Notes and a Child

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This is a story from just the other day.

My company handles investigations of properties that have been put up for auction.

The other day, I was assigned a case because the person previously in charge had suddenly stopped coming to work or something.

Well, to be honest, our company deals in “stigmatised properties” that come to us through shady connections so this sort of thing happens all the time, and I didn’t think much of it. 

I just grabbed the half-finished investigation notes (a mess of scribbles, really) that the last guy left behind and made the long trip out to some godforsaken countryside.

The place turned out to be a very old building—crumbling walls, cracked floors, a damp smell everywhere.

It was pretty depressing, but work is work, so I pulled myself together and got started.

About an hour later, I happened to glance out the window.

There was a child crouched outside, facing away from me, seemingly playing with something (See Note 1 below).

I thought about scolding him—“Hey, what do you think you’re doing in someone else’s yard?”—but to be honest, the kid gave me the creeps. 

He sort of looked lifeless and very still, just like a doll —  but does a crouching doll even exist? 

Anyway, something about him didn’t seem human.

Being in the middle of nowhere, the place was unbelievably quiet which was making me feel even more nervous.

Given how run-down the house was, it looked like no one had lived there for at least three years, so I figured it wasn’t strange for kids to turn it into a playground.

“Alright, fine. You can play here today,” I decided on my own, even though it wasn’t my property.

I went back to work for a while without incident, until something in the previous investigator’s notes caught my attention:

In one corner of a page it was written: 

“The kitchen is strange” 

Since almost all of his notes were just numbers (room dimensions and such) that line of text stuck out like a sore thumb.

Curious, I headed for the kitchen.

Aside from the damp floor, nothing seemed particularly odd in there.

(source:toshibo on X)

But then, in a full-length mirror (the so-called Sugatami?) on the far wall — I caught sight of part of a child’s body reflected in it.

It was dark and hard to see but I could tell—it was that same kid from earlier.

So he must’ve come inside, I thought vaguely.

But what a creepy kid.

He made no sounds whatsoever, it was too quiet inside, and moreover, the air was so heavy with that musty old-house smell, that I started feeling a bit sick.

The thought of zashiki-warashi (Note: child spirits said to haunt houses) even came to mind.

I didn’t have the guts to check on the kid directly, so instead, I told myself I’d go inspect the bathroom next, which was really just an excuse to get away.

The bathroom was in terrible shape too.

Probably because of mold it was full of this acrid, burnt smell. The air was suffocating.

I figured I shouldn’t stay long, so I checked the notes again. 

Luckily, the bathroom measurements were all filled in. 

But just below that, it read: 

“The bathroom is bad news.”

Normally, I’d laugh that off, but right then I was quite shaken.

It was because I noticed that the handwriting in the notes had grown steadily worse the further along it went. 

By now it was trembling and wavy, almost unreadable.

Let me think…why did the last investigator stop coming to work? 

Was it sick leave?

I was trying so hard to remember… and then looking around, I saw that the bathroom door was closed. 

I didn’t remember closing it.

And not only that, but behind the frosted glass, there was a shadow standing there.

That kid again?

Before I could think any further, the shadow started moving violently.

It was like the person was dancing wildly with great speed — head jerking up and down, side to side, arms and legs flailing and twisting.

But there was no sound of footsteps.

Just pure dead silence. 

Only the shadow kept thrashing like a madman.

My legs froze and I couldn’t step forward.

My hands were trembling like crazy.

Because that wasn’t normal — that movement.

No human could move like that.

Even so, I couldn’t just stand there forever.

But I didn’t have the courage to open the door either.

There was a small window, and I kept staring at it, thinking maybe I could escape through it.

It was one of those tilt-open types, so the opening was probably too narrow for an adult to go through.

Then I remembered the notes again. Maybe there’d be some hints about what to do.

But unfortunately, most of it was illegible, except one line which could still be made out:

“No face”

It said.

Whose face?

Right then, I saw the faint reflection of the child in the windowpane.

Or that’s what I thought, at least.

He was standing right behind me.

When did he come in though?

And he still makes no sounds, does he?

I realised then that there was no escape.

I prepared myself for the worst as I forced myself to turn around.

There was…….   no one there.

Later, back at the office, I noticed that the date on those notes was three years old. 

 

When I told my boss — who initially assigned me to the case — about it, he said:

“Hmm? That’s weird. This case was already finished.”

Then he tried to walk off, so I grabbed his arm and pressed him for details.

Turns out, it was a property rumoured to be haunted by the ghost of a child with a crushed, faceless head.

When the investigator at the time had written that into his report, the client returned it, saying:

“We don’t need that kind of information.”

When I looked at the cleaned-up final report, sure enough, I found those familiar words:

 “No face.” 

“The bathroom is bad news.”

Apparently, haunted listings like that pop up from time to time.

And when they do, it’s standard practice to casually note it in the “remarks” section.

He even showed me other examples, where the hauntings were all clearly documented.

When I asked, “So why would this particular case resurface now?”

My boss said:

“Hmm… maybe I’m still possessed?

After all, the original investigator was me.”

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Note 1: I chose to use the pronoun “he” for the child, because I didn’t want to keep using “they” or “he or she.”

In the original text the child’s gender is not specified.