Ghost Hunt:Volume5 by <unknown>

Author:<unknown> [<unknown>]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-10-29T19:21:00.290000+00:00

7

In the end, before sunset neared, we went to measure the stairs. Step by step, we carefully measured, then recorded it faithfully on the diagram. Then, during this process, John found that.

That was near the center of the building, in the middle of a short flight of stairs. Along the corridor there were about 10 steps ascending. There was a room directly facing the top of this flight of stairs. From there onwards, the corridor split into slightly narrow left and right branches. Where the corridor was wider; the walls on both sides were covered with whitewash. From where I stood, up to my chest height, there was a 10cm wide protruding panel. It was engraved beautifully with a relief sculpture of creepers. Beneath that decoration…

“There’s a door here.”

John, who had squatted down to measure the height of the step, spoke. Looking closely at it, on the wall, next to where John was squatting, beneath the relief sculpture, half a door could be seen.

The door was the same color as the white wash. Due to the protrusion of the relief sculpture, it blocked our vision of this door previously.

Half of the door was covered by the stairs. Even like this, from a higher position, a small door handle could be seen. John grabbed this handle and pushed. The door opened easily inwards.

I shone the torch into the dark room.

That was a narrow room about 3 tatami’s size. The floor was covered with dust; there wasn’t a thing that looked like furniture. Although there was a window on the inside, no light shone through it. It was clearly sealed from the outside.

John jumped into that room. The dust was all stirred up; John coughed a few times gently.

“Is there anything inside?”

Although Bou-san spoke to John like that, the room was just like what we saw with our first brief sweep with the torch: besides the dust, there was nothing. No.

“There’s a frame hung on the wall.”

We stretched our necks to see the large frame pointed out by John.

“Besides that, there isn’t anything else, is there?”

“No.”

John removed the frame and passed it back out of the room. I took the dust covered frame, then Bou-san and Yasuhara pulled John up from the room.

There, I carefully rubbed the dust on the frame. It looked like a portrait.

After rubbing the dust even more carefully, the canvas became uneven, and the remnants of an oil painting appeared. A male was drawn on it: a frail, shrewd looking man of about 40. His hair was neatly combed, and he wore a black overcoat over his black kimono.

“There’s a signature here.”

Bou-san pointed to the bottom left corner of the portrait. Sloping yellow lines were written there. Rather than calling them lines, they should be called patterns made from lines. As for what was written above, we all couldn’t see clearly.

“… this is the Kaō.”

“Kaō?”

“Aah, a Japanese style signature. It’s a stylized method of writing Kanji etc. … I really can’t see a thing on this one.”

Bou-san tilted the frame.

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