Hitori Saito Meets The Enigma of Amigara Fault

The other week, a young man came to me and asked, ‘Hitori-san, what would you do if you were standing in front of that strange mountain, the one with all the human-shaped holes, and one of them started calling your name?’

I laughed and told him, ‘First of all, I’d say, “Thank you very much, but I already have a warm futon and a nice bowl of miso soup waiting for me.” Just because a hole looks like it was made for you doesn’t mean you have to live inside it! A coffin fits perfectly too, but nobody says, ‘Great, I’ll spend my afternoon in there!’

Life is funny this way. It always presents you with “holes”—regrets, worries, fears—and they whisper, “This was made for you.” But if you bow politely and say, ‘Thank you, I’ll pass,’ those holes lose their power. Gratitude is what keeps you outside, smiling in the sunshine.

(Note: This is an imaginary conversation, a creative exploration of an idea, and not a real speech or event)

Scene 1: The Mountain of Holes

The earthquake had left the mountain torn open, a jagged wound running across the landscape. When the dust settled, people noticed something strange—something horrifying. The exposed cliff face wasn’t smooth or cracked like normal rock. It was covered in human-shaped holes.

Dozens, hundreds, maybe thousands of them stretched along the mountain wall. Each hole was a perfect silhouette of a human body, complete with arms, legs, and even the curve of the head. They were too precise to be natural, yet too numerous to be man-made. The shapes went in deep, disappearing into darkness.

The news spread quickly. Crowds came from across the country, drawn by equal parts fear and fascination. People stood at the base of the cliff, staring, whispering. Some swore they felt something tugging at them, as though one of the holes was waiting—their hole, calling them to enter.

“This one,” a man said, trembling as he pressed his hand against the outline. “This hole was made for me.” His friends dragged him back, horrified, but he struggled, shouting, “Don’t you understand? It’s waiting for me!”

The crowd murmured nervously. Reporters scribbled notes. Scientists argued. But no one had an answer. The holes remained, silent and dark, like mouths ready to swallow.

And then, cutting through the heavy silence, came a familiar laugh. Light, cheerful, completely out of place. A man in a white hat walked calmly up the path, tipping his hat to the gawking crowd as if arriving at a picnic rather than a scene of horror. It was Hitori-san.

“Oh-ho!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Now this is fascinating! A whole mountain of custom-built closets. Whoever made these must’ve been planning a giant game of hide-and-seek. Imagine the world’s biggest capsule hotel—check in here, sleep forever!”

Some people gasped at his casual tone. Others couldn’t help but chuckle nervously. Only Hitori-san could joke at such a dreadful place.

A young woman whispered, “Sir, don’t laugh. People are saying these holes are cursed. They’re pulling us in.”

Hitori-san tilted his head, the brim of his hat shading his eyes. “Cursed, you say? No, no, young lady. Holes aren’t curses—they’re invitations. The only question is whether you RSVP. And remember, life only traps you if you walk into the trap without smiling.”

The crowd shifted uneasily. Some rolled their eyes. But his voice carried a strange weight, a lightness that poked a hole in the suffocating fear.

He walked right up to the cliff, peering into one of the human-shaped hollows. “Well, look at that! Perfect fit for someone, sure, but not for me. Too skinny! They’d need to chisel this one out a bit more. And besides, I’m not planning to live in a mountain. I like fresh air and sunshine, thank you very much.”

People laughed—genuine laughter this time, awkward but freeing. For a moment, the cliff didn’t seem like a prison. It seemed like a bizarre joke carved into stone.

Hitori-san turned back to the crowd, his smile warm. “Listen, everyone. A hole is just a hole. If you see it as your destiny, it swallows you. If you see it as a curiosity, you can walk away laughing. Remember: gratitude turns a grave into a garden. Say ‘thank you’ to the hole for reminding you that you’re alive, outside of it. That’s the real miracle.”

The crowd murmured. Some still trembled, but others nodded slowly, their fear loosening. Children giggled at the idea of the holes being “closets” or “hotel rooms.”

And for the first time since the earthquake, the mountain of holes felt a little less like death, and a little more like something else—a mystery that, perhaps, didn’t need to be feared.

Scene 2: The Pull of Destiny

As the crowd lingered at the base of the cliff, the murmurs grew louder. People shuffled back and forth, craning their necks, their eyes darting from one hole to another. Some clutched their arms as though fighting an invisible pull.

A man in a suit suddenly gasped and pointed. “That one—right there! That hole is mine!” He rushed forward, his voice frantic. “It fits me perfectly, I can feel it. It’s calling me!”

Two others grabbed him, pulling him back before he could press himself against the stone. He fought like a madman, his tie swinging wildly, shouting, “Let me go! Don’t you see? That hole was made for me!”

The crowd recoiled in horror. Others whispered, “It’s true. The holes… they choose us.” A woman clutched her husband’s sleeve. “I feel it too. Something is waiting for me in there.”

Panic rippled across the square. Some stared at the mountain with longing, others with terror. The scientists tried to explain it away as mass hysteria, but even they could not stop their hands from trembling as they stared into the endless silhouettes.

And then, cutting through the tension like a bell in a storm, came a laugh. Hitori-san stepped forward, clapping his hands cheerfully.

“Well now! Everyone’s acting like these holes are sending out wedding invitations. ‘This hole was made for me!’ you say. What are you planning, a honeymoon inside a rock? You’ll be waiting a long time for room service down there!”

A few nervous laughs bubbled up. The frantic man stopped struggling, blinking in surprise at the absurdity of the words. Hitori-san tipped his hat toward him.

“Listen, my friend. Just because something looks like it’s made for you, doesn’t mean you belong to it. Look at shoes in a shop window. They might fit your size, but if they pinch your toes, you’d be a fool to buy them. Same with these holes. They’re not destiny—they’re just bad shoes in a stone department store!”

The man stared, his breathing slowing, his frenzy softening. His rescuers eased their grip, and the tension loosened just a little.

But the murmurs didn’t stop. More and more people whispered, “I can feel it… one of these is mine.” The fear and fascination blended into something dangerous—a hypnotic pull no one could explain.

Hitori-san chuckled again. “Ahh, this is the oldest trick in the book. The universe whispers, ‘Come here, you belong to this hole.’ But you know what it really means? It means life is giving you a choice. Do you walk into darkness, or do you laugh and say, ‘No thank you, I’m perfectly happy out here in the sunshine’? Destiny isn’t a hole—it’s the smile you bring to wherever you stand.”

The crowd fell quiet. His words, silly yet profound, worked their way into the cracks of their fear.

A child piped up, giggling, “Mama, if the hole calls me, can I tell it, ‘I’m busy watching cartoons’?” The marketplace erupted into laughter. Even the mother, who had been pale with dread moments before, chuckled and hugged her son.

Hitori-san crouched near one of the hollows, peering inside. His silhouette looked comically oversized against the perfect outline. He tapped the rock with his knuckles.

“Hello in there! Thank you for inviting me, but I’m already booked for the rest of my life. Please pass my slot to someone else. Maybe a ghost is waiting for it.”

The crowd laughed again, louder this time. Even those who still felt the pull found themselves shaking their heads at his ridiculousness. For a moment, the spell of the mountain weakened.

Hitori-san stood, brushing off his hands. His voice carried gently but firmly:

“Remember, everyone. Not everything that calls your name deserves an answer. Life will offer you plenty of holes—fear, anger, despair—all saying, ‘This was made for you.’ But the truth is, you were made for something brighter. Gratitude, joy, laughter—that’s your real shape. And there’s no hole in the world big enough to contain it.”

The people looked at him, their shoulders lighter, their fear softened. Some still glanced nervously at the mountain, but for the first time, many turned away from it—not with longing, but with relief.

And behind them, the holes remained silent and dark, waiting.

Scene 3: Those Who Enter

The mountain loomed over the restless crowd, its surface riddled with holes like a honeycomb of human destinies. The longer people stood before it, the harder it became to resist its pull. Whispers grew into cries, cries into wails. Some clutched their heads, pacing like caged animals. Others pressed trembling hands against the stone, searching desperately for the shape that matched their own.

Then, with a sudden cry, one man broke free from the group. His eyes blazed with wild determination. “This one!” he shouted, pointing at a narrow silhouette in the cliff. “This hole was made for me!”

Before anyone could stop him, he tore off his jacket and pressed his body against the outline. Perfect fit. Gasps filled the air as he slid inside, his arms and legs aligning with the cold rock, his body swallowed inch by inch. His head disappeared last, his voice echoing faintly from the depths. “Yes… yes… it’s mine…”

Then silence.

The crowd erupted in horror. Some screamed for him to come back. Others stared at the hole with a mix of terror and envy. A woman fell to her knees, clutching her chest. “If he found his hole, then mine is waiting too.”

The frenzy spread like fire. Dozens rushed forward, pressing themselves against the shapes, testing, shoving, crying out when they didn’t fit. It was as if the mountain itself had become a siren, luring its prey not with song but with perfect silhouettes.

And through this chaos came a voice that didn’t tremble. Hitori-san’s laughter rang like a bell. “Good heavens! Look at you all, diving into holes like it’s a department store clearance sale. ‘Last chance! Get your custom hole before supplies run out!’”

Some stopped in their tracks, blinking as the absurdity cut through their panic.

Hitori-san walked calmly to the hole where the man had vanished. He peered inside, tipped his hat politely, and said, “Well, thank you for showing us your commitment, my friend. But you didn’t need to crawl into a hole to prove you’re unique. You already were, the moment you were born.”

His words drifted over the crowd. A few people pulled back from the cliff, shame flickering in their eyes.

“Listen, everyone,” Hitori-san continued, his tone bright but firm. “Life is full of holes that say, ‘This is made for you.’ Darkness will always whisper, ‘Come here, belong to me.’ But that doesn’t mean you have to answer. Do you know what really was made for you? This.” He opened his arms wide, sweeping them toward the sky, the people, the trembling earth beneath their feet. “The air you breathe, the laughter you share, the kindness you give—that’s your true fit. Not some rocky tomb in a cliff face.”

The crowd fell silent. Even those who still felt the magnetic pull hesitated, their frenzy cooling under his words.

A boy tugged on his father’s sleeve. “Papa, does that mean my hole isn’t real?”

Hitori-san crouched down to meet the boy’s eyes. “Of course it’s real, young man. But you’re the one who decides what it means. You can call it your destiny—or you can call it a silly hole in a wall. Which would you rather?”

The boy grinned shyly. “A silly hole.”

“Good answer!” Hitori-san said, giving him a gentle pat. The boy laughed, and his father’s eyes softened with relief.

A woman’s voice broke the moment. “But what about the man who went inside? He’s gone. We can’t save him.”

Hitori-san’s expression grew serious, though his smile never faded. “No, perhaps we can’t. But his choice is his own. And maybe—just maybe—he teaches us this: the only real prison is the one we walk into willingly. You honor him not by following, but by staying here, in the light, and saying ‘thank you’ for the chance to live outside.”

The crowd stirred. Some wept, others nodded. The frenzy loosened. The mountain still loomed, its holes yawning like hungry mouths, but the people no longer stampeded toward it. They stood still, breathing deeply, their hearts a little steadier.

And above it all, Hitori-san tipped his hat, his voice warm: “Remember—holes are for shoes, not for people. Stay out here, where laughter fits you better.”

Scene 4: The Whispers Within

Night fell over the mountain, but the crowd refused to leave. Torches and lanterns dotted the base of the cliff like fireflies, their flickering light illuminating the endless rows of human-shaped holes. The air was heavy, oppressive, almost buzzing with tension. People huddled together, whispering nervously about the man who had crawled inside earlier.

Then, faintly, it began.

A voice.

At first, it was almost mistaken for the wind, a hollow sigh slipping through the cracks in the stone. But then words formed. Distant, muffled, distorted, yet unmistakably human.

“Help me… it fits… it fits too well…”

The crowd screamed. Some covered their ears, others stumbled backward. “It’s him!” someone shouted. “The man who went in! He’s still alive!” The whispers spread, growing louder, joined by others—more voices, each one muffled as though speaking from deep underground. “This is my hole… it’s perfect… I can’t move… help…”

The sound was unbearable. It wasn’t just hearing the voices, it was feeling them, like the mountain itself was vibrating with human despair. People clutched their heads, sobbing. A woman fell to her knees. “They’re still in there… they’re trapped forever…”

Then came laughter. Not cruel, not mocking, but warm, bright, and utterly out of place. Hitori-san stepped forward, his white hat gleaming in the torchlight. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called cheerfully toward the cliff:

“Oi! Voices in the wall! Thank you for the sound effects! You’re working harder than a haunted house at a summer festival. But you can relax—we’ve already bought our tickets. No need for the extra spooks!”

The crowd gawked at him. Some stared in horror, others blinked in disbelief. The whispers continued, eerie and hollow, but Hitori-san simply chuckled.

“Do you hear that, everyone? They’re saying, ‘It fits, it fits too well.’ But tell me, what’s the point of something fitting if you can’t move? That’s not destiny, that’s bad tailoring! Imagine buying pants so tight you can’t walk—would you call that fate? No, you’d call it a refund!”

Nervous laughter rippled through the crowd. The oppressive fear loosened slightly, replaced with absurdity.

Hitori-san tilted his hat back, his voice warm but serious. “These whispers are not here to curse you. They’re here to remind you: when life squeezes too tightly, you don’t belong there. A true fit should make you free, not trapped. Gratitude, kindness, laughter—those are the clothes that always fit, no matter your size.”

The people murmured. Some wiped tears from their eyes, others nodded slowly.

A child whispered, “Mama, if the hole calls me, can I tell it I like the sunshine better?”

Hitori-san crouched beside him with a grin. “Of course, young man! You can tell the hole, ‘Thank you, but I’m already full—full of smiles.’ That hole will be so confused it won’t know what to do.”

The boy giggled, and others in the crowd laughed too. The mountain still whispered, but now the sound seemed less terrifying, more like a sad echo fading into the night.

Hitori-san turned to the cliff one last time, bowing politely. “Voices inside, thank you for your performance. But we choose not to join you. We’re busy living, laughing, and eating good food out here. If you want to escape, remember this: gratitude is the rope that pulls you back to the light.”

The whispers lingered, hollow and faint, then quieted. The mountain was silent once more.

The people exhaled as one, relief washing over them. Some even clapped for Hitori-san, though shakily, as if unsure whether it was appropriate to applaud in the face of horror.

Hitori-san only smiled, tipping his hat. “Remember, everyone. Darkness will always whisper. But laughter whispers louder. And gratitude? Gratitude shouts.”

Scene 5: Gratitude Beyond the Fault

The mountain stood silent now, its endless rows of human-shaped hollows stretching upward like frozen shadows. The whispers from within had faded, leaving behind only the cool night air and the uneasy murmurs of the crowd. For the first time since the earthquake had revealed the fault, the people felt a flicker of calm. Yet fear still lingered—thick, sticky, clinging to their thoughts like cobwebs.

A man muttered, “They’re still in there… the ones who went inside.” Another replied, “And if the holes are waiting for us too? How can we ever live knowing that call is always there?” Heads nodded, voices trembled, and despair threatened to close in again.

It was then that Hitori-san stepped into the center of the square, his white hat tilted forward, his smile warm and steady. He clapped his hands once, the sharp sound pulling every eye to him.

“Well now,” he began, his voice ringing out like sunlight breaking through clouds. “You’ve all been staring at this mountain like it’s the end of the world. But look closer. It’s not a wall of doom—it’s just rock with some funny shapes in it. That’s all! The mountain isn’t saying, ‘Come die.’ It’s saying, ‘Wake up and live before you waste your life in a hole!’”

The crowd blinked. A few chuckled nervously.

Hitori-san went on, pacing with the casual confidence of a man delivering the punchline to a long story. “Think about it. Life is full of holes. Bills, worries, heartbreak, failures—they all shout, ‘This was made for you! Come sink in!’ And what do people do? They dive right in! But here’s the truth: not every hole that fits you deserves you. You’re not made to be swallowed. You’re made to shine.”

He pointed toward the sky, where the stars glittered faintly between swirling clouds. “Your true shape isn’t carved in stone. It’s carved in laughter, in gratitude, in the kindness you give and the joy you create. Those are the things that fit you perfectly—and no mountain can take them away.”

A woman wiped tears from her eyes. A child tugged on his father’s sleeve, whispering, “Papa, maybe my hole is the one that makes people laugh.” His father hugged him tightly, nodding with a shaky smile.

The people leaned closer, drinking in his words.

Hitori-san tipped his hat back slightly, his face hidden in shadow but his smile glowing in his voice. “So here’s my advice: when the world shows you a hole and says, ‘This is your fate,’ just bow politely and say, ‘Thank you, but I’m already taken—by life, by love, by joy.’ That hole will sit there, waiting forever, and you’ll still be out here, living free. That’s the secret. Gratitude keeps you outside the mountain.”

The crowd erupted in laughter—real laughter this time, not nervous or brittle, but full and alive. Some clapped, others cheered. The oppressive fear that had clung to them like a second skin began to peel away, replaced by something they hadn’t felt in weeks: lightness.

And then, as if to seal the lesson, Hitori-san turned back to the cliff, bowed deeply, and called out: “Thank you, mountain, for your holes! You reminded us that life is too precious to waste in dark places. We’ll stay out here, laughing, while you sit there with your empty closets.”

The people roared with laughter, the sound echoing across the valley. Even the mountain, silent and vast, seemed smaller, less menacing.

As dawn approached, the crowd began to disperse. They still felt the pull of the holes, but now they also carried something stronger: the memory of laughter in the face of fear.

Hitori-san, tipping his hat, began to walk down the path away from the fault. Behind him, the people called out, “Thank you, Hitori-san!” Their voices carried like birdsong through the morning air.

He lifted a hand in farewell, his back glowing faintly in the rising sun. “Don’t thank me,” he called. “Thank yourselves. You chose joy instead of fear. That’s the spiral of life worth following.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving behind not despair, but a town that had learned to smile even while standing before the mouth of darkness.

Final Thoughts

Not long ago, someone else told me, ‘Hitori-san, aren’t you afraid of a hole that might be waiting for you?’ I said, ‘No, no. The real danger isn’t the hole in the mountain—it’s the hole you let form in your heart when you forget to laugh.’

Everyone has holes: one called worry, one called regret, one called ‘I’m not good enough.’ And like those shapes in the cliff, they whisper, ‘Come inside.’ But gratitude fills them. Gratitude says, ‘Thank you for reminding me, but I’m happy right here.’

So remember, friends: you were never made for a hole in the wall. You were made to walk free, laugh loud, and give thanks for the light of today. Holes belong in rocks, not in your heart. And if you can laugh at a cliff full of human-shaped holes, then truly, there’s nothing in life that can swallow you up.

Short Bios:

Hitori Saito
A Japanese entrepreneur, bestselling author, and beloved teacher of gratitude and laughter. In this retelling, Hitori-san transforms the dread of Amigara Fault into lessons of joy, showing that true destiny is not being swallowed by fear but standing in the sunlight with gratitude.

Junji Ito
An internationally renowned master of horror manga. Creator of The Enigma of Amigara Fault, Ito is known for turning everyday unease into cosmic terror. His stories explore the fragile line between fascination and fear, making him one of the most influential horror artists of his time.

The Townspeople
Ordinary men, women, and children drawn to the fault after the earthquake reveals hundreds of human-shaped hollows. Some panic, some feel the irresistible pull, and others watch in horror. In Hitori-san’s eyes, they symbolize the choices people face between fear and gratitude.

The Ones Who Enter
Those who feel called by “their” hole and step inside, never to return. They embody surrender to fear and compulsion. In Hitori-san’s teaching, they serve as reminders that real destiny isn’t found in confinement, but in choosing freedom with joy.

The Mountain of Holes
Almost a character itself, the fault lined with human-shaped silhouettes represents inevitability and dread. In Hitori-san’s presence, even this ominous cliff becomes a teacher, reminding humanity that laughter and gratitude can dissolve the pull of darkness.