My cellphone is my saviour again. I turn on the flashlight. The shaking beacon leads me down each landing. At the bottom of the staircase is a short, narrow hallway. It’s warmer down here, cramped with huge broken sake casks, long bamboo sticks, a washing machine so big I can probably fit inside and sit upright, microphone stands, broken tambourines, and lots of other old junk. There’s a thick tatami smell down here, too. And something else I can’t put my finger on. Thankfully, it’s not a bad smell. Last thing I need is to discover a dead body. I’m already afraid of what I might be stepping on in here. In fact, it smells … delicious …

There’s a room at the end of this cluttered hallway — or at least, a door. I can see it just beyond the edge of the light from my phone. I step over the detritus and garbage, fumbling along the walls. It’s another sliding rice-paper door, but still intact. The squares almost feel warm. I stroke the gold handle of the door, about to slide it open, when I hear a crash above my head. It almost sounds like thunder, except for the sound of screeching metal accompanying it.

“What the hell?” I whisper. Then I hear another sound. A repetitive tapping sound. It’s fast.

Footsteps.

“Shit.”

A homeless person who’s been squatting here. A cop. Someone else entirely. I don’t want to find out. I have to hide. I kick my way through the garbage, trying to be quiet, and reach the stairs. The sound is getting louder. The footsteps are coming this way.

Double shit.

I stagger, bumping into the giant washing machine. The footsteps are definitely coming this way. It’s almost like whoever’s up there knows I’m here and is heading straight for me. There’s nothing for it. I pry open the washing machine and hop in, closing the door as best as I can without shutting it completely. It’s surprisingly warm inside and smells clean enough. And I can sit upright in here. I hug my phone against my body, covering the flashlight with my hand, there’s no time to click it off. My boots squeak against the metal a little, and I can feel a little pool of snow melting against my ass. Well, I hope it’s snow.