The Cursed Isle of Echoes

Dawn on Yurei-jima arrived hesitantly, the gray sky peeling back just enough to let in slivers of weak sunlight. The mist still clung to the trees and cliffs, reluctant to leave. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the locked door, my pulse still uneven from the night before.

The scarf was gone.

I had checked the doorstep the moment daylight came, my breath tight in my throat. Where it had lain, only a damp spot remained, as if it had never been there.

I wanted to believe it had been a dream, a stress-induced hallucination brought on by exhaustion and the eerie isolation of this place. But the knocking—the voice—had been too real. The perfectly smooth cadence of her words still coiled in my mind like a whisper caught in an endless loop.

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

I scrubbed a hand over my face, my eyes dry and burning. I hadn't slept. I couldn't. The silence of the house had been deafening, every creak of the wooden walls sending a fresh spike of tension through me.

A knock on the door made me flinch.

Not like last night. This one was casual, firm. Normal.

I hesitated, then stood, stepping cautiously toward the door. I unlocked it with shaky fingers, the rusted bolt groaning as it slid free. When I opened it, a man stood on my doorstep.

He was in his thirties, with sun-worn skin and a lean, wiry build. His dark hair was slightly damp, strands sticking to his forehead, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong, calloused hands. Slung over one shoulder was a woven basket filled with fresh fish, their silver scales glinting even in the dull morning light.

He studied me for a second, then smirked.

"You heard her, huh?"

A shiver ran down my spine.

I didn't answer right away. My throat was too dry.

The man sighed, shifting the weight of the basket. "They always come for the newcomers," he said, like it was just another fact of life. He nudged past me, stepping inside without waiting for permission.

I blinked. "...Who are you?"

"Kaito," he said, setting the basket down on my rickety kitchen table. "I fish. You eat. Simple enough arrangement, yeah?"

I shut the door, half-expecting the scarf to appear again the moment I looked away. When it didn't, I turned back to Kaito, my pulse still uneven.

He was already making himself at home, pulling one of the old chairs out and sitting down, stretching his legs. Up close, I noticed faint scars on his arms, probably from years of working with nets and lines.

"You look like hell," he remarked, eyeing my face. "Didn't sleep?"

"What the hell was that last night?" My voice came out sharper than I intended.

Kaito just exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "First night's always the worst."

He wasn't denying it. That unsettled me more than anything.

I pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down, my legs still stiff. "You knew that would happen. All of you."

"Of course," he said simply.

"Then why—" I stopped myself. I already knew the answer. It was in Jiro's warning, in the silence of the villagers, in the way Kaito was so casually unbothered by what had happened.

This wasn't new. It was normal here.

A cold weight settled in my chest.

Kaito picked up one of the fish from the basket, inspecting it briefly before setting it back down. "You locked your door, yeah?"

I nodded.

"Good. Keep it that way. Some people get… curious. They don't last long."

The way he said it made my stomach tighten.

I leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table. "What happens if you open the door?"

Kaito's jaw tightened, just for a fraction of a second, before he relaxed back into his seat. "You don't want to know."

That wasn't an answer.

I ran a hand through my hair, still trying to ground myself in reality. "This isn't normal," I muttered. "None of this is normal."

"Not normal for you," Kaito said, his tone unreadable. "But this island's older than you, older than me. Some things just are."

I thought about pressing him for more, but the look in his eyes told me I wouldn't get much else. At least, not yet.

He stood, stretching. "Anyway, consider this a welcome gift. You should eat." He tapped the basket of fish. "Jiro won't come check on you, and the old folks don't talk much to outsiders. So unless you want to starve, learn to gut a fish."

I looked at the basket, then back at him. "...Thanks."

Kaito shrugged. "Don't mention it. Just…" He hesitated at the door, glancing over his shoulder. "Don't leave offerings."

The words were quiet, but they landed like a stone in my chest.

"Offerings?" I asked, my mouth suddenly dry.

He didn't elaborate. Just gave me a knowing look, then stepped outside.

I followed him to the porch, watching as he strode back toward the docks. The mist had thinned slightly, and for the first time, I saw his boat—a small, weathered fishing vessel bobbing gently in the water.

The name was painted on the side in fading white letters.

Shizuka.

"Your boat's name?" I called after him.

Kaito paused at the dock, glancing back. "My sister's."

Something about the way he said it—distant, hollow—told me she wasn't around anymore.

I didn't ask.

I just stood there, the wind stirring the hydrangeas, the scent of salt and damp earth filling my lungs.

The island felt different in the daylight. Not safer. Just quieter.

But I had a feeling the nights would only get worse.