The Sixth Building
All things have a soul, from the stray rats that scamper through the streets to the swaying lanterns stifled by smog. Even the city itself is well and truly alive. Yet, to a foreigner like Edward, such wisdom was a mystery, and not one he had any interest in until it was forced upon him. Edward was relocated to Japan to serve as lead financial consultant in his company’s newly opened Japanese branch. By all accounts, he was a terrible fit for the position. Not only did he lack knowledge of the country and its language, but he was also missing the ambition and experience necessary to succeed. The only reason Edward got the promotion was because no one else was willing to relocate, and Edward had his own reasons to leave it all behind. Nonetheless, Edward hoped to make the most of his move. It was a fresh start. He had planned to visit the historic temples of Kyoto, the snowy slopes of Hokkaido, and the hot springs of Hakone. But he never made it out of the city. He never had a chance to. Every day flowed seamlessly into the next. Wake, work, sleep, repeat. In the streets, Edward floated along the stream of salarymen and smoke-filled izakayas, where each face and neon light blurred together into a single, endless night. After a week in the city, the thought never even occurred to him to step out of line or see something new. Instead he retraced his steps, day after day, and memorized every crack in the street. He knew that path more intimately than he knew his own face. So it came as a surprise one night when a sixth building had sprung up on a street that had only ever had five. 7-Eleven had always stood on the corner lot with a dingy pharmacy beside it, and there was never any building in between. But on that day, a misplaced building of plaster and glass sat sandwiched between them. Its sudden appearance baffled Edward so much that he stopped and stood gawking as the crowd rushed around him. The windows of the building had that cloudy look you’d expect from decades of sticky Japanese summers. And the plaster was stained black in spots where a generation of car exhaust and street dust had left its mark. But that was all impossible. The property hadn’t even existed until that night. Edward approached the building. By all laws of logic, it had no right to be there. Yet, as he looked around at the passersby, they merely shuffled along their paths into the night-soaked city. No one else noticed or cared. Unlike the other shops on the street, this building had no signs or markings. Its only adornment was a battered, gray door. The door was ajar, and a stale odor emanated from within. Edward stepped closer and made out the hushed sound of a woman’s tears. Through the glossy windows, he spied a crouched silhouette hidden beneath a curtain of black hair. People flowed past, head down. However, Edward stood and watched the figure’s shoulders shake to the rhythm of her muted sobs. It was an intimate moment and not one he should have been watching so intently. But he was invested now, and some part of him felt that he shouldn’t look away. In an expansive city, where thousands upon thousands live, shouldn’t there be at least one person to witness a woman’s sorrow? Noticing Edward’s concern, the woman stifled her sobs and turned to meet his curious gaze. At once, he recoiled in shock. The woman’s face was smooth and featureless like a pale mannequin fitted with a dense black wig whose frayed strands floated as though suspended in water. Retreating from the building, Edward stole a final glance at the window. A single doll-like hand was pressed against the glass, and a shallow whimper echoed outward. Disturbed by what he had seen, Edward quickly entered the 7-Eleven to calm his nerves with a drink. He passed down the aisle of liquor, muttering to himself all the while. “Too much work,” he said. “That’s it. All work. No sleep.” He rubbed his eyes and wiped the sweat from his bow. A twitch started in his hands. “Something strong,” he decided. Crouching beside the whiskeys, Edward felt a wave of cold wash over his neck, and goosebumps prickled along his arm. He turned with a growing sense of dread in his gut. But it was just the cold of the fridge. Someone had left the door open. Edward walked to the fridge. Overhead, the fluorescent lights flickered. As he set his hand against the fridge door, the lights cut out, and another chill sank into his skin. It was the bite of frost, the ice pick to the jugular. It was the drowning river, the burying avalanche. And from the darkness, a face like winter breathed upon his neck. The lights kicked on, the cold withdrew, and Edward ran for the door. However, the store clerk sprinted after him, shouting in Japanese. Edward soon realized he had taken a bottle of whiskey without paying. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to … I just …” Taking out his wallet, he glanced back at the shop. In the corner by the fridge, he saw a woman in white standing with hair over her eyes. Gripped with panic, Edward took out as much cash as he could and shoved it into the clerk’s hands. It must have been double what he needed to pay. But his mind was a disjointed patchwork seized by terror. Even the simplest arithmetic could not survive among the cascade of fretful thoughts that plagued him. Edward gave the money to the clerk and ran off again before the man could say anything. He looked over his shoulder every few steps. As far as he could tell, no one was following him. However, he could not shake the sensation that he was being watched. He looked around at the countless shaded windows and at the numerous alleys hidden in gloom. If someone was watching him, he had no way of knowing where they were. Shaking off the unnerving sensation, Edward hurried to his apartment. Perched on the fifth floor, he had a mesmerizing view of the fluorescent streets below. On many sleepless nights, he stood on his balcony to bathe in the flashing lights. But that night the lights seemed pale and weak while the darkness gathered in writhing forms. Edward’s eyes fixed on the shadows, searching for what might lurk within. As he climbed the stairs to the fifth floor, he gazed at the ground below. Nothing and no one could surprise him if he kept his watch trained on the entrance. Yet, when Edward finally landed on the fifth floor, he saw precisely what he did not wish to see. Standing at the opposite end of the corridor was the pale, faceless woman. Almost bashful, she stood in the shaded corner of the hall with her hands clasped in front of her. Just above her, the lights flickered intermittently. The strobing light cast the occasional glimmer on her eyeless stare. Edward proceeded with caution, and he dared not blink. He would give her no opportunity to frighten him more than she already had. Whatever it is the spirit desired, Edward wanted no involvement. He opened his mouth to tell her this, but his voice died in his throat. With a cautious step, Edward proceeded towards his apartment halfway down the corridor. The lights overhead failed, and for a brief moment, the woman disappeared. Yet, as the lights sputtered back on, she returned. This time her head was cocked to the side with threatening intrigue. Leaning forward through the throbbing shadow, a slit opened across her face. And as her head lurched back, the slit opened to reveal a gaping throat. “寂しい…” The words hissed out of her like steam through a burst pipe. Uncertain what she said, Edward ignored her and shuffled through the hall. His room was only a few doors down. If he could just make it there, he’d be safe. Yet, when Edward next stole a look at the spirit, it stretched out a crooked, white hand. Another string of incomprehensible words issued from the depths of the spirit’s throat. Her cold, decayed voice sent Edward into a blind panic. Chest walloping, Edward sprinted to his door. His fingers fumbled for the keys in his pocket while the woman stood watching. Slowly, her hand fell to her side. Yet, to Edward’s shock, she did not chase him. She merely stood in the pulsing shadows, watching. It was almost worse than the alternative. Stealing one last glance at the spirit, Edward slipped inside his apartment and flicked on the lights. He retreated from the door, watching, waiting, listening. And from the hall came the slow patter of feet. Edward stared at the gap under his door. The light outside still shuddered as the fluorescents flashed on and off. The steps seemed to come in rhythm with the faulty lighting. Every time the darkness returned, Edward heard the tap of feet against the stone floor. The closer the steps, the more the lights fluttered. In time, they strobed so violently that the light blared beneath the gap in the floor, blinding. With an electric crunch, the bulbs shattered, and the lights died. Chest still heaving, Edward stood waiting. For a few moments, there was silence. And then came a slow, steady knock. “話したい…聞いて…” the spirit called from outside. “I… I don’t know what you’re saying,” Edward said. A long, low sigh issued from behind the door. The sound slid like steel through his ears, severing the last of his nerves. Like a frightened child, Edward felt impossibly small and fled to his bed for safety. If he was going to be killed by a ghost, he might as well do it in the comfort of his own bed. Yet, Edward soon heard the woman’s feet shuffle and the fading sound of her senseless muttering. He was alone in the cramped confines of his apartment. Somehow that was more terrifying than having the monster outside his door. In her absence, the dull hum of his appliances disturbed an otherwise silent backdrop. Without changing his clothes or even moving, Edward sat on the edge of his bed. He didn’t so much as stir until dawn pried through his curtains. And when it had, he glanced with shock at his watch. Soon, it would be time to go to work, but the thought of leaving his room terrified him. He pulled out his phone and opened up his messages. Buried under a sequence of work-related texts, Edward found his daughter’s name. He opened the message thread and started to write a heartfelt apology. He was sorry for what he had done and for what he was. He wished he were a better father; the kind that lived up to her once lofty opinion of him; the kind that put family first instead of his own selfish desires. He loved her. He always had and always would, no matter what happened. But Edward hesitated as his finger hovered over the send button, the weight of his shame greater even than his regret. Some wrongs too deep, too grievous, could not be remedied. He read Laura’s last message: “Please don’t text me again. I will call mom.” With a heavy sigh, Edward set down his phone and headed to the shower. The water kicked on with a rusty screech. Due to the faulty heater, the shower wavered between scorching hot and bitter cold. Steam filled the cramped bathroom, fogging the mirror over. For a moment, Edward felt a sort of comfort in that. He could not see a ghost lurking there if he could not see anything at all. Yet, the absence of sights and sounds made Edward’s mind concoct horrors just out of view. Half-heard creaks created specters behind the door. Wisps of wind blew into howling ghouls. Every shifting shadow sent shivers down his spine. But the ghostly woman never showed herself. Steeling himself, Edward shut off the water and exited the bathroom, armed only in a towel. He was still alone. Edward collected his phone and headed out the door. As he passed over the threshold, his phone made a cheery ping. Glancing down, he noticed a message from his daughter. “Why does that sound like a goodbye?” It appeared Edward had sent his message after all, though he was certain he hadn’t. And now that he looked at his daughter’s text, he had no idea what to say to her. He hadn’t meant to sound so final, but perhaps she was right. Perhaps it was a goodbye, and if so, maybe it was better to leave it at that. For the time being, he said nothing. Edward shuffled to work. On his way there, he saw the same signless building standing impossibly on a street where it did not belong. Yet, under the sun’s glare, the building showed no signs of malice or mischief. And the shadows stayed confined to the empty interior. Unmarked and unremarkable, the building was merely that. Work passed without incident. Edward had a noticeably jumpy mood and a manic gaze from his sleepless night. But, by all other measures, the day was entirely normal. Night, on the other hand, brought a sudden, spiteful rain; the kind that beat against the windows and blistered the skin with its cold and bitterness. Edward kept an umbrella at his office for just such an occasion. Stepping out into the downpour, Edward turned his face to the sky. The matted rain clouds had vanished into the night, swallowed whole by its vacuous embrace. Neither star nor moon penetrated the black sheet above. Yet, the rain poured down all the same, and Edward fell into thought. How long had the unseen shaped his path? How long had the void hung over him? And now that he felt its grip, how could he ever be free of it? A sudden bump of the shoulder jostled Edward from thought. He turned to see a slender woman rush ahead. Her lengthy black mane billowed behind her with a scent like fresh-pressed asphalt and discarded cigarettes. Just as her featureless expression passed under the light, she opened her umbrella and melted into the crowd. An icy jitter entered Edward’s veins, and he knew yesterday’s nightmare had yet to release him. Edward hastened along his route home. All the while, his eyes darted from umbrella to umbrella. Any one of them could hide his faceless tormenter. However, it was no easy task to find her. The woman’s umbrella was black as was everyone else’s, including his own. So instead, Edward sought out the woman’s long, dark hair and loose white gown. Yet, that too proved a fruitless strategy. Everywhere he looked Edward saw the same somber style hidden beneath a downturned umbrella. The city had always crushed the individual and hammered him into the crowd. All men in the city were one and no one, all women a copy of the next. But this was more than a monoculture or a favored fashion. Wherever Edward looked, the women were truly identical. And as the realization dawned on him, the crowd stopped in its tracks. Their umbrellas tilted up to the falling rain, which pattered on and on, marking time in a senseless world. And their eyeless gazes narrowed upon him with unnerving unity. The spirit was not buried among the crowd. She was the crowd itself. All motion froze, and color drained from the world. Streetlights blinked gray, and rain fell as a dense ink that trailed down the crowd’s bloodless cheeks. When Edward finally found the courage to sprint home, the sightless throng parted to watch him go. Their unblinking watch gored him through the back. Amid the monochrome legion, a single individual pushed far ahead. Edward watched her path through the people. As he began to catch up to the figure, Edward saw her slip into the depthless interior of that same impossible building. Some formless compulsion tugged him towards the gaping doorway. It gnawed at him with a sensation so visceral, so rooted in his being, that it demanded to be felt. Even so, he would not give in to it. Sprinting on towards his apartment, Edward wound his way up the stairs to the fifth floor. With each step he climbed, the building shifted. Scrawled characters crept across the walls like black ivy. Their inky stems reached ever closer to the staircase until they surrounded Edward in an unreadable jumble. As Edward reached the fifth floor, the dense script spoke in a dizzying tongue. The voice was that of a woman and also a man. It was her voice and his and all others as well. The sound burrowed into his eardrums, rebounding and resounding, building on itself until his vision went black. Even after he slipped inside his apartment, the clamor crashed through his body. It swung from ear to ear, ebbing slowly to a low drone. Once the noise finally died, Edward found himself curled in a ball on the floor. Stars danced across his eyes, and his chest heaved to an erratic rhythm. But he was safe now. Nothing could harm him in his room. Behind him the floorboards creaked, and a hushed voice spoke. “大丈夫?” it said, its tone lifting up into a question. The hairs on Edward’s neck prickled as the presence shifted nearer. He bolted out of his apartment, back into the bustle of the street… except this time there was no bustle. No chatter of pedestrians, no murmur of cars, no rumble of trains. Even the rain had given way to a sudden, stifling silence. However, it was not merely the noise that had vanished. The roads were barren, and the buildings plain. All life had seeped out of the neighborhood. The city was dead, and Edward was alone. Edward hurried along the sidewalk, glancing all around. Somewhere far off echoed the drum of footsteps. First, it was ahead of him, and then a moment later behind. Out of the corner of his eye, Edward spied a flash of white fabric. And as he scanned the neon-lit streets, he caught sight of the woman once more. She looked back as if to ensure he was behind her. Although Edward could not understand her words or read her face, he knew she wanted him to follow. And by now it was clear that she would not leave him alone until he did. So against his best instincts, which trembled in his veins like a windswept fire, Edward followed along. He could already guess where the spirit wanted him to go. Trailing behind her in that desolate night, Edward found himself before the building that should not have been. The woman dipped inside, and though cloaked in shadow, her pale, beckoning fingers were still visible. He hesitated as a foul rot exuded from the interior. Its piercing bite penetrated his nostrils and delved into his lungs. Along with it came a keen chill that clawed its way into his skin. It rooted him in place and soaked into his flesh. Edward could not enter that space. Every primal instinct screamed that he would not leave as he had entered. “どうしたの？” the spirit asked. Its words were gentle, sweet even. Despite his terror, Edward almost felt sorry for her and for what he was going to do. “I can’t,” he said. As soon as his hand touched the rusted doorknob, the woman bolted after him. If she had eyes, they might have narrowed. If she had lips, they might have scowled. But Edward tried not to think of it or her or the building again. He shut the door in her face and sprinted into the street. In that instant, the world shifted. Life returned to the city with a shout and a screech. A car barreled through Edward, dashing him upon the asphalt with a brutal thud. A sharp pain shot through Edward’s back and radiated down his bloodied limbs. Vision still hazy, he stared upward at the depthless night. Salarymen passed by without a care in the world, and the car that had struck him simply drove away. Edward attempted to peel himself off the pavement, but something in him was broken. So he lay there motionless. His voice was weak in his throat, but he managed to speak. “Help me. Help me. I’m hurt,” he said. But no one stopped. No one looked at him. “Can’t you understand me? Can’t you hear me?” The streetlights pulsed and flickered, indifferent to his suffering. And as Edward watched the people pass by, a familiar figure stood over him. Her pale face opened along a wide slit, and a toothless smile dominated her cheeks. “Please…” Edward said. “I don’t know what you want.” The spirit grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him away as though he weighed nothing at all. Edward called out for help as the gaping maw of that impossible building came ever closer. However, not a single soul looked down at him. They carried on among the swirls of road dust and flaring fluorescents, each of them trapped within the confines of their own lives. Fear had taken Edward as easily as the spirit. But, just as their absence cannot be ensured, even the most vile of emotions cannot last forever. A burdensome weight lifted from his shoulders. In place of fear, a precarious acceptance soon filled him, followed by a lethal dose of curiosity. Edward looked up at the approaching doorway, and for a single moment gazed inward. Imagination has a will of its own, and in frightful times, it so often burdens the mind with restless scenes of abject horror. In that shifting cloud of delusion, an agitated web of refracted thoughts can concoct man’s worst nightmares. Yet, Edward could never have viewed so much in so small a glimpse. Hysteria lit his throat with a maddened shriek as the building loomed larger, and the woman dragged him to his inexorable end. Credit: Andrew Layden Official Site Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.