After the rain had cleared, only the dampness remained on the ground at dawn. As I descended the front steps, I found a dead centipede. Its movements—whether from rigor mortis or the final breath—made it look as though its many legs were pressing piano keys. I realized that this was the prelude to the tragic requiem that would soon hit this mansion.

Before heading to school, I glanced back at the mansion, shrouded in fog.

The centipedes started appearing three months ago. No matter how much we fumigated, they didn’t decrease. They were everywhere—sewers, every hidden corner inside this mansion. I moved my tongue over my sharp fangs, grinning wryly.

Soon, I’ll be eaten by bugs.

 

****

In my third year of middle school, Go Yohan heard a ridiculous story just before graduation.