I saw a boy standing under the streetlight, even though there was no sound of footsteps before him.
Reina tightened her scarf as she walked home through the quiet Tokyo street. The air smelled of rain, and the lamps glowed weakly through the mist, halos of pale light stretching across the wet pavement. It was almost midnight, and the city felt emptier than usual. The sound of her shoes echoed like whispers.
She saw him again near the corner—same place as always. A boy around her age, maybe fifteen, standing perfectly still beneath the light. He wore an old school uniform, the kind no one had used in years, and his face was turned slightly toward her.
He didn’t move.
Reina slowed. The boy had been there every night that week. She’d never seen him walk away. When she passed him, he never looked up, never made a sound. Just… stood there.
Her mother had warned her about walking alone, but Reina’s cram school ended late, and her route home didn’t have many people after ten. She told herself it was fine. He was probably waiting for someone.
Still, when she walked past him, she held her breath.
That night, as she reached her apartment building, she looked back. The boy was gone.
The next evening, the fog returned. It rolled through the streets like white smoke, thick and low. Reina turned her music up to drown out her nerves. The same streetlight glowed ahead, flickering slightly.
And he was there.
Same spot. Same stillness. But this time, something was different. His face was tilted more toward her, just enough that she could see his eyes—dark, almost shiny, reflecting the light like glass.
She stopped without meaning to.
“Are you okay?” she called. Her voice sounded small.
The boy didn’t reply.
She tried again. “Do you live around here?”
Silence.
Then came a faint sound—not from him, but from the street behind her. A soft tapping.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
She turned. The street was empty. When she looked back at the boy, he was gone.
Her chest tightened. The light flickered once more, and for a split second, she thought she saw someone standing just beyond it—something pale in the fog.
That night, she dreamed of rain.
She was walking through the same street, but the lamps were all off. She heard the tapping again, closer this time. When she turned, the boy was right behind her, face white, eyes wide open. His lips moved, whispering something she couldn’t understand. Then the streetlight came on, and he vanished.
Reina woke up with her heart pounding.
The next morning, she told her friend Yuto about it.
“There’s a ghost story like that,” Yuto said while scrolling through his phone. “About a boy who waits under the lamps near closed-down train lines. People say he shows up to those who walk home alone at night.”
Reina frowned. “That’s dumb.”
Yuto shrugged. “Maybe. But don’t look at him too long. The story says if you do, he starts following you home.”
Reina laughed, but it sounded hollow.
That evening, she almost took another route—but her feet carried her down the same road. Habit, maybe. Or curiosity.
The fog was thicker than before. The lamp flickered in the distance like a heartbeat.
He was there again.
Reina’s stomach twisted, but she couldn’t look away. His clothes were damp, his hair clinging to his forehead. He looked almost alive. Almost.
“Why do you keep standing there?” she whispered.
The boy lifted his head. For the first time, he met her eyes.
His lips moved silently.
Reina froze. The fog pressed closer. She could hear her pulse in her ears. “What did you say?”
He spoke again, just one word this time—soft, hoarse.
“Help.”
Her breath hitched. “Help? From who?”
He blinked slowly. Then he raised his arm and pointed—not at her, but toward the road behind her.
Reina turned. Nothing but fog.
When she looked back, the boy was gone again.
She ran all the way home.
That night, the lights in her apartment flickered. Her reflection in the dark TV screen looked off somehow, like it was standing a little farther back. She told herself she was just tired.
The next day, she asked her grandmother if she’d ever heard of a boy near the old rail lines.
Her grandmother went very still. “You shouldn’t walk there,” she said quietly. “That street was built over a train accident site. Years ago, a middle school boy was killed crossing the tracks in the fog. They never found his family.”
Reina’s mouth went dry.
That evening, she couldn’t help it—she went back.
The fog was waiting for her.
When she reached the streetlight, the boy was there, same as always. But this time, she stepped closer. Her fear trembled inside her like a candle flame, but curiosity burned stronger.
“Are you… the boy who died?” she asked softly.
He looked up, and the faintest light flickered behind his eyes. “I can’t go home.”
His voice was barely a whisper. “It’s dark.”
Reina swallowed hard. “Do you remember where you lived?”
He shook his head. “No one came. I waited.”
The air grew colder. Her breath fogged in front of her. She could feel something behind her now—movement, like the sound of slow footsteps.
She turned.
Another figure was walking toward them through the mist, tall and thin, face hidden by the fog.
Reina backed away, but the boy didn’t move. His expression didn’t change.
The figure stopped under the next streetlight, still blurred. The lamp flickered, and for a moment, she saw its face—blank, gray, featureless.
She couldn’t breathe.
The boy looked at her. “Don’t let the light go out.”
“What?”
The lamp above them flickered once. Twice.
Then darkness.
Reina screamed. She reached for her phone, fumbling for the flashlight, but her hands shook too much. When the screen finally lit, the boy was gone.
Only the fog remained.
And in the beam of her phone, faint footprints appeared—wet, leading away from the lamp and toward her.
She stumbled backward until her back hit a wall. The light in her phone flickered, battery dying fast. Her own shadow stretched long and strange across the fog. Then, faintly, another shadow joined it—slender, still.
“Help,” the boy’s voice whispered again, but it was closer, right by her ear.
Reina bolted. She didn’t stop until she reached her apartment building, lungs burning. She didn’t look back.
That night, she locked her window, shut her curtains, and left every light on. She barely slept.
But around 2 a.m., the streetlight outside her window flickered.
She pulled the curtain slightly aside—and froze.
There he was.
The boy stood directly beneath the lamp, looking up at her window. The mist swirled around him like smoke, and his eyes glowed faintly white. He raised a hand.
And smiled.
Reina yanked the curtain shut and hid under her blanket, trembling until morning.
When sunlight finally came, she dared to look again. The street was empty.
She almost convinced herself it was all a dream.
Until she saw the wet footprints leading from the door to her bed.
And in the mirror across the room, under her reflection’s feet, a small puddle of water shimmered faintly in the light.
Her reflection smiled.
