WebNovels

Hearsay

DeepWell
7
chs / week
The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 7 chs / week.
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Synopsis
Rumors spread everywhere. Most fade away. But some… leave cracks in the world. Takafumi Hime didn’t ask for this—yet every strange story she hears pulls her deeper into a web of impossible events. Whispers turn into sightings. Sightings turn into disappearances. And the truth is nothing like the rumors.
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Chapter 1 - Something Left Open

The swing chains groaned in the wind.

No one sat on them, yet they swayed as if invisible feet were kicking the air.

Somewhere beyond the rusted slide and the mossy sandbox, faint laughter—thin and far away—brushed past like a memory you couldn't quite place.

Takafumi Hime woke with that sound still echoing in her ears.

Her eyes blinked open to the dim morning light filtering through her curtains. The dream—if it was a dream—was already slipping away, but she remembered flashes: a cat-shaped playground dome, its painted eyes cracked and staring; the warm buzz of a summer afternoon long gone; the blurred outlines of children running barefoot in sand.

She sat up slowly, chasing the details before they dissolved completely.

Her alarm clock read 6:47 AM.

Plenty of time before school.

But something about that laughter... it didn't feel like her mind had made it up.

Hime's feet dragged slightly as she walked along the narrow barangay road, the morning sun soft and golden. A few tricycle drivers called out to passing commuters, their idle chatter mixing with sputters of engines. The concrete path sloped gently toward the main highway, where she could already see the faint green-and-white gate of Lihimluha High School.

It was an ordinary enough sight—students in crisp uniforms, some laughing, some rushing as the bell drew closer. The school's old signage, weather-worn but proud, stood above the gate: Lihimluha High School — Founded 1974.

Her classmates from the same street caught up, talking excitedly about some TikTok trend and an upcoming quiz. She barely joined in, her mind still lingering on fragments of her dream—the faint echo of children's laughter, the way the wind carried the sound.

Inside the school grounds, she noticed again the peculiar stillness in certain corners. An overgrown side garden no one seemed to tend. A locked classroom in the far building that teachers never mentioned. Little things most students ignored... but she did not.

The last bell rang, spilling students into the corridors. Hime lingered by her desk, pretending to pack her bag slower than necessary.

Near the doorway, two girls walked side by side, their voices low enough for only Hime to catch snippets.

"…he's still in the hospital," one murmured, her voice brittle. "Doctors say they can't figure it out. He just... collapsed after walking past Sunrise Playground."

Her friend frowned. "That place? The one with the twisted swings?"

"That's what scares me. People say kids who go near it get sick... but it's just a rumor, right?"

The first girl didn't answer. Her silence felt heavier than denial as she gripped her bag tighter.

Hime looked down. The name Sunrise Playground stirred something uneasy deep in her chest.

She zipped her bag and left the classroom, her steps slower than usual.

Outside, the late afternoon light stretched shadows across the pavement. Ahead, a noisy group of upperclassmen filled the sidewalk—students she wanted to avoid.

She slowed, slipping quietly onto a narrower side street that curved toward the old residential area.

The air felt different here. Quieter. The usual hum of bicycles and chatter faded, replaced by the rustle of leaves in the wind. She passed houses with peeling paint and wild gardens, each step pulling her farther from school's noise.

She kept her eyes on the ground, mind drifting until a break in the row of houses revealed an open space.

Sunrise Playground.

Hime's footsteps slowed as the street curved toward this forgotten corner.

Weeds pushed through cracks in the pavement. The hum of distant traffic faded into a heavy stillness.

The tall, rusted fence of Sunrise Playground came into view—its once-bright paint faded to dull, peeling gray.

She lingered at the gate. The playground lay still, lifeless beneath the dim afternoon light.

But then—

The swings began to move. Slowly at first, then higher and higher, the chains twisting upward until each seat rolled tightly to the top.

The sand, smooth moments ago, now bore countless fresh footprints—small, hurried ones, as if children ran in every direction.

Yet no one was there.

No laughter. No voices. Only the sight of a place that looked... alive again, but without the living.

Her breath caught. Before she could think, her legs moved—away from the fence, the street, the playground.

As she ran, a sound broke the silence behind her.

Voices.

Many voices.

Children's voices tangled together, echoing after her in desperate unison:

"Help us..."

She didn't look back.

She only stopped when she reached her house, slamming the door shut behind her.

That night, sleep refused her—not because of the twisted swings or impossible footprints, but because of those voices—pleading, breathless cries that echoed long after the sun had gone down.

On weekends, Hime made it a point to visit her aunt's house. Her aunt had asked her to look after her cousin, Takafumi Kaemi, who hadn't been feeling well lately.

Today, Hime arrived just as her aunt prepared to leave.

"Thanks for coming, Hime," her aunt said, tired but smiling. "I need to buy some medicines for Kaemi. She's been worse since our walk two days ago."

Hime chuckled softly, recalling Kaemi's usual boastful grin. "She said she never even caught a fever before. She'll be fine."

Her aunt sighed but nodded, trusting Hime.

After her aunt left, Hime stepped quietly into Kaemi's room with a glass of water.

The moment she opened the door, her breath caught.

Kaemi sat stiffly on her bed, her back curved forward, face hidden as she stared blankly at the floor.

She was painfully thin, skin pale with a grayish hue—like a ghost trapped in a fragile shell.

The glass slipped from Hime's hand, shattering on the floor, but Kaemi didn't react.

Frozen. Unable to respond or blink.

Hime sank to her knees beside her cousin, tears spilling freely as the chilling rumors from school echoed in her mind.

Kids who go near Sunrise Playground get sick... and sometimes worse.

Fear settled heavy on her chest.

From that day on, Hime knew she had to prepare—fully and carefully.

She spent the next week gathering tools, researching, and steeling herself.

The next Friday, after the final bell, Hime walked with a heavier bag—not with books, but with things she thought might help if things went wrong. A flashlight. A small hammer. A pouch of salt. Two bulbs of garlic, their faint smell constant.

She told herself it was ridiculous, but every step toward Sunrise Playground made her heart pound harder.

Taking the same detour as before, she cut through quiet backstreets until the rusted jungle gym came into view. The swings hung still, the air colder than it should be for late afternoon.

Hime tightened her grip on the flashlight, eyes scanning for any movement. The memory of invisible footsteps and voices clung like a shadow.

Nothing seemed different as she approached. The familiar quiet weighed down the air.

Then her eyes caught the worn-out, faded yellow dome shaped like a cat's head—the playground's old "comfy dome." It looked oddly inviting and eerie at once. She stepped closer, moving cautiously around it.

Suddenly—a sharp knock echoed from the dome's front side. She had been behind it.

Startled, Hime stepped back, heart pounding. Instinctively, she pulled out her hammer and clutched her pouch of salt, ready to throw it at whatever made that sound.

"Come out," she said firmly, voice trembling but steady. "I'm not afraid."

Minutes passed in tense silence. Nothing. Just her own breathing and the faint rustle of leaves.

Maybe it was all in her head.

Slowly, she edged closer, flashlight trembling in hand. As she peered inside, the air grew cold and still—like time itself was holding its breath.

On the dusty floor lay an old ID card. The photo showed a boy smiling brightly, eyes full of life. The sight calmed Hime's racing heart for a moment.

But then—a soft giggle, mischievous and close—whispered just beside her right ear.

She swung her hammer toward the sound, striking empty air. Nothing. But she knew she'd heard it.

Panic surged through her veins, and she dashed from the dome as fast as she could.

Behind her, something moved—huge, crooked footsteps pounding unevenly across the sand. Faster than she was, erratic and almost playful in their unpredictability.

She sprinted toward the gate, but just before reaching it, her foot caught on a hidden root.

She tumbled forward, shutting her eyes as her heart hammered in terror.

Then—tap—a gentle touch on her shoulder.

Surprised, she opened her eyes. A girl in the same school uniform stood quietly beside her, smiling.

Without hesitation, Hime grabbed the girl and pulled her down, shielding her from whatever chased them.

For a tense moment, silence stretched. The girl's brow furrowed in confusion.

Slowly, she stood and offered Hime a hand. Shy and shaken, Hime declined and got up herself. Both dusted off their uniforms.

The girl smiled softly. "I'm Princess Sanchez," she said, holding out her hand.

Hime hesitated, then smiled back. "Takafumi Hime."

They exchanged quiet nods, the air still heavy from what had just happened.

When rain began to fall steadily, they hurried to a nearby waiting shed—a small, weathered structure with a rusty tin roof and faded wooden benches worn smooth by years of use.

The scent of wet earth and old wood filled the cramped space as they squeezed inside, chill mixing with warmth between them. The quiet was thick but not uncomfortable—more like a fragile thread weaving them closer.

Princess glanced over, concern softening her eyes. "Are you really okay?"

Hime hesitated, then shook her head slightly, feeling the weight of the day and strange encounter pressing down on her. "I just... didn't eat this morning. Made me feel weak."

Princess nodded, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "You should've told someone."

Their shoulders nearly touched now, breaths mingling in the close space. Outside, the rain drummed a steady rhythm on the tin roof, cocooning them from the world.

After a brief pause, Princess said quietly, "You're the only foreign student in school, right? I've heard about you."

Hime's eyes met hers, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah. I came from Japan. My dad lives here in the Philippines, so I moved with some relatives."

Princess's expression softened. "That must be a big change."

"It is," Hime admitted. "But I'm starting to feel like this place... could be home."

Princess smiled warmly, the tension between them easing just a little.

Then her gaze fell on the object clenched tightly in Hime's hand. "What's that?"

Hime looked down, surprised she still held the old ID card.

"I found it inside the dome," she said softly.

Princess reached out, tracing the faded photo and scrawled words on the back: "school sucks."

"It's kind of sad... but kind of sweet, too."

Hime smiled faintly, feeling the tension in her chest ease.

When the rain slowed to a drizzle, they stepped out and followed the address written on the back of the ID card. Their footsteps splashed softly against wet pavement as they walked side by side.

The destination was a worn wooden house at the edge of the neighborhood. It looked abandoned, with crooked walls, shattered windows, and a roof broken in half.

A shiver ran down their spines at the sight.

"This place..." Princess whispered, voice barely audible.

They exchanged nervous glances, and after a brief laugh at their own fright, broke into a run, the tension melting into shared amusement.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, their laughter faded into comfortable silence. Walking back, they shared stories and jokes, the bond between them growing with each step.

Before parting, Princess pulled out her phone. "Let's exchange numbers."

Hime nodded, the day's fear replaced by a warm sense of connection.

That night, alone in her room, Hime lay in bed holding the ID card up to the moonlight filtering through the window.

She needed answers. She had to find out what was making her cousin sick.

Sleep came slowly, interrupted by sudden ringing.

She reached out, but the call ended before she could answer. No missed calls showed.

Just as she was about to turn off the phone, it rang again. This time, Princess's name flashed on the screen.

"Why are you calling so late?" Hime whispered.

Between heavy breaths, Princess said, "I had a dream... I want to meet tomorrow. I'll come get you—I'm taking you out for coffee. It's Saturday."

Hime opened her mouth to protest, but Princess cut her off with a laugh.

"You don't get to say no."

The next day, a gentle knock came at Hime's door.

"Hime! It's Princess," came the cheerful voice.

From the living room, Hime's mother called out, "Hime, someone's here for you!"

Hime hurried downstairs, still dressed in her outside outfit. She opened the door and met Princess's bright smile.

They both grinned shyly, the warmth of new friendship shining in their eyes.

Peeking from inside, Hime's mother was surprised. Her eyes widened softly as she realized Hime finally had a friend here.

"Is she... a friend of yours?" she asked gently, a mix of surprise and quiet joy in her voice.

Princess nodded happily and tugged at Hime's arm, pulling her outside.

"May we go out, Auntie?" Princess asked with polite excitement.

Hime's mother smiled warmly, her eyes glistening with a bittersweet feeling. 🥹

The two girls stepped out, their footsteps light as they walked toward a nearby cafe.

Inside, they settled with sweets and warm drinks, the cozy atmosphere wrapping around them like a gentle hug.

But as their conversation deepened, Princess's mood shifted.

She spoke quietly about her late older sister.

"My sister used to play outside all the time when she was young," Princess said softly. "She had so much time for play, but I couldn't... I had a weak heart when I was little. Now I'm okay, but back then, I was always inside."

Hime listened, sensing the strong bond between them.

Princess continued, her voice trembling slightly.

"One time, my sister came home upset. Days passed, and then she got very ill. After a month, she passed away."

Hime's heart clenched at the sadness in her friend's eyes.

Princess looked down, then back up with a strange mix of joy and sorrow.

"I saw her in a dream last night," she said. "She was the same age she was when she died—ten years old."

Princess described the dream vividly.

"She was playing alone on the slide. She tripped and started crying. I went to her and comforted her."

A small smile crossed Princess's lips.

"She stopped crying and hugged me. I felt so happy."

Then Princess's smile faded as she recalled her sister's words.

She whispered,

"Princess… you've changed so much. Sometimes, I wish I could be like you. But… please, let me rest now. Save us all—otherwise, the children will never leave this place behind."

She shivered.

"In the dream, the cat's eyes on the dome looked right at me," she said.

She glanced back, but her sister was gone.

Suddenly, a scratch sounded from inside the dome.

Princess's heart pounded as she heard her sister crying and panicking, her voice full of torment.

Bumps echoed inside, mixed with splashes of liquid.

Terrified, Princess stepped back, horror growing.

Then screams filled her ears—many children crying out, "HELP US!"

Princess woke up, trembling.

Hime reached over and took Princess's hand, steadying her.

"I'm so scared," Princess whispered, tears streaming down her face.

Hime squeezed her hand tightly, then spoke quietly.

"There's a rumor about the playground. Your sister might be suffering the same fate as my cousin."

She pulled out a photo from her bag.

The picture showed her cousin lying flat on a bed—eyes still, pale, and thin.

Princess gasped, standing in shock.

"It's like I'm seeing her," she said, voice shaking.

Hime nodded grimly.

"We have to act fast."

Together, they returned to the abandoned house of the boy in the ID card.

They entered cautiously, arms linked tightly for comfort.

They searched the dark, dusty rooms but found nothing but rats and broken furniture.

Just as they turned to leave, a sudden gleam caught Princess's eye.

It came from rubble near the exit door.

Curious, she pushed aside the debris and uncovered a small, framed family photo.

The glass shattered, reflecting light from the broken window.

Behind the picture was scrawled: "Landas Family, 10/23/2009."

Though worn, they recognized the boy from the ID card smiling in the middle of the frame.

The family was small—four members total, with two kids nestled between the mother and father.

Determined to learn more, they sought out a neighbor.

An old lady answered their questions with a heavy heart.

She explained that the family left after a terrible incident.

"I saw it all happen," the lady said, her voice trembling.

She described the youngest child lying flat in their yard, beaten by his father.

The father was yelling, fists bloody from the violence.

Neighbors called the police, who arrived to arrest the father.

The boy was unresponsive.

When the father realized he had killed his son, his face turned pale.

He broke down, crying and apologizing over the boy's lifeless body.

The old lady said she saw another child crying inside the house, with the mother holding her tightly by the window.

After a few days, the family left the home. The old lady added that the mother had come to say goodbye on her doorstep before leaving. She said they were moving to Manila.

Princess and Hime exchanged shocked looks. They had just trespassed a house where a child was killed.

Curious, they asked if the father was arrested and sent to the town's prison.

The old lady's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why do you care so much?" she asked.

Thinking quickly, Princess made up a story. "I'm her daughter from the city, visiting my lost father."

The old lady wasn't convinced.

Then Hime pulled out the ID card of the boy.

The old lady's face softened. A tear slipped down her cheek as she muttered the name, "Little Bimbo."

Princess's eyes widened. "Was he the one who died?"

The old lady shook her head weakly. "Little Bimbo bore all the pain, he was the kid from the window… He used to come by and drink hot chocolate in here."

She added softly, "He was the neighborhood's little sunshine. Always there to brighten the darkest days, but when he needed help most, no one could save him."

Hime hesitated before asking the boy's real name, hoping they could at least find him and ask about the playground.

The old lady's gaze sharpened. "What playground?"

Hime swallowed nervously. "Hard to believe, but there's a rumor that Sunshine Playground makes kids very ill if they get involved."

Princess continued, voice trembling, "My sister died from that illness. I believe it came from that place. And now, her cousin might be next."

Hime showed the picture of her cousin.

The old lady played hard to get. "Maybe the playground's just infected with a virus. Why don't you call the town service to clean it?"

Not wasting time, Hime replied firmly, "Please just tell us his name. We promise not to harm him and we'll ask him to visit you sometimes."

The old lady's eyes filled with tears again.

"Please, let the boy visit me once in a while. I'm getting old, and I don't have much time left," she said softly.

She told them the boy's full name: "Joseph G. Landas. Garcia is his middle name."

They thanked the old lady and said goodbye.

Back at Hime's house, they dashed straight to her room.

Hime's mother looked surprised but said nothing.

Hime opened her laptop and typed the name into the internet.

They found an account with no profile picture and a private setting.

Digging deeper, Hime found an older account with a profile picture of a window looking out over the city buildings.

The account had been inactive for five years, but it wasn't private.

It showed the user was studying at New Beginnings High School in Manila—the same place the old lady said the family had moved to.

There was also an address listed—a key to finding Joseph.

"This is our lead. Tomorrow, we start looking for Joseph."