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school
together.”
    “What’s his last name?”
    Mel gave me a look.
    “What?” I said.
    “Scott, duh.”
    I raised my eyebrows. “Are you kidding me?”
I’d thought John Scott was a double name or something, like Billy
Bob.
    “No, it’s his last name.”
    I couldn’t help but laugh. It felt
good—partly because the forest was so damn gloomy, but more so, I
think, because I was laughing at John Scott.
    “Why’s that funny?” she asked.
    “Who introduces themselves with their full
name?”
    “A lot of people.”
    “In a business meeting maybe. Do you call
him John Scott?”
    “I call him John.”
    “What about other people?”
    “Back in high school people called him
Scotty. I don’t know now.”
    “That’s like people calling me Ethan
Childs.”
    “He didn’t tell you to call him John Scott.
That was your decision.”
    “Yeah, well, if people kept calling me Ethan
Childs, I’d tell them it was just Ethan. Who does he think he is? A
celebrity?”
    “What’s your problem with him?”
    “I don’t have a problem with him—”
    “Hey, look there!” Ben shouted.
    For an instant a rush of dread washed
through me. We’d found someone. He would be hanging from a noose.
Dead and cold and—
    It was a shoe. That’s it. A lone white
shoe.
    It sat about ten feet to the left of the
path, next to a mossy rock.
    Ben and John Scott were already making their
way toward it.
    “It’s a Nike,” Ben said.
    The rest of us ventured closer. It was a
men’s. Size eight or nine. The laces were missing.
    I surveyed the area, but didn’t see any
other sign of human intrusion.
    “Looks like it’s been here for a while,”
Neil said.
    “You think it’s from…you know?” Mel said.
“Someone who killed themselves?”
    “Whose else could it be?” John Scott said. I
considered thinking of him as just John from now on, but I stuck
with John Scott. It still amused me that he allowed himself to be
thought of as a two-name guy, like Tom Cruise. “A hiker would
notice if his shoe fell off.”
    “So would someone planning on killing
themselves,” I said. “We’re talking about a person here, not a
zombie.”
    “Where are the laces?” Mel asked.
    “Maybe he needed them to do the deed,” Neil
said.
    “With shoelaces?” I said.
    “You know what I think?” Tomo said. “I think
the animal eat the guy.”
    Ben shook his head. “There would be a
skeleton, clothes.”
    “Maybe it drag him away. The shoe fall
off.”
    “I don’t like this,” Mel stated.
    “Are there bears in these parts, Tomo?” I
asked.
    “Yeah, man,” he said. “So many.”
    “I’m serious.”
    “Yes, there are,” Neil said. “I’ve read
about people seeing bears while climbing Mt. Fuji. But they rarely
attack humans unless you get between them and their cubs.”
    “I don’t say the bear eat the live guy,”
Tomo said. “I say he eat the dead guy.”
    “Who cares what got him?” John Scott
shrugged impatiently. “All we’re doing is guessing. And all that’s
doing is wasting time. I want to see a body .” He returned to
the footpath, heading deeper into the forest.
    After a beat, the rest of us followed.

 
5
     
    It became
noticeably darker, quickly. Earlier, pieces of the granite-gray sky
had been visible through the patchwork of overhead branches. Now
little if any gray penetrated the thickening canopy, turning midday
into a premature dusk. I usually enjoyed the twilight that bridged
late afternoon and early evening. There was a sereneness associated
with it. But not here in Aokigahara. Here, the trees took on a
sinister, emaciated appearance. Their green leaves lost their
vibrancy, as if drained of life. Elastic shadows thickened and
pooled. My mind and eyes began to play tricks on me to the extent
I’d see a tortured face in a twisted tree trunk, or a blackened
skull in a mound of volcanic rubble. Moreover, I had the
uncomfortable sensation of being watched. Several times I sensed
movement in the corner of my