The Graveyard Apartment: A Novel by Mariko Koike

Author:Mariko Koike [Koike, Mariko]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror
ISBN: 9781250060549
Google: OB3JCwAAQBAJ
Amazon: 1250060540
Barnesnoble: 1250060540
Goodreads: 28220806
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 1988-06-30T22:00:00+00:00

12

May 17, 1987 (evening)

An hour had passed since Teppei set out on his reconnaissance mission. Misao felt upset after he left, so she had busied herself with tidying up the dinner dishes before settling in front of the television with Tamao to watch a home drama about the troubled relationship between a young wife and her shrewish mother-in-law. At the same time, doubling down on her determination to improve her mood, she was leafing through an enticingly illustrated article titled “Three-Minute Recipes,” in a cooking magazine. The voice of the ingenue playing the part of the new bride began to grate on Misao’s ears, and she turned down the volume.

Tamao had been happily playing with her teddy bear, but now her eyelids began to droop. When she got drowsy, Tamao had an unconscious habit of vigorously rubbing her ears. Tonight she had already kneaded one ear to the point where it was visibly inflamed.

Misao gave her daughter a light tap on the bottom and said, “I know you’re sleepy, but you need to wait till Papa comes back, okay? You always take a bath with Papa on Sunday night, isn’t that right?”

“Do I really have to take a bath?”

“You worked up a sweat today, didn’t you? You’ll sleep better if you take a bath before you go to bed.”

“I don’t want to. I’m already super sleepy.”

Misao looked at the clock on the wall. How long are those three planning to stay down in the basement, anyway? she wondered. Does this extended stay mean they found something? Even so, it would have been nice if Teppei had taken a minute to run back upstairs and give her an update.

Craning her neck to peek into the hallway, Misao caught a glimpse of Cookie lying asleep on the floor with both forelegs stretched out in front. When Misao turned back to look at Tamao, her eyes were drawn to the TV screen. It was filled with an extreme close-up of the face of the actress playing the young wife, but the image was wavering and shimmering, almost as if it were being projected on the ripply surface of a body of water. In addition, the screen was streaked with a veritable blizzard of diagonal lines.

Misao jumped up from the sofa and changed the channel. The picture looked the same on every station: quivery and obscured by slanting lines. “That’s funny,” she said. “Tamao, something’s wrong with the TV.”

Tamao showed a brief flicker of interest, then immediately went back to sleepily massaging her ears. Misao tried fiddling with the picture adjustment button. Just like the other time when there had been some kind of electronic interference, the image on the screen continued to waver and sway.

Misao felt an unpleasant sense of foreboding. Ignoring Tamao, who was becoming increasingly fretful, she went into the kitchen. Lifting the receiver of the telephone on the counter, she punched in the Tabatas’ number. It rang and rang, but no one picked up.

Misao’s forehead broke out in prickly beads of sweat.

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