The Call from Below
Kanade stared at the iron door in the kitchen's depths. Rust scarred its surface, etched with faint, claw-like scratches. The key in her hand was cold, biting into her fingers. Few staff knew of the staircase beyond this door, and Kanade's memory held no details about it—only a fragmented whisper from a senior employee long ago: "Never open it."
Tap, tap.
The sound came again, rising from the stairwell's depths.
Her circuits flared a warning, but Kanade ignored it. The man in the gray coat, the woman in the white kimono, the old woman who melted into the bath—they all seemed to guide her to this door. She slid the key into the lock, and with a grating screech, the door swung open.
The air shifted. It grew heavy, thick with the sharp tang of water. The staircase was narrow, its wooden steps half-rotted. Kanade took a step, the cold biting her bare feet. She had no flashlight; her eyes were designed for darkness, yet the bottom of the stairs swam in a black fog.
"Is anyone there?" she called.
No answer. The tapping ceased. Silence wrapped her like a living thing. She descended slowly, each step creaking, the door above growing distant.
At the bottom, a concrete floor stretched into a small room. Water droplets glistened on the walls. In the center stood an ancient stone well, its rim cloaked in moss. From its depths came the faint slosh of water. Kanade approached and peered inside. The dark surface reflected her face, but for a fleeting moment, the eyes staring back seemed not her own.
"You came, didn't you?"
The voice slithered from behind. Kanade spun around. The woman in the white kimono stood there—the same one who'd vanished in the lobby. Her hair veiled her face, her moon-like eyes glowing.
"What is this place?" Kanade asked, forcing calm.
The woman glided toward the well, resting a hand on its edge. Her fingers seemed to ripple, as if dissolving into water.
"The heart of the inn," she said. "The springs rise from here. And the forgotten gather here."
Her whisper seemed to echo inside Kanade's mind. Kanade stepped back.
"The forgotten…?"
Instead of answering, the woman pointed to the well. Kanade looked again. The water trembled, and a vague shadow rose to the surface. It was human-shaped—or something mimicking one. The shadow stirred. A cold hand seemed to graze Kanade's arm. She recoiled, stumbling away from the well.
"You can't escape," the woman said. "You've seen it now."
As she spoke, her form thinned to mist and faded. Kanade stared at the well. From its depths, a faint sound—like laughter—bubbled up.
New Shadows
Kanade hurried up the stairs, back to the kitchen. She slammed the iron door shut and locked it, her simulated heartbeat racing unnaturally. At the front desk, she leaned against the counter.
The clock read three-thirty a.m. The night refused to end.
More water droplets speckled the ledger, like traces of tears. Kanade wiped them away, her thoughts returning to the blueprint from the man's room. The basement room—could it be the well? She checked behind the ledger, but the old key was the only clue. No other leads—
Clack.
The entrance door rattled.
Kanade looked up. Not again. No guests should arrive at this hour. Yet, beyond the glass, two blurred figures swayed. She stepped from the counter and opened the door.
A man and woman stood there, dressed in black. The man, bespectacled and frail, trembled as if caught in a gale. The woman, in a long coat, hid her face behind a mask. Both were pale, as if drained by a freezing wind.
"Help us… our car broke down," the man said, his voice quivering.
The woman said nothing, her gaze fixed past Kanade, into the inn's depths.
"Of course. Please, come in," Kanade said, ushering them into the lobby.
The man collapsed onto the tatami, while the woman remained standing, rigid. Her eyes gleamed through the mask's slit. Kanade opened the ledger, starting the check-in process.
"Your names, please?"
"Names?" The man let out a sharp laugh, jagged like a broken machine. "What do they matter?"
Kanade froze for a moment.
"Names matter," the woman said, speaking for the first time. Her voice was low, chastising the man, but her eyes bored into Kanade, as if peering through her.
"I'm sorry, but for our records—" Kanade began.
The man shot up, slamming his hands on the counter. The thud echoed through the lobby.
"Records? In a place like this? What's there to record? No one leaves this inn!"
His voice spiked, his eyes bloodshot behind his glasses. Kanade stepped back, her programming flashing a danger signal.
"Please, calm down. I'll prepare a room—"
"A room?" He laughed again, wilder. "Rooms mean nothing here. This inn—"
The woman seized his arm, her eyes flashing through the mask. "Be quiet. Don't say too much."
Her voice was ice, and the man fell silent instantly. Kanade studied them, the blueprint flashing in her mind. The well. The shadow. These two—did they know something?
"This way, please," she said, leading them to a second-floor room.
As they walked the corridor, the man muttered under his breath, "Can't leave, can't leave." The woman said nothing, her gaze burning into Kanade's back.
At the room, Kanade handed them the key. The man hurried inside. The woman lingered at the threshold, leaning close to whisper.
"Be careful. You shouldn't have looked into that well."
Kanade's breath caught. The woman smiled faintly, then closed the door. Silence reclaimed the corridor. But in Kanade's ears, the tap, tap echoed again—this time, impossibly close.