House in the Mountains

Well, it was a long time ago, but I was getting into fishing for a while. Friends are fascinated in earnest. I started going out with it, but it was a lot of fun. Often entering the mountains, aiming at the upper stream of the river. Looking for a great point. Step into the unexplored place itself, I was almost in search of mood.

One day, two friends and I went to the river that had been keeping an eye on for a while. When crossing a forest road with four-wheel drive and trying to stop the car in a place where the rough road is interrupted. My friend complained about the engine malfunction. I have stalled. I can not go fishing any longer. I came to mountain where this popularity does not exist, how do you go home.

Tomorrow I knew I had to call JAF. While walking back the mountain path, I found a narrow road like a private road. It is still far to the prefectural road. If there is a house, then let’s hire a phone there. I was talking, but have you come across a phone in such a mountain? As I moved forward with suspicion, the roof of a building that looks like a flat shop came into sight.

There is no sign of people as expected. It became completely useless, both of us got tired. As I approached and looked at the house, almost as ruins. Neither way, I decided to go inside the house for a moment. There is no lock on the shutoff door which has come, I tried to open it but the frame broke away and it fell as it was.

There was something wrong, the inside was desolated. The tatami was turned over and thrown, the bookshelf collapsed, the stove laying on it. It seems that dirty duvets, clothing, household goods etc. are scattered. I thought that there was not a footstep in the foot, a voice caught from a friend. When we turn around to the entrance with two people, there is a dirt room and a rising stile.

In the living room of a boarder is a thing that seems to be a hearth, but it is devastated by termites. The floorboards were full of holes. When you open the sliding door of the living room, there is a workshop like a workshop, and a large amount of pottery fragments are scattered. I wonder if you lived in pottery as well.

While talking to the outside that there was something similar to a kiln, I slowly opened the door that entered from the workplace. One is a washroom and a bathroom. This place is also full of mud and stagnant rainwater is collected in the bathtub. Something’s wrong sprained trying to open another door. As a friend touched the door knob, I called to go already, but the door has been opened.

That room was in order. It may be that the inhabitants here used as bedroom. A futon was laid between the six mats and there was a small shabu-babe next to it. There is an empty cup and an ashtray on the cabbage table, there is smoking and stabbing in it. It was as if someone had been there until now. There was an oil lamp on the pillow of the futon, and the weekly magazine was spreading in the vicinity.

My friend silently picked up the weekly magazine and confirmed the date of issue date. Then, muttering as “Three years ago,” mutually looked at each other. At the same time, they both rolled out of the room while screaming. I ran to a forest road branching to a driveway and ran away, I was taking a breath while I was absent for a while.

“Oh my, there must have been a crazy person living.” I talked about my fear. Friends close their eyes. It seemed to have heard this story for a while. It was silent all the time. What do you think? When asked from here, my friend talked quietly. “That room, but there was no trace of insects or animals coming in.”

“Have human beings really lived?”
“Well, how about a car?”
I pretended that I have not heard.