<figure id="attachment_399325" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-399325" style="width: 1024px" class="wp-caption alignnone"><a href="#" data-ident_hash="55573de5"><img src="https://res.cloudinary.com/fridaydigital/image/private/t_article_image/wpmedia/2024/11/28ec31678d7d08c0fb6fdbf4a135fedb.jpg" alt=""></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-399325" class="wp-caption-text">On a country road late at night, Mr. A&#8217;s cab met a girl crying on the side of the road. &#8230;&#8230; (Image is for reference only)</figcaption></figure>
 The Last to be Left Behind in Five Minutes,&#8221; a collection of very short horror stories selected by horror writer Nashi that plunge the reader into terror in five minutes, was published on October 29. The book is a new edition of a series of ultra-short stories that move the heart in five minutes, published by the novel creation platform &#8220;Ebrista&#8221; and Kawade Shobo Shinsha. This is the second part of the book, introducing &#8220;Crying Girl&#8221; by Senane.
 One day, Mr. A overslept on the train returning home from work and was left alone at a strange, unmanned station. Miraculously, he was able to pick up a cab. According to the friendly-looking driver, who was around 50 years old, he said that he usually never goes through this neighborhood because it is famous for being &#8220;out&#8221; in the middle of the night. Just as they were talking about this, a 7-year-old girl crouched under a tree on the side of the road crying appeared in front of the cab, and Mr. A got out of the car, overcoming the driver&#8217;s restraint.
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<a href="https://friday.kodansha.co.jp/article/399285"> Part 1: A man lost on a country road in the middle of the night sees &#8220;something&#8221;&#8230; &#8220;Last to be left behind after 5 minutes&#8221;, a very short horror story.</a>
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<h3> The younger sister who jumped off the school roof</h3>
 Mr. A had a younger sister. 
She was somewhat frail and obese. Perhaps because of this, she was often bullied. 
In contrast to her sister, Mr. A was active and strong-willed, and always protected her. When she saw a group of boys surrounding her sister and hurling abusive language at her, she would run into them no matter how many they were. After kicking them to the curb, Mr. A walked up to his sister, who was sobbing, and patted her head lightly.
 Don&#8217;t cry,&#8221; he said!　You&#8217;re always getting bullied because you&#8217;re like that!　Pull yourself together!&#8221;
 It was Mr. A&#8217;s way of showing affection and encouragement. 
After she cried for a while, she said, &#8220;I&#8217;m always sorry, big brother,
 I&#8217;m always sorry, big brother.&#8221;
 Mr. A laughs and pats her on the head. And then they would leave together. That was the routine for Mr. A and his sister. 
Mr. A thought that life would go on like that for a long time.
 Time passed, and eventually they became junior high school students. 
Mr. A joined the baseball club and spent his days immersed in club activities. 
By the time she entered junior high school, her younger sister had become slim and beautiful enough to be envied by her classmates. She was no longer bullied by the boys, but instead was confessed to more and more often. Although she felt a little bit of jealousy, she was already at ease with her younger sister. 
I don&#8217;t see her crying anymore. 
She was no longer in trouble. 
Mr. A spent his days chasing the white ball. To become a regular and participate in the national tournament. That was all he wanted to do.
 But&#8230; 
One day, his sister jumped off the roof of the school. 
The reason was bullying. It was a group of the same sex. The girl at the center of the group had a crush on a boy who had a crush on Ms. A&#8217;s sister, and apparently he resented her for it. 
Mr. A was astonished.
<div data-friday-nextpage-lead=" What was Mr. A&#39;s regret? ......"></div>
<h3>I killed my sister.</h3>
 I should have been looking out for my sister.
 However, a voice of denial immediately rises in my mind.
 Is that really so?
 I was so focused on club activities that I didn&#8217;t pay much attention to my sister, wasn&#8217;t I?
 ─ ─ Because she wasn&#8217;t crying.
 That was the only reason I thought she was okay.
 I don&#8217;t really remember what happened after that. 
The whole school came to her funeral. I felt awakened when I saw students who probably didn&#8217;t know my sister crying, and when the perpetrator and his parents got down on their knees, I tried to kill them, but my parents and relatives stopped me. These memories remain dimly and vaguely in Ms. A&#8217;s mind as if they were events in a dream. 
However, there is one thing about that time that he strongly remembers. 
It was in her sister&#8217;s suicide note, addressed to Mr. A.
 I didn&#8217;t want to worry my brother any more.
 What do you mean more than this? What more is there to worry about my sister? If you were having a hard time, you should have talked to me about it. I would have kicked them to the curb like I used to. If only you had cried and called out to me like you used to&#8230;
 Don&#8217;t cry!　That&#8217;s why you&#8217;re always getting bullied!　Pull yourself together!　I remembered the words I used to always say to my sister. At that moment, I realized.
 It was all my fault.
 It was me, of all people, who had destroyed her natural escape route of crying and asking someone for help. 
I killed her. 
I killed my sister.
 I killed her.
 After that, Mr. A lived like a shell. 
He quit baseball, which he had been devoting himself to, on the day his sister died. He threw away all his equipment. Since that day, Mr. A has never played baseball. 
The same was true for his career path. Overcoming the opposition of those around him, he kicked out of the career path he had already decided on. Instead of going on to high school, he left his parents&#8217; home and started working. After moving from one job to another, he found his first full-time job in his current position as a sales representative. There was nothing joyful about that. I really didn&#8217;t care about my life or my life. I was just living my life somehow.
 I made a mistake where I should never make a mistake in my life.
 After the death of his sister, Mr. A&#8217;s life was like a digestive game. No matter what he did or saw, nothing moved him. But&#8230; 
The moment he saw the weeping face of the girl with the braids, his heart was greatly moved.
<div data-friday-nextpage-lead=" I made a mistake again."></div>
<h3>The girl giggled.</h3>
 &#8220;Are you okay?&#8221;
 I stand by the girl. She was dressed in a prone position, not moving. Just as I was about to place my hand on her shoulder, she stood up,
 ─ ─ I knew you would come.
 She said so and smiled. 
She was no longer crying. 
It was not the smile of a child. Her face was young, but her soul was mature. I felt a great discrepancy between the inside and the outside. It was the kind of smile that made me feel uncomfortable. 
Mr. A froze, holding his hand in the air as if he was about to touch his shoulder.
 I realized that I had made a mistake again. 
His hand slowly lowered. Strangely, there was no fear. A feeling of relief, rather than resignation, slowly spread through his mind. I realized belatedly that I had wanted to be &#8220;like this&#8221; as soon as possible.
 This is good, isn&#8217;t it?
 Mr. A laughed just a little. 
I would rather die than abandon a crying girl &#8220;again&#8221;. 
In front of Mr. A&#8217;s eyes, the girl slowly raises her hand. And then&#8230;
 She pointed behind her. 
The girl&#8217;s movement made him turn around. 
Instantly, Mr. A let out a short scream and turned his head. 
The cab&#8217;s rear window was filled with countless faces, all of them glaring at Mr. A hatefully. 
Among them was the face of the cab driver. The friendly smile on his face was gone, replaced by an infernal look of hatred.
 Your sister taught me that.&#8221;
 At these words, Mr. A forgot his fear and turned around as if he had been shot.
 She told me that my brother was about to be taken by something &#8216;not good,&#8217; and she wanted me to help him. I heard his voice.&#8221;
 Ms. A could not speak. Instead, a single tear rolled down her cheek.
 If you learn your lesson from this, don&#8217;t walk alone on these streets at night anymore, okay?　You&#8217;ll get the &#8216;scary stuff&#8217;.&#8221;
 What the hell are you &#8230;&#8230;?&#8221;
 The girl did not answer Mr. A&#8217;s question. Instead, she looked him in the eye and laughed. 
Then she laughed.
 Bye-bye.&#8221;
 For a moment, it was as if his sister&#8217;s voice had overlapped with his. 
There was a clunk, a sound like metal fittings engaging, and the next moment, everything was gone. 
There was nothing but a dark country footpath, no sign of the girl or the cab.
 Mr. A stood there. 
How much time had passed? When he looked next to her, he saw a Jizo enshrined there. 
The face looked like that of the girl. 
Mr. A crumpled to the ground and cried until dawn.
 (Excerpts from the latter half of &#8220;Crying Girl&#8221; by Senane / from &#8220;5 minutes Later the Last to be Left Behind&#8221; edited by Nashi, published by Kawade Shobo Shinsha)

 How was it? At first glance, Ms. A&#8217;s experience seems to make sense as a story, but if you think about it dispassionately, you will realize that it is full of strange things. It is something that one would never be taken in by if one were to take the usual common-sense view of things. However, you step into the world step by step, and when you suddenly realize that you are in a place from which there is no way to recover. When that happens, you are already &#8220;left behind.

<figure id="attachment_399311" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-399311" style="width: 919px" class="wp-caption alignnone"><a href="#" data-ident_hash="bfcf4afb"><img src="https://res.cloudinary.com/fridaydigital/image/private/t_article_image/wpmedia/2024/11/db99dcbe2cb193ce1146f05865d9235f.jpg" alt=""></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-399311" class="wp-caption-text"> Ten very short stories are included in this collection.</figcaption></figure>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.co.jp/5%E5%88%86%E5%BE%8C%E3%81%AB%E5%8F%96%E3%82%8A%E6%AE%8B%E3%81%95%E3%82%8C%E3%82%8B%E3%83%A9%E3%82%B9%E3%83%88-5%E5%88%86%E3%82%B7%E3%83%AA%E3%83%BC%E3%82%BA-%E6%A2%A8/dp/4309612563"> The Last to be Left Behind in 5 Minutes&#8221; (Edited by Nashi, published by Kawade Shobo Shinsha)</a>
<a href="https://web.kawade.co.jp/tameshiyomi/110073/"> Full text of the prologue is available.</a>
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 Can you terrify people in five minutes? This is the second part of a short horror story "The Girl Who Cries" by Senane from "5 Minutes to Being Left Behind" edited by horror writer Mr. Nashi. Why couldn't Mr. A overlook the girl?

The girl smiled and said, &#8220;I knew you&#8217;d come&#8230;&#8221; The end of a very short horror story about being left behind after five minutes.

The girl smiled and said, “I knew you’d come…” The end of a very short horror story about being left behind after five minutes.

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