The Curse of the Matsukawa Spike - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Modern Hesitation and the Rain-Drenched Night Visitor

【Synopsis】 Kyoto, 2026. Chihiro, a 25-year-old standing at a crossroads in her career, visits her 90-year-old grandmother, Haru, in the hospital. What she hears there is the memory of a terrifying haunting that occurred in the autumn of 1959—at "Rokudo-no-Tsuji," the legendary intersection of this world and the next. A national conspiracy and the curse of the dead clashed over a single rusted railway spike. To her granddaughter, who is too afraid to make her own choices, the grandmother now hands down the heavy baton of a life-defining decision.

"...It’s no use. No matter which review I look at, there are pros and cons. I just can't decide yet without gathering a little more information..."

A hospital room bathed in the golden rays of the Kyoto sunset. Chihiro (25) stared intently at her smartphone, as if her very soul were being sucked into the screen.

On the screen was a review site comparing two potential companies for her next job. Chihiro’s thumb scrolled endlessly, her brow furrowed in a deep, anxious line.

"Chihiro."

Suddenly, from the sea of bedsheets, a dry but surprisingly clear voice called out.

"Y-Yes!"

Chihiro jumped. A small head poked out from the white duvet. Haru, ninety years old. She was Chihiro’s grandmother, celebrating her "Sotsu-ju"—her ninetieth birthday—this year.

Her small frame was almost buried in the bed, but the eyes peering through her white hair still flashed with a mischievous glint from time to time.

"You’ve been caressing that flat little board for ages now. It looks like you're offering prayers to a cold roof tile. Your grandmother is starting to get a little jealous."

"S-Sorry, Grandma. But this isn't a roof tile, it's a smartphone. ...I have to make a huge decision about my life right now. I'm trying to figure out which company is the 'right' choice—searching for a way that absolutely won't fail."

Chihiro hugged the phone to her chest and looked at Haru with pleading eyes.

"Which one do you think I should choose so I won't regret it? I absolutely do not want to fail. I feel like if I make one wrong step, my life will be over. I'm so scared my feet are frozen and I can't move."

Haru tapped the bedside rail rhythmically with her small, wrinkled hand. Then, she let out a soft, amused chuckle.

"You don't want to fail, eh? Well, of course. Nobody likes falling into a ditch. ...But you see, Chihiro."

Haru slowly sat up. Her small back carried a quiet stillness, as if she had absorbed the weight of countless unmeasurable years.

"Whichever company you go to, you are bound to cry at least once, thinking, 'I should have gone with the other one.' That's just how we humans are made."

"What...?"

"There is no such convenient path in this world as 'a hundred percent perfect, no matter which you choose.' So, what you're doing right now is just desperately asking your little phone whether the right side of hell or the left side of hell has a slightly more comfortable temperature."

"That's harsh, Grandma!"

Chihiro protested, but strangely, she felt the heavy knot of tension tightening in her chest loosen just a bit.

Grandma's words were always extreme, yet they possessed a strange, undeniable persuasion.

"Tell me, Chihiro."

Haru gently placed her dry, warm hand over Chihiro’s knee.

"You say that 'one wrong step means the end of life.' But when you are forced to make a decision that truly determines whether your life ends or not..."

Haru’s gaze drifted for a moment to the window, toward the Kyoto sky transitioning from madder red to the deep blue of night.

Deep within her eyes flickered the damp, rain-soaked night shadows of "Rokudo-no-Tsuji," the place where she had once lived.

"There isn't even time to look things up on a phone. It's when a phantom train comes rushing straight at you from the front, roaring and shaking the earth, and you have to make your choice while covered in mud."

"...A phantom train?"

Chihiro gasped, and Haru, sporting a mischievous smile like that of a young girl, gave Chihiro’s hand a firm squeeze.

"Yes. When your grandmother was twenty-three. On that terrifying, rainy night in the thirty-fourth year of Showa—1959. ...Would you mind listening to an old woman's long monologue for a bit?"

*　*　*

It was a night of torrential rain in the thirty-fourth year of Showa.

In a corner of Kyoto, near the legendary crossroads between the living and the dead known as "Rokudo-no-Tsuji," twenty-three-year-old Haru and her young husband, Genzo, ran a small antique and second-hand shop.

Genzo was twenty-five, two years older than Haru. He was a clumsy but exceptionally honest man, a portrait of sincerity. Having survived the post-war black markets by grit alone, he was prouder than anyone to have finally established this shop.

Draped in a soot-stained hanten coat, it was Genzo’s daily ritual to meticulously polish the second-hand wares, treating what others might see as mere junk as if they were invaluable treasures.

"It's pouring out there, Haru. Shall we take down the noren curtain?"

Genzo smiled warmly at her while affectionately wiping a vintage brass candlestick with a cotton cloth.

"With rain like this, even ghosts would slip and fail to cross Rokudo-no-Tsuji. Why don't you go to the back and brew some warm bancha tea? Catching a cold is bad for your health."

Genzo's gentle gaze spoke of a quiet determination—that their future would be built step by step, hand in hand, together with this small shop.

Just as Haru nodded, saying "Alright," and turned toward the tea cabinet—

CRASH!

Cutting through the heavy downpour, the sliding door was flung open with a violent, slamming force.

Along with a gust of cold night air and rainwater, a mud-spattered man practically slid into the shop.

His overcoat was shredded. He panted heavily, his shoulders heaving as he repeatedly glanced behind him as if terrified of some unseen pursuer.

"Take this! Keep it here for me... I’m being chased!"

Haru gasped in terror at the man’s frenzied state.

But in that instant, Genzo dropped the candlestick to the floor and swiftly stepped in front of Haru to shield her.

Spreading his lean, strong arms to completely hide Haru behind him, Genzo glared at the man and squeezed out a trembling but defiant shout.

"W-Who are you! What do you want with my wife! I'll call the police!"

But the man paid no heed to Genzo’s warning. Instead, he slammed a heavy, mud-soaked furoshiki bundle onto the counter with all his might.

And then, just as suddenly, he bolted out, vanishing into the torrential rain and thick night fog surrounding Rokudo-no-Tsuji.

"W-What was that all about...?"

Even after the man had vanished, Genzo kept Haru shielded behind him for a while, staring out into the darkness.

Finally, letting his tense shoulders drop slightly, he turned to check on Haru.

"Haru, are you hurt? That was terrifying, but you're safe now."

Genzo wrapped a reassuring arm around her shoulders. Yet, despite his brave front, Haru could feel his fingertips trembling.

Genzo swallowed hard, his eyes dropping to the furoshiki bundle on the counter.

The bundle, heavy with mud, exuded an ominous weight. He tentatively reached out.

"What... what is in here?"

As he untied the knot, they revealed a collection of heavily weathered, reddish-black rusted items: a railway spike (the bolt used to secure tracks to ties), a screw, and a small notebook filled with a meticulously written train schedule.

"Dear... this..."

Haru stared at the rusted metal, feeling the blood drain from her face.

At that time, Japan was gripped by its greatest post-war mystery: the derailment of a national railway train known as the "Matsukawa Incident."

While the defendants pleaded their innocence in court, rumors swirled of a covered-up conspiracy at the highest levels of government and a hidden culprit.

"This... isn't this a real railway spike taken from that derailment site...?"

Haru's trembling voice was nearly swallowed by the roar of the rain.

Genzo stared at the spike, utterly speechless. The scars on his soot-stained wrists turned stark white under the intense tension.

In that exact moment, from deep within the antique shop, a low, heavy rumble began to vibrate through the floorboards.

(To be continued in Chapter 2)

📖  Next Chapter:https://note.com/ttukumoo/n/n71da79fc0903　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　🌐 Original Japanesehere:https://note.com/juicy_laelia8513/n/n194fc5c77d7c

"Thank you so much for reading to the very end!"💗