In a quiet village nestled between misty mountains and the sea, lived a 14-year-old girl named Aiko. Her family ran the town’s ancient shrine, a place said to guard the border between the world of the living and the world of spirits.
Every evening, Aiko would light the shrine’s lanterns — large, old things made of bronze and paper — said to guide friendly spirits home and keep darker ones away. She never questioned the ritual; it was tradition, and she had done it since she was seven.
But one night, during Obon — the festival of the dead — a strange wind blew out all the lanterns just after she lit them. The air grew still. The village, usually glowing with warmth and laughter, suddenly felt… hollow.
Then Aiko heard it: a soft, sorrowful humming from deep inside the forest behind the shrine.
Compelled by something she couldn’t explain, she picked up her own handmade lantern and followed the sound. The deeper she walked, the more the woods shimmered with a strange light. Finally, in a small clearing, she saw her. A girl about her age, dressed in an old-fashioned yukata, translucent and glowing faintly blue.
“You’re the first to come,” the ghost girl said with a smile both sad and hopeful. “I’ve been waiting.”
Aiko sat down beside her. The girl’s name was Yumi, and she had died over a century ago during a storm that destroyed her home. Every Obon, she returned, hoping someone would remember her.
Aiko promised she would — not just remember, but bring others to remember too. That year, the villagers began a new tradition: writing the names of forgotten souls on lanterns and floating them down the river.
And every year after, Aiko would return to the clearing, where a faint blue glow always waited, humming quietly.
