Inn Help Wanted
“Got Any Death-Level Terrifying Stories? #43”
This happened about two years ago, when I was hunting for a part-time job so I could travel.
Day after sweltering day I flipped through want-ads, sweat dripping, dialing number after number—every place said no, no, no.
I finally flopped spread-eagle on my threadbare tatami, cursing while I leafed through a stack of job magazines. Recession, huh…
To save on power I kept the lights off until night. The room was dim, the sun stuck on the verge of setting.
Where the window frame blocked the light, a dark cross fell on the mat.
Somewhere far off a train clacked by.
With my eyes closed I could smell dinner cooking in another apartment.
“There’s still cup ramen,” I sighed. I hauled myself up and started tidying the scattered magazines.
One of them lay open—must have flipped on its own.
The ad was for a ryokan*1 in a certain prefecture (I’ll keep it anonymous).
Coincidentally, that was exactly where I’d been wanting to travel.
The job was just for summer, the hourly wage… well, practically nothing.
But it was live-in with meals included, and that hooked me.
I’d been living on instant noodles—staff meals, real food, and in the place I wanted to visit? Perfect.
I dialed immediately.
“ …Yes, thank you for calling ○○ Ryokan.”
“Hi, I’m phoning about your help-wanted ad—are you still hiring?”
“Uh, one moment please.” …crackle... ksshh... crackle..…………………
The receptionist sounded young; I could hear her whispering with a man in a low voice—probably the owner.
Heart pounding, I actually sat seiza on the floor while I waited.
The receiver rustled; someone new picked up.
“Hello—sorry to keep you. You’re interested in the part-time position?”
“Yes. I saw your listing in ×× Jobs and I’d love to apply.”
“Ah—thank you. We’d love to have you. When can you start?”
“I’m free any time.”
“Then could you come as early as tomorrow? And your name?”
“Kami-o,” I said (not my real name).
“Kami-o-kun, got it. Come as soon as you can …”
Everything clicked into place—too easily. I felt lucky.
I always record phone calls so I don’t forget the details; replaying the tape, I jotted down everything: start date, hourly wage, what to bring.
Because the job was live-in, they said, “Don’t forget your health-insurance card,” so I added that to the list.
The ad’s little black-and-white photo showed the inn: small, tucked into greenery, picture-perfect.
Landing a job so suddenly—and in the exact place I’d wanted to visit—should have been a thrill.
Yet something felt off.
Humming, I boiled water for cup noodles. Even the tune sounded strange to my own ears.
Night had fallen without my noticing. Humid, lukewarm air drifted through the open window.
Slurping noodles, it hit me: What’s wrong here?
Great conditions, a chance to travel while earning money, maybe cute staff around… an inn could mean new encounters.
So why did it feel wrong?
The glass had turned into a mirror in the dark. My face stared back—
and I realized I wasn’t happy at all.
No idea why, but a crushing gloom settled over me.
I kept gazing at the reflection: a lifeless face that looked years older than it should.
The next morning I woke to a savage headache, gagging hard.
Flu…? I wobbled to the sink to brush my teeth—blood dripped from my gums.
One look in the mirror made me jump: deep, ink-black circles under my eyes, skin chalk-white—like a corpse.
I almost bailed on the job then and there, but I’d packed during the night.
Still, I felt a heavy dread.
The phone rang.
“Good morning, this is ○○ Ryokan. Mr. Kamio?”
“Yes—just finishing my packing.”
“I see. Forgive me, but you sound unwell…?”
“Ah, sorry—just woke up.”
“Please don’t push yourself. Once you arrive, feel free to soak in the hot spring first. Take it easy your first day; we’re not that busy.”
“Th- thank you. I’ll be fine.”
I hung up and headed out. Such a kind, gentle call—truly appreciated.
Yet the moment I ended the call a chill set in; when I opened the door the world spun.
“J-just get to the inn… that’s all I need.”
I tottered toward the station, so unsteady that passers-by turned to stare.
Rain began to fall.
With no umbrella I trudged to the station, getting soaked. A harsh cough racked my chest.
“Just… need to rest at the inn…”
Drenched, I bought my ticket—and stared at my hands in shock: the skin was parched and cracked despite the rain, like an old person’s.
“What kind of illness is this? Please, let me reach the ryokan…”
Clutching the handrail, I hauled myself up the steps, pausing every few meters.
There was still time before the train; I collapsed onto a bench, gasping—hheee… hheee… My voice was ragged.
Tingling numbness spread through my limbs. Headache surged in waves. Kh-khoff!
When I coughed, droplets of blood spattered the platform. I wiped my mouth—handkerchief came away sticky red.
Through blurred eyes I stared down the tracks.
“Hurry… get me to that inn…”
The train screeched into the station, doors hissing open.
Watching the passengers step off, I finally forced myself upright—my lower back flared with pain.
I lurched toward the doorway, every joint aching. If I could just board…
My hand touched the grab-pole—and an old woman with a face like a demon lunged out of the carriage.
Thud!
She slammed into me; I went flying, skidding across the platform. She staggered, then came at me again.
We grappled—me, shamefully weak, against a hunched granny.
“Stop! Please!” I wheezed. “I have to catch that train!”
“Why?! Why?!” she screeched, straddling me, claw-gripping my face and pinning my head to the concrete.
“If I don’t… I can’t get to the inn!”
Station staff rushed in and pried us apart.
The train had long since pulled away. I couldn’t even stand—just sat there at the center of a curious crowd.
Catching her breath, the old woman—now at a distance—called out:
“You’re being drawn. That was close.”*1
And she hobbled off.
*1 In Japanese the phrase 「引かれておる」 can mean “pulled/dragged by a malign force,” implying the narrator was under something’s spell or influence.
I answered a few routine questions from the station staff, then they sent me home.
The moment I left the station my body started to feel better—voice coming back, headache fading.
In the mirror my complexion looked healthy again.
Puzzled but relieved, I dropped my bags and lit a cigarette.
Once I’d calmed down I decided to cancel the job, so I dialed the ryokan’s number.
A flat, mechanical voice replied:
“The number you have dialed is no longer in service …”
I redialed—same message.
Confused—this was the number that had called me this morning.
Something’s wrong … something’s very wrong …
Then I remembered the call recorder. I rewound to the start.
……keee-keee-keee…… click—play.
“Zzz … zz … Thank you for calling ○○ Ryokan.”
Cold dread washed over me.
The voice was supposed to be a young woman—now it was unmistakably a deep male voice.
“I’m calling about your help-wanted ad—are you still hiring?”
“Uh, one moment please. ………crackle... ksshh... crackle...……… i… …sou… da…”
Huh?
I replayed that fragment and cranked the volume.
“…crackle... ksshh... crackle...……
…mui…… kogo… sou…… da……”
Rewind again—slow it down:
“Samui… kogoesō da.”
“It’s cold… I’m freezing.”
A child’s whisper—behind it a low, collective moaning, as if many people were groaning at once.
Cold sweat trickled down my back. I lurched away from the recorder, but the tape kept playing.
“Ah—thank you. We’d love to have you. When can you start?”
“Anytime is fine with me.”
Exactly the words I remembered—yet the speaker wasn’t the friendly middle-aged man from this morning.
The voice rumbling from the recorder sounded ancient, resonating as if from deep underground.
“Kami-o-kun, eh… Come as quickly as you can.”
Note: The phrase 「寒い… 凍えそうだ」 (“It’s cold… I’m freezing”) appears where the receptionist had put me on hold, suggesting a different voice bled through the line, accompanied by multiple, indistinct groans.
The tape cut off. Cold sweat streamed down my skin.
Outside, rain hammered the windows.
I felt pinned in place, but after a moment my pulse steadied—just as the machine rolled on to this morning’s incoming call.
Only my own voice was audible—until…
『Shine shine shine shine shine』
—die die die die die.
“Hi—just finishing my packing now.”
『Shine shine shine shine shine』
“Ah—sorry, just woke up.”
『die die die die die die die die die diedie die die die die die die die die die』
—die die die die die die die die die die…
“Y-yes, I’ll be fine. Thanks… thank you.”
I yanked the phone’s plug from the wall.
My throat clicked dryly. Wh-what… what is this…?
What the hell is going on?
I was holding a job listing magazine in my hand at the time.
My fingers trembled as I flipped through the pages, searching.
But something felt… off.
…Huh?
My hands were shaking—yes—but the page was there.
And yet, it looked wrong.
Just that one page, the one with the inn listing, was oddly wrinkled.
A dark stain had spread across it, and the corner looked singed.
It should’ve been clean, but that page alone looked different...
Old.
The paper was coarse, yellowed—like something pulled from a decades-old magazine.
And there, printed clearly, was a photo of a traditional inn… reduced to ash.
Completely burned down.
Beneath it was an article.
Thirty-some dead. Fire believed to have started in the kitchen.
Charred remains found at the stove are thought to be the inn’s proprietor.
Guests staying at the inn failed to escape in time and were consumed by flames.
This… this isn’t a job listing.
I couldn’t speak.
The magazine fluttered in the wind, pages turning on their own.
I sat frozen, mind numb, limbs heavy like stone.
And then, suddenly—
the rain began to ease.
A brief, unnatural silence wrapped itself around me.
The phone was ringing.
* Job listing magazine – In Japan, free magazines or weekly guides advertising part-time work are common and can often be picked up in convenience stores or train stations. The tone here evokes one such magazine, found in everyday life.
* Inn – Traditional Japanese inns, or ryokan, are often rural, multi-generational establishments. The image of one burning down may carry echoes of actual historical tragedies or urban legends.
