[Short-Short] 'Japanese Doll'

[Short-Short] 'Japanese Doll'

'I would like you to take a look at this Japanese doll.'

It was a rainy evening.

Standing before the priest, who was about to close the temple gate, was a couple holding a single black umbrella.

The husband looked to be in his fifties.
The wife stood slightly behind him, as if hiding.

In the husband's arms, he cradled a long, thin paulownia wood box.

'Are you here to discuss a memorial service?'

When the priest asked, the couple exchanged glances.

'Rather than a memorial service... first, we would like you to see it.'

In the room they were shown to, the husband placed the paulownia box on the tatami mats.

It was an old box, but it didn't have a single scratch on it.
A red cord was wrapped around the lid many times over.

The priest stared at the cord.

'Who did this?'

'My wife did,'

the husband replied.

However, the wife immediately shook her head.

'It wasn't me.'

Only the sound of the rain remained in the room.

The husband smiled in a troubled way.

'She's been like this lately. My wife has been a bit tired recently.'

'That's not true.'

The wife said, without looking at her husband.

'That child tied it herself.'

The husband's smile vanished.

The priest looked down at the box once more.

The knot of the red cord was on the underside of the box.

It wasn't wrapped to keep someone from opening the lid.

It was tied in a way that seemed to hold the lid down from the inside.

'Where did this doll come from?'

The priest asked.

The husband did not answer.

Instead, the wife said in a small voice,

'It belongs to our daughter.'

'How old is your daughter?'

The wife's lips trembled.

'She is seven.'

The husband let out a deep sigh.

'Priest, we do not have a daughter.'

The wife slowly turned toward her husband.

There was neither anger nor sadness on her face.

She just looked genuinely puzzled.

'Dear, what are you saying?'

And then, from inside the paulownia box,

tap.

A small sound was heard.

The couple did not move.

Only the priest was looking at the box.

Tap.

Once more.

This time, it sounded like it came from just beneath the lid.

The wife smiled.

'See?'

The red cord loosened slightly.

'This child wants to talk to you, too, Priest.'

The priest steadied his breathing.

'...Excuse me.'

He untied the red cord, one strand at a time.

The last strand fell onto the tatami.

He opened the lid.

Inside, an Ichimatsu doll was sitting.

White skin.

A black bobbed haircut.

A red kimono.

It was a Japanese doll like any other.

The priest let out a small breath.

'...It's a normal doll.'

The husband shook his head.

'At first, it was.'

The priest frowned.

'At first?'

'Every day, its face changes a little bit.'

'Into whose?'

The husband did not answer.

The priest took out his prayer beads and began to chant quietly.

Only the sound of the rain and the chanting echoed in the room.

That was when it happened.

Click.

The doll's head tilted ever so slightly.

The priest continued chanting.

The couple gasped.

Incense smoke enveloped the doll.

The priest lowered his gaze.

'...?'

The eyebrows, which had been straight until just a moment ago,

had lowered just a tiny bit.

He continued chanting.

The mouth changed slightly.

The contour of the cheeks, too, just a little.

The priest stopped chanting.

The room fell silent.

The husband asked fearfully,

'...How is it?'

The priest stared intently at the doll.

He slowly took off his glasses,

wiped the lenses with his sleeve,

and put them back on.

Then, he said quietly,

'...There is no mistake.'

The couple looked at each other.

With a grave expression, the priest

pointed at the doll.

'It is starting to look just a little bit...'

'like Hara-san from Universe.'