I approach the gate with caution and stick my hand into the darkness between the legs of the gate. There’s a thick black tarp there. Darkness lies on the other side. This is stupid. This is dangerous. And at the same time, it’s exciting. What would my co-workers say? I exhale a blast of white air. Time to manoeuvre my phone out from my pocket and turn on the flashlight. The flight of steps isn’t that long. If I run into government ninjas or giant raccoon monsters, I can run back out quick. So down I go, looking back over my shoulder, seeing nothing but snow falling from the night sky.

There is snow down here, too. It looks like some of the roof has been ripped out, or maybe it caved in. Either way, there is enough moonlight for me to see a little bit better. I walk forward a little more, my feet finding their way as naturally as walking around my own apartment without turning on the lights. There’s a tree here. It’s dead, by the look of the white streaks running through its bark. It must be a sakura tree. There is a slight buildup of snow already collecting on its long, thin branches. Past the tree is a doorway, where a rice-paper door lies ripped and broken. It’s brighter on the other side. The dim light pulls at me. I put my phone down and head on through.

A giant room with a giant stage. Storeys high. No ceiling, just falling snowflakes and a starless sky illuminated tawny violet by all the city lights nearby. I don’t feel so scared anymore. Just sad. This place … we came here together, and it was packed with people. Now it’s abandoned. Like everyone just got up and left in the middle of their meals. The tables are covered with plates and glasses thick with dust. Chairs and tables are knocked over. The entire place smells like age. I’m standing on a small bridge that leads to the heart of the room. Underneath there must have been water running through. Now it’s just brick and tile, evaporated dry and white with calcium. The only footprints here belong to me. I walk around the room, past the bar, past a lobster tank now clouded thick with mould. A flight of stairs leads down past the stage.

Ready or not, here I come …