Chapter 2: Festival

Mikoto awoke the next morning with a sense of unease lingering in her chest. The memory of the pale face outside her window haunted her thoughts as she dressed and made her way to the kitchen. Her grandmother was already there, moving about the small space with practiced efficiency, preparing a simple breakfast of rice and miso soup.

The morning light filtered weakly through the windows, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. The atmosphere in the house was no warmer than it had been the day before. Mikoto hesitated in the doorway, unsure of what to say. She wanted to ask her grandmother about the strange face she had seen, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she settled for a polite greeting.

“Good morning, Grandmother.”

Her grandmother barely acknowledged her, only giving a curt nod as she set the table. Mikoto sat down, her eyes lingering on the old woman’s face. The lines etched into her grandmother’s skin seemed deeper in the cold morning light, and there was a heaviness in her gaze that Mikoto couldn’t ignore.

As they ate in silence, Mikoto finally gathered the courage to speak.

“Grandmother,” she began hesitantly, “last night… I saw something outside my window.”

Her grandmother’s hand paused, the chopsticks hovering over her bowl for a moment before she continued eating. “This village is old, Mikoto,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion. “There are things here that cannot be explained. It is best not to dwell on them.”

Mikoto’s heart sank at the response. It wasn’t the reassurance she had hoped for, but a vague warning that only heightened her anxiety. She wanted to press further, to ask what her grandmother meant, but the cold, distant tone made it clear that the conversation was over.

After breakfast, her grandmother handed her a small woven basket. “Today is the Summer Festival,” she said, her voice softer but still firm. “You should go to the village square. There will be stalls and games. It will be good for you to meet the other villagers.”

Mikoto nodded, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to. The idea of mingling with the villagers, especially after the strange reception she had received the day before, filled her with dread. But she knew she couldn’t stay cooped up in the house forever.

The village square was a short walk from her grandmother’s house, and as Mikoto approached, she could hear the faint sounds of laughter and music. The square was small, surrounded by old buildings that seemed to lean inwards, as if trying to keep the outside world at bay. Brightly colored paper lanterns hung from ropes strung between the buildings, swaying gently in the breeze. Despite the cheerful decorations, there was something unsettling about the scene, as if the joy was forced, masking something darker beneath the surface.

Villagers milled about, their faces expressionless as they moved from stall to stall. Mikoto noticed that many of the villagers were elderly, with few young people or children among the crowd. The few children she did see were quiet, clinging to their parents and casting wary glances at her.

She wandered through the square, stopping occasionally to look at the various stalls. There were games set up, traditional festival games like ring toss and goldfish scooping, but they were manned by dour-faced villagers who offered little encouragement or enthusiasm. The prizes were small and unremarkable, as if the effort was more for show than actual enjoyment.

As Mikoto walked, she felt eyes on her, the same cold, suspicious stares she had encountered the day before. She kept her head down, trying to ignore the feeling, but it clung to her like a second skin, making her feel exposed and vulnerable.

She was about to turn back and leave when she heard someone call her name.

“Mikoto-chan!”

She turned to see a girl around her age hurrying towards her, a bright smile on her face. The girl had short, choppy hair dyed a deep red, and she wore a simple yukata decorated with cherry blossoms. Her presence was a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere of the village, and Mikoto felt a small flicker of relief.

“You must be Mikoto-chan! I’m Akane!” the girl said, her smile wide and genuine. “I heard you were coming to live here. It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

Mikoto managed a small smile in return, grateful for the warmth in Akane’s voice. “Nice to meet you too, Akane.”

Akane looped her arm through Mikoto’s and began leading her through the square. “Come on, I’ll show you around! The festival is one of the few fun things we have in this village, so we might as well enjoy it!”

Despite her earlier apprehension, Mikoto found herself relaxing a little in Akane’s presence. The girl’s cheerful energy was infectious, and for a moment, Mikoto allowed herself to forget about the strange face she had seen the night before.

Akane led her to a stall selling taiyaki, the warm, sweet smell filling the air. She bought two and handed one to Mikoto, who thanked her gratefully. They found a quiet spot at the edge of the square to eat, away from the prying eyes of the villagers.

“So, how are you finding the village so far?” Akane asked between bites.

Mikoto hesitated, not sure how much to reveal. “It’s… different,” she said carefully. “I’m still getting used to it.”

Akane nodded, her expression sympathetic. “I know it can be a bit strange at first. Shizukawa isn’t like other places. It’s… old, and the people here can be kind of stuck in their ways. But you’ll get used to it.”

Mikoto wasn’t so sure. There was something about the village that felt off, like a puzzle with too many missing pieces. “Do you live here with your family?” she asked, trying to steer the conversation away from her own feelings.

Akane’s smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered. “Yeah, I live with my parents and my younger brother. We’ve been here for as long as I can remember. It’s a quiet life, but it’s not so bad.”

Mikoto nodded, though she noticed the brief flicker of something in Akane’s eyes—a sadness or perhaps a hint of fear. Before she could ask more, the sound of drums echoed through the square, drawing their attention.

The crowd had gathered in a circle around a group of performers dressed in traditional clothing. The drums beat a steady, rhythmic pattern, and the performers moved in sync, their movements precise and almost hypnotic. The air was thick with the scent of incense, and the lanterns cast a warm, flickering glow over the scene.

Mikoto watched, transfixed, as the dancers moved in a slow, deliberate circle. Their faces were expressionless, their eyes focused on something far beyond the crowd. The drums grew louder, the rhythm more intense, and Mikoto felt a strange sensation in her chest—a tightening, as if something was squeezing her heart.

The dance continued, the movements becoming more frenzied, almost desperate. The performers’ faces twisted with emotion, their expressions contorted in fear and pain. Mikoto’s breath caught in her throat as she realized that the dance wasn’t a celebration—it was a ritual.

Suddenly, the drums stopped, and the dancers froze in place, their bodies trembling with exhaustion. The crowd was silent, as if held in a collective breath. Then, without warning, the performers collapsed to the ground, their bodies limp and lifeless.

Mikoto gasped, her heart pounding in her chest. She looked around, expecting the villagers to rush forward and help, but no one moved. Instead, they began to clap, the sound echoing hollowly through the square.

Akane grabbed her arm, her grip tight. “Come on, let’s go,” she whispered urgently, her cheerful demeanor gone. Mikoto allowed herself to be pulled away from the square, her mind reeling from what she had just witnessed.

As they left the square, Mikoto glanced back one last time. The performers were still lying on the ground, their bodies twisted at unnatural angles, while the villagers continued to clap, their faces blank and emotionless.

Mikoto’s stomach churned, and she felt a wave of nausea wash over her. There was something deeply wrong with this place, something she couldn’t yet understand. But as Akane led her away, one thought burned in her mind—she had to find out what it was.

They walked in silence for a while, the sounds of the festival fading into the background. Akane’s grip on Mikoto’s arm relaxed slightly, but her expression remained tense.

“Akane,” Mikoto finally said, her voice trembling. “What… what was that? The dancers… they looked like they were in pain.”

Akane didn’t answer immediately. She kept her eyes on the path ahead, her lips pressed into a thin line. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, almost a whisper.

“It’s part of the festival,” she said, though her tone was far from reassuring. “It’s just an old tradition, something the village has done for generations. But… it’s better not to ask too many questions about it.”

Mikoto frowned, sensing that there was more to the story. “But why did they collapse like that? Are they okay?”

Akane’s eyes flicked to the side, avoiding Mikoto’s gaze. “They’ll be fine. It’s just part of the ritual. The village elders say it’s to honor the spirits of the forest, to keep them from getting angry.”

Mikoto shivered at the mention of spirits. She had never been particularly superstitious, but something about the way Akane spoke made her blood run cold. The village, the festival, the strange dance—it all felt like pieces of a puzzle she couldn’t yet see.

They arrived at a small bridge that crossed over a slow-moving stream, the water dark and murky. Akane finally released her arm and turned to face her, her expression serious.

“Mikoto, listen to me,” Akane said, her voice firm. “There are things in this village that don’t make sense, things that people don’t talk about. It’s safer that way. Just… keep your head down and don’t draw too much attention to yourself. Trust me.”

Mikoto nodded slowly, her mind racing with questions she knew Akane wouldn’t answer. The warning was clear—Shizukawa was not a place where curiosity was welcomed. But Mikoto couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was happening here, it was only a matter of time before it found her.

As they parted ways, Akane gave her a small, sad smile. “I’ll see you around, Mikoto-chan. Take care.”

Mikoto watched her walk away, a heavy sense of foreboding settling in her chest. The festival, the strange dance, the village’s secrets—it was all too much to process. But one thing was certain: Shizukawa was a place of darkness, and it had already begun to seep into her life.

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