Chapter 51
Chapter 51
Prologue, The God of the Vestige.
They say you can meet the dead.
It's a common tale.
Urban legends, school ghost stories, that sort of thing.
Like how if you put a ten-yen coin into a public phone connected to the spirit world, you can talk to the dead. Or if you look into a mirror at midnight, you'll see a ghost.
At first, I thought the story from our village was one of those.
But it's different.
You could say the story from our village is a lie too, but it's also real.
There's a swamp in the village.
It's shallow and stagnant, not the kind of place that would ever become a tourist spot—nobody goes near it.
There's a bridge there. An old, rotting suspension bridge that's been there since ancient times.
If you go there, you can meet the dead.
Since long ago, adults who lost their spouses or children would wander there, and the whole village would panic and go looking for them.
Before I entered kindergarten, my parents told me not to go near the swamp because an old man with no family had died there.
During the last summer break of high school, one of my classmates got into an accident on the way back from a family trip.
The car was totaled, and my classmate and his father had only minor injuries, but apparently, his mother didn't make it.
He used to be annoyingly cheerful, but after that, he completely shut down. By autumn, he stopped studying for exams and started going to that bridge all the time.
We were somewhat close, so I got worried and talked to him. He said, 'I can see my mom.'
According to him, long ago, a pair of brothers lived in the swamp. While building the bridge, the younger brother drowned and died.
The older brother thought of him every day and finished the bridge. The younger brother became the guardian god of the swamp and pitied his older brother, so he made the bridge connect to the world of the dead.
He had never been interested in folklore, so hearing him talk about it so passionately creeped me out.
I didn't believe him. I thought he'd lost it.
But he got all worked up and told me to come with him so he could show me.
That night, I went to the swamp with him.
At the edge of the swamp, there was an old stone monument with the word 'Vestige' written on it.
During the day, the swamp was just dirty, but at night, mist hung over it, the moon reflected off the surface, and it looked like a mirror.
In that water mirror, I saw my little brother.
I was shocked. It was my brother who had died in the ocean when I was little.
It had been so long, but I recognized him instantly.
He waved and called out 'Big bro,' and even his missing baby tooth was still there.
My classmate looked at my pale face and gave me a look like, 'See?'
I couldn't see his mother, though.
After that, without needing to say anything, we both started going to the swamp together.
I completely forgot about studying for exams.
Just before winter, I lied about forgetting something at cram school and tried to go back to the swamp at night.
While riding my bike, a stern-looking man stopped me.
When I talked to him, I found out he was my classmate's father.
He said his son had been acting strange lately—barely coming home and wandering around. He asked if I knew anything.
I hesitated to tell him about the swamp.
I wondered if maybe he'd want to see his wife too if she was really dead.
But while I was hesitating, the man said something shocking.
I get that the accident was traumatic, but I can't forgive him for abandoning his injured mother and wandering around.
Wait, she's not dead?
Then, from behind the man, a woman with her face wrapped in bandages like a mummy stepped out and bowed to me.
That's right. I heard she didn't make it, but no one actually said she died.
So then, who is the mother my classmate has been meeting at the swamp?
I didn't know anything, but I made some excuse about him needing to see a doctor if he was still in shock, then pedaled away as fast as I could.
As soon as I got home, I tore through the albums in the dresser.
There wasn't a single photo of my little brother.
Even if we'd thrown them out because it was too painful, there should at least be a memorial photo at the family altar.
But in the altar room, there were only pictures of my grandparents.
Come to think of it, that old man who died in the swamp was said to have no family either.
I wonder if someone like that could have drowned chasing a familiar face.
I don't know.
I haven't gone back to the swamp since.
Eventually, my classmate moved away, and I went to Tokyo for college.
I never planned to return, but I came back to take care of my dad.
Lately, I find myself heading toward the swamp on my way home from work without realizing it.
I feel like my little brother is still there.
Like he's calling out 'Big bro' with that missing tooth.
But maybe I never had a little brother to begin with.