The Red Inn

Welcome to Akai Yado.
Snow is falling on Uminari, a small fishing town on the coast of Hokkaido. The last bus of the day has already left. The only light on the street is a red sign: 赤い宿, the Red Inn. It’s family-run, the meals are included, and the reviews are glowing.
The matriarch welcomes you with tea. The twin receptionists bow and smile. Your room is ready.
Nobody here speaks your language. And the longer you stay, the less the smiles make sense.

Read the inn
Every sign, note and poster is in Japanese. Point your phone at it to translate, but the network is slow and words go missing. Piece together the register, the timetables, the posters peeled off the walls, and the things guests left behind.

Hide. Listen. Don’t run.
At night the family walks the corridors. Running, a creaking floorboard or a slammed door carries further than you think. Hide under tables, behind coats, in lockers, and hold your breath when footsteps stop outside.

Get out, and be believed
Escaping isn’t enough. The proof you gather decides whether anyone believes you once you reach the village.