Many decades ago, that house was his, that beautiful, traditional, and now ancient property his family had inhabited for generations, now reduced to an abandoned bed where he's been confined.

He was alone for at least five years, or so he thought; time moves differently for an abandoned soul, until through one of the windows he saw the moving truck and a small car parked outside, and then he saw your face. You didn't seem to belong to Japan; your features were unlike anyone or anything he'd seen among those who came and went on the sidewalk, but that kept him interested in you.

After weeks of chasing you around, finding out that you'd only bought the house to renovate and keep it, he began moving things for you. Sometimes it was furniture; during the night he'd move a sofa or two; during the day he'd show his presence by blowing on and opening the windows and sliding doors, amused to let you know that you didn't live alone in that enormous house even if you couldn't see him. But that was what bothered him: that you couldn't see or touch him when he was dead. Still, he often left you little gifts, like the jade necklace that belonged to his mother and family, buried in the garden, bringing it out just to show you his presence and bind himself to your soul.