1.
The classroom after school was bathed in the red glow of the setting sun.
Aoi High School, a prefectural school perched along the Shizuoka coastline, housed the literature club room on the third floor's quiet corner. It was a cramped space, thick with the scent of dust and aging paper. Rust flecked the window frames, and the desks bore scars of someone's idle graffiti. In the center of the room, six chairs formed a loose circle. On one of them sat Kana, a high school girl.
Kana's black hair, tied loosely, fell just past her shoulders, and her pale, almost translucent skin shimmered faintly in the sunset's light. Her deep indigo eyes held a distant, unfocused quality, as if gazing somewhere far beyond the room. Her sailor-style uniform hung a touch too large, the cuffs folded back at her wrists, revealing slender fingertips.
In her hands, she clutched the latest issue of the club's magazine, Aoi Bookmark. The cover displayed titles of short stories penned by club members, scrawled in a handwritten font.
"They're late…" Kana murmured, setting the magazine on the desk.
The literature club consisted of five members, including her. There was Haru, the second-year president; Aoi, the cool-headed first-year; Nagi, the reserved third-year; and Hinata, the relentlessly chatty second-year. Today was supposed to be an editorial meeting for the magazine, aimed at welcoming new members, but Kana was still alone.
The clock in the room ticked unevenly, its second hand stuttering. Kana stood and drifted to the window. Outside, the distant sea glittered red, reflecting the dying sun.
Her gaze caught her reflection in the glass, but something was wrong. Her face looked warped—eyes unnaturally large, mouth stretched in a grotesque line. Kana gasped and stumbled back.
"What… is that?"
The air in the room shifted. The magazine on the desk began to flip its pages on its own, the rustle of paper echoing. On the pages, unfamiliar words appeared, scrawled in red ink—jagged, chaotic, as if written in blood.
Her name, repeated endlessly: Kana, Kana, Kana, Kana, Kana, Kana, Kana…
A voice broke the silence. Low, damp, guttural.
It came from somewhere in the room. Kana froze, scanning the empty space. No one was there. But the voice didn't stop. It multiplied, layering into a chorus that chanted her name.
The door rattled. Kana whipped around, heart leaping. From the crack beneath the door, a black shadow oozed, spreading like ink. It twisted, taking on a human shape—long, spindly arms, unnaturally elongated fingers, a featureless head. The shadow slipped through the door, gliding into the room.
"Who's there? What are you?" Kana's voice trembled.
The shadow didn't answer. Instead, the magazine on the desk shuddered violently, its pages tearing themselves free. The scraps fluttered into the air, swirling like a flock of birds. More red words appeared on the fragments, her name multiplying across them.
The shadow took a step closer. Kana backed away, her spine hitting the wall. The cold concrete bit into her back. The shadow's fingers stretched toward her cheek, nearly grazing her skin.
Suddenly, the room's lights flickered, fluorescent bulbs buzzing with a harsh, erratic hum. Each flash distorted the shadow's form—it morphed into something canine, then avian, then insectoid.
"Please… stop," Kana whispered, squeezing her eyes shut.
But behind her closed lids, red words burned: Kana, write.
The command echoed in her skull.
Her trembling hand fumbled in her pocket, pulling out a pen. She grabbed a torn scrap of paper from the floor and sank to her knees. As if guided by an unseen force, she began to write.
She was supposed to be drafting a short story for the magazine. But what spilled from her pen was her own story—the terror unfolding in this very room.
The ink ran red, seeping into the paper like blood. With every word she wrote, the shadow grew darker, the air heavier, thick with moisture.
The door creaked again, this time with a clear knock.
The shadow froze, turning slowly toward the sound. Kana, pen still clutched in her hand, couldn't move. The door opened, and there stood Haru.
Haru, with her chestnut hair tied in a ponytail, had sharp eyes glinting behind her glasses. Her uniform scarf was slightly askew, and a heavy bag hung from her shoulder. She scanned the room, frowning at Kana's dazed state.
"Kana, what are you doing here alone this late?"
Haru's voice faltered. Her gaze landed on the shadow behind Kana. It stirred, gliding toward her. Kana tried to scream, but her throat locked, silencing her.
Haru's face twisted in fear. Her bag slipped to the floor, spilling manuscript pages across the room.
"What is that?" Haru's voice cracked.
At that moment, the room's windows flew open. Sunset light poured in, briefly thinning the shadow. But it quickly regained its form, sinking into the scattered manuscript pages at Haru's feet.
The pages quivered, writhing as if alive. Haru's printed poems bled, their words dissolving into red ink.
Kana staggered to her feet and grabbed Haru's hand. They backed into a corner, pressed against the wall. The shadow manipulated the pages, sending them spiraling around the girls like a storm.
A sharp edge of paper sliced Kana's cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. She winced but didn't loosen her grip on the pen.