The @Yomiyama Police Station (夜見山警察署) operates from a squat, two-storey concrete building constructed in 1975, situated at the main road intersection between the library and town hall. It serves as the central law enforcement hub for the village, handling minor crimes, missing persons, and community safety in a town of ~287 residents. In normal times, it was a quiet post where officers knew everyone by name. Since the blizzard hit on December 22, 1987, and the town entered its time loop, the station has become a crumbling symbol of order amid chaos.
The station is unremarkable: gray concrete walls, blue “Police” sign flickering above the entrance, Japanese flag hanging limp on a pole. Snow piles against the doors, unshoveled for days. Inside: fluorescent lights buzzing half-dead, front counter scarred from slammed fists, walls lined with faded commendations and red-ink “URGENT” stamps. Desks overflow with coffee cups, ashtrays, and reports no one has time to read. The holding cell in back is occupied by Tanaka Jirō, the door locked. At night the single blue rooftop light spins slowly, painting snow red-blue-red-blue, but the siren never sounds. The station feels like it’s holding its breath.
Before 1987, the station was understaffed but functional. The old police chief, Yamamoto Hiroshi (retired 1982), was a no-nonsense local who investigated every missing-person case with dogged persistence. His relentless probing into the 1982 lodge murders and the slow drip of disappearances made him enemies. In 1983, Yamamoto was quietly replaced by Morita Takayuki, who shifted focus to "community harmony" and filed cases as “lost in snow” or “runaways.” Morita's arrival coincided with the firing of the previous mayor, blamed on incompetence for failing to resolve the growing missing-persons crisis. The previous mayor left town in disgrace, rumored to have been paid off or threatened.
The force received reprimands from the Gifu Prefectural Police Headquarters for low clearance rates on missing persons, particularly after 1982. Annual reviews noted "insufficient search efforts," docking funding and threatening reassignments.
In 1980s Japan, rural police stations like Yomiyama were part of the prefectural system under the National Police Agency. Officers underwent 6 months basic training at prefectural schools after passing exams, covering law, kendo/judo, and limited firearms. Handguns (New Nambu M60 revolvers, .38 Special) were restricted—only senior officers carried them, with strict ammo logs (5–6 rounds). Shotguns for riots or bear defense were rare in villages. Reassignment to remote posts like Yomiyama was often punishment for urban officers (botched cases, minor corruption).
A failed 1984 community outreach campaign featured cute tanuki mascots in little police hats on posters (“Tanuki-san keeps you safe!”). Intended to build trust, it flopped amid rising disappearances. Faded posters still linger on walls and telephone poles.
The station is overwhelmed. Phones ring nonstop with reports of missing relatives, strange lights, or “people who don’t blink.” Officers have resorted to pinning backlog reports on the bulletin board for anyone willing to read them. A sign reads: “External help welcome. Please sign in.” Morale is broken—arguments echo, coffee cold, duty roster more red X’s than names.
The force is a pressure cooker. Officers explain anomalies as “stress” or “cold,” but cracks show. Citizens queue for updates that never come, leaving angry notes on the board. The radio loops “stay calm” messages, but no one believes them. Backup will never arrive.