Chapter 13: A Similar Urban Legend

Takada blinked. "What urban legend are you talking about?"

Kana leaned forward, “It’s called ‘Mary-san’s Phone Call,’ sometimes ‘Mary the Doll.’ It’s an old one, a real classic from the last century, the kind that gives you nightmares.”

“The story goes like this,” she began, and the others instinctively leaned in. “There was this little girl, and she had this doll, Mary, that she absolutely treasured. Mary was her constant companion, her confidante, her very best friend.”

“But kids grow up, don’t they? As the years passed, the girl’s interests shifted. Poor Mary was gradually forgotten, left to gather dust in a corner.”

“Then came the day the family moved. And in the chaos of packing, Mary the doll was left behind. Abandoned in the old, silent house.”

“It was that very night, in their new home, that the… strangeness… began.”

“The girl was alone in her new bedroom, upstairs. Suddenly, the phone rang, its shrill sound cutting through the quiet of the unfamiliar house.”

“A voice on the other end, flat and chilling, said, ‘Hello, this is Mary-san. I’m at your front door now.’”

“Just that. Then… click. The line went dead.”

“The girl was a bit spooked, but mostly just puzzled. A prank call, maybe? She shrugged it off.”

“But a few minutes later, the phone rang again.”

“‘Hello, this is Mary-san. I’ve opened the door now.’”

“Click. Silence again.”

“Now the girl was starting to get annoyed. This wasn’t funny. If it rang again, she decided, she was just going to ignore it.”

“And, as if on cue, the phone shrieked.”

“She tried to resist. She really did. But the ringing was relentless, a piercing, insistent summons that drilled into her ears, showing no sign of stopping.”

“Finally, her patience snapping, she snatched up the receiver.”

“‘Hello, this is Mary-san. I’m coming up the stairs now.’”

“Click.”

“And then… a cold dread trickled down her spine. Was it her imagination? The old house settling? Or… was that a sound? Faint, almost inaudible… but unmistakably, the soft creak of footsteps on the stairs.”

“Her palm, clutching the phone, was suddenly clammy with sweat. Her heart began to pound, a frantic drumbeat against her ribs – THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.”

“The phone screamed again, making her jump.”

“‘Hello, this is Mary-san. I’m at your bedroom door now.’”

“Pure panic. The girl lunged for her bedroom door, slammed it shut, fumbled with the lock until it clicked. She pressed her ear against the cold wood, listening, every nerve ending alight with terror.”

“Nothing. Just the heavy, suffocating silence of the hallway.”

“Okay, okay, it’s just a stupid prank, she whispered to herself, a shaky, hysterical laugh bubbling in her throat. Someone’s just trying to mess with me.”

“And in that precise moment of fragile, desperate relief, the phone on her nightstand, right behind her, shrieked one last time.”

“Her hand trembled as she lifted the receiver, held it slowly, hesitantly, to her ear.”

“‘Hello, this is Mary-san. I’m right behind you.’”

……

“So, yeah. Everyone knows that one, right? Or some version of it.” Kana said.

Nods around the table.

“It’s ancient history, that story. A real classic.”

“But what’s the connection to Kimura-san? How is it similar?” Takada voiced the question on everyone’s mind.

Kana drew a slow circle in the air with her index finger, her eyes bright with her theory. “Don’t you see it? The way Kimura-san was being pulled, step by step, closer and closer to that cave… isn’t it exactly like Mary, call by call, getting closer and closer to the girl?”

“Kimura-san had four sleepwalking episodes, didn’t he? And on that fourth one, he was standing right at the entrance of the cave. The next time, he would have been inside. And if you follow the dark logic of these legends, that’s when the really bad stuff would have happened. The final act.”

“And Mary’s story? It’s the same terrifying countdown! There are a million variations, sure, but in the phone call sequence, it’s always on that fifth call that Mary finally makes her appearance, right there behind the girl!”

Takada Shōji stroked his chin, his expression thoughtful. “You know, Kana-san… now that you put it that way… it is pretty creepy. The pattern… I see it.”

Kana beamed, her earlier nervousness completely gone, replaced by the thrill of discovery. “Exactly! I had that exact same feeling when Itō-san was telling us Kimura’s story! It just… clicked into place!”

Yomikawa Tsuko, her face an unreadable mask, posed the crucial question. “So, what are you suggesting, Kana-chan? That this entity, this thing that was worshipped in the cave… it’s something analogous to this Mary-san? A similar kind of predatory spirit?”

Junko chewed on her lower lip. “Well… it’s a chilling thought, isn’t it? Ōgami-kun, what’s your expert opinion?”

Ōgami Yōsuke rubbed his chin, his analytical gaze fixed on some distant point. “The parallel is… intriguing, Kana-san. However, the story of Mary-san’s phone call, while a potent piece of folklore, is almost certainly a fabrication. An urban legend, yes, but one whose structure and details have very clear, very mundane origins.”

“Eh?” Kana’s face fell, her excitement visibly deflating. “R-really…?”

Ōgami Yōsuke nodded. “Firstly, the widespread popularity of ‘Mary-san’s phone call’ in the last century can likely be attributed to the cultural impact of an even older, and arguably more disturbing, urban legend: the Okiku Doll.”

“The Okiku Doll, for those unfamiliar, is the infamous haunted doll whose hair is said to continue growing, even after its owner’s death. That story wasn’t just a story; it became a phenomenon. The actual Okiku Doll was, and perhaps still is, enshrined in a temple, drawing crowds of morbidly curious visitors. This, understandably, sparked a wave of intense fear, particularly among young girls. Many became terrified of their own dolls, leading to a widespread discarding of these once-cherished toys. This created a unique social atmosphere, a perfect breeding ground for new doll-centric horror narratives.”

“And the reason the ‘Mary-san’ story, specifically, resonated so strongly and endured for so long? That, I believe, was largely due to its unwitting utility to… parents.”

After this brief, almost academic, digression into folkloric history, he leaned forward, his eyes glinting. “Consider this, for example: have any of you ever wondered why Mary makes precisely five phone calls before her final, terrifying appearance?”

Junko tilted her head. “Is it to build suspense? The gradual approach, the escalating terror, makes it scarier, right?”

Ōgami Yōsuke allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible smile. “That certainly contributes to its effectiveness as a horror story, yes. But it’s not the primary underlying reason for that specific number.”

Takada scratched his head, looking perplexed. “Is it about the narrative structure, then? If it was all over in just one or two calls, it wouldn’t be much of a story, would it? Too abrupt.”

Ōgami didn’t offer a direct answer. “In Western cultures, there are also numerous urban legends centered around a figure named Mary – ‘Bloody Mary’ being the most prominent example. And many of those tales are remarkably concise. For that matter, think of the countless one-sentence urban legends that achieve widespread circulation – like the one about peeling an apple in front of a mirror: if the peel remains unbroken, you’ll supposedly see an image of your future spouse, or, in darker versions, a premonition of your own death.”

Kana, growing impatient, finally blurted out, “Then what is it, Ōgami-san? Why five calls? What’s the secret?”

“It’s quite straightforward, really,” Ōgami Yōsuke stated, his voice calm. “Because it’s convenient.”

“Convenient?” A chorus of confused echoes. “Convenient for who? Or what?”

“Wouldn’t a single, decisive call be far more convenient for Mary, if she’s so intent on reaching the girl?”

Ōgami Yōsuke shook his head. “Not convenient for Mary. Convenient for parents. Think about it from a practical, domestic perspective. Young children, universally, have a talent for creating chaos with their toys. For boys, it might be model cars, building blocks, toy soldiers strewn across the floor. For girls, more often than not, it’s dolls, left in disarray.”

“So, when a parent discovers their child’s room in a state of toy-induced anarchy, they can deploy the story of Mary-san’s phone call. It’s a remarkably effective tool for instilling a bit of… motivational fear.”

“Using frightening tales as a means of discipline is a pedagogical tradition that spans cultures and generations. Now, let’s apply this to Mary’s calls. When a parent instructs a child to tidy their messy toys, how often is the command obeyed on the first try? Almost never.”

“So, at this juncture, the parent can invoke Mary-san. They might say, in a suitably ominous tone, ‘You’d better pick up that doll and put her away properly, right now! Mary-san just called. She said she’s at the front door!’”

“Having delivered this initial warning, the parent might then need to attend to other household duties – laundry, cooking, cleaning. They can’t stand guard over the child indefinitely.”

“A little while later, the parent circles back. If the toy situation remains unchanged, they escalate the threat. ‘Mary-san just called again! She said she’s opening the door now! You need to put those toys away, right this instant! If you put them away neatly, Mary-san will leave!’ And so on.”

Ōgami Yōsuke let his gaze travel around the now-silent group. “So, you understand now, don’t you? Mary’s five phone calls… they’re not just arbitrary steps in a ghost story. They form a framework, a parental script for escalating warnings and reprimands. Even the most recalcitrant child, after five such admonishments, will usually capitulate and finally tidy their toys. That’s why I said it’s for the convenience of parents. It’s a behavioral modification tool, wrapped in a terrifying package.”

“Leave it to Ōgami-kun to deconstruct it so… clinically,” Yomikawa Tsuko observed, a hint of dry amusement in her voice. She crossed her arms, delivering her final assessment. “Viewed through that particular lens, the urban legend of Mary-san’s phone call becomes quite transparent, its internal logic clear. And, as such, it clearly bears no direct, tangible connection to Kimura-kun’s rather more… visceral… ordeal. In that context, Mary is merely a symbolic cipher for parental authority. The entity, or power, being venerated in Kimura’s cave, however… that, I suspect, is something else entirely. Something far more ancient, and infinitely more… substantial.”