【Japanese Horror】After-Hours Cleaning | A Haunted Kaidan Tale
The Beginning of the Rumor
My workplace is a small advertising agency in Tokyo.
With just over a dozen employees, it’s the kind of place where everyone knows each other’s names. It’s busy, sure—but the relationships were, for the most part, good.
Then one day, a new manager joined us.
His name was Keigo Akiyama.
Mid-40s. Always neatly dressed. His movements were efficient, his posture straight. He seemed to have memorized all the documents before his first day, and his instructions were calm, precise—and yet somehow, cold.
“He’s sharp."
That was the general consensus.
And to be fair, under his direction, projects progressed smoothly, clients praised our work, and numbers improved.
But then I started hearing things.
“Have you noticed? People disappear after working with Akiyama…”
“I thought it was just me, but lately… I get this weird feeling.”
First was Ishida from sales. He said he had to quit for “family reasons,” but declined the farewell party and vanished without a trace.
Then Nakamura from accounting. After filing a vacation request, his resignation letter arrived by mail. No one had heard from him since.
And just last week—Kimura from design.
She told us, “I just need a short break,” and never came back.
The pattern was unsettling.
Every single one of them had been directly managed by Akiyama.
Coincidence? Maybe. But it didn’t feel that way.
I remembered something—Kimura, just before she left, had a strange look in her eyes whenever she said his name.
“…Is there something about him?”
That question had started as just a passing thought.
But before I knew it, I was already digging into Keigo Akiyama’s past.
Unnatural Records
Digging into Keigo Akiyama’s past turned out to be harder than I expected.
He had no social media presence.
A web search turned up only the name of his previous employer—R-Link Corporation—and a handful of vague accomplishments.
Oddly enough, that company had shut down three years ago.
The reason?
A vague line in a press release: “Due to operational difficulties caused by mass resignations.”
So people had disappeared from his last job, too.
Once might be coincidence. But twice?
I tried calling Kimura.
It rang a few times before switching to voicemail.
Her voice message was brief and tense, almost like someone was listening in.
“Please don’t call this number again.”
That was all.
Even in the office, I started noticing more and more people quietly avoiding direct contact with Akiyama.
No one said it out loud.
Akiyama was competent. There was no reason to complain.
No reason… on the surface.
Then it happened.
I heard something I wasn’t supposed to hear.
I was by the copy machine when I overheard Akiyama talking to someone from another department.
Their voices were low, but I clearly caught Akiyama’s words.
“…Yes. This is the third one. Proceed as scheduled.”
I froze.
The third one?
He spoke like the number had been predetermined.
I instinctively ducked behind the machine.
For a moment, I thought he glanced in my direction—but he said nothing and simply walked away.
From that moment on, the air in the office grew heavier.
And I knew, without a doubt—
Keigo Akiyama was hiding something.
The Forbidden File
While watching Akiyama, I noticed a disturbing pattern.
Once he began directly mentoring someone, that person would vanish roughly two weeks later.
Ishida, Nakamura, Kimura—
Each of them disappeared around the 14-day mark from their first one-on-one meeting with Akiyama.
Then, it was my turn.
“Mr. Sano, I’d like you to take charge of our next client project. I’ll be working with you directly.”
My heart skipped a beat.
I was next.
But at the same time, I saw it as a chance—
a chance to get closer to whatever he was hiding.
I made up my mind:
I would break into Akiyama’s work computer.
One evening, after another long day of overtime, I saw my chance.
Akiyama was on a call in the conference room, and his laptop was left open on his desk.
By some miracle, the password was still set to the company default.
I opened it quickly.
A folder named “Employee History” caught my eye.
Inside were three PDF files:
Ishida
Nakamura
Kimura
I opened them.
Each document contained detailed information—not just their work records, but personal notes, mental health evaluations, even comments about their relationships and private struggles.
It was far beyond anything HR should have access to.
At the very bottom of each file was a single red line:
Deletion complete: [Date] 2:00 AM — Target: [Name]
Deletion?
I couldn’t breathe.
Then I noticed a fourth file had appeared—one labeled “Sano.”
It hadn’t been opened yet.
But in the corner of the file preview, I saw a note:
Scheduled for deletion: Tuesday, 2:00 AM
I stared at it, frozen.
I was going to be “deleted.”
Then, the office door opened without a sound.
Akiyama stood there, looking down at me.
“…You really shouldn’t be looking at that.”
His eyes weren’t smiling.
2:00 AM in the Elevator
The night before the scheduled deletion.
I pretended to be staying late for work, keeping watch on the office.
I had started to notice the elevator moving at strange times—
doors opening when no one was inside, soft footsteps echoing on the floor.
At 1:57 AM, I hid in the emergency stairwell.
That’s when I saw the elevator doors slide open in front of me.
No one was there.
But the air shifted, as if someone invisible had stepped out.
Then I saw him—Akiyama.
“You’ve seen too much. There’s no going back now.”
His voice was calm, quiet.
He was holding a tablet.
On the screen was my photo, and a line beneath it:
Deletion Ready: Sano — 2:00 AM
I turned to run, but something grabbed me from behind.
A pressure wrapped around my neck—tight, suffocating.
Then, a whisper in my ear:
“If you don’t want this… bring someone else.”
Without thinking… I nodded.
The Reason for the Empty Seat
A few days later, Akiyama was calmly training a new employee.
His voice, as always, was calm and composed.
“Let’s start with this task first.”
No one said anything.
No one dared to ask.
Because we all knew—
the people who had worked closely with him… were gone.
I’m still here.
But I’m not the same.
Now, I’m one of them.
The ones who look away.
The ones who pretend not to notice.
The “replacement” I gave was Yamamoto, my colleague.
He knew nothing.
Took over my spot under Akiyama’s supervision.
And now, he’s gone too.
Do I feel guilty? Of course.
But I survived.
That’s the rule.
Tonight, the elevator doors open again.
It’s 2:00 AM.
There’s always someone riding that elevator—
someone who’s already been “deleted.”
And who steps in next?
Only Akiyama knows.
This story is a work of fiction. Please enjoy it as entertainment.
To stay alive… would you sacrifice someone else, or let yourself be taken?
Drop your thoughts in the comments.
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