The Cursed Isle of Echoes

The night had an unnatural quiet to it, as if the world itself was holding its breath. The wind was still, and the usual chorus of crickets had fallen silent. I sat by the window, the mist creeping in through the cracked panes, feeling the weight of Ms. Fumiko's warning hanging over me.

I hadn't been able to stop thinking about the things she'd told me—about Aiko, the spirits, and the curse. The more I thought about it, the harder it became to shake the feeling that they were watching me. That the entity would come again.

But I hadn't heard the knocks yet. Maybe, just maybe, I was safe.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 8:45 PM. Almost time.

I stood and paced the small living room, trying to distract myself. The hydrangeas outside had started to wilt in the cold, their petals curling and browning at the edges. I couldn't shake the image of my mother's favorite flower, always in bloom no matter the season.

I couldn't stop thinking about her.

And that was when I heard it.

Three knocks. Polite. Rhythmic.

It wasn't like the last time. The voice that followed wasn't distorted or hollow. It was warm. Familiar.

"Haruto, it's cold outside… let me in."

My heart stopped.

I knew that voice. I would never forget it.

I stumbled toward the door, my hands trembling as I gripped the doorknob. The air around me felt heavy, like it was pressing down on my chest, suffocating me. I stood there for a moment, listening to the silence. Then the knock came again—louder, more urgent.

I should have turned away. I should have locked the door. But my fingers had already moved, my body acting before my mind could stop it. The latch clicked, and the door swung open.

There, standing in the doorway, was my mother.

It was her.

Her long, dark hair cascaded down her back, her face framed by the soft glow of the lantern light. She wore the lavender sweater I'd bought her for her birthday, the one she wore every winter. Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw the same warmth I remembered—the same smile that had always greeted me after a long day.

"My sweet boy," she said, her voice so tender it felt like a balm on my soul.

I stood frozen in the doorway, my breath caught in my throat. Was this real? Was she real?

"Mom," I whispered, my voice shaking.

She reached out, her hand soft against my cheek. "It's alright, Haruto. You've been through so much. Let me help you."

I didn't move. I couldn't. My heart was thundering in my chest, my thoughts a chaotic blur. This wasn't possible. My mother had been gone for three years.

But here she was.

She stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, brushing past me as though it were the most natural thing in the world. The air around her smelled like lavender and jasmine, just like it used to. I watched her move through the room with the ease of someone who belonged there.

She went to the kitchen, as if she had never left, humming the same lullaby she used to sing to me when I was a child. "Hana wa Saku." The words came back to me as if I'd heard them only yesterday.

I stood by the door, my feet rooted to the floor, as she tidied the kitchen. She moved with purpose, opening cabinets and setting the table as though she were preparing a meal for the family. I could almost feel the warmth of her presence, the comfort that had once filled our home.

But something was wrong.

Her shadow, cast on the floor by the flickering light of the lantern, didn't move with her.

It remained still. Unmoving.

My heart skipped a beat.

I watched her closely now, my gaze lingering on the shadow, unwilling to look away. It was impossible to ignore. No matter where she went, the shadow stayed rooted in place, frozen in time.

She turned back to me with a soft smile. "I used to do this for you, didn't I? Make everything feel better."

I nodded, unable to speak.

But the smile that had once been a source of comfort now felt cold. It didn't reach her eyes.

"Mom," I finally managed to whisper, my voice raw. "What are you?"

Her smile faltered for a brief moment, then returned, even warmer than before. "I'm just here to take care of you, Haruto. To make things right again."

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

She finished tidying up the kitchen, humming the lullaby under her breath as she moved. The room had become colder, and the walls felt like they were closing in on me. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think.

When she was done, she turned to face me, her hands resting on the counter. "I should go now," she said softly. "But I'll be back tomorrow."

My chest tightened. "No. Please… don't go."

She gave me that same warm smile. "I have to, my sweet boy. I'm not really here, you know."

I froze.

She didn't wait for me to respond. As she stepped toward the door, she paused, her back still turned to me.

"Lock the door tomorrow," she said, her voice carrying a strange weight to it. "Others aren't as kind."

The door clicked shut behind her, and I was left standing alone in the silence.

I rushed to the door, my hands shaking as I slid the bolt into place, though I knew it wouldn't make a difference.

I stood there, staring at the door as if I could will her to come back. But the silence stretched on, thick and suffocating.

Had she really been here? Or had it all been some twisted illusion, something my mind had conjured to fill the void she had left?

Either way, I knew one thing for sure: I wasn't alone anymore.

And the next time the knocks came, I might not be able to resist opening the door again.