The Cursed Isle of Echoes

I wasn't sure what to expect when Yumi arrived, but it certainly wasn't her typical response.

"This is your escape plan?" she said as soon as she saw the island through the fogged-up ferry window. Her voice was tinged with the usual mockery, like she had just discovered some petty crime. "A rundown cottage on a ghost island? Did you lose a bet or something?"

I didn't answer, just watched the mist envelope the boat as it neared the island. She had always been like this—loud, blunt, and wholly skeptical of anything that didn't fit into her neat, logical world.

"Do you even lock your door here, or is that 'rustic superstition' too?" Yumi added, her voice rising above the wind.

I felt my chest tighten. The rules, I wanted to tell her. Lock the door. It's not a joke. But I kept quiet. Yumi was here for only a week, and I had to let her see it all for herself—if she was determined to.

We made our way to the cottage, and I showed her around with the same tired gestures I had been repeating for days. She didn't seem impressed.

"You need to get out more, Haruto," Yumi said, her eyes scanning the overgrown hydrangeas surrounding the house. "This place is... haunting in the wrong way."

"I'm fine," I said, the words coming out too quickly.

She rolled her eyes. "Sure you are."

The villagers, as expected, avoided her questions. They had always been tight-lipped about anything beyond their usual routines, but with Yumi's sharp tongue and refusal to take hints, they grew uncomfortable quickly. She didn't give up though, taking photos of everything from the old stone paths to the fish markets.

"You're not getting anything from them," I muttered one afternoon as we walked past the town square. "They don't like outsiders poking around."

"I'm not poking around. I'm studying them," Yumi shot back, holding up her camera like a weapon.

By the sixth night, I had almost forgotten the tension. Yumi was too busy with her photography to notice the strange atmosphere that weighed on the air here, and I had grown used to the quiet, to the oppressive waiting. The island seemed to hold its breath, just as it had on the night I arrived.

But as the evening wore on, I found myself glancing toward the door more frequently. The clock struck 8:50 PM.

It started again.

Three polite knocks.

Yumi, who had been sitting in the corner scrolling through her phone, didn't seem to notice at first. My heart beat harder in my chest as I stood up, the familiar dread sinking into my bones.

"Haruto?" Yumi said, looking up with a frown. "What's up? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I could barely answer. My hands shook as I walked toward the door, dread seeping through my veins. I opened my mouth, but my throat went dry.

"It's happening again," I whispered, too quiet for her to hear. I could barely hear myself.

She sighed and stood. "Okay, okay, enough. You've been spooked by something. Let me see what's—"

Before I could stop her, Yumi had already moved toward the door and swung it open.

There she stood.

My mother.

She was exactly how I remembered—down to the lavender sweater that had faded from years of wear. The same calm, loving expression I had seen a thousand times in my memories. Her hair was pulled back in that simple way she had, and her eyes, oh her eyes…

She smiled, and my heart twisted in my chest.

"You must be Yumi!" she said warmly, her voice carrying the same soothing tone it always had when she spoke to anyone she cared for. "Haruto's told me so much about you. Come in, dear—I made snacks!"

Yumi froze, her hand still hovering by the doorknob. Her eyes locked onto my mother, and for the first time since arriving, she seemed unsure of herself.

I took a step forward, my heart racing as everything inside me screamed at me to act. "No—Yumi, don't—"

But it was too late.

Yumi stepped inside, her gaze still glued to the figure standing before her. She didn't move, didn't speak, as my mother stepped aside, ushering her in with an outstretched hand. "Come in, come in," my mother repeated. "I've made taiyaki—just like you like."

I watched, paralyzed, as Yumi took another step into the house. Her eyes darted around, clearly confused, before landing back on my mother. "That's… that's your—"

But I couldn't hear her question. My feet moved before I could think, and with one violent motion, I yanked Yumi backward, slamming the door shut behind us.

The entity on the other side sighed, a soft, almost disappointed sound.

"Oh, well. Next time!" it called cheerfully.

I stood there, my hands gripping the door as if it could keep everything outside from coming inside. Yumi was silent, her body stiff in my arms. Her breath came in shallow, quick bursts.

"What the hell…" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

I turned to face her. She was pale, her lips trembling as if the words wouldn't come. Her gaze flickered between the door and me.

"Haruto…" she began, but stopped, looking past me toward the door. "That… wasn't human."

The words seemed to hang in the air, cold and heavy.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I wanted to explain, to say something, but I didn't know how to make her understand.

The next morning, Yumi was gone. She left early, without saying goodbye. She didn't even pack her things properly, leaving her jacket by the door and her camera on the counter.

All she left behind were her words, repeated over and over in my head like an echo: "That… wasn't human."

I stood in the doorway, staring at the empty landscape of Yurei-jima.

Then, as if to confirm everything I had just experienced, I noticed something on the porch.

Taiyaki. Still warm, as if it had just been made.

I reached down and picked it up, the sweet, crisp exterior crumbling slightly in my fingers. It was my mother's recipe—her perfect taiyaki.

The same taiyaki she used to make for me when I was a child.

I didn't eat it. I just stood there, staring at it as the mist rolled in around me.

The island wasn't finished with me yet.