I was expecting to find one body that night. Not hundreds.

Volunteers do not usually patrol at night, but just as it was getting dark, our station received a call from a father deeply concerned about his teenage son. The boy’s father had intercepted worrying emails and found a copy of Wataru Tsurumi’s suicide manual under his son’s mattress. Along with the notorious Matsumoto novel, it’s a popular text for those who seek to end their lives in the forest; I have come across more discarded copies than I can count in my years working here.

There are a few cameras set up to monitor suspicious activity at the most popular entrance, but I had received no confirmation that he had been seen, and while I had a description of the teenager’s car, I couldn’t see any sign of it at the side of the road or in any of the small parking lots close to the forest. This meant nothing. Often people will drive to remote or hidden spots on the edge of the forest to end their lives. Some attempt to kill themselves with exhaust fumes; others by inhaling the toxic smoke from portable charcoal barbecues. But by far the most common method is hanging. Many of the suicidal bring tents and supplies with them, as if they need to spend a night or two contemplating what it is they are about to do before going through with it.

Every year, the local police and many volunteers sweep the forest to find the bodies of those who have chosen to die here. The last time we did this–in late November–we discovered the remains of thirty souls. Most of them were never identified. If I come across someone in the forest who I think may be planning on killing himself, I ask him to consider the pain of the family he will be leaving behind and remind him that there is always hope. I point to the volcanic rock that forms the base of the forest floor, and say that if the trees can grow on such a hard, unforgiving surface, then a new life can be built on the foundation of any hardship.

It is now common practice for the desperate to bring tape to use as a marker to find their way back if they change their minds, or, in most cases, to indicate where their bodies may be found. Others use the tape for more nefarious reasons; ghoulish sightseers hoping to come across one of the deceased, but not willing to become lost.

I volunteered to venture into the forest on foot, and with this in mind, I first checked to see if there was any indication that fresh tape had been tied around the trees. It was dark, so it was impossible for me to be sure, but I thought I discerned signs that someone had recently made his way past the ‘do not pass this point’ signs.

I was not concerned about getting lost. I know the forest; I have never once lost my way. Apologies for sounding fanciful, but after doing this for twenty-five years, it has become part of me. And I had a powerful flashlight and my GPS–it is not true that the volcanic rock under the forest floor muddies the signals. But the forest is a magnet for myths and legends, and people will believe what they want to.

Once you are in the forest, it cocoons you. The tops of the trees form a softly undulating roof that shuts out the world beyond. Some may find the forest’s stillness and silence forbidding, I do not. The y rei do not frighten me. I have nothing to fear from the spirits of the dead. Perhaps you have heard the stories, that this place was a common site for ubasute, the practice of abandoning the aged or infirm to die of exposure in times of famine? This is unsubstantiated. Just another of the many stories the forest attracts. There are many who believe that spirits are lonely, and they try to draw people to them. They believe this is why so many come to the forest.

I did not see the plane going down–as I said, the forest’s canopy conceals the sky–but I heard it. A series of muffled booms, like giant doors slamming shut. What did I think it was? I suppose I assumed that it might have been thunder, although it wasn’t the season for storms or typhoons. I was too absorbed in searching the shadows, dips and ruts in the forest floor for evidence of the teenager’s presence to speculate.

I was about to give up when my radio crackled, and Sato-san, one of my fellow monitors, alerted me to the fact that a troubled plane had veered off its flight path and crashed somewhere in the vicinity of the forest–more than likely in the Narusawa area. Of course I realised then that this was the source of the booming sound I heard earlier.

Sato indicated that the authorities were on their way, and said that he was organising a search party. He sounded out of breath, deeply shocked. He knew as well as I did how difficult it was going to be for rescuers to reach the site. The terrain in some parts of the forest is almost impossible to navigate–there are deep hidden crevices in many areas that make traversing through it dangerous.

I decided to head north, in the direction of the sound I had heard.

Within an hour, I could hear the roar of the rescue helicopters sweeping the forest. I knew it would be impossible for them to land, and so I ventured forward with added urgency. If there were survivors, then I knew they had to be reached quickly. Within two hours, I started to smell smoke; the trees had caught alight in several areas, but thankfully the fires hadn’t spread and their limbs glowed as the flames refused to catch and began to die. Something made me sweep the beam of my flashlight up into the trees, catching on a small shape hanging in the branches. At first, I assumed it was the charred body of a monkey.

It was not.

There were others, of course. The night was alive with the sound of rescue and press helicopters, and as they swooped above me, their lights illuminated countless forms caught in the branches. Some I could see in great detail; they looked barely injured, almost as if they were sleeping. Others… Others were not so fortunate. All were partially clothed or naked.

I struggled to reach what is now known as the main crash site, where the tail and the sheared wing were found. Rescuers were being winched to the site, but it was not possible for the helicopters to land on such uneven and treacherous terrain.

It felt strange nearing the tail of the aircraft. It towered over me, its proud red logo eerily intact. I ran to where a couple of air paramedics were tending to a woman who was moaning on the ground; I couldn’t tell how badly injured she was, but I have never heard such a sound coming from a human being. It was then that I caught a flicker of movement in my peripheral vision. Some of the trees were still aflame in this area, and I saw a small hunched shape partially hidden behind an outcropping of twisted volcanic rock. I hurried towards it, and I caught the glint of a pair of eyes in the beam of my flashlight. I dropped my backpack, and ran, moving faster than I have ever done before or since.

As I approached I realised I was looking at a child. A boy.

He was crouching, shivering violently, and I could see that one of his shoulders appeared to be protruding at an unnatural angle. I shouted at the paramedics to come quickly, but they could not hear me over the sound of the helicopters.

What did I say to him? It is hard to remember exactly, but it would have been something like, ‘Are you okay? Don’t panic, I’m here now to help you.’

So thick was the shroud of blood and mud covering his body that at first I did not realise he was naked–they said later that his clothes were blown off by the force of the impact. I reached out to touch him. His flesh was cold–but what do you expect? The temperature was below freezing.

I am not ashamed to say that I cried.

I wrapped my jacket around him, and as carefully as I could, I picked him up. He placed his head on my shoulder and whispered, ‘Three.’ Or at least that is what I thought he said. I asked him to repeat what he had said, but by then his eyes were closed, his mouth slack as if he was fast asleep and I was more concerned about getting him to safety and keeping him warm before hypothermia set in.

Of course now everyone keeps asking me: did you think there was anything strange about the boy? Of course I did not! He had just been through a horrific experience and what I saw were signs of shock.

And I do not agree with what some are saying about him. That he’s possessed by angry spirits, perhaps by those of the dead passengers who envy his survival. Some say he keeps their furious souls in his heart.

Nor do I give any credence to the other stories surrounding the tragedy–that the pilot was suicidal, that the forest was pulling him towards it–why else crash in Jukei? Stories like these only cause additional pain and trouble where there is already enough. It is obvious to me that the captain fought to bring the plane down in an unpopulated area. He had minutes in which to react; he did the noble thing.

And how can a Japanese boy be what those Americans are saying? He is a miracle, that boy. I will remember him for the rest of my life.