Fingers in the Fish Tank
I bought an old aquarium tank at a secondhand shop in Chiba Prefecture.
It was an ordinary glass tank, 60 centimeters wide.
I set it up on the desk in my studio apartment.
I filled it with water and spread gravel across the bottom.
I put in five ornamental tropical fish and turned on the filter.
On the first night, I woke up to the sound of water.
"Splash."
It was the sound of water overflowing.
I got out of bed and looked at the tank.
The surface of the water was rippling violently.
The tropical fish were huddled together in one corner, completely still.
Something was lodged between the gravel.
It was a long, white object.
When I looked closely, it was a human finger.
The fingernail was sticking out above the gravel.
I thought I must have seen it wrong and turned on the light.
When the light came on, the finger had disappeared.
Only the gravel remained, spread flat across the bottom.
The next night, I heard the sound of water again.
"Splash, splash."
This time, it was louder and more irregular.
Without turning on the light, I shone a flashlight into the tank.
Three fingers were sticking up from the gravel.
The finger joints slowly bent and straightened.
They were not swaying because of the filter current