(Japanese ghost story) The Choir

So this is a story my grandpa told me right after he retired last year.

He'd been an elementary school teacher his whole career, at a school out in the Kinki region. And this happened during his very first summer break after getting assigned there.

Grandpa played instruments as a hobby, so whenever he had free time he'd go borrow the music room early in the morning and play the organ. Just him, alone, at like 6am.

One morning he's in the middle of playing and he looks up. There are about 10 kids just. standing. at the door. Staring at him. Not moving. No expression.

He's startled but okay, he's a teacher, he pulls himself together.

"Hey there. What's up?"

Nothing. Silence.

He looks closer and realizes he doesn't recognize any of them. And their clothes were... off. Like, not modern at all. Worn. Wrong era somehow.

"What grade are you in? Why are you here so early?"

Still nothing. They just kept staring at the organ.

Grandpa figured they weren't causing any trouble, probably just liked the music or something. So he started playing a folk song.

And their faces LIT UP. All at once. They started singing along, keeping perfect time with his playing. He said the singing was childlike but actually really good, full of energy, the way only kids can sound.

He got completely lost in it. Just playing and listening, totally absorbed.

When the song ended he looked up.

They were gone.

No door opening. No movement. No footsteps. Just. gone. Like they'd never been there.

Grandpa stood there confused for a second, then went back to the teachers' room. A senior colleague had just arrived, so grandpa told him what happened.

The colleague listened with this weird expression. Then quietly said "oh... I think I know." And slid the morning newspaper across the desk without a word.

Grandpa looked at the date.

That was the day, decades ago, when the area got hit with a massive air raid during the war. The school had been used as a shelter. It was bombed. Collapsed. Later rebuilt.

After that, grandpa played the organ in that music room every year on that same date. As an offering. A memorial.

But he only ever saw the kids that one time.

He said: "I'd love to hear their singing just one more time. But the fact they don't come back anymore... that means they've found peace, right? That's good. I'm glad."