File 002 - 大切な少女
# *Compiled from shift logs and fragmented testimony following the unexplained death of Yuki M., night clerk. Certain anomalies in timekeeping remain unresolved.*
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Yuki counts everything. One step, two steps, three steps to the konbini door. Four breaths in, five breaths out. Six blinks, seven blinks. The fluorescent light above flickers twenty-three times per minute. She knows because she counts.
Always counting.
The 7-Eleven smells like old ramen and cleaning fluid. Sharp smell that makes her nose itch. But she doesn't scratch. Scratching messes up the count. Everything must be precise. Perfect. *Kanpeki.*
Night shift again. Same time, same place. 11 PM to 7 AM. Eight hours. Four hundred eighty minutes. Twenty-eight thousand eight hundred seconds if nothing goes wrong. But something always goes wrong.
The old man comes at 3:33 AM every night. *Mainichi.* Same time. Same bent back. Same gray suit too big for his thin body. He buys one *onigiri* and one *Pocari Sweat.* Always the same. He pays with exact change. One hundred sixty yen. No more, no less.
But tonight something's different.
Yuki arranges the magazine rack. *Weekly Jump*, *Famitsu*, *Shonen Magazine*. Must be straight. Must be a perfect line. One magazine sticks out two millimeters. She pushes it back. Counts the space between each magazine. Five millimeters. Five millimeters. Five millimeters. Good.
The door chime rings. *Irasshaimase!* she calls out automatically. Welcome. But no one's there. Just the empty door swinging a little bit in the wind.
Wind? But the door is closed.
She counts her heartbeat. *Dokun dokun dokun.* Too fast. Sixty-eight beats per minute should be normal but now it's ninety-two. She takes a deep breath. Counts to ten. *Ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku, shichi, hachi, kyuu, juu.*
Better.
The security monitor shows four screens. Front door, back storage, aisle one, aisle two. All gray and fuzzy. The camera's old. Manager's too cheap to fix it. But Yuki likes the fuzz. Makes everything soft. Less sharp. Less scary.
She stocks the *bentou* in the warm case. Chicken *karaage*, *yakitori*, curry rice. Must count each one. Twelve chicken, eleven *yakitori*, nine curry. Twenty-eight, no, thirty-two total. She counts again. Still thirty-two. Good.
The clock above the cash register says 1:47 AM. Two hours until the old man comes. Two hours, thirteen minutes, twenty seconds if the clock is accurate. But the clock is always slow by thirty-seven seconds. She knows because she counts.
The fluorescent light flickers more tonight. Usually twenty-three times per minute but now twenty-nine. Or thirty. Hard to count when they're not steady. Makes her eyes hurt. Makes her brain feel twisted.
Something moves in aisle two.
Yuki looks up from the *bentou* case. Nothing there. Just shadows maybe. Shadows from the street light outside mixing with the store light inside. Creating shapes that look like people but aren't people.
She walks to aisle two. Her slippers make a soft sound on the linoleum floor. *Pata pata pata.* Three steps to reach the aisle. Shelves full of instant noodles. *Cup Noodle*, *Maruchan*, *Nissin*. All lined up perfectly. She counted them yesterday. Forty-seven cups total.
Now forty-six.
One missing. Top shelf, third from left. Empty space like a missing tooth. But who buys noodles at 1 AM? She checks the register. Last sale was 11:23 PM. High school boy bought an energy drink and *melon pan*. After that, nothing.
Yuki feels cold in her stomach. Not hungry cold. Scared cold. Like when she was little and mama left her alone at night. Count to calm down. *Ichi, ni, san.*
The door chime rings again.
This time she sees a customer. Salaryman in a dark suit. Not the old man. Different man. Younger maybe. Hard to see his face under the fluorescent light. Shadows make everything strange.
"*Irasshaimase*," she says. Bows a little bit. Proper greeting.
The man walks to the back of the store. Aisle three. Where they keep the alcohol and cigarettes. His footsteps sound weird. Too heavy. Like his shoes are made of metal. *Gatan gatan gatan.*
Yuki watches the security monitor. Aisle three camera shows empty space. No customer. Just shelves full of *chuuhi* and *sake*. But she can hear the footsteps. Still walking. Still heavy.
Her hands start shaking. She grips the counter edge. Counts the shakes. One shake, two shakes, three shakes per second. Must control. Must stay calm.
The footsteps stop.
Silence.
Then the man appears at the counter. Suddenly. Like he teleported. But that's impossible. *Muri da yo.* People can't just appear.
He puts one *onigiri* on the counter. Tuna mayo. Most popular flavor. Price tag says one hundred eight yen.
Yuki looks at his face. Or tries to. But every time she focuses, his features get blurry. Like looking through water. Or thick glass. She can see he wears glasses but can't see his eyes behind them.
"*Sumimasen*," she says. "One hundred eight yen please."
The man puts money on the counter. Exact change. But when she counts, only ninety yen. She counts again. Still ninety.
"Excuse me, eighteen yen more please," she says in broken English. Some customers prefer English. Makes them feel important.
The man tilts his head. Like a confused dog. Then he reaches in his pocket. Puts more coins on the counter. But now too much. One hundred thirty yen.
Yuki counts three times. Always one hundred thirty. Never the correct amount.
The man waits. Patient. His breathing sounds strange. Too quiet. Like he's barely breathing at all. She wants to give him change but the math doesn't work. If the *onigiri* costs one hundred eight yen and he pays one hundred thirty yen, change should be twenty-two yen. But she only has twenty yen coins and one yen coins in the register. No two yen coin.
Wait. There's no such thing as a two yen coin.
Her brain feels fuzzy. Like the security monitor. Everything blurs together. Numbers don't make sense anymore.
The man leans forward. His hand reaches across the counter. Cold fingers touch her wrist. Ice cold. Like touching a corpse.
"You are counting wrong," he whispers. Voice sounds like wind through a broken window. "*Machigatte iru yo.*"
Yuki jerks her hand back. The coins scatter on the floor. *Chan chan chan.* Metallic sound echoes in the empty store. When she looks up, the man is gone.
Just empty store. Just her.
She kneels down to pick up the coins. Counts them as she goes. One, two, three... seven coins total. But she remembers eight. Always remembers numbers exactly. She counts again. Still seven.
Where did the eighth coin go?
The clock says 2:15 AM. Time is moving too fast. Usually she counts every minute but somehow twenty-eight minutes passed without notice. That never happens. Time is the most important thing to count.
She checks the security monitor again. All four screens show an empty store. But wait. In aisle one camera, something moves. Quick shadow at the edge of the screen. Gone before she can focus.
Yuki walks around the counter. Must check. Must make sure everything is in the correct place. That's her job. Keep the store safe and clean. Count everything perfectly.
Aisle one looks normal. Candy and snacks in neat rows. She counts the *Kit Kat*. Should be twenty-three packages. Green tea flavor, strawberry flavor, original. Twenty-three yesterday. Twenty-three this morning.
Now twenty-two.
Someone's stealing. Must be. But no customers since the strange man. And he only bought the *onigiri*. Not *Kit Kat*.
Unless...
She walks to the storage room. Maybe she miscounted yesterday. Maybe she needs to bring one more package from the back. Storage room is small and dark. One light bulb hangs from the ceiling. Casts harsh shadows everywhere.
Box of *Kit Kat* on the metal shelf. She counts the packages inside. Fifteen packages. If twenty-two on the shelf and fifteen in storage, the total should be thirty-seven. But yesterday the total was thirty-eight. One still missing.
This doesn't make sense. Numbers always add up. Always perfect. Math never lies.
But now math is wrong.
Yuki feels panic rise in her chest. Like a small animal trapped inside her ribs. Scratching and clawing. She counts her breaths. Four seconds in, four seconds out. Tries to stay calm.
The light bulb flickers. On, off, on, off. Not a steady rhythm. Random flicker that hurts her eyes.
In the flicker moment, she sees something.
Another girl.
Standing behind the *Kit Kat* box.
Same age maybe. Same height. Wearing the same convenience store uniform. Same name tag that says "Yuki" in hiragana.
But the girl's face...
No face.
Just smooth skin where features should be. Like an unfinished doll. Or like someone erased all the details with a big eraser.
Yuki screams.
The light bulb explodes. Glass rains down on the concrete floor. *Parin parin parin.* Sharp sound that cuts through the darkness.
She runs back to the main store. Fluorescent lights seem brighter now. Too bright. Everything looks overexposed. Like old photographs left in the sun too long.
The clock says 3:33 AM.
Time for the old man.
The door chime rings. Right on schedule. Same bent back, same gray suit, same shuffling walk. He goes straight to the *onigiri* section. Picks up tuna mayo. Same one the strange man tried to buy. But this one is still there. Like nothing happened.
The old man brings the *onigiri* to the counter. Also grabs a *Pocari Sweat* from the drink cooler. Same routine every night. Reliable like a machine.
"One hundred sixty yen," Yuki says. Voice shaking a little bit but she tries to hide it.
The old man puts exact change on the counter. Same as always. She counts automatically. One hundred yen coin, fifty yen coin, ten yen coin. Perfect.
But when she looks up to give the receipt, the old man is staring at her. Really staring. Not a polite customer look. Deep stare that goes through her skin, through her bones, straight to her soul.
His eyes aren't normal eyes. Too dark. Too deep. Like looking into a well at night.
"*Kimi wa*..." he starts to say. Voice dry like old paper. "*Kimi wa mou...*"
You are already...
But he doesn't finish the sentence. Just takes his items and walks to the door. Same shuffling steps. Same bent back.
At the door, he turns around one more time.
"*Kazoeru no wo yamero*," he whispers. Stop counting.
The door chime rings as he leaves. Sound echoes longer than usual. Like a bell in an empty church.
Yuki stands behind the counter. Hands trembling. She tries to count something, anything, to feel normal again. Counts the receipts in the register. Counts the coins in the cash drawer. Counts the breaths in her lungs.
But the numbers feel wrong. Everything feels wrong.
She looks at the security monitor. All four screens show the same thing now. Empty store. Empty aisles. But wait...
In every screen, she sees a girl. Same girl from the storage room. Same uniform. Same name tag. Standing in different places in each camera.
Aisle one girl waves at the camera.
Aisle two girl points at something off screen.
Front door girl mouths words that Yuki can't understand.
Back storage girl just stands there. Still. Too still.
But all four girls have no face.
Yuki looks around the real store. No one there. Just her. Just empty aisles and fluorescent lights and the soft hum of the refrigerator.
She looks back at the monitor.
Now five screens.
The fifth screen shows the counter area. Shows her standing behind the register. But the girl on screen... the girl on screen looks different.
The girl on screen has no face either.
Yuki reaches up to touch her own face. Feels her nose. Her mouth. Her eyes. All there. All normal. But on the screen, just smooth skin.
Understanding comes slowly. Like sunrise. Like water filling a bathtub.
She remembers now.
The car accident. Three weeks ago. Driving home after night shift. Same route every day. Count the street lights. Count the stop signs. Count the seconds until she reaches home.
But that night she miscounted.
Ran the red light one second too early. Truck coming from the left. Big truck with a metal bumper. She remembers the impact. Remembers the sound. Remembers counting her last breaths before everything went dark.
*Ichi, ni, san...*
The funeral was small. Only mama and a few coworkers. Manager cried a little bit. Said she was a good employee. Always counted everything perfectly. Never made mistakes with money.
But dead people don't work night shifts.
Dead people don't sell *onigiri* to strange customers.
Dead people don't count anything at all.
She looks at her hands. Looks through her hands. Sees the counter underneath. Sees the register. Sees everything like she's made of glass.
No wonder the numbers were always wrong. No wonder customers acted strange. No wonder the security camera doesn't show what she sees.
Ghosts don't exist in the same world as living people.
Ghosts just count empty space.
The fluorescent light flickers one last time. Twenty-three flickers. Then stops. The store goes dark except for the exit sign. Red light that says "*Deguchi*" in katakana. Way out.
But Yuki can't leave. Dead employees must finish their shift. Must count everything perfectly. Must wait for the next customer that will never come.
She stands in the darkness. Counts the seconds until morning.
One second, two seconds, three seconds.
Forever seconds.
*Eien ni.*
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# Closing Notes – Dr. Nikolai Dvitra
> I have presented only a fraction of the files in my possession. Many remain sealed, either by my own hesitation or by the warnings of those who would prefer they never be read.
You may be tempted to dismiss these accounts as dreams, psychosis, or the fictions of troubled minds. I will not argue. Yet dismissing a fever does not halt the infection. Explaining away the shadow does not extinguish the darkness.
What binds these cases together is not geography, nor language, nor culture, but something older, patient, and attentive. Each subject glimpsed the same absence, the same faceless figures waiting at the periphery. Whether they called it ghost, delusion, or memory, the shape was always there.
I do not record these files to comfort. I record them so the pattern cannot be forgotten.
If you are reading this, you are part of the pattern now.
End of File. For now.*