383: Anonymous Behind You… (2002/01/01 16:18)
I don’t know if it’s the same all over Japan, but the local newspaper I used to subscribe to back when I lived in another town used to list everyone who had died each day.
It printed their names, dates and locations of the funerals, and the name of the chief mourner (moshu, usually a close relative).
These days, the paper says, “We only publish entries for those who wish to be listed,”
and apparently, the city hall’s death certificate form even has a new checkbox asking whether you consent to that disclosure.
But about fifteen years ago, every death was listed—no exceptions.
When suicides or lonely deaths of elderly people were reported as anonymous news items, the paper still published their full details in the obituary section.
So, if you read it carefully, you could actually match the “anonymous” news to the person’s real name.
Out of curiosity, whenever I saw a report about a suicide, I’d check the obituary page.
One day, a story came up about a person who’d jumped from a building,
and when I looked at the obituary,
it turned out to be a high school classmate of mine—
a friend who had just gotten married and seemed so happy.
It was only a small article:
“Woman jumps to her death from an apartment building in ○○ City.”
But I recognized the name of the building.
It was a newly built apartment complex that often had advertisements in the paper—
the kind that said, “Thanks to you, every unit sold out!”
That was where my friend and her husband had just moved in after getting married.
She was full of joy, so there was no reason for her to take her own life.
Her husband was devastated and soon moved out of the building.
Even so, my morbid curiosity got the better of me,
and every time there was another suicide, I checked the obituary page again.
Before long, I noticed something chilling:
the addresses of several people who had killed themselves
were the same apartment building my friend had lived in.
It happened several times in the span of a year—five, maybe more.
Too many to be coincidence.
Every time I saw it, I thought, “Again?” and felt a shiver run through me.
I’ve moved since then, and I don’t even know if that building still exists.
Cultural Notes:
In Japan, newspapers traditionally published detailed obituary lists including names and funeral details, though privacy laws now limit this practice.
Moshu (喪主) refers to the person responsible for the funeral, typically a family member, whose name appears in the notice.
Apartment complex suicides are a recurring motif in Japanese urban legends; when multiple deaths occur in the same building, the property can become stigmatized (jiko bukken, “accident property”).
 I don’t know if it’s the same all over Japan, but the ){kind=link}