"Human Chair" Ranpo Edogawa

This morning as well, before starting her work, she had to go through the letters from these unknown people. Most of them contained trivial and clichéd phrases, but out of a kindhearted feminine sense of courtesy, she made it a point to read through every letter addressed to her.

Starting with the simpler ones, she finished reading two letters and a postcard, and then one bulky package that seemed to be a manuscript remained. Although she hadn’t received any notification letter, it wasn’t unusual for people to suddenly send manuscripts without prior notice. Most of these unsolicited manuscripts were tediously long and boring, but she decided to at least take a look at the title, so she opened the package and took out the bundle of papers.

As expected, it was a bound manuscript. However, strangely, it had neither a title nor a signature, and it began abruptly with the words “Madam.” Wondering if it was indeed a letter, she casually skimmed through the first few lines. As she read on, she felt an unusual and oddly unsettling sensation, and her innate curiosity drove her to continue reading further.

Madam,

Please forgive me many times over for sending you such an intrusive letter from a man you do not know at all. You may be quite shocked to hear this, but I am now about to confess to you the most extraordinary crimes I have committed. For several months, I have completely hidden myself from the human world, living a truly devilish life. Of course, no one in the wide world knows of my deeds. If nothing had changed, I might have remained out of the human world forever.

However, recently, a strange change has occurred in my heart, and I have felt compelled to confess my fateful story. Though this may leave you with various doubts, please, by all means, read this letter to the end. Then, you will understand why I felt this way and why I specifically needed you to hear my confession.

Where should I begin? The facts are so bizarre and otherworldly that writing them in a letter, which is a method used in the human world, feels strangely awkward and makes my pen hesitate. But there is no point in hesitating. I will begin by recounting the events in order.

I was born with an extraordinarily ugly appearance. Please remember this clearly. If you were to meet me in person after generously accepting my request, the sight of my already hideous face, made worse by years of unhealthy living, would be unbearable for me without any forewarning for you.

What a fateful birth I have had. Despite my ugly appearance, an intense passion secretly burned within my chest. I longed for sweet, luxurious dreams, forgetting my reality as a hideous-faced, extremely poor craftsman. If I had been born into a wealthier family, I might have indulged in various pleasures through the power of money, distracting myself from my ugliness. Or if I had been blessed with more artistic talent, I might have been able to forget the dreariness of this world through beautiful poetry. However, unfortunate as I was, I could not enjoy either of these blessings and had no choice but to make a living day by day through the work inherited from my parents as a humble furniture craftsman.

My specialty was making various types of chairs. My chairs were so well-liked by even the most demanding clients that the company took special care of me, giving me only the finest work. These high-quality orders often involved intricate carvings on the backrests and armrests, complex cushioning, and precise measurements to match the clients’ delicate tastes. Such work required a level of effort that a layperson could hardly imagine. However, the greater the effort, the greater the satisfaction upon completion. It might sound presumptuous, but I believe this feeling of accomplishment can be compared to the joy an artist feels when finishing a magnificent piece.

Once a chair was completed, I would first sit in it myself to test its comfort. Even in my monotonous life as a craftsman, I would feel an indescribable sense of pride at that moment. I would imagine the kinds of distinguished or beautiful people who might sit in this splendid chair. Considering that such a fine chair was commissioned, there must be a luxurious room befitting it. I envisioned famous oil paintings hanging on the walls, magnificent jewel-like chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and the floor covered with expensive carpets. On the table in front of this chair, I imagined vibrant Western flowers in full bloom, emitting a sweet fragrance. Lost in such fantasies, I would feel as though I had become the owner of that splendid room, experiencing an indescribable pleasure, even if only for a moment.

My fleeting fantasies would continue to expand without end. Despite being a poor, ugly craftsman, in my imagination, I became a noble prince, sitting in the magnificent chair I had created. Beside me would always be the beautiful woman from my dreams, listening intently to my words with a radiant smile. It didn’t stop there. In my fantasies, we would hold hands and whisper sweet words of love to each other.

However, my fleeting purple dreams were always quickly shattered by the boisterous chatter of the neighbor’s wife or the hysterical cries of a sick child nearby. In an instant, the harsh reality would reappear before me, exposing its grey and ugly form. Returning to reality, I would see my own pitiful and hideous self, a far cry from the noble prince of my dreams. And that beautiful woman who had just smiled at me—where on earth could she be? Even the dirty little nursemaids playing in the dust around here wouldn’t spare a glance in my direction. Only the chair I had crafted remained, standing forlornly as a remnant of my dream. But that chair would soon be carried away to a world entirely different from ours.

Each time I finished a chair, I was overcome with an indescribable sense of emptiness. This inexplicable, unsettling feeling grew increasingly unbearable as the days went by. “If I have to continue this maggot-like existence, it would be better to die,” I seriously thought. While chiseling away in the workshop, hammering nails, or mixing potent paints, I obsessively pondered the same thing. “But wait, if I have the resolve to end my life, surely there must be another way. For example…” And so, my thoughts began to take a more sinister turn.

Around that time, I was commissioned to make a large leather-upholstered armchair, a task I had never undertaken before. This chair was to be delivered to a hotel run by foreigners in the same city of Y. Originally, it was supposed to be ordered from their home country, but the company I worked for managed to secure the order by convincing them that Japan also had chair craftsmen who were just as good as the imported ones. This was a significant opportunity for me, and I dedicated myself to the task, forsaking sleep and food. I truly poured my soul into it, working feverishly.

When I looked at the finished chair, I felt a satisfaction I had never known before. It was a masterpiece, so splendid that I was entranced by its beauty. As usual, I took one of the four chairs, which were part of a set, to a sunny spot on the wooden floor and sat down comfortably. What a wonderful feeling it was to sit in that chair. The cushion was just right—not too hard, not too soft. The texture of the untreated grey leather, which I had deliberately left uncolored, felt perfect. The backrest, with its gentle slope, supported my back tenderly. The armrests, bulging slightly with delicate curves, provided perfect support. Everything about the chair came together in a miraculous harmony, embodying the very essence of the word “comfort.”

I sank deeply into the chair, caressing the rounded armrests with both hands, lost in a trance. Then, as was my habit, a torrent of endless fantasies began to flow through my mind, each one as dazzling as a five-colored rainbow. It was so vivid that I feared I might be losing my mind.

Amidst these thoughts, a sudden, brilliant idea struck me. Perhaps this is what they mean by the devil’s whisper. It was a wildly fantastical and eerie notion, but its very eeriness had an inexplicable allure that tempted me.

Initially, my only wish was simple: I didn’t want to part with the beautiful chair I had poured my heart and soul into. If possible, I wanted to follow it wherever it went. As I indulged in my reveries, this simple desire merged with a terrifying idea that had been fermenting in my mind for some time. How insane I must have been! I decided to turn this bizarre fantasy into reality.

In great haste, I dismantled the armchair I thought was the best of the four and rebuilt it to suit my strange plan. The chair was a very large armchair, with the seating area upholstered with leather all the way down to the floor, and the backrest and armrests were very thick. Inside these thick parts, there was a common large hollow space, big enough to hide a person without being detected from the outside.

The chair was constructed with a sturdy wooden frame and many springs, but I made some adjustments. I modified it so that I could place my knees in the seating area and fit my head and torso into the backrest, making it possible to hide inside the chair in a sitting position. This required considerable skill, but it was something I was quite adept at, so I managed to do it thoroughly and efficiently.

For instance, I created small, undetectable gaps in the leather to allow for breathing and hearing external sounds. Inside the backrest, near where my head would be, I installed a small shelf to store items. On this shelf, I placed a canteen and military hardtack. Additionally, I included a large rubber bag for a specific purpose and various other innovations, ensuring that, with sufficient food, I could stay hidden inside the chair for two or three days without feeling uncomfortable. In other words, the chair became a room for one person.

indeed a strange feeling. It was dark and suffocating, like crawling into a tomb. Thinking about it, it was no different from a tomb. As soon as I entered the chair, I vanished from the human world, just like donning a cloak of invisibility.

Soon, someone from the company arrived with a large cart to collect the four armchairs. My apprentice, who was unaware of anything, dealt with them. As they loaded the chairs onto the cart, one of the workers shouted, “This one’s unusually heavy!” causing me to panic for a moment. However, since the armchair itself was inherently heavy, there was no suspicion. The rattling of the cart transmitted a peculiar sensation to my body.

Despite my anxiety, everything went smoothly, and by that afternoon, the armchair containing me was placed in a hotel room. As I later discovered, it was not a private room but a lounge where people frequently came and went to meet others, read newspapers, smoke, and engage in various activities.

Inside the chair, I settled into my confined space, equipped with my provisions and careful modifications, feeling a mix of dread and excitement at the unfolding of my audacious plan.

As you have probably already guessed, the primary objective of my peculiar behavior was to wait for moments when no one was around, sneak out from the chair, and roam around the hotel committing thefts. Who would ever imagine that a person could be hiding inside a chair? I could freely move from room to room, like a shadow, ransacking them. When people started making a commotion, I would retreat back into my hiding place inside the chair, quietly observing their futile search.

You might be familiar with a type of crab known as a “hermit crab,” often found along the shoreline. It looks like a large spider and struts around confidently when no one is around, but at the slightest sound of footsteps, it darts back into its shell with incredible speed. It then peeks out its hairy front claws to monitor the situation. I was exactly like that hermit crab, except my shell was a chair, and instead of the beach, I roamed around the hotel with impunity.

Surprisingly, my outrageous plan succeeded precisely because of its audacity. By the third day after arriving at the hotel, I had already accomplished a significant theft. The terrifying yet exhilarating feeling of committing a robbery, the indescribable joy of succeeding, and the amusement of watching people frantically search for me right under their noses—all of these provided me with an extraordinary thrill.

The plan was executed so seamlessly and unexpectedly that it caught everyone off guard. The thrill of the heist, the sense of accomplishment upon succeeding, and the sheer amusement of observing the chaos I caused—these were the strange and powerful delights that entertained me immensely.

However, I regret that I don’t have the time to delve into those details right now. What I discovered there was a bizarre and immensely gratifying pleasure, far surpassing the thrill of theft by ten or twenty times. Confessing about that discovery is, in fact, the true purpose of this letter.

Let me take you back to when my chair was placed in the hotel lounge. After it arrived, the hotel staff examined the chair, testing its comfort, but soon the room fell silent, with not a sound to be heard. It seemed that the room was empty. Despite the quiet, I was too scared to emerge from the chair immediately. For what felt like an eternity (though it may have just seemed that long), I concentrated all my senses on listening for the slightest sound, trying to gauge my surroundings.

After a while, I heard heavy footsteps, likely from the hallway, approaching the room. As they drew nearer, the carpet muffled them to a nearly inaudible level. Soon, I heard the rough breathing of a man, and before I knew it, a large Western man dropped heavily onto my lap, bouncing a few times on the cushioned seat. Through the thin leather, I felt the warmth of his substantial body pressed against my thighs. His broad shoulders rested against my chest, and his heavy hands overlapped mine through the leather. The rich, masculine scent of a cigar wafted through the tiny gaps in the leather.

Madam, try to imagine the scene as if you were in my place. What a truly bizarre and extraordinary situation it was. I was terrified, curled up tightly in the dark confines of the chair, cold sweat trickling from my armpits. I was so overwhelmed with fear that I lost all ability to think clearly, left in a state of utter bewilderment.

Starting with that man, throughout the day, various people sat on my lap, one after another. None of them realized that what they believed to be a soft cushion was actually the living, blood-filled thighs of a human being—me.

The dark, immobile leather-bound world I found myself in was an incredibly strange yet fascinating place. In that space, humans seemed like completely different, mysterious beings compared to what they appeared to be in the light of day. They were merely voices, breaths, footsteps, rustling clothes, and a series of rounded, resilient masses of flesh. I could identify each person not by their appearance but by the feel of their bodies. Some were excessively fat, giving the sensation of rotting fish, while others were so thin and bony they felt like skeletons. Each person had a unique combination of spinal curvature, scapular position, arm length, thigh girth, and tailbone length, making even similar body shapes distinguishable in some way. Humans, beyond their facial features and fingerprints, could undoubtedly be identified by the feel of their entire bodies.

The same could be said for the opposite sex. Usually, people judge others based on their facial attractiveness, but in the world inside the chair, such considerations were irrelevant. There, it was all about the bare flesh, the sound of voices, and the scents.

Madam, please do not be offended by my frank description, but there, in that hidden world, I developed an intense attachment to the body of a woman. She was the first woman to sit on my chair, and her physical presence left a profound impact on me.

Judging by her voice, she was a young foreign maiden. At that moment, there was no one else in the room. She seemed to be in a cheerful mood, singing a strange song softly to herself as she danced into the room with a light step. When she reached the armchair where I was hiding, she suddenly threw her voluptuous yet incredibly supple body onto me. For some reason, she began laughing out loud, flailing her arms and legs like a fish caught in a net.

For nearly half an hour, she remained on my lap, occasionally singing and moving her heavy body in rhythm with her song. This was an earth-shattering event for me, something I could never have anticipated. I had always regarded women as sacred, even frightening, and had avoided looking at them directly. And now, here I was, in the same room, in the same chair, feeling the warmth of an unknown foreign maiden’s skin through the thin layer of leather separating us. She showed no signs of anxiety, fully trusting her weight to me and freely moving her body in the comfort of being unseen.

Inside the chair, I could pretend to embrace her. I could kiss the back of her neck from behind the leather. I had the freedom to do anything without her knowledge.

After making this astonishing discovery, my initial purpose of theft became secondary. I became utterly engrossed in the strange, tactile world inside the chair. I began to think that this world inside the chair was my true home. As an ugly and timid man, I always felt inferior and led a shameful and miserable life in the bright, illuminated world. However, once I changed my living environment and endured the cramped conditions inside the chair, I could approach beautiful people, hear their voices, and feel their skin—something that would never be allowed in the open world.

The romance within the chair(!)—how incredibly enigmatic and intoxicatingly attractive it was. Only those who have experienced hiding inside a chair can understand. It was a romance of touch, hearing, and faint smell. It was a romance in a world of darkness, not of this earth. Perhaps it was the love and desire of the devil’s realm. Considering this, who can truly imagine what bizarre and terrifying things might be happening in the unnoticed corners of this world?

Initially, I had planned to escape the hotel as soon as I fulfilled my purpose of theft. However, I became so enthralled by this most peculiar pleasure that I no longer thought of escaping. Instead, I made the chair my permanent home and continued living this extraordinary life.

Every night, I took utmost care during my excursions, making no noise and avoiding detection. Consequently, there was no danger. However, it is truly astonishing that I managed to live inside the chair for several months without being discovered.

Spending nearly every hour of every day in the cramped space inside the chair, with my arms bent and knees folded, caused my entire body to go numb. Eventually, I could no longer stand upright properly and had to crawl like an insect to the kitchen or restroom. What a madman I was! Despite such suffering, I could not bring myself to abandon the strange, tactile world I had discovered.

Some hotel guests would stay for a month or two, using the place as a residence. But since it was a hotel, there was a constant flow of guests. Consequently, my peculiar romances changed partners over time, something beyond my control. The memories of these various strange lovers are etched in my mind, not by their appearances, but primarily by the shapes of their bodies.

Some had agile, trim bodies like young colts, some were sinuous and voluptuous like snakes, moving with fluid grace. Others were plump and resilient like rubber balls, rich in fat and elasticity. Some had robust, powerfully developed bodies reminiscent of Greek sculptures. Each woman’s body had its own unique features and attractions.

As I transitioned from one woman to another, I also experienced other strange encounters. One such experience occurred when the ambassador of a major European power—information I gathered from the gossip of Japanese bellboys—placed his impressive frame on my lap. This man was more renowned as a world-famous poet than as a politician. The knowledge that I had felt the skin of such a great figure filled me with a thrilling sense of pride. He sat on me for about ten minutes, conversing with two or three of his compatriots before leaving. Although I had no idea what they were discussing, the sensation of his warm body, moving with every gesture, gave me an indescribable thrill.

During that time, I had a fleeting, dark thought. What if, from behind the leather, I were to plunge a sharp knife straight into his heart? Undoubtedly, it would be a fatal blow, rendering him unable to rise again. The repercussions would be immense. His home country, as well as Japan’s political sphere, would erupt in chaos. Newspapers would print sensational headlines. The diplomatic relations between Japan and his homeland would be severely impacted. From an artistic perspective, his death would be an enormous loss to the world. The realization that such a monumental event could be easily caused by a single action of mine gave me a bizarre sense of empowerment.

Despite these temptations, I never acted on such thoughts. The mere idea that I could hold such power, even momentarily, provided a peculiar sense of satisfaction. This period of my life, spent hidden in the chair, mingling with high society in such a clandestine manner, was filled with both fear and strange pleasure.

Another notable experience was when a famous dancer from a renowned country visited Japan and stayed at the hotel. By chance, she sat in my chair just once. Like with the ambassador, I was deeply impressed, but this time, her presence provided me with an unparalleled sensation of ideal physical beauty. Her beauty was so profound that I had no time for any base thoughts. Instead, I admired her with a reverence akin to that felt for a piece of art.

Aside from these encounters, I had many other unusual, strange, or eerie experiences. However, detailing all of them here is not the purpose of this letter, and it has already grown quite lengthy. So, let me proceed to the main point.

Several months after my arrival at the hotel, a significant change occurred in my circumstances. The hotel’s management decided to return to their home country for some reason and sold the establishment, including its contents, to a Japanese company. The new owners planned to change the hotel’s luxurious approach to a more general inn, aiming for profitable management. Consequently, they decided to auction off unnecessary furnishings through a large furniture dealer. My chair was among the items listed in the auction catalog.

Upon learning about the auction, I was initially quite disheartened. I even considered using this opportunity to return to the outside world and start a new life. By that time, I had accumulated a substantial amount of money from my thefts, enough to ensure that I would not have to endure the miserable existence I had before. However, upon further reflection, I realized that leaving the foreign hotel, while a significant disappointment, also represented a new hope. Despite loving so many different women over the past few months, the fact that they were all foreigners left me feeling a strange spiritual emptiness. Perhaps Japanese people can only truly fall in love with other Japanese. This thought began to take root in my mind.

Just as I was pondering this, my chair was put up for auction. This time, there was a chance it might be purchased by a Japanese person and placed in a Japanese household. This became my new hope. So, I decided to continue living inside the chair a little longer.

The few days spent at the furniture dealer’s storefront were extremely uncomfortable, but fortunately, when the auction started, my chair quickly found a buyer. Despite its age, it was still a splendid piece that easily attracted attention.

Thus, I found myself sold to a new owner, embarking on yet another chapter of my peculiar existence.

The buyer was an official living in a large city not far from Y City. The journey from the furniture dealer’s shop to his residence was excruciating, as I endured a tremendous amount of discomfort inside the chair while being transported over several miles in a violently jolting truck. However, the suffering paled in comparison to the joy I felt knowing that my new owner was a Japanese person, as I had hoped.

The official who purchased the chair owned an impressive estate, and my chair was placed in the spacious study of his Western-style house. To my great satisfaction, this study was used more by the official’s young and beautiful wife than by him. For about a month, I was constantly in the presence of this lady. Except for her mealtimes and sleeping hours, her supple body was always upon me. This was because she spent most of her time in the study, engrossed in writing a book.

I need not elaborate on how deeply I loved her. She was the first Japanese person I had ever been close to, and she possessed a remarkably beautiful body. For the first time, I felt true love. Compared to this, my numerous experiences at the hotel could not be called love at all. As evidence of my true feelings, unlike my previous encounters, I wasn’t content merely to enjoy secret caresses. With this lady, I desperately wanted to reveal my existence to her, and I went to great lengths to try to make this happen.

I wished that the lady herself would become aware of my presence inside the chair, and, although it was a selfish desire, I hoped she would love me. But how could I signal her? If I openly revealed that a person was hiding inside the chair, she would surely be so shocked that she would inform her husband and the servants. That would ruin everything, and I would be accused of a terrible crime and face legal punishment.

So, I tried to make her feel as comfortable as possible in the chair and endeavored to make her fond of it. As an artist, she must have a keener sense of perception than most people. If she could sense life in the chair and come to cherish it not merely as an object but as a living entity, I would be immensely satisfied.

Whenever she threw herself onto the chair, I tried to receive her as gently as possible. When she was tired and resting on the chair, I subtly moved my knees to adjust her position without her noticing. If she began to doze off, I would very gently rock my knees, mimicking the soothing motion of a cradle.

Whether my efforts were rewarded or it was merely my imagination, lately, it seemed as if the lady had developed an affection for the chair. She sank into it with a sweetness akin to an infant being cradled by its mother or a maiden responding to her lover’s embrace. Even the way she moved on my lap seemed to convey a sense of fondness.

My passion grew more intense by the day, and eventually, oh Madam, eventually, I harbored an audacious wish beyond my station. I became desperate to see the face of my beloved, even just once, and to exchange words with her. I felt that if I could do that, I would be content to die.

Madam, you have undoubtedly realized by now. Please forgive my extreme impertinence. The truth is, my beloved is you. Ever since your husband purchased my chair from that shop in Y City, I have been offering my unattainable love to you, a pitiable man.

Madam, this is my lifelong plea. Could you not grant me just one meeting? Could you not, if only for a moment, say a few comforting words to this wretched and ugly man? I do not wish for anything beyond that. I am too hideous and disgraced to desire anything more. Please, please, hear the desperate plea of a most unfortunate man.

Last night, I left the estate to write this letter. It is far too dangerous and impossible for me to ask you this face-to-face.

And now, as you read this letter, I am wandering anxiously around the estate, my face pale with worry. If you can find it in your heart to grant this most impudent request, please place your handkerchief on the potted carnations in the study window. That will be my signal. Then, I will visit the estate’s entrance as a casual visitor.

And this mysterious letter concluded with fervent words of prayer. When Yoshiko read halfway through the letter, she turned pale with fear, sensing something dreadful.

Unconsciously, she stood up and fled from the study where the unsettling armchair was placed, escaping to the Japanese-style living room. She thought about tearing up the letter without reading the rest, but her curiosity and concern compelled her to continue reading it at the small desk in the living room.

Her premonition had been correct. What a horrifying truth it was! The armchair she had been sitting in every day contained a stranger hiding inside it.

“Oh, how terrifying,” she shuddered, feeling a chill run down her spine as if cold water had been poured over her. The strange tremor did not subside.

Yoshiko was so stunned that she had no idea how to deal with the situation. Should she inspect the chair? No, she couldn’t bring herself to do something so terrifying. Even if the person was no longer there, there were likely to be remnants of food and other filthy items associated with him.

“Madam, there’s a letter for you,” a maid announced, snapping Yoshiko out of her daze. She turned to see the maid holding a newly delivered envelope.

Unthinkingly, Yoshiko took the letter and was about to open it. But then she noticed the handwriting on the envelope, and the shock was so great that she nearly dropped it. The handwriting was identical to the unsettling letter she had just read.

For a long time, she hesitated, unsure whether to open it. Finally, she tore it open and read the contents with trembling hands. The letter was short, but its strange words startled her once more:

“Please forgive my rudeness in suddenly sending you this letter. I am an avid reader of your work. Enclosed is my humble creation. If you would kindly take a look at it and provide your critique, I would be most grateful. For certain reasons, I mailed the manuscript before writing this letter, so I presume you have already seen it. What did you think of it? If my humble work has made any impression on you, it would bring me great joy.

The title I had in mind for the manuscript, which I deliberately left out, is ‘The Human Chair.’

I apologize for the impertinence of this request. Respectfully yours.”

Yoshiko’s eyes widened in disbelief. This new letter, seemingly ordinary, was penned with the same handwriting as the terrifying one.