Burned out from a soul-crushing job in Tokyo and diagnosed with adjustment disorder, Takahashi Yutaro flees to the countryside to recover—alone, in his late grandmother's crumbling seventy-five-year-old estate at the foot of the Kamuro mountains. He expects silence. He expects solitude. He expects nothing but time to heal.
Instead, at two in the morning, he hears something scraping across the kitchen floor.
A shadow no bigger than his palm. Tiny footprints with five perfect fingers pressed int
The Girl in the Crawlspace - Throbbing memories, voices that cannot be erased
Fumie Takatori.
That name floating on the screen—Takahashi Yutaro had been dragging it around since last night. Three years since his grandmother died. And yet, the contract was still active. Who renewed it? Did Kurata Sayuri do it in her place? But then, it was strange that she hadn't changed the name on it.
Morning light filtered through the veranda. Two birds perched on the persimmon tree in the garden. The smell of the shrine's cedar drifted through the wind. Yutaro stuffed his phone into his pocket and stretched hard.
His sleep-deprived head felt heavy. After Marianne disappeared into the wall gap, he hadn't managed to sleep much anyway.
"……Ugh, my back's killing me"
Muttering, he headed toward the kitchen, where a familiar paper-wrapped package sat on the step. He didn't need to look inside to know. It was from Kurata Sayuri.
"Yutaro? You home?"
As she spoke, the side door slid open with a rattle. A sun-weathered face, white-streaked hair tied back in a single knot—a woman from the neighboring farm, holding pots in both hands. She'd been coming to this house since Fumie's time. Her back was starting to curve, but her gait was surprisingly light.
"Oh, Kurata-san. Sorry, thank you as always"
"Don't mention it. Here, taro root stew. You eating properly? You look thinner"
Sayuri set the pot down in the kitchen and peered intently at Yutaro's face. Her gaze was sharp. The same caring eyes Fumie had.
"I'm eating fine, really"
"Don't lie. Look at those dark circles"
He flinched. The cause was obviously the stakeout at two in the morning and the kitchen conversation, but he couldn't say that.
"……I've just been sleeping poorly"
"I see. Well, don't push yourself too hard"
Sayuri glanced around the kitchen, then said as if remembering something.
"By the way, shouldn't you clean out the study upstairs soon? Fumie's books and diary are still just sitting there"
"Her diary……?"
"Yeah. She kept one every day. She was meticulous like that. I think it's fine if you read it—you're family, after all"
With that, Sayuri hurried out through the side door. Only her voice—"I'll come by again"—lingered in the garden.
Yutaro stood in the kitchen for a while. The word "diary" echoed strangely loud in his head.
The Western-style room upstairs was filled with dusty light. Fumie's study. The bookshelf held old paperbacks and gardening magazines; on the desk sat an eyeglass case. The small lamp on the Wi-Fi router blinked at regular intervals.
When he reached into the back of the bookshelf, his fingertips found something hard. He pulled it out—three old notebooks. Only dates were written on their covers. The oldest one was dated more than fifteen years ago.
(Fifteen years ago……)
Yutaro sat down on the tatami and opened the first notebook.
*May 3rd, Clear. The persimmon flowers bloomed in the garden. Yutaro couldn't come this year, so it's lonely.*
Ordinary daily records continued. But as he turned the pages, a sentence with a different tone caught his eye.
*July 12th, Cloudy. That child came again today. I made sure to prepare three sugar cubes, as always.*
That child. Who could that be? He turned the page.
*August 20th, Clear. That child's wing color seems to have faded a bit more. I'm worried.*
Wings. Why would that word appear here? Yutaro's finger slowed as he turned the pages.
A small pain shot through the back of his head. A sharp throb.
(……What was that?)
He closed his eyes and pressed his temples. Something felt like it was on the edge of memory, but he couldn't quite grasp it. Summer smells, cicada sounds, someone's laughter—fragments seemed to brush past the corners of his mind.
Then his phone vibrated in his pocket. When he saw the name on the screen, Yutaro's back went rigid.
Kurogawa. Section Chief.
He hesitated about answering. But if he ignored it, he didn't know what would be said. He took a deep breath and pressed the call button.
"……Hello?"
"Ah, Takahashi? Still alive?"
That familiar, sticky voice came through the phone.
"Yes, I'm……currently on medical leave"
"Medical leave, huh. Nice life you got there. We're short-staffed and drowning over here"
A snide tone. Yutaro's stomach went cold.
"I'm sorry……"
"If you're sorry, come back. Well, we're managing fine without you anyway. There's plenty of replacements out there"
Words he'd heard before. That same line, thrown at him countless times, was still lodged under his skin.
"……Yes"
"Besides, falling apart over something like that? Back in my day, things were tougher. You young people are spoiled, you included"
He had no words to return. His throat tightened, constricting.
"Anyway. When your medical certificate expires, send another one. Don't forget"
The call cut off abruptly.
Yutaro set his phone on the tatami and couldn't move for a while. His hands were shaking. His heart was beating at a strange pace. His breathing rhythm fell apart—shallow, fast, repeating.
(Again. This again.)
Tears spilled out on their own. Not sadness, exactly—his body was just reacting. He tried to stop them but couldn't. Hugging his knees, Yutaro sat on the study's tatami floor for a long time.
How much time passed? When his breathing finally steadied, Yutaro roughly wiped his tears and tried to close the diary.
That's when something fluttered out from between the pages and fell onto the tatami.
An old photograph.
He picked it up and squinted. A summer garden. Under the persimmon tree, a middle-school-aged boy was laughing. Himself. Much thinner than now, hair shorter. But the problem was what was beside him.
A small—really small—figure was caught in the frame near the boy's shoulder. The focus was blurry, the face unclear. But it was definitely there. Something like wings caught the light, glinting faintly.
His heart jumped for a different reason now.
He flipped the photo over. On the back, in Fumie's handwriting, it said:
*Remember the promise we made that summer.*
The pain in the back of his head intensified. Throbbing, throbbing, rhythmically. His vision blurred white for a moment.
(I know this child……?)
Cicada sounds. Persimmon scent. Someone's laughter—fragments of memory flickered in the depths of his brain. But when he reached for them, they slipped away. Like trying to grasp a shadow reflected on water.
"Damn it……what is this?"
His voice was weaker than he'd intended.
Gripping the photo, Yutaro went downstairs. He sat on the veranda and gazed at the garden. The sun was beginning to set. The persimmon tree's shadow stretched long across the ground.
Kurogawa's words still clung to his ears. At the same time, the outline of the girl in this photo was trying to overlap with something in his mind.
(Would Marianne know something about this?)
The thought surprised him. Despite everything terrible that had happened today, the first face that came to mind was that sharp-tongued little girl's.
(……Why am I thinking about her?)
A bitter laugh escaped him. But it didn't feel bad. If anything, his chest felt a little lighter.
The twilight painted the boy and the blurred small figure in the photograph orange. Yutaro carefully slipped the photo into his shirt pocket.
The pain in the back of his head hadn't completely faded. Something was stirring behind a door. That sensation alone remained quietly within him.
Novelia is an AI-powered platform to read original light novels and fan fiction, create your own in just a few taps, and chat with the characters. New, illustrated episodes arrive daily — free to start.