Echo woke to the sound of the coffee grinder downstairs. She blinked a few times and drew her eyes to her alarm clock. 5:18? What is Otou-san doing up so early? Slipping out of her bed groggily, she groped around the darkness of her room for her bathrobe, as there was a chilly early morning air about the room.
As Echo stumbled down the stairs, she noticed a strange smell emerging from the closet underneath the staircase. It was a thick smell, much to the likeliness of something rotting. She scrunched her nose in disgust, almost feeling nauseous. She found her father in the kitchen sipping contently at his coffee.
"Otou-san, there's a strange smell coming from the staircase closet," Echo complained. Echo was permitted to call her father by his Japanese title, although he had made it a rule that there would be none of the home country language spoken in the house. She didn't quite understand why, but she figured it was because it would pain him to hear the language of his late wife Sayaka. Somehow, she figured, it was a comfort and a sign of intimacy to hear his daughter call him at least "Otou-san," instead of "Anata" – dear, or honey – the name Sayaka called him.
"Probably just dog make messes, Echo, it's okay." Her father hardly looked up from his newspaper as he spoke, and it made Echo suspicious.
It doesn't smell like Pochi's messes, Echo thought to herself. She shrugged it off and went to the closet for a bowl for cereal. She noticed all the bowls, cups, plates, etc. were yellow.
"Otou-san, why do we have yellow dishes?"
"Your mother bought. They are nice, yes?" was the reply that came from behind the newspaper and coffee mug.
Echo was surprised; she had never seen these dishes in any of the boxes they brought to America before her mother died.
"Did she buy these in Japan or in America?"
"She bought in America."
"When?"
"Just recently."
Echo was a little confused, but figured he was just imagining things. Often she found her father talking to Sayaka's picture as if she were there. Maybe he misses her very much right now…
"Otou-san," Echo began as she hunted for the cereal, "why are you up so early?"
"Your mother wished to get early start today. I wake to stop her, say, 'Come back bed,' but she left before I come."
"What do you mean, Otou-san? She's not here."
"No, you're right, she left recently."
"Are you going crazy? She's been dead for years, Otou-san!"
He didn't reply for a long time. The newspaper covered his face, and every so often Echo could hear him sipping his coffee. She thought maybe she had made a mistake by saying that, as his feelings were easily hurt by such statements. Finally, he said quietly, "I prove you."
"How?" Echo's reply was quicker than she intended, but all the same, she found his claims ridiculous.
"Look in staircase closet."
Echo stared at her father for a long time before she turned her head toward the closet. Her father did not budge. She could hardly tell whether he was breathing or not at this point. Her heart pounded against her suddenly frail rib cage, and the air around her seemed to be thinning. Finally, her feet led her in the direction of the closet, slowly, step-by-step…
When she reached the closet door, the smell she observed earlier was stronger than ever. It was definitely not their little dog Pochi's messes. And even if it was, her father would have panicked and had cleaned everything fifty times over. She couldn't swallow; the lump in her throat was a sign she was about to hurl.
She turned the knob on the closet door hesitantly, the fear in her rising to a nearly screaming climax. As the door cracked, the smell rushed into her eyes and nose, and at that point, she vomited. She was surprised to see the mess she made was tinted with yellow.
As the door swung open, a scream emerged from deep within Echo's body, and her hands flew to her mouth in utter disbelief.
There she was: Sayaka Tsuneta, half-rotted, hung by a thick, heavy rope tied to the hanger bar. The blood that dripped from her hair, limbs, and wrists seemed fresh and boiling, although the appearance and smell of her corpse suggested she had been dead for a while. On her face was the most disturbing smile…a smile of pure excitement, happiness…her teeth glimmered, being the only source of brightness among the entire collection of dark, decaying gore.
A voice…or maybe two, she wasn't sure…slipped in and out of either side of her head, sounding as if someone had strained their vocal chords to make two distinct sounds. It was a slow, rhythmic chant, taunting, spine-tingling, singing lazily and eerily: "Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…"
Echo screamed, covering her ears. "OTOU-SAN!" She ran into the kitchen crying, only to see her father's hand, still holding his coffee mug, detached from his body and lying on the floor beside him. The river of blood that rushed from his wrist soaked everything near him. He was not dead yet, but he was dying fast. The smile on his face was permanent in Echo's memory.
The voice continued: "Thy kingdom come…thy will be done…on earth, as it is in heaven…give us this day our daily…bread…"
"NO! STOP!" Echo cried, but to no avail.
"And forgive us our trespasses…as we forgive those who trespassed against us…and lead us not into temptation…"
"NO! NO!" Echo's sobs of utter fear and trauma shook her body like a storm, and she tripped many times trying to run upstairs.
The voice she was hearing – the chanting, taunting, two-toned, robotic voice – suddenly shrieked so loud her ears burst, bled, and stung in pain, and this is what it said.
"AND DELIVER US FROM EVIL…………………!"
Echo screamed so loud that she woke herself up to the bright sunshine of her room. The solitary tree outside waved lazily with the wind, small leaves flying into her window.
When Echo realized she had been dreaming, she cried. Her tears burned her cheeks, blinding her, making her feel like she was underwater…she threw the covers off of her and ran downstairs, shrieking at the reminder of the closet below her. There her father was, in the kitchen, both hands in tact, reading his paper as always.
"Otou-san!" Echo's crying startled him, as she reminded him now of the little girl who used to run into his room after a nightmare.
"Echo-chan, why you cry?"
"Otou-san, did Okaa-san kill herself in the staircase closet?" Echo's question was direct, rude, and sharp. It did not have an accusing tone, but it had enough sharpness to it to make her father uncomfortable.
"No, no, daughter. Okaa-san died by car crash. Not in closet. Why you ask such question?"
Echo ran to the cupboards, checking every dish for a hint of yellow. She looked everywhere in the kitchen for unusual yellow things. When she finally accepted that she was dreaming, she melted to the floor, curled up in a ball, and sobbed.
"Echo-chan! Echo-chan! Doushitan no? Daijoubu? Watashi ni iinasai yo…"
The sound of her father's Japanese voice put her in a mild trance, and, slowly, she began to tell of her horrific nightmare.
安心のために黄色い線の後ろに待って下さい。
