It was us who had killed the Saejima family.

They were good people, the Saejima. The father and mother never looked away from those who needed help. Yet, when their son was bullied to death at school, nobody took responsibility. Every parent was too busy protecting their own children. Even the police ruled it an accident, saying that the kids were just playing, nothing more.

Heartbroken, the Saejima parents killed themselves. We, the whole town, had forced them into that.

A year passed.

I moved to Tokyo to attend university. Then, one night, I received a call from my father.

“Don’t look behind you,” was all he said. “Just don’t look.”

It was on the news a few days later. “Mass Suicide” was on every newspaper headline and TV. The name of my hometown was mentioned. Everybody died, they said. Adults and children were found hanging from trees and at homes. Some slit their own wrists, and others drowned in their bathtubs. All left a suicide note.

“Sorry,” said each note. That one word filled the town on pieces of paper and walls.

Shocked, I sat rooted in front of the TV inside my room at the university’s dorm. That’s when I sensed it.

Somebody was behind me. I turned to look. It was them, the Saejima family.

The father, mother, and their son were standing there in shadowed shape with piercing eyes. The image of them took over my thoughts like drops of ink slowly turning water black. For days, I couldn’t get what I saw out of my mind.

“Sorry,” the word came through my mouth. I could no longer stop. “Sorry, sorry—”