wait, please wait! If you leave me here, I’ll be too frightened to stay in this house any longer. Wait! Take me with you.”

Natsuko, her slick, completely naked body still wet from the bath and all sense of shame forgotten, chased after the young man and grabbed his arm. “Who is that person? That woman you’re close to—” “It’s Count Hanazono’s daughter. I must confirm it for myself—I cannot rest easy otherwise.” Randō shook off Natsuko’s hand and took another step toward the door. “Your lover? Eh? So it’s true?” Natsuko, with tenacious feminine strength, grasped Randō’s shoulders and whirled him around to face her. And with her face and exposed form, she exhibited an indescribably coquettish allure. Randō stared fixedly at the sight. He stared fixedly at the excessively bold physical expression of the young woman. And he trembled in terror.

There was a sweet, intoxicating scent that made one’s senses tingle, a slick, slippery texture, and a gigantic pink flower that seemed to be collapsing into laughter with its entire being.

“I’m sorry. I can’t stay here like this. I must return to Tokyo immediately and confirm it.” Muttering deliriously, Randō darted his eyes around. Then, a large bath towel hanging on one side of the room caught his eye like a godsend. He suddenly grabbed it, flung it open, and swiftly wrapped up the indecent flower blooming before him.

“Madam, I must take my leave now. Until the student returns, gather the maids and have a chat or something. And if you just make a call, the police will come right away. It’s all right. It’s all right.” With each word, he stepped back, and finally opened the door. And leaving Natsuko’s resentful voice behind, he hurriedly made his way to the entrance. While hurrying through the late-night streets toward the station, a conveniently empty taxi happened to pass by, so he jumped in after briskly negotiating the fare to Tokyo Kōjimachi.

He drove at full speed through the dark avenue and arrived at Count Hanazono's residence in Kōjimachi around eleven o'clock at night. With no time to stand on ceremony despite the late hour, he got out of the car and frantically pressed the gate's electric bell. As if lying in wait, the student servant rushed out and guided him to the parlor. There, electric lights still blazed brightly. Before long, the count and his wife appeared together. "Is Kyōko-san safe? If by any chance..." "Could it be..."

When Randō saw the Count, he skipped formalities and immediately posed his question. "Ah! You already know?" "It's good you've come." "I'm utterly at my wits' end myself."

It was the Count’s reply. Though still oblivious to Ōe and Kyōko’s excessively intimate relationship, he knew full well of Randō’s considerable aptitude for criminal investigations—having invited him to tea gatherings and such events as the novelist Kyōko so admired. “So then… how is her condition?”

When he asked whether Kyōko was injured and resting in the back or had been hospitalized, the Count looked puzzled,

“Eh? Her condition?” “Have you heard something about this?” “As for me, I don’t even know her condition—I have absolutely no idea of her whereabouts.” “Moreover, while everyone in the house remained unaware of her going out, she vanished as if she had disappeared into thin air.”

Around ten o'clock that morning, a visitor came to Kyōko's room. He was a peculiar man wearing large Lloyd glasses with a bushy mustache who had brought a letter addressed to Kyōko. When the student delivered it, she read the letter and instructed them to guide him to her parlor. After conversing for about fifteen minutes, the strange man departed. According to the student who escorted him out, there had been nothing unusual about his behavior at that time.

About an hour later, when the maid went to Kyōko’s parlor to inform her of lunch, Kyōko—who should have been there—was nowhere to be seen. This caused an uproar, and they searched every corner of the mansion from end to end, but it was as if she had evaporated into thin air—not a trace of her remained anywhere. Upon checking, her outdoor clothes were all properly arranged, and not a single pair of footwear was missing. It was unthinkable that a young woman would have gone out barefoot. Since they found the earlier visitor suspicious, they searched for the letter he had brought, but even that letter had vanished without a trace.

They inquired with Kyōko’s friends and relatives, but she hadn’t gone anywhere. They had also enlisted the police’s help, but there was still no good news. With no further avenues left to pursue outside, all they could do was exchange pallid glances and heave sighs of despair within the house.

It was at that moment that detective novelist Randō Ōe came rushing in. It was only natural that the Count and Countess ushered him in as if they had been lying in wait.

“So, when that strange man left, Kyōko-san remained in the parlor, correct? At that time, did you notice anything unusual?”

After hearing the circumstances of the young lady’s disappearance, Randō Ōe questioned the student who happened to be present there. “Nothing particularly…” The student answered. “Since I didn’t actually see the young lady’s face.” “When the doorbell rang, I went to check and found that from behind the door, the young lady said, ‘Please escort this gentleman out.’ After that man opened the door by himself and emerged, I simply led the way and escorted him to the entrance.”

“And then, you didn’t go to the young lady’s room again?” “Yes, I just went into the student’s room next to the entrance and was reading a book.” “So, until the maid went to inform her about lunch and discovered the young lady’s room was empty, you remained in the student’s room the entire time?” “That’s correct.” “Even though from the student’s room one could see not just the entrance but all the way to the gate, the young lady never once passed through there.” “While I was reading, I was also constantly paying attention to anyone passing through the gate.”

“You’re certain there’s no mistake?” “No, absolutely not. As long as the young lady didn’t go out by climbing over the garden wall, it’s utterly inconceivable that she couldn’t be seen. It’s truly mysterious.”

In the King of Terror’s cases, "mystery" was a constant companion. There was no need for surprise now. “Well then, could you show me the young lady’s parlor once?” Randō said something like a veteran detective and stood up from his chair.

One-Armed Beauty

Kyōko’s parlor was a Western-style room spanning about ten tatami mats. One corner held a carved writing desk, swivel chair, and bookshelves; another boasted an opulent dressing table; while yet another housed a large upright piano that gleamed blackly. Randō entered the room with the Count and Countess. True to his reputation as a detective novelist, he immediately focused his attention on the carpet. A splendid piece—dark brown with black patterns, luxuriously thick and soft. He paced across it, meticulously inspecting every inch until stopping at one particular spot. Swiftly bending down,

“What is this?” He pressed his finger against the spot to test it. The carpet’s dark color had made it go unnoticed, but upon closer inspection, there was indeed a faintly large stain. Randō moistened his index finger with saliva, rubbed the carpet vigorously, then held his finger up to the electric light and examined it.

“Look here. It’s blood. Just as I thought.” He said, his pale face contorted with intense emotion. “Huh? Blood, you say? Then Kyōko could it be… Ah! You know everything, don’t you? Please tell me quickly! Was she killed?” The Countess Hanazono’s voice broke into a sob as she shrieked. “No, I don’t know everything. Only…” “But what do you mean by that?”

“However, I saw Kyōko-san’s right arm at a certain location. I definitely saw the young lady’s wrist—a wrist I recognized. An arm severed at the elbow.”

“Ah!”

With that scream, the Countess lost all strength to speak further and slumped into her chair, covering her face. "Where was that? You're not just talking nonsense, are you?" The Count's voice rose shrilly. "I hoped it was my misunderstanding as I rushed to your mansion with my heart in turmoil. But judging by this bloodstain's condition, that must indeed be the case. Kyōko-san was killed by the 'King of Terror.'" "Wh-what did you just say? Who did this to her?"

“King of Terror.” “You know about him, don’t you?” “It’s the murderous demon King of Terror that the world is now in an uproar about.” “On that young lady’s arm, ‘King of Terror’ had been tattooed.” No sooner had a strange sound—something like a hollow groan—been heard than Countess Hanazono’s body crumpled from her chair. She had lost consciousness from the sheer shock. Thereupon, they called maids and students, had her drink reviving brandy, and a great commotion ensued; but the Countess soon regained consciousness and still wanted to hear the frightening story. Even when urged to go to his bedroom, the Count would not consent until he knew whether his daughter was alive or dead.

“This is what I think.” When the commotion subsided, Randō continued speaking. “The man with Lloyd glasses who came to visit Kyōko-san was undoubtedly one of the King of Terror’s gang. They silenced the young lady in this room, severed her right arm, took it away, tattooed it somewhere, and then flaunted it before me.” “It’s their game of utmost cruelty.” “It’s a murder advertisement.” However, what was puzzling was that while they could have discreetly taken away something as small as a severed arm, where did they dispose of Kyōko-san’s corpse… no, I shouldn’t definitively call it a corpse yet… where did they dispose of Kyōko-san’s body? This was the first question.

Then there's another point—when the live-in student came to this door, he was ordered from inside in the young lady's voice to escort the guest out. Someone who'd had their arm cut off wouldn't speak in such a normal manner, you understand. In that case, should we consider Kyōko-san's arm was severed after that moment, meaning this strange man has no connection to the incident?

“No, no—that’s probably not the case. The criminals staged an elaborate performance to obstruct the criminal investigation. They themselves used the young lady’s voice imitation. I have some thoughts regarding that matter.” “The ‘King of Terror’ once stole the corpse of a young woman named Teruko Nunobiki while still in her coffin. They dressed the corpse in a long-sleeved bridal kimono and made it perform a mock wedding ceremony. When Teruko’s father went out in his automobile one night, Teruko—who should have been dead—leaned out from the window of a passing car and called out ‘Father’ in her living voice. Reflecting on it now, that was indeed skilled voice imitation. Perhaps the criminals have even mastered ventriloquism—that secret technique of magicians.”

As he spoke, Randō Ōe paced in circles around the room, examining the desk, mirror stand, and other furniture by looking at them and running his fingers over their surfaces. Finally stopping before the piano, he opened its lid and— "I wonder if I’ll ever hear Kyōko-san’s beautiful voice again." Muttering to himself, he playfully tapped one of the white keys with a pop. Then came a strange, twanging sound with no lingering resonance.

“Oh? What’s wrong?” When he tapped another key, there was that same twang again. “This is no time to be playing the piano! Mr. Ōe! We must report this matter to the police immediately.” Count Hanazono flew into a rage upon seeing Randō’s seemingly carefree mischief. “Is this piano damaged?” “It doesn’t produce any proper tone at all.”

Randō was still preoccupied with the instrument.

“What does that matter now?” “No—that’s precisely where you’re mistaken. There’s something profoundly wrong here. I’ve never heard a piano make such a strange sound.”

As he spoke, Randō wildly scrambled all ten fingers from one end of the keys to the other. Twang-clang, twang-clang, twang-clang…

An indescribably eerie sound resounded throughout the room. But ah—what was that. Amidst the metallic clamor, a flute-like voice—high-pitched and fragmented—began drifting through the air from nowhere in particular.

“Oh!”

Randō withdrew his hand from the keys with a shudder. But the piano refused to stay silent. The flute-like voice continued endlessly. It was too long for a lingering resonance. Moreover, it carried a tone that seemed to gnaw at one’s very soul.

“It is indeed a human voice.” Randō exchanged glances with the Count and Countess and whispered.

"But there’s no one here, is there?"

The Count looked around the room with evident unease. "No, inside here." "Wh-what? You mean inside the piano?" "It's probably the person we've been searching for."

No sooner had he spoken than Randō turned the screws on the piano’s lower painted panel and effortlessly opened it. “Ah! Kyōko-san, stay with me!” Inside the piano’s body lay Kyōko, crammed into an impossibly contorted position. The vibrations from the strings roused her unconscious nerves, drawing forth a faint moan of pain. This became that eerie flute-like sound that had leaked outside. Randō gathered his fiancée’s limp form in his arms and laid her upon the carpet.

The Count and Countess rushed over, leaned over their daughter, and called her name repeatedly. “Ah! She’s come to her senses.” “Mr. Ōe! Kyōko has opened her eyes!” Kyōko, whom they had been certain was murdered, was safe after all. The parents’ ecstatic joy was only natural. Upon looking, her right hand had indeed been injured. Fortunately, the bandits had tightly bound the wound to prevent blood from dripping, so the bleeding wasn’t too severe, and she had narrowly survived.

“Oh, she’s holding something like this in her left hand. “Ah! This is the letter that man brought.” “Mr. Ōe, please look at this.” As Count Hanazono took and presented it, Randō opened it and read aloud: “The man who brought this letter is my friend. There is a matter regarding that affair which I must absolutely discuss with you. As I could not come myself, I have sent this man to call upon you. Please meet with him and hear the details. Randō Miss Kyōko”

“Bastards! They’ve forged my name.” “I certainly have no memory of writing such a letter.” As Randō moved to fold the read letter, his casual glance at its reverse revealed crude block letters scrawled in red pencil. “What’s this?” Reading further confirmed it as the bandit’s authentic message. A threat. Kyōko, I shall spare your life. But from this day forth, you must cut all connection with Randō Ōe. You shall not speak to him. You shall not write to him. Should you defy this order, know your life will be forfeit. King of Terror

“Hmm? What on earth does this mean?”

Randō could not comprehend its meaning.

"Is it to make Kyōko sever ties and torment me? But even without resorting to such roundabout methods, shouldn't there be plenty of other ways to take me out? Or could it be that they fear my detective skills and are saying such a thing? No—it seems that's not all there is to it." No matter how much he thought about it, he could not comprehend. Behind this incomprehensible message’s meaning, he felt certain some dreadful secret lay concealed.

“No, this thing doesn’t matter at all. More importantly, Kyōko-san’s well-being is what matters. We must call a doctor immediately.”

Randō said as he put the bandit’s letter into his pocket.

The Wriggling One

It was about a month later that Kyōko’s wound healed and she returned home from the hospital. During that time, Randō Ōe had refrained from even visiting his lover out of concern for potential harm from the criminals. When Natsuko Kitagawa in Kamakura learned of Kyōko’s incident, she immediately visited Randō to offer her condolences. Naturally, she herself had also undergone police questioning regarding that tattooed severed arm affair and suffered no small amount of trouble. “All three of us are being plagued by the same enemy, aren’t we? That King of Terror creature is such an inhuman monster! We must combine our strength to stop that fiend.”

She spoke in that manner. Moreover,

“Now I’ve completely figured out Sensei’s secret.” “Kyōko-san is your lover, isn’t she?” “Right? That’s how it is, isn’t it?” “Hohohoho.”

She also said something lewd. When Randō spoke about the bandits' threatening letter, "Oh, so that’s why you haven’t been visiting the hospital." "And you’re making such a gloomy face, aren’t you?" "How unfortunate for you." "Ah, I have good news." "I’ll go visit her as your proxy." "I’ll be your very letter and convey everything exactly as you say." "Now, that’s acceptable, isn’t it?" She added such remarks.

Natsuko would visit Kyōko at the hospital, and on her way back, she would invariably stop by Randō’s apartment, where she would theatrically convey how much Kyōko longed to see him, all while teasing the young writer. As their meetings grew more frequent, the reserve between Randō and Natsuko gradually faded away. Given that they shared a common enemy, even Randō could not bring himself to outright reject the approaches of this flirtatious widow.

The two of them would sit facing each other in a room of the apartment and talk at length for hours. Natsuko brought Western liquor and food, trying to stay in Randō's room as long as possible. As they grew intoxicated, it became inevitable that their conversation would gradually take on a flirtatious tone. Randō could not meet Kyōko, yet he kept meeting Natsuko constantly—and on top of that, she was intensely alluring. If this situation continued, he began feeling uneasy, fearing something unforgivable toward Kyōko might soon occur.

However, without any particular incident, the day of Kyōko’s discharge arrived. A congratulatory letter arrived from Count Hanazono marking her auspicious discharge from the hospital. Randō could no longer restrain himself and visited the Count’s mansion, where after a long interval he saw Kyōko’s face and heard her voice. Kyōko lay upon the large bed in her father the Count’s bedroom. She still lacked sufficient vigor to rise. They had selected the Count’s bedroom because it was the most secure location within the estate. On the very day of Kyōko’s discharge—as Count Hanazono had been obliged to depart on a two- or three-day journey—they further reinforced their defenses by recruiting two powerfully-built youths from among the student-retainers’ acquaintances and instituting three-man rotating watches at the bedroom entrance.

Out of concern that he might overly excite the patient, Randō insisted on leaving despite Kyōko’s attempts to detain him; but upon seeing the stringent security measures, he withdrew reassured that no phantom thief could possibly breach them. When he returned to his apartment, Natsuko Kitagawa was once again waiting in his room. “You went to visit Kyōko-san, didn’t you? Sensei, are you all right? Haven’t those bandits declared that if you utter even a single word, you’ll lose your life? Isn’t it dangerous?”

She said, half out of jealousy, to frighten him.

“No, that’s quite alright. Three judo-trained students are keeping watch around the clock. Moreover, the room is the innermost bedroom—outside the door there are absolutely no exits, making it an extremely secure location. All windows have iron bars fitted to them as well.”

When Randō said this, “Hohohohoho, do you truly believe such measures would deter the King of Terror?” “It’s useless.” “That fiend cares nothing about locked doors or armed guards—they mean less than dust to him.” “He’s a sorcerer, you know.” “There’s no danger tonight.” Then she began uttering increasingly disturbing remarks.

There, the two of them vigorously debated the King of Terror’s capabilities, but a beautiful woman only grows more beautiful the more intensely her emotions flare. Moreover, in Natsuko’s case, on top of that, there was that well-known widow’s allure at play, so the trouble she caused him was no ordinary matter. In the end, they talked until evening, and after leaving behind an excuse for her next visit, Natsuko left. But around midnight that very night, her words proved ominously prophetic when a terrifying incident occurred.

Randō, who had already gone to bed, was awakened by the shrill ringing of the telephone. When he picked up the receiver, the caller abruptly—

“Ōe, go to Ms. Hanazono Kyōko’s place immediately and see for yourself.” “And behold how precisely your enemy keeps their promise.” “Surely you haven’t forgotten the red pencil warning letter that Ms. Kyōko was clutching.” “Now, go and behold at once.” With that, he continued talking by himself and hung up without waiting for a response.

This was no mere prank. Something had happened to Kyōko. Randō prepared to go out immediately and hurried to Count Hanazono’s mansion. On the way, it suddenly occurred to him—could this be the bandits’ doing? He considered that some sort of trap might have been prepared, but he had no time to dwell on such concerns. He was suffocatingly worried about Kyōko’s safety.

When he arrived, the Count’s mansion had already fallen silent with sleep. Since the Count was away traveling, Randō had the Countess awakened and explained the circumstances of the phone call, whereupon the Countess—

“My daughter is resting well.” “I just made my rounds moments ago.”

With that, she looked puzzled. So, thinking that perhaps it had indeed been nothing more than a scare, he allowed himself a moment of relief; however, just to be certain, he decided to go with the Countess to check the bedroom once more.

When he asked the student keeping watch at the room’s entrance, he received an answer that there was nothing amiss here as well. The two of them opened the locked door and stealthily slipped into the bedroom. Looking closer, around the large bed hung a thin silk like a mosquito net from the ceiling, within which Kyōko’s face could be faintly seen as she slept peacefully. “She’s resting soundly.” “There has been absolutely no change from when I made my rounds earlier.” The Countess let out a sigh of relief.

Randō pressed his face against the thin silk without ceremony, peering at Kyōko’s sleeping face, but eventually noticing something, grabbed the Countess’s arm with an urgent air.

“Madam, look here,” Randō urged. “Look at Kyōko-san’s sleeping face. Isn’t she too still? And that pallor—what do you make of it?” “Wh-what are you implying?” The Countess stiffened, her eyes locking onto Randō’s. “Madam, to be certain—please try waking Kyōko-san. Something isn’t right.” Without waiting for further prompting, the Countess swept aside the gauzy veil. She leaned over the bed and gently shook her daughter’s form beneath the white blanket.

“Kyōko-san! Kyōko-san!”

However, there was no reply. The Countess frantically searched beneath the blanket for her daughter’s left hand and grasped it. It was cold, exactly like ice. “Kyōko-san, what’s wrong with you? “Look here, Kyōko-san!” In a near-frenzied state, the Countess pulled the grasped hand with force.

And then, something truly horrifying occurred. The Countess fell onto her backside with a loud thud. Still clutching Kyōko’s left hand. It was an extremely comical sight. That very fact made it all the more horrifying.

Just as a doll’s arm might detach, Kyōko’s hand slipped out cleanly. Around the cut end, layer upon layer of white cloth was wrapped, and the bleeding had been stopped.

Randō left the fallen Countess where she lay and suddenly threw back the bed’s blanket. Beneath it lay Kyōko’s mutilated corpse, both hands severed. Her breathing and pulse had ceased entirely. Though hidden by the blanket until now, the sheets were hideously stained with blood. "Hey! Someone get over here now!" At his loud shout, two student guards keeping watch came rushing in. When they saw Kyōko’s condition, they cried out and froze like statues.

Something utterly impossible had been carried out. The two student guards had not left their posts for a single moment. Needless to say, apart from the Countess herself, not even a kitten had entered the bedroom. And no one had exited either. The window bars showed no signs of tampering, and neither the floorboards nor the ceiling had any suspicious features. "If no one left here, then the culprit is still in the room." "You all, search at once!" But even if told to search, where else were they supposed to look? The space under the bed was fully visible, and there wasn’t a single spot outside where a person could hide. The students stared at Randō in astonishment.

Randō smiled wryly at his own words yet seemed unable to abandon the search, pacing about the room here and there. As he paced—perhaps having lost his mental equilibrium—he tripped on the rug’s edge, staggered unsteadily, and lurched against the wall-embedded safe door. Then came something strange: perhaps the safe door hadn’t been properly closed—it emitted a faint click and seemed to shift ever so slightly.

The Count had installed a safe in his bedroom as a precaution against theft. However, in any household, safes are always kept sealed. Moreover, since one could not open it without knowing the combination, they had disregarded the safe alone when searching for the thief. But if that door truly wasn't closed—could it be that thief had killed Kyōko-san and even stolen the money? “Madam, wasn’t this safe closed?”

When he hurriedly asked, the Countess—who had been clinging to her daughter’s corpse and weeping—finally raised her face. “No, my husband should have securely closed it. “Moreover, no one besides my husband knows the combination, so there’s no way it could have been opened, but...” the Countess answered with a puzzled look. “It seems it truly wasn’t properly closed. “May I open it to check?” “Yes, please do.”

Having obtained the Countess's permission, Randō placed his fingers on the safe door's handle. And then, just as he began to open it slightly, he seemed to startle and slammed it shut again. "What's the matter?" Because Randō's expression was so strange, the Countess asked in surprise.

“Hahahaha, I’ve caught you, Madam.” “There’s no escaping now.” “The culprit’s hiding right inside this safe!” “When I tried opening the door just now, there was strange resistance.” “I felt something squirming behind this thick iron plate.” Hearing this, the two student guards braced themselves, approached the safe, and tried to open its door. “No, wait!” “There’s no need to rush opening it.” “First, call the police.” “And it won’t be too late to make proper arrest preparations afterward.” “He’s already a cornered rat.”

Randō boasted triumphantly, rubbing his hands together as he spoke. "Still—what an odd hiding spot to choose, a safe." "That scoundrel slipped into this room before you started your watch, hid inside the safe, and waited for his moment." "And since I've now shut tight that door they'd left a gap in for air, he'll soon be gasping and come bursting out." "Just watch."

A phone call was promptly made to the police. The student guards prepared sticks and thin ropes and took up positions in front of the safe. Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes—the suffocating time crawled by sluggishly. Sure enough, no sooner had a strange rustling sound come from inside the safe than the door suddenly shifted and was flung open from within. “Gah!” An unearthly scream erupted. The culprit had finally reached the limit of his endurance and leapt out into the midst of his enemies of his own accord.

Dowry: ¥100,000 The safe door was flung open from within. And then, something like a black mass came flying out like a bullet.

“Ah, Gorilla! So it was you!” Randō spread both hands and tried to grapple with the bullet-like figure. This was none other than that grotesque Gorilla Man—the King of Terror’s kindred fiend. Two student guards clutching sticks clattered forward. Countess Hanazono pressed both hands to her face and crouched in the room’s corner. But the marauder proved as tenacious and swift as an actual gorilla. With an ape-like “Gyaa!”, he shoved aside the approaching Randō and fled behind the bed—the very bed where Kyōko-san’s corpse still lay undisturbed.

“Don’t worry—there’s no way you’re getting away now. There’s only one exit. Now, Gorilla, come out.” Randō spread his arms wide like the demon in a game of tag, bracing himself vigilantly. “You two flank him from both sides. Now, there’s nothing to fear. He doesn’t have any weapons. There’s nothing to fear at all!” Following Randō’s instructions, the two student guards closed in from left and right toward the far side of the bed.

Gorilla Man was now utterly cornered. Behind him was a window, but it had sturdy iron bars. Even if he tried to crawl under the bed to escape, Randō stood blocking the way beyond it. Moreover, the enemies on both sides were brandishing thick sticks and closing in moment by moment. But this beast did not panic in the slightest. A chilling grin spread across the gorilla-like face of the beast, his glaring eyes fixed on Randō.

“Bwahahaha… You think I don’t have a weapon? You mean a weapon—like a pistol? Or maybe a nine-and-a-half-inch blade? Hey, Randō! Can’t you see this? Look—such a splendid weapon!” The gorilla said in a voice like a cracked bell. They had thought he would just keep screeching, but this beast proved he knew human language. No sooner had he spoken than he leapt onto the bed with blinding speed. What the—what’s he doing?

“Look—here’s my weapon!” Gorilla suddenly grasped Kyōko’s corpse by the neck and thigh with both hands and effortlessly hoisted it up to chest height. It was a human shield. “Ah! What do you think you’re doing?” “Let go.” “If you don’t let go—” “Bwahaha… So if I don’t let go, you’re saying you’ll send some projectile my way?” “But this young lady will protect me.” “Now, Randō, it’s you who needs to get out of the way.” “And clear my way out.” “No?” “If you say no—look! Like this! Like this!”

The gorilla bared his teeth in a snarl while threateningly tightening his grip on her neck and thigh， bending the young lady’s corpse into an arch like a bow—to such an extent that her spine seemed ready to snap at any moment.

Then, from one corner of the room, a scream like tearing silk arose.

When he turned around, Countess Hanazono was staring at Gorilla’s hands with bulging eyes, her face twisted into an indescribably strange, tearful expression. “You mustn’t! You mustn’t! “Spare me that much!” “Mr. Ōe! Mr. Ōe! Hurry and get her back!” The beast’s behavior was far too savage. Even had he not heard the Countess’s scream, as her lover, Randō could not stand by and watch Kyōko’s body—corpse though it was—be bent and snapped like a piece of straw.

“Wait. Put the young lady down.” “If you do that, I might just let you escape.” Randō finally showed weakness.

“Bwahaha… You got me there.” “Then clear the way.” “Get out of there!” The gorilla bared his teeth. “Alright. I’ll move.” “In return, you release the young lady.”

As he spoke, Randō backed away toward the corner of the room. There was just a slight opening there.

Gorilla Man leapt down from the bed in an instant and dashed toward the room’s entrance like an arrow. Still holding Kyōko's corpse under his arm. Greedily, he even grabbed the severed left arm with one hand. “Hey! What are you doing with the young lady?” “Stop!” Shouting, Randō chased out the door. The two students also followed after. From the outer corridor came Gorilla Man’s parting remark, shouted while running. “This here’s my weapon—can’t just carelessly let go of it.” “If you catch up to me, look—I’ll snap her right in two!” “Your precious woman, you know.”

And then, the sound of the fleeing man’s and his pursuers’ footsteps hurriedly faded away toward the entrance.

Countess Hanazono didn’t know what to do. It was a frustration beyond tears. If Kyōko’s corpse were to never return like that, what explanation could she possibly give to her husband, Count Hanazono, who was away on a trip? At this thought, her heart suddenly felt crushed. Without leaving the bedroom, she collapsed onto the ownerless bed and began to weep soundlessly.

After about ten minutes had passed, Randō Ōe and the students who had given chase returned empty-handed. After that, pale-faced maids timidly peered out from the bedroom entrance. “Madam… I’m terribly sorry—we let him get away.” Gasping for breath, Randō spoke. The Countess finally raised her face and looked around dazedly. “Then… that Kyōko too…” “Yes—Kyōko-san’s corpse as well.” “I first stopped by the nearby police box and asked them to arrange a police line by calling the main station, but…” “It might already be too late.”

“Did you lose them?” “Yes… I don’t consider myself inferior to anyone in a footrace, but against him, I’m no match.” “He’s a complete gorilla.” “He’s not human.” “He runs like a black wind while carrying such heavy things.” By the time he turned about three street corners, there was no trace of him left. “He was truly a terrifying monster.” “Even if they set up a police line now, it would probably be futile.”

Randō explained apologetically.

“It’s true.” “Madam.” “He isn’t human!” “We ran so hard our hearts nearly leapt out of our throats!”

One of the students shouted in disappointment.

For a while, no one spoke.

In short, they had no idea what to do. In the deep silence, only Countess Hanazono’s fragmented sobs continued intermittently.

“By the way, Madam—is there anything unusual about the safe?” “Has anything gone missing?”

Randō abruptly changed the subject and asked. “Well, I… I haven’t checked yet…” The Countess Hanazono weakly stood up and went to the safe. Looking inside, the paulownia double doors of the safe had been destroyed by Gorilla Man to conceal himself, the inner shelves utterly wrecked, and a great number of documents pressed into the bottom of the box.

When she opened the lower drawer of the paulownia double doors and looked inside, she found that only one was completely empty. No, it wasn’t entirely empty—in place of the bundles of bonds, a single piece of paper had been left behind.

“Oh! The bonds are gone.” “Oh! What am I supposed to do?” “And then there’s this…” Randō took the strange piece of paper from the Countess and asked a question. “So how much was it? Was it an exceptionally large sum?”

“Yes, 100,000 yen. “The face value is 100,000 yen. “If that doesn’t return, we’ll be utterly impoverished.” The pitiful Countess Hanazono said frantically with maddened eyes. Randō read through what appeared to be a criminal’s note left behind. Therein lay written an astonishing message as follows: Your Excellency Count Hanazono, That your daughter Miss Kyōko loved me so excessively as to propose marriage proves rather an unwelcome favor to me. For I must clarify that I feel not the slightest affection for Miss Kyōko.

However, being unable to refuse your daughter’s earnest wish, I have decided to hold a splendid wedding ceremony tomorrow night at my residence. Therefore, tonight I have come to receive the bride. Your Excellency, I must say this marriage is somewhat of an imposition. I repeat, I do not love your daughter in the slightest. In such cases, according to societal custom, it is only natural for the bride to provide a dowry. I turn a blind eye to that dowry and proceed with this unwanted marriage. The bonds totaling 100,000 yen contained within the safe have been duly received as the aforementioned dowry.

From the simian members of the King of Terror’s household

Good heavens, what a situation. Was Gorilla Man attempting yet again to hold a wedding with the corpse? Moreover, this time the corpse had no hands. In old slang, they called such a wretch a 'tokurigo'—one bereft of hands. What on earth did he intend to do with this handless corpse bride?

Gorilla Man’s remarriage. That’s right—this beast had indeed grown lonely. He intended to take the second corpse as his bride. Along with a massive dowry. What sort of terrifying wedding ceremony would that fiend conduct this time?

The Beast Running Through the Darkness

The true identity of the mysterious thief who called himself the "King of Terror" remained completely unknown. Readers already knew of a certain individual who had once applied strange makeup to the deathly face of Teruko Nunobiki. He was a small-statured man in a black Western suit with a pallid face, his thick, luxuriant hair—like that of an artist—hanging down to his shoulders. Perhaps that man was none other than the "King of Terror". Could he not have been that very person? Judging from how he had spoken to his partner Gorilla Man as if addressing a subordinate, this conjecture seemed likely correct. Yet that long-haired mysterious figure never once showed himself before us again after that time.

All we knew were the bizarre actions of Gorilla Man, who undoubtedly served as the thief's subordinate. That bastard had murdered the Count’s daughter Kyōko Hanazono in a bizarre manner. Not only had he murdered her— He fled to parts unknown, clutching the corpse beneath his arm.

Where had Gorilla Man gone? What had become of Kyōko Hanazono’s corpse? Although the police had left no stone unturned in their search—not only that night but even by the following day—the criminals’ whereabouts remained completely unknown.

However, that night, something truly mysterious occurred. A bizarre incident, as if born of madness, occurred.

The reason was that nearly a full day and night had passed since the incident occurred, and on the following night, Gorilla Man was spotted once again running while clutching Miss Kyōko’s corpse in the same manner as before. What in the world was this? Could it be that he had been wandering through the streets of Tokyo for over twenty hours, clutching the corpse?

Around eleven o'clock that night, as a plainclothes detective from the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department's Investigation Section—referred to as Detective K—was walking through a desolate residential district near Ueno Park, he spotted ahead of him a strange figure staggering along while clutching what appeared to be a young woman under its arm. “Hey, stop!” When he called out, the figure startled and turned—but no sooner had it glanced back than it suddenly broke into a terrifying sprint; the face that flashed into view was clearly not human. It felt like some sort of simian creature.

Detective K felt a strange sensation—surely a monkey couldn’t be running around wearing a kimono—but then he suddenly recalled the “King of Terror” case. Moreover, there was the fact that Count Hanazono’s daughter’s corpse had been stolen the previous night. The abductor was none other than a subordinate of the “King of Terror” who had earned the nickname Gorilla. So it’s that Gorilla Man after all. And what he’s clutching under his arm is the Count’s daughter after all. “Got him! This is a big one!”

The detective chased after the monster with vigor. It was a desolate town devoid of people. Both the pursuer and the pursued could run as they pleased without any obstacles. Turning corner after corner, they continued their strange chase for five or six blocks. They became two black masses and ran through the wind. Even for Gorilla Man, carrying such a heavy burden made running at full speed no easy feat. The distance between the two was gradually narrowing.

If he kept running like this, it was certain he’d be caught in an instant. He had to do something. Gorilla Man finally made up his mind. He resolved to abandon his prized catch and ensure his own safety. “Yeah, if ya want this so bad—here! Take it!”

He kept running while shouting with hatred, hurling the corpse he had been carrying to the ground. The detective faltered momentarily at this unexpected assault. Without so much as glancing at the young lady’s corpse, he failed to maintain his focus on continuing the chase. He found himself involuntarily halting before the discarded body.

Taking advantage of that opening, Gorilla Man managed to put eighteen meters between himself and his pursuer. If that policeman hadn’t appeared ahead of him at that moment, he might have made a clean getaway. But even as he fled, the detective’s whistle blast proved effective. A policeman who had heard it materialized directly in front of the criminal at that very instant. No ruffian, no matter how fierce, could withstand enemies attacking from both front and rear when exhausted from running. After a vicious struggle, Gorilla Man was finally subdued and bound.

The two policemen took custody of the criminal and returned to where the young lady’s corpse lay. “You—just as I said earlier—this guy is undoubtedly the King of Terror’s henchman Gorilla.” “After all, he was running while holding this corpse.” “This here, you—it’s Count Hanazono’s daughter.” Detective K explained. They were acquainted with each other. “Hmm, I see. Last night’s incident, then.” “This is one hell of a catch!” The two policemen, delighted by their unexpected triumph, peered down at the corpse on the ground. The streetlight’s glow faintly illuminated the woman’s Western-style dress.

“There’s no doubt. Judging by the clothing, this is definitely the Count’s daughter!”

“Wow, she has a beautiful face.” “It’s just like a doll.” Amidst the policemen’s excited voices, stifled snickers could be heard.

“Hey, who was that? Who laughed just now?” “You bastard! Hey, what’s so funny?” Detective K yanked the rope end and rebuked Gorilla Man. Even after being scolded, Gorilla Man continued to grin slyly but offered no retort. “Wait a second, hey—something’s off here!”

The policeman who had been peering at the corpse said in a shrill tone. "What’s wrong?" "I thought she was a beautiful young lady like a doll, but you—this here’s an actual doll, I tell ya." "Look here! If you tap its face, it clacks!" It was undoubtedly a doll. It was a mannequin standing in a clothing store’s shop window. "Bwahahaha!"

Suddenly, Gorilla Man's brazen laughter erupted. But even if they were laughed at, there was no helping it. They had mistaken the mannequin for a real woman's corpse and chased after it with wild eyes—there was simply no way to salvage their dignity.

But wait.

It was strange for someone to be running around late at night holding a mannequin—and besides, if they weren’t a thief, there’d be no reason to flee. Well now—so this guy was a mannequin thief after all?

No, that didn’t seem to be the case. A mere mannequin thief wouldn’t flee so desperately, nor would he put up such fierce resistance. Moreover, this guy’s face was repulsive. His face bore an uncanny resemblance to the descriptions I’d heard of Gorilla Man’s features. So Detective K, concluding that the man was undoubtedly some kind of criminal regardless of the specifics, resolved to throw him into the Metropolitan Police Headquarters’ detention cell for now and seek his superior’s opinion.

Now, when the next morning came and they summoned the student servant of Count Hanazono’s household to have him verify the identity, sure enough— “This one. The thief from two nights ago is undoubtedly this one.”

That was the response. Furthermore, through the testimony of that same student servant, it came to light that the Western clothes placed on the mannequin were not a stitch different from what the young lady Kyōko had worn that night. Since initials indicating it was Kyōko-san’s belonging had been sewn into the collar lining of the garment, there could be no mistake.

Things were growing increasingly baffling. Where on earth had Gorilla Man hidden Kyōko-san’s corpse? And why would they dress a mannequin in those clothes and carry it around? It was an utterly preposterous tale—as though they’d been tricked by a fox spirit. At the Metropolitan Police Headquarters, Detective K’s superior—the investigation chief—had taken charge of interrogating Gorilla Man, engaging in a battle of wills with him all day long. Yet ultimately, he gained nothing. No matter what they asked him, Gorilla Man refused to give proper answers. When he did respond, he spouted nothing but nonsense. They were at their wits’ end.

Where had he hidden Kyōko's corpse? For what purpose and from where had they stolen the mannequin? Who exactly was his leader, the "King of Terror"? To all other lines of questioning, they failed to obtain a single satisfactory answer.

No, that wasn’t all. As the interrogation continued, something truly terrifying occurred. The Investigation Chief lost his temper and slapped the criminal’s cheek—that was the mistake. Up until then, though he hadn’t given any proper answers, Gorilla Man had at least been responding quietly. But enraged by that blow, he suddenly began to rampage. He let out a strange, guttural cry—something like *Gya!*—bared his teeth, assumed a visage terrifyingly identical to that of a real gorilla, and lunged at the Investigation Chief. The Investigation Chief was nearly killed by this beast. No, this was no exaggeration. Later on, in fact, there was even a policeman who was bitten by Gorilla Man.

His agitation showed no signs of subsiding. For several days, he continued to rampage. The more abuse the police inflicted, the more his ferocity intensified. And finally, a policeman fell victim to his fangs, resulting in a shocking incident that left the officer between life and death. People had to doubt whether this man belonged to humankind or the animal kingdom. For a monkey, it was strange that he had human skin and understood human language. However, for a human, he was far too powerful and ferocious.

In the end, for the sake of this superhuman being, a zoo cage was brought into the basement of the Metropolitan Police Headquarters. The beast was confined within that cage and interrogated inside it. This was truly an unprecedented scandal.

But that is a tale for later.

We must now speak of the bizarre incident that occurred at the D Department Store on the day following Gorilla Man’s capture. Wedding Ceremony Inside the Department Store

On the afternoon following Gorilla Man’s capture, a splendid invitation enclosed in a large Western-style envelope arrived at Randō Ōe’s apartment study where he sat deep in thought. The text read as follows.

The wedding you have so kindly assisted in arranging will finally be held today at 5:00 PM at D Department Store. We kindly ask that you adjust all prior engagements to attend. King of Terror Kyōko Hanazono Indeed, Gorilla Man would marry Kyōko’s corpse. No, not Gorilla Man. This invitation states "King of Terror." Regardless of which, Kyōko had become the criminal’s wife and would have to expose her corpse to disgrace. But of all places—D Department Store? And at 5:00 PM, no less? What audacity! Do they intend to hold that horrifying wedding ceremony amidst such a massive crowd?

Randō promptly reported this matter via telephone to the Metropolitan Police Headquarters and the Hanazono family. The Metropolitan Police Headquarters responded that they would promptly dispatch detectives to D Department Store. Just as he had finished making the phone call, Natsuko Kitagawa suddenly appeared.

“Things have taken a dreadful turn, haven’t they. They still haven’t located Gorilla Man.” She said this without even a greeting.

“He was captured last night.” “However, he hasn’t confessed a single thing about where he hid Miss Kyōko’s corpse.”

Randō Ōe briefly recounted the details of Gorilla Man’s arrest that he had been told that morning by a student from the Hanazono family.

“Well, they say he dressed a mannequin in Miss Kyōko’s clothes and carried it around.” “How strange.” “Why ever would he do such a thing?”

“That’s something no one can understand.” “The gorillla isn’t saying anything.” “No, the mystery doesn’t end there.” “Look here.” “This invitation has just arrived now.” Natsuko read through the wedding invitation and remained silent for a while, then suddenly let out a joyful cry. “Mr. Ōe, I feel like I’m starting to understand something. "Yes, that must be it!" “It all adds up!” “I feel like I’m turning into a great detective!”

Randō, knowing this young and beautiful widow's somewhat eccentric disposition, wasn't particularly taken aback by her exaggerated words. "What exactly have you figured out?"

“It’s about the meaning of this invitation. Why they chose D Department Store as the venue and why Gorilla Man was carrying around that mannequin.” “Well, you claim to have figured that out?” Randō asked back, taken aback. “Is there some connection between choosing D Department Store and that mannequin dressed in Miss Kyōko’s clothes?” “Absolutely!” The widow radiated confidence. “The key to solving the mystery lies there. At first glance, these two seemingly unrelated matters hold all the secrets.” She clasped her hands. “Oh, how thrilling! A puzzle even you couldn’t solve—I’ve unraveled it!”

“So you’re a lady detective now, are you?” Randō was dumbfounded. “Would you tell me what this secret is?”

“Of course I’ll tell you.” Natsuko grew even more self-satisfied. “But rather than that, why don’t we go to D Department Store together now?” “And let’s verify whether my imagination proves correct?” Randō felt somehow fox-bewildered, but since Natsuko’s words didn’t seem entirely nonsensical, he ordered a car regardless and rode off with this alluring widow. “So you believe the criminals would hold this bizarre wedding ceremony at D Department Store... in such a crowded place?”

In the moving car, Randō had to ask foolish questions, just like Dr. Watson. “Yes, I do think so. The more crowded it gets, the more it plays into the criminals’ very plan. If you look at the King of Terror’s methods up to now, you’ll understand. He loves to flaunt his evil deeds—that’s the King of Terror for you. Holding a wedding ceremony with a corpse at a major department store—isn’t that just the sort of idea you’d expect from the King of Terror?”

“I agree in principle, but…” “Mr. Ōe, Gorilla Man was captured near Ueno Park, wasn’t he?”

“Yes… and D Department Store is also near Ueno Park, isn’t it?” “I understand that much, but…” Randō made a slightly vexed expression.

Before long, the car arrived at the entrance of D Department Store. The two of them walked side by side like a couple who had come shopping and entered the store.

“Where in this gaudy store’s corners could the King of Terror be hiding? Where are you trying to lead me?” Randō suspected Natsuko might be thoroughly duping him.

“The sixth floor.” “Oh, do come along with me now.” The widow calmly hurried to the elevator entrance.

There, while waiting for the elevator, something suddenly caught Randō’s attention. A beautiful poster plastered on the wall of the elevator entrance.

"Sixth Floor Event" “Wedding Ceremony Life-Sized Dolls and Wedding Costume Exhibition” In ornate lettering, those words were written large. “Natsuko-san, I’ve got it." “This must be it.” “You must have known about this event from the newspaper or something, didn’t you?” Randō whispered close to the widow’s ear.

“Yes. You’ve completely figured me out.” “As expected of you, Sensei.” “What do you make of it?” “Could my imagination be mistaken?” Natsuko said with a smirk.

“It seems too outlandish. “However, since we're dealing with the King of Terror, your wild imagination might actually hit the mark.” “Anyway, let’s hurry and go see.”

The two got on the elevator and went up to the sixth floor. The event venue was a swarming crowd. Pushing their way through the throng, they viewed several wedding doll scenes until finally reaching a display of the san-san-kudo sake exchange ceremony—the traditional three-times-three nuptial cup ritual. Above the heads of spectators pressed against bamboo railings, the upper bodies of groom and bride dolls—splendidly dressed from the chest upwards—were visible.

“There! If that’s the case, then that must be it! Let’s go up front and look.”

Natsuko took Randō’s hand and pushed through the crowd. Against the backdrop of a spacious traditional alcove decorated for a wedding, the bride and groom, matchmakers, parents from both families, attendants, and others were arranged as though alive. A splendidly extravagant wedding ceremony. If this groom doll were the King of Terror himself and the bride doll were Kyōko’s corpse, then one would have to say the criminals’ scheme had succeeded splendidly. However, could there be such an absurd thing as those prim bride and groom being not dolls but real humans?

“Hey, Sensei, don’t you think the bride doll is bowing her head a bit too much?” “The face is in the shadow of the light, don’t you think?” “Would a dollmaker really do such sloppy decoration work?”

Natsuko, who had been staring intently, tugged on Randō’s sleeve and whispered. “Hmm, it does seem a bit strange.” “And I feel like I’ve seen that face somewhere before.” “Yes, I do think so too. “Since it’s a dead face with heavy makeup, the features would change a bit.” “At first glance you wouldn’t think it’s Kyōko-san, but there’s something about it that resembles her, don’t you think?” “That’s right. "As I kept looking, Kyōko-san’s features gradually began to emerge." “Moreover, that posture seems a bit unnatural for a doll.” “Let’s call a clerk and have them examine it.”

Randō extricated himself from the crowd, stopped a clerk, and whispered something. At first, the clerk made no move to respond, but gradually his face grew serious, until finally he turned deathly pale and dashed off somewhere.

Before long, an elderly clerk hurried over, accompanied by two in-house detective investigators.

The spectators were driven away from in front of the wedding ceremony scene. The two detectives and Randō went up onto the stage.

“I knew it. This isn’t a doll.” A detective peered closely at the bride doll and shouted. “But both of these hands go clack clack—they’re definitely doll’s hands, I tell ya!” Now, the other detective clapped the bride’s hands together and said in puzzlement. “No, this corpse has no hands. They were cut off by the criminals. That’s why doll’s hands have been attached in their place.” As he explained this, Randō touched the bride’s face. It was too cold for wood. Moreover, it was plush and springy.

“Damn, this reeks.” “Why didn’t we notice this stench sooner?” “Get over here—the smell’s unbearable.”

One of the detectives shouted brusquely. Thus was Kyōko Hanazono's corpse discovered. The fiends had indeed kept his promise. Within the department store under public observation, they had conducted a horrifying wedding ceremony. Yet only the bride had been found. What on earth had become of the groom? A wedding ceremony with only a bride—such a thing simply didn't exist.

Then, could it be that this prim groom doll was actually a real human after all? Could this be none other than the King of Terror himself in an exquisitely clever disguise? As he thought this, Randō couldn’t help but feel an uncanny shudder. He brusquely approached the doll and suddenly shoved its shoulder area. Then, the doll clattered noisily and toppled over right where it sat, still in its seated position. The attire came undone, exposing the half-missing chest.

“Hey, there’s something written on this doll’s chest!” The detective noticed it and shouted. People gathered around the toppled groom doll. When they looked at its chest, there were indeed letters written in jet-black ink. This doll that has served as the groom King of Terror is hereby to be arrested as a substitute for the King of Terror. At the fiends’ excessively brazen joke—if it could even be called a joke—everyone was so dumbfounded that for a time, no one could utter a word.

Eccentric Artist

The day after exposing the bizarre incident of the bride doll at D Department Store together with the beautiful widow Natsuko Kitagawa, Randō Ōe slept late until around noon in his apartment bed. This was because Kyōko’s wake had been held at the Hanazono residence the previous night.

Just as he had washed his face and changed into a kimono, there came a knock at the study door. A visitor. He left the bedroom and opened the study door.

“Excuse me, is Mr. Ōe’s room this way?”

A strange man stood in the hallway.

He wore a black suit with a black tie, large black glasses, and a black velvet soft cap. He was an unnervingly dark-skinned, small-statured man; beneath his hat hung thick, flowing long hair, and beneath his nose grew a dense mustache. He had the air of what one might call a Western-style painter.

“I’m Ōe…” Since Randō had never seen this man before, he answered with a strange look on his face.

But you, dear readers, already know this. This small-statured, long-haired man was none other than Gorilla Man's leader—likely the "King of Terror". That man was he. At the beginning of this story, when Gorilla Man disguised himself as a driver and stole Teruko Nunobiki’s coffin, that man—the mysterious figure who had been lying in wait at the vacant house and applied makeup to the corpse’s face—was he. That man audaciously came to visit Randō Ōe. “I have the honor of meeting you for the first time. My name is Kurose. There’s something I’d like to discuss.”

The mysterious man introduced himself in a gentle, artificial voice. Of course, it was nothing but utter nonsense. “What business brings you here?” Randō looked the man up and down suspiciously.

“Well, actually… regarding the King of Terror incident…”

The small-statured man who had introduced himself as Kurose lowered his voice and declared portentously. Upon hearing "King of Terror," he couldn’t refuse the meeting. Randō promptly invited Kurose in. “Has Gorilla Man confessed?” “The newspapers haven’t reported anything about that yet, but…” The mysterious man sat down on a chair and began without any preamble. "He isn’t saying anything." "He isn’t talking about his accomplices either, and he won’t even confess his own name." "He just keeps thrashing about like a wild beast and is completely unmanageable." “In the end, even the police couldn’t handle him anymore and ended up confining him in a cage meant for animals.”

Randō answered based on what he had heard and knew. "Is he thrashing around that much? That guy..." "He’s apparently been biting and scratching like a real gorilla. A policeman had his arm bitten and suffered severe injuries."

“I see. Then it might be that guy after all.”

Kurose said with feigned significance. "Huh? Are you referring to that guy?" "Do you know anything about that Gorilla Man?"

Randō couldn’t help but ask in return. “Well, from what you’ve described, he does seem to be someone I know. After seeing the newspaper photograph—since it looked so much like him—I thought perhaps and came to inquire. I was well aware that you were involved in this case, and since I’m an avid reader of your novels, I decided to come here rather than go to the police.”

And then, Kurose briefly introduced himself. According to this, he was from the countryside of Okayama Prefecture, receiving an allowance from his father, and had come to study art—he was an art student. “That’s very good of you.” “As you know, I’ve had quite the ordeal with that fellow, so if there’s anything I can share to help uncover the King of Terror’s true identity, I’d be delighted to oblige.” “Do you believe there exists a mastermind who calls himself the King of Terror besides that Gorilla Man?”

“Of course I do. A beast-like man like him couldn’t possibly pull off such a scheme with his level of intelligence.” “That’s probably right. I think so too. If Gorilla is the one I know, he doesn’t even possess a child’s level of intelligence.”

“In what capacity do you know him?” "My father purchased him from a showman." “And for over ten years, we kept him at our home.” “You kept him?”

Randō shouted in surprise. "Yeah, we kept him. "That one... "He doesn't seem to be entirely human." Kurose began to say something terrifying. "Even if that one is captured by the police this time, the reason a cage is necessary is because he isn't human. "Showmen will do anything for money. "I think there must be some horrifying secret behind why that half-beast half-human was brought into this world. "My father couldn't bear seeing how cruelly showmen treated that one when he was a child, so he bought him out of half-curiosity. But after a year or two passed, he began to regret it. "As that one grew into adulthood...it became clear he was a terrifying beast. "That one can climb any height like a real monkey. "He can even crawl upside down on ceilings. "His strength is such that three grown men couldn't overpower him. "I grew up with that one, so I know him well. "Ever since that one came, my house became a den of demons. "Everyone in the house ended up going mad."

“So, that one escaped from your house, then?” “Yes. “It’s been about six years now.” “A man who was staying at my house stole that one away.” “For what reason I cannot say at all, but the two of them—no, rather, one person and one beast—fled hand in hand as if eloping.” “In the end, my family was simply glad to have rid ourselves of the nuisance, but…” “That’s a rather chilling story.” “And what was that guy’s name?”

“He was called Miyoshi.” “The showman who was his previous owner called him that.” “On the family registry, he’s listed as Kurose Miyoshi.” “And what about the guy who stole Miyoshi?”

“No, please leave that for later. If that were indeed the King of Terror, I feel it’s not something I could speak of carelessly. Before that, I want to see Gorilla Man once. I want to confirm whether he is indeed Miyoshi or not. With your kind intercession, couldn’t I arrange to see Gorilla Man?” “Of course I believe they’ll let you see him. The police are troubled because they can’t figure out Gorilla Man’s background. On top of that, if you happen to know the accomplice, there couldn’t be a more advantageous opportunity than this. They’ll gladly show him to you.”

In that manner, the conversation between the two progressed without a hitch. Randō called the Metropolitan Police Headquarters and spoke to his acquaintance, the chief of the investigative division, who replied that he would bring the man immediately.

Syringe needle. About an hour later，Randō Ōe and the mysterious painter Kurose，guided by the chief of the investigative division himself，were descending the stairs to the basement of the Metropolitan Police Headquarters to confront Gorilla Man. “So according to the family register，you and that Gorilla Man are considered brothers?” Chief S，leading the way down the dimly lit stairs，asked. “Yes，he is registered as my older brother.” Kurose answered in a serious voice. There was something uncanny about the situation. When one considered it，this was undoubtedly a meeting between brothers after six years. What a grotesque encounter this was. The older brother was confined within an animal cage as a beast.

When the door to the recessed dimly lit room was opened, there inside stood a sturdy iron cage. Inside the cage lay a black thing sprawled like a bear in a zoo.

“Hey! Wake up, wake up! There’s someone here who wants to meet you.” Chief S tapped the edge of the cage with his shoe while shouting angrily. The beast, looking startled, abruptly raised his face and turned his gaze toward them. Gorilla’s eyes and Kurose the painter’s eyes clashed with a sharp snap. “Ah, you...”

Gorilla Man started to shout something but abruptly clamped his mouth shut. He looked utterly startled. “It’s me, Miyoshi. Do you remember? It’s Seiichi Kurose.” The painter stared into Gorilla Man’s eyes as he spoke in a pressing manner and approached the cage. The painter appeared to possess a kind of hypnotic power over him. In his presence, the unruly beast became remarkably docile, lowering his head and sitting obediently. “Miyoshi, you’ve done something outrageous, I see. On top of that, even after being captured, you went and harmed people, didn’t you? What a fool you are. The very fact that you’ve been thrown into this animal cage is due to your lack of wits. Don’t you find this tragic? You might as well obediently confess everything. Even if you don’t say a word, now that I’ve found out like this, I’ll go ahead and tell them everything myself. That’s for your own good. When the police hear about your pitiful background, they’ll surely show sympathy.”

Kurose pressed his face against the iron bars of the cage and began earnestly explaining in a tearful voice. Gorilla Man, perhaps nostalgic for their long-awaited reunion, sidled up to Kurose’s side and crouched motionless.

Kurose continued speaking as he slipped his hand between the iron bars, stroking Gorilla Man’s back and grasping his hand. Even as he was subjected to such treatment, Gorilla Man remained docile, like a wild beast before its tamer. The bizarre encounter between the painter and Gorilla Man lasted a full thirty minutes. All the while, he continued whispering in a hushed, persistent manner to persuade Gorilla Man. And in the end, his efforts appeared to have been rewarded.

“I’ve finally persuaded him. Miyoshi says he will confess everything in this investigation.”

Kurose returned to the two who had been waiting a short distance away and said.

The chief of the investigative division was overjoyed at this good news and expressed his gratitude. Kurose fidgeted restlessly but, “Could you tell me where the restroom is?” Kurose asked. Chief S stepped outside the door and indicated its location. Kurose, who had apparently been holding back for some time, broke into a peculiar run and hurried in that direction.

And from that moment on, this mysterious painter never showed himself again. Pretending to head to the restroom, he had made his escape somewhere.

Meanwhile, something strange was happening inside the cage as well. “Hey, Miyoshi! What are you doing? What’s wrong with you?” Chief S ran up to the cage in alarm and kicked its edge rhythmically with his shoe once more.

But this time, the gorilla showed no reaction. He lay stretched out at length, snoring. His face had turned deathly pale, beads of sweat glistening across his forehead. "The guy who was just talking has already fallen asleep." "What is the meaning of this?" "Hey, wake up! Wake up!" Chief S inserted his hand between the iron bars and violently shook the body of Gorilla Man, who lay sprawled out. But there was no resistance at all. He looked as if he were dead. Could someone really fall so deeply asleep in just a few minutes?

“This is strange. Has something happened?” “Take a look at his complexion.”

Randō peered into the cage and said. This was no ordinary matter. Gorilla Man was dying. Could such a seizure occur suddenly without any cause? “Even so, what could that Kurose fellow be doing?” “He’s taking an awfully long time, isn’t he?”

Chief S suddenly noticed this and said. A certain terrifying thought flashed almost simultaneously through both their minds. “Hey, you! Go find that Kurose fellow who left earlier—he should be in the restroom. Search for him at once!” Chief S commanded one of the police officers standing in the outer corridor.

But Kurose’s figure was discovered neither in the restroom nor in any corner of the police station. Meanwhile, a medical officer rushed to check on Gorilla Man’s condition, opened the cage door, and went inside. He finished meticulously examining Gorilla Man’s body and looked up. “There’s an injection mark on the arm.” “Is it poison?” Chief S, startled, blurted out in response. “Yes, probably…” The medical officer stated the name of a certain poison. “What about life?” “It’s unclear. Let me try to administer treatment at once. Given how sturdy this man is, he might just pull through.”

The medical officer said while checking Gorilla Man Miyoshi’s pulse. Two police officers, following the medical officer’s instructions, took Gorilla Man out of the cage and carried him to a separate room upstairs. The police station abruptly erupted into a flurry of activity. Chief S kept barking descriptions of the appearance and build of the man calling himself Kurose over the phone in his office. A police line for Kurose’s capture had been set up. The only one who could have injected poison into Gorilla Man was Kurose. The most conclusive evidence was that he had vanished. Gorilla Man’s bizarre life story, as well as the name Miyoshi, were complete fabrications. He had devised a clever scheme to approach his captive comrade.

He might have intended to rescue his fellow criminal if the opportunity had arisen. But when he realized that was hopeless, he had no choice but to eliminate his accomplice to ensure his own safety. Fortunately, since the man hadn’t confessed anything yet, if he killed him now, he could remain safe forever.

But who exactly was this man Kurose, who had so feared Gorilla Man’s confession? He was none other than the “King of Terror.” Wasn’t he the one?

The Devil's True Identity

Despite the police's intensive search, the whereabouts of the long-haired man known as Kurose remained shrouded in mystery. Given that they couldn't find him even after such an extensive search, not only was the name Kurose undoubtedly fabricated, but that long hair, small mustache, and black glasses might all have been tools of disguise. His complexion had been strangely ashen, but perhaps that too had been skillful makeup. No, that wasn't all. There was something off about his voice. He must have been using a fake voice. And so on, suspicions kept arising one after another.

Meanwhile, Gorilla Man—who had lost consciousness from the poison—had narrowly survived what would have been instant death for an ordinary person thanks to his beast-like physique. Yet even after regaining awareness, he remained mute and motionless, lying stretched out on the bed without so much as twitching. He might have gone mad. The routine questioning made no progress whatsoever.

It was the seventh night after that commotion.

Randō Ōe had been invited by Natsuko Kitagawa and was staying as a guest at her Kamakura residence. Though the grief of losing his lover remained fresh, there was something undeniably compelling about this young and beautiful widow's charm as a friend.

She was beautiful, she was wealthy, she held extraordinary affection for Randō, and moreover, she was an uncharacteristically skilled master of deduction who had even made an expert like Randō gasp in astonishment during the D Department Store Bridal Doll Incident. Given all this, it was only natural that Randō—who had initially detested her—had unwittingly begun associating with her as an incomparable friend. As usual, Natsuko’s hospitality was perfect in every detail. The two of them sat around the dining table, and exquisite home-cooked dishes and bottles of fragrant Western liquor were arrayed in a dazzling multitude.

“No matter how desperately he wants to save himself, isn’t it cruel to try killing Gorilla Man after all his loyal service?”

The conversation naturally turned to that point. "But from the King of Terror’s perspective, he might have had no other choice." "But hasn’t he been advertising from the start that ‘I am the King of Terror’?" "Even if Gorilla were to confess the truth, he wouldn’t be so careless as to get himself caught because of it." "He might have needed to rescue Gorilla to use him as an assistant, but there was no need to kill him."

“But the King of Terror might have had some special circumstances that compelled him to do such a thing.”

Natsuko’s eyes were already reddening at the rims as she strangely took the criminal’s side. “What kind of special circumstances do you mean?” Randō was also slightly drunk. As he grew drunker, the person he was talking to gradually began to appear more beautiful and alluring. “For example, if the King of Terror were leading an ordinary social life like ours on one hand, and would be troubled by having his mask torn away…” Natsuko said in an innocent, lilting voice. “Oh ho, are you saying that murderer leads a respectable social life just like ours?”

“Yes—if that weren’t the case, he wouldn’t have taken such a risk to go and kill Gorilla Man.” “I think the King of Terror might be in love.” “I think he might have undertaken such a risk solely to keep his true identity hidden from his lover.”

Having said that, Natsuko stared intently at Randō’s face with moist eyes. For some reason, Randō found himself unable to look away from her gaze. The two of them remained locked in this silent ocular exchange for what felt like an eternity. An undeniably eerie, spine-chilling tension permeated the space between them. “Hohoho…” Natsuko burst into sudden, shrill laughter.

“Come now, have this.” “It’s strong.” “But don’t worry.” “I’ll take care of you.” She said seductively, poured crimson Western liquor into a glass, and offered it. Randō tried to shake off the strange, chilling sensation and drained it in one gulp. The liquor burned like fire. His throat and esophagus blazed fiercely, and by the time it reached his stomach, his pulse had abruptly accelerated. It felt as though his brain were being jackhammered upward in rhythmic throbs. Then Natsuko’s beautiful face dwindled into the distance, growing tinier and tinier, until his consciousness blurred away without him noticing when.

Randō Ōe continued to see a long, long dream of dizzying transformations. It was a strangely pleasurable nightmare so terrifying that his teeth chattered. In the pitch darkness, countless white giant caterpillar-like things wriggled and twisted together. They changed into various colors. The red caterpillar was the most terrifying and possessed a chilling allure.

Every shifting scene was like that. Every single one was a hair-raising nightmare. While dreaming, through his sense of touch, he ceaselessly felt something warm and soft—like tentacles—tickling him.

Drenched in greasy sweat, he awoke suddenly to find something heavy and soft lying on his face. It took him a long time to realize it was Natsuko’s face. When he stirred, Natsuko lifted her face away and stood by the pillow. She had already changed clothes and even applied her makeup. Still hazy-headed, Randō looked up dazedly as she lightly tapped his cheek and smiled sweetly. “Awake now, darling?”

No sooner had she said this than she left the bedroom as if she had some business to attend to. While watching her leave, Randō lacked even the energy to call out and dozed intermittently for about thirty minutes. He was immersed in a pleasant sensation, as if every joint in his body was melting away.

The maid placing a newspaper and coffee on the bedside table was also dimly perceived, as if in a dream.

After a long time had passed and his consciousness finally cleared, he took the newspaper by his pillow in accordance with his daily morning habit.

Because the heavy curtains were drawn, the bedroom was dim as twilight. He twisted on the desk lamp and began reading the newspaper in its nighttime glow.

"Gorilla Man"

Gorilla Man Escapes Late last night from ○○ Hospital

Citywide Emergency Alert A massive four-line headline leaped out at his eyes. The article merely stated that Gorilla Man had escaped while hospitalized and that his whereabouts were unknown; no further details were provided. But upon reflection, this was the same Gorilla who had received a poison injection from their leader, the King of Terror. There was no reason for him to bow before their leader again. Even a fool like him should understand that much. But precisely because he was a fool, he might disregard his own safety and, driven by resentment, attempt to take revenge on the leader who had betrayed his own kind.

"The one trembling upon hearing of Gorilla Man’s escape isn’t the general public—wouldn’t it rather be his leader, the King of Terror himself?"

Randō couldn't help but give a wry smile. They were certain to start fighting among themselves. And no matter who won, the world would be somewhat better off for it. As he was pondering this, a terrifying scream came from somewhere. It sounded like "Help...", but before the cry could finish, it was abruptly cut off as though pressed down by something. It was unmistakably Natsuko's voice. What had happened? The strange coincidence between the article about Gorilla Man's escape and the current scream startled Randō.

He hurriedly jumped down from bed and, still in his nightclothes, rushed out of the room. In the hallway, two maids stood there, pale and trembling. When he asked them, they said the voice seemed to be coming from the second-floor study.

He flew up the stairs and rushed to that room. The door would not open. It seemed to be locked from the inside. When he pricked up his ears, inside the room, someone's panting breath could be heard.

Randō suddenly noticed and put his eye to the door’s keyhole.

Sure enough, Gorilla Man was there. For some reason, he felt that it was exactly as expected. He who had escaped from the hospital must have infiltrated this mansion during the night. Why had he come here?

Gorilla Man was huffing and puffing. His fang-like teeth were stained bright red, and thick crimson drops dripped from his lips. Blood. “So it’s the Ōe bastard who’s come here.” Suddenly, bloodshot eyes glared through the keyhole, and a crimson mouth roared. “Ha ha ha… You bastard! And you still call yourself a detective? Don’tcha even know this here’s your enemy’s house? Ha ha…. Alright, I’ll open it for you. Get in here. And take a good look at the items on this table. Come on in.”

Gorilla Man sneered as he inserted the key into the keyhole and turned it with a click-clack.

The door opened with one push. However, Randō lacked the courage to immediately rush in. Seeing the crimson drops dripping from Gorilla Man’s mouth, he lacked the courage to charge forward. While he hesitated, Gorilla Man had already set his foot on the opposite window frame. And in a flash, his figure vanished out the window, leaving an eerie laugh lingering in the air. Gorilla Man had jumped down from the second-floor window into the garden. By the time Randō rushed to that window, Gorilla Man had already scaled the wall.

If he were to go around the stairs now to give chase, he would absolutely not make it in time. That said, Randō was no ape and lacked the strength to leap from the high mansion window. Even if he tried to call out for help from passersby, given that it was early morning and a deeply secluded spot in the woods, there was no one around. Having no other choice, he hurried down to the lower floor, had the maid call the police and a nearby doctor, and then returned to the second floor. Having a student lodger here now would be helpful, but even that one had been away lately.

More concerning than Gorilla Man was Natsuko. If she had only sustained injuries, that would be one thing—but what if she had been killed? Natsuko lay crumpled in a corner of the room. Upon checking, both breath and pulse were gone. Her throat bore swollen purple marks from being strangled. Her right cheek appeared to have been bitten into, the flesh torn open roughly, her entire face as crimson as a red pokeweed berry. Even to an amateur’s eye, there was absolutely no hope of resuscitation.

When Randō looked at the table where Gorilla Man had left his message, he discovered truly bizarre items there and was aghast.

One old black suit and a black velvet fedora; beside them lay a blank sheet of paper with black glasses, a long-haired wig, and a false mustache arranged atop it. Beside these, several letter-like documents were neatly stacked, a paper knife placed fastidiously on them as a weight. Randō felt as though the nightmare continued. These clothes—this hat—these glasses—weren’t they all belongings of that strange painter who called himself Kurose? And weren’t these the possessions of that very King of Terror—the suspicious figure who had injected Gorilla Man with poison and fled? He had indeed been wearing a disguise. Both the long hair and mustache had been entirely fake.

Then, how many people had disguised themselves as Kurose? Who in the world was the true identity of that unspeakably cruel murderous fiend, the "King of Terror"? No matter how strange it may seem, there was no choice but to consider that it was none other than Natsuko Kitagawa herself who had been killed there. For if that were not the case, there would be no reason for Gorilla Man—who had escaped from the hospital—to go out of his way to come here and kill Natsuko. “This here’s your enemy’s house,” said Gorilla Man. If Natsuko were indeed the "King of Terror," then this was unmistakably the enemy’s house. Randō had spent the night in the same bedroom as the very enemy who had killed his lover.

Stunned by the sheer unexpectedness of it all, Randō stood there dazed for a while; then, he grabbed the letter-like scraps of paper on the table and devoured them with his eyes. They were all simple communiqués sent from the ringleader who called himself the “King of Terror” to a figure believed to be Gorilla Man. There was one letter that arranged the plan to steal away Teruko Nunobiki’s coffin. There was another letter detailing the method by which the King of Terror—that is, Natsuko Kitagawa—had placed Teruko’s corpse in a car and, hidden within the same vehicle, used ventriloquism to call out to her father, Mr. Nunobiki, in Teruko’s voice. There was a letter arranging the severing of one of Kyōko Hanazono’s arms. There was another letter that notified them of the plan to lure Randō Ōe to Kamakura and then guide him to Natsuko’s house through sky writing and sand writing.

All of them were coded phrases meant only for mutual understanding between correspondents, but to Randō—who had known the case from its inception—they proved effortlessly decipherable. What chilled him most was how perfectly the letters' handwriting matched that of Natsuko Kitagawa, whom he knew intimately. No room for doubt remained. "Was the King of Terror just this solitary beautiful woman? Could the truth be so anticlimactic? Was any of this real?" Yet even with evidence glaring before him, Randō found himself unable to believe.

Was she, behind that beautiful face, actually a terrifying psychopath? Was she a bloodthirsty murderous maniac? But even as a murderous maniac, these crimes seemed to contain some underlying philosophy, didn’t they? The act of elaborately applying makeup to a corpse and conducting a wedding ceremony—didn’t this seem to hold a significance beyond that of a mere murderous maniac? It might have been a means to extort money. Or perhaps it was a grotesque theatrical display born from the criminal’s vanity. But might there not be another meaning hidden deeper within?

Though Randō did not know it, hadn't Teruko Nunobiki's lover Junichi Toriai been drawn to her lifelike appearance that night—heard her voice and felt its warmth? What could this mean? Wasn't it possible that behind Teruko's corpse lurked Natsuko Kitagawa herself—using ventriloquism to substitute for the dead? Now Randō Ōe had not only lost his lover Kyōko Hanazono but spent a night at Natsuko's house too—couldn't there be some hidden link between these events?

Randō did not have the mental bandwidth to think that deeply, but he felt an inexplicable sense of dread, as if darkness were closing in before his eyes.

×　　　　　×　　　　　×　　　　　× Before long, numerous officers from the jurisdictional police rushed to the scene and thoroughly searched the vicinity as a matter of course; they set up emergency cordons at every railway station and thoroughfare to intercept Gorilla Man, but he had vanished somewhere—even after several days passed, he eluded the police dragnet.

Since he was someone who could be recognized at a glance, if he were to appear among people, he would undoubtedly be captured immediately. Moreover, given that there had been no trace of him no matter how much time passed, had he perhaps ventured into the deep mountains of his homeland and reverted to his original simian kind?

Neither the police nor the general public could find satisfaction in the conclusion that the King of Terror’s true identity had been nothing more than a single widow. They had been expecting something more extraordinary—a superhuman being. Could it be that all of these were nothing more than skillfully fabricated false evidence by an unfathomably evil mastermind lurking in the shadows? The real King of Terror was still alive somewhere, wasn’t he—plotting his next outrageous scheme? And wasn’t it that Widow Natsuko, simply because she fell in love with Randō Ōe—who was an enemy to the culprits—had been used as a pitiful decoy to lull that very group into complacency for the time being? In other words, wasn’t it that the mysterious painter who called himself Kurose and Widow Natsuko had absolutely no connection whatsoever?

Even that poison injection could not be denied as a means not to kill Gorilla Man, but to temporarily render him unconscious and move him from his cage to a hospital where escape was easier. But that remained an inscrutable enigma forever. Until such time as the "King of Terror" resumed his activities, or the missing Gorilla Man reappeared, or—alternately—the mysterious pilot who had written "King of Terror" in the skies over Kamakura came forward (strangely enough, no matter how extensively they searched, this pilot never materialized), these doubts remained nothing but ominous illusions.