"Later, I saw Jar Man killing animals. He tore them apart and stuffed them into jars.
I didn't know where he got the jars. Mom always smashed them.
But the next day, those jars would appear in his room again, perfectly intact.
I told him to stop killing those little animals. They were so cute. Kittens meowed, puppies barked, and birds chirped...
It was wrong.
Jar Man stopped tearing the body apart. His hands were covered in blood, and he turned to face me.
With the jar over his head, I couldn't see his expression, but I felt like he was smiling.
He said, 'Sure, you're right. I really shouldn't kill little animals anymore.'
Even though he said that, I kept feeling like he'd misunderstood what I meant.
Sure enough, a few days later, two guests smashed the clay jar on Jar Man's head.
Mom said Jar Man had tricked them into it. She hid trembling in the room filled with ritual implements, holding me and crying as she kept saying she was sorry.
She said she was so scared of Jar Man, but she couldn't kill him.
After that day, Mom had very, very few guests.
She was troubled, so she wrote to her former guests to ask why.
I secretly read one guest's reply. The guest said that many people who had visited her had disappeared, so nobody dared to come anymore.
I didn't know what Mom thought of, but she burned the letter with trembling hands.
After that day, though, Mom started secretly packing our things.
I asked her why, and she told me not to tell Jar Man about it. I had to keep it a secret.
I nodded, and only then realized that Jar Man hadn't seemed to leave his room for days. He hadn't