The Empty Box: A Forgotten New Year’s Feast
The Tradition of Osechi Ryori
When it comes to New Year’s in Japan, nothing embodies the holiday spirit quite like “osechi ryori." These traditional dishes, beautifully arranged in vibrant lacquered boxes called “jubako," carry wishes for a prosperous year. Each dish has a specific meaning—black soybeans for diligence, herring roe for fertility, and sweet rolled omelets for harmony.
But did you know there’s a mysterious tale connected to osechi? In one household, their carefully prepared osechi mysteriously disappeared the moment the New Year began. They say it happened because they “forgot something important." What could it have been? And what followed that night was something the family would never forget.
A Night of Osechi and Shadows
This family had a tradition of making osechi every year. As always, the jubako was packed with colorful dishes—black soybeans, herring roe, sweet omelets—the works. Just looking at it filled them with the excitement of the New Year.
On New Year’s Eve, they gathered in the living room, enjoying soba noodles and counting down the minutes to midnight. As the clock struck twelve, everyone raised their glasses for a celebratory “Happy New Year!" Then, the father casually opened the jubako to admire their osechi one more time.
But his face froze.
“It’s… empty."
At first, everyone thought he was joking. But when they looked inside, the jubako was indeed empty. The carefully arranged dishes were gone—every single one of them.
“Did someone put it away?" the mother asked, glancing at the children. But they all shook their heads. The father checked the kitchen and fridge, but the osechi was nowhere to be found.
Then, the grandmother, who had been quietly watching, spoke up.
“This is a punishment… for forgetting something."
Her voice was calm, but it sent chills down everyone’s spine. She stared at the jubako, her expression unreadable.
“Osechi isn’t just food," she continued. “Each dish carries a meaning, a prayer. You must never forget that."
Her words lingered in the air. No one knew what to say. The festive atmosphere had completely vanished, replaced by an eerie silence that seemed to deepen as the night wore on.
At around 3 a.m., a loud thud broke the silence. It came from the garden. Startled, the family peeked outside and saw the jubako sitting there, as if someone—or something—had placed it carefully on the ground.
The father cautiously approached the box. It was still empty, but faint, rustling sounds were coming from inside.
He hesitated, then slowly lifted the box. And what he saw made his blood run cold.
Inside the jubako was a thick, black liquid. It oozed and shimmered as though alive, spilling out far beyond the box’s capacity.
“What is this…?" the father whispered.
The liquid began to writhe, and to their horror, faces started to appear on its surface—faces that looked eerily familiar. The mother gasped, her voice trembling.
“That’s… us."
As they stared, the faces twisted into sinister smiles.
“Close it! Quickly!" the grandmother shouted. But fear had paralyzed them. The father’s hands shook as he struggled to put the lid back on.
The black liquid slithered toward him, tendrils reaching out. It was the grandmother who finally acted. She grabbed the lid and slammed it shut with all her strength.
The box fell silent. The liquid stopped moving. But the family couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still watching them.
Lessons Left Behind
The next morning, no one dared to open the jubako again. The grandmother broke the silence with a quiet, yet weighty remark.
“What we forgot wasn’t just about food. It was about respect—for tradition, for the prayers woven into each dish."
Her words resonated deeply. The family decided to start fresh, preparing a new osechi with care and reverence. They ensured each dish carried its symbolic meaning, treating the process with the respect it deserved.
But the mystery of the jubako remained unsolved. Who—or what—had placed it in the garden? And what was the black liquid that had emerged?
Though life returned to normal, the family couldn’t shake the feeling that the jubako wasn’t just a box. It was a reminder—of something sacred, something they should never take lightly again.
This story is a work of fiction. Please enjoy it as entertainment and use it as an opportunity to learn about the fascinating traditions of Japanese culture.
Does your region have any special dishes prepared for the New Year? We’d love to hear about them—feel free to share in the comments!
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