The Haunted House in Setagaya
280,000 investigators, 13,000 tips, 50 million fingerprints, 1.3 million DNA samples, and 1 unsolved case
By Jake Adelstein and Francesca Annio
There's a haunted house in Setagaya-ku that the police, a family and maybe the neighbors would like to tear down. It's been sitting empty for over 24 years now. Terrible things happened in this house: you will find children and elderly people in the neighborhood who say that they hear muffled screams and thuds from its windows near midnight.
The house is an akiya, an empty house. Japan has millions of them. You have probably read articles about the phenomenon, or seen the memes. “For only $10,000, you can have a house in Japan!”
It’s true, actually. And there are many of the reasons for this glut of such empty houses, some of which have to do with the depopulation of rural areas, high inheritance taxes, and the high costs of repairing old properties. But for some houses, one of the reasons we don’t like to talk about is this:
Nobody in Japan wants to live in a place where other people have died—especially where they were all brutally murdered. Even in an in-demand area like Setagaya where a house could easily cost you $1 million, this akiya is not one that anyone wants to have. It’s not even for sale.
It doesn’t seem like a neighborhood where brutal murders take place.
Setagaya-ku is one of Tokyo's most interesting and prosperous wards. The ward extends from lush greenery along the Tama River to the chic area of Shimo-Kitazawa. Brimming with culture and surrounded by verdant landscapes, the ward is home to notable landmarks like the renowned Gotokuji Zen Buddhist temple. The temple is famous for its beauty and for being the home of the manekineko, the beckoning lucky cat that’s become a global symbol of Japan.
If you continue on the Odakyu line past Shimo-Kitazawa and past Gotokuji, you’ll soon find yourself at the unassuming station of Soshigaya-Okura. Stepping off the train and into the Soshigaya neighborhood, you'll immediately hit a bustling, cozy commercial hub — shops, bakeries, cafes, and restaurants. It's the kind of place that tempts you to linger, forget the hustle, and soak it all in. If you keep walking straight, the vibe shifts. Suddenly, you find yourself in a quieter residential stretch, where playgrounds and basketball courts add that local touch. Pause for a moment, close your eyes, and let the sounds sink in. The chirping birds blend seamlessly with the laughter of kids, creating a symphony that captures the essence of city-living. While some parts of Tokyo feel like they're gradually fading away, this ward is young and vibrant.
It’s a wonderful place to live.. Everything seems just right, perfectly in place.
Yet, mere steps away from the vibrant surroundings – you will find an abandoned house, with degraded walls, a neglected backyard, and an orange fence with a sign reading '“Safety First” (安全第一) wrapped around its perimeter.
Watching over kids lost in play, the house stands silent. It feels alive. Angry and brooding.
The building is aged, yellowed, decrepit, on the verge of demolition. You'd expect it to be another nameless empty house—with a mailbox full of unwanted junk mail, spilling onto the ground. Maybe it might tell you who used to live there. Then, there it was — the outdoor sign proudly displaying the owners' surname next to the front door.
Miyazawa.
This wasn't just any abandoned house; it was the setting of a gruesome murder that shook the nation 24 years ago.
44-year-old architect and family man Mikio Miyazawa lived with his wife, Yasuko, age 41, and their two children. They had a daughter, Niina, who was 8, and a 6-year-old son named Rei. Yasuko’s mother lived in an adjoining house. The house was beside the Sen River—at the time they had no close neighbors. Miyazawa's home in Kami-Soshigaya was close to the Seijo district, a well-off residential area for the elite, where famous conductors like Seiji Ozawa chose to live.
On the morning of December 31st, the last day of 2000, Miyazawa’s mother came to the house to greet her family and prepare for New Year’s Eve celebrations. When she walked into the house, she walked into a crime scene. No one in the family was alive. They had all been brutally murdered. The father lay beneath the stairs on the first floor, while the mother and daughter were near the second-floor landing leading to the attic. The son was found lifeless in his bed, seemingly untouched by the bloodshed elsewhere in the house. The murder weapons, two blood-soaked kitchen knives, were recovered in the kitchen.
This incident sparked an unprecedented response from the Metropolitan Police Department, mobilizing over 280,000 investigators. They worked through more than 13,000 tips, examined 50 million fingerprints, and matched 1.3 million DNA samples with traces left by the perpetrator — such as fingerprints, blood, clothes, and a kitchen knife. Despite these exhaustive efforts, the case remains unsolved to this day.
It is possible to make a timeline of the events—although only the killer himself knows exactly how it went down. And he’s not talking.
The crime unfolded in the waning days of the year 2000, spanning from midnight on December 30 to the early morning of December 31. The Tokyo Metropolitan Police determined that the killing took place around 23:30 on December 30, 2000. Neighbors attested to hearing distinct thudding noises from the house at around that time. Some have suggested that these sounds might be attributed to the perpetrator ascending to the attic.
The assailant snuck into the house while the family slept: Rei in his second-floor room, Niina and Yasuko in the attic, and Mikio on the first floor. The first target seems to have been the son, who was reportedly suffocated and succumbed to asphyxiation without displaying other injuries consistent with resistance. Mikio, alerted by noises from his son's room, rushed in to investigate and clashed with the perpetrator. He was fatally stabbed with a 21 cm willow-blade knife, which suffered a slight chip of a few millimeters, leaving fragments in his head.
Following this, Yasuko and Niina were slashed to death, enduring repeated blows to the neck and face. Initially attacked with the same willow-blade knife, it shattered completely, and the assailant switched to a sashimi knife found in the victim's kitchen.
The crime scene whispered subtle clues, guiding the police to piece together the sequence of disturbing criminal conduct. The timeline remains uncertain, but investigators gleaned from footprints that the perpetrator employed a military-style walking technique, sidestepping with their back against the wall.
Much more unsettling were the post-killing behaviors, closely scrutinized by investigators for additional insights. The evidence found in the house illustrated that the killer had stayed for many hours after slaying the family.
The family's personal space bore the brunt of his intrusion, evident in widely open drawers, documents and IDs scattered around the living room. Following this, the killer tended to his injured right hand with a first aid kit, leaving parts of the kit scattered all over the kitchen on the second floor. His hand was probably injured in a struggle with the defending father, and he improvised with products and plasters to stop the bleeding.
The killer treated himself to a snack right after the murder. The Mainichi Newspaper reported that he devoured around four cups of ice cream, apparently biting into the cups and leaving distinct teeth marks. He also had some barley tea and melon, leaving traces of saliva on the drinking cup – another piece of DNA evidence. However, he left beer bottles untouched in the fridge, signaling that he might not be a drinker.
There was an unflushed toilet with waste matter from the perpetrator. The police found sesame paste in the waste and of course, a plethora of DNA. In the same bathroom, the perpetrator allegedly threw the couple’s work documents in the bathtub, along with one container of ice cream, towels, and sanitary tools. Some of those paper pieces were torn off, a mix of scissor snips and bare hands.
The sofa's wrinkles hinted at a possible nap, perhaps his last move in the apartment. He even ventured to the victim's computer in the first-floor study, leaving his mark on the mouse during a quick connection before unplugging the power cable.
His online endeavors included a failed attempt to book tickets for the Shiki Theatre Company. Records revealed activity around 1:18 am, shortly after the murder, and another spike around 10:05 am on Dec. 31. This led investigators to ponder whether the murderer had been lurking for nearly 12 hours before making his morning escape. However, this theory has faced its fair share of scrutiny and examination. In the current stage of the investigation, everything seems to point toward the murderer fleeing sometime after the initial connection at 1:18 am. This conclusion gains support from a reproduction experiment, suggesting that the second wire connection might have merely resulted from the mouse dropping or the more likely scenario, the mother accidentally nudging the computer when she arrived. Adding to the confirmation, passersby spotted lights being switched off in the early hours of Dec. 31.
What likely happened next? With several nearby stations from the victims’ homes, each offering different escape routes, the possibilities are a labyrinth . An early lead for investigators stemmed from sightings of a man, around 30 years old, with significant injuries to his right hand, six hours after the incident. He arrived at Tobu Nikko Station at 17:26, seeking treatment in the station office on the 31st. While stations close to the murder scene could have led him to his destination, the increasingly validated theory of a nighttime escape makes it highly unlikely that the perpetrator spent the entire day lingering around train stations.
The discovery of the Miyazawa family's gruesome fate fell to Yasuko’s mother. Unable to reach them by phone due to a disconnected line, her escalating worry led her directly to the house. Met with silence at the doorbell, she took matters into her own hands, using a spare key to enter shortly after 10 A.M.
The Investigation, The Scapegoat
A looming question hangs over the investigation – why this family? What drove the perpetrator to not only kill the adults but also both children? While some cash was taken, most valuables were left behind, and the stolen amount doesn't seem to be worth the cost of killing a peacefully sleeping family—something that guarantees the death penalty in Japan. The brutality, particularly inflicted on the two females, Yasuko and her daughter, raises further questions. They were persistently and repeatedly stabbed, even after death, indicating a distinct level of violence based on the victims' gender. The lack of a clear motive remains the central enigma in this case.
There was a ridiculous book written about the case in which the author claimed that the murderer was a North Korean assassin, who came in and out of Japan. Could there be a worse assassin? The fact that anyone took the book seriously indicates how deep seated racism towards Koreans is in Japan. They’re the Jews of the country—blamed for every crime, every injustice, all the inequalities of modern Japan. And of course, “they” or one of them is blamed for the murder.
In a move bordering on recklessness, the killer left behind a trove of personal items screaming out his identity. What prompted such carelessness in the aftermath of the crime? Among the recovered items were shirts, sneakers, sweaters, hats, and hip bags donned by the assailant. All were confirmed as purchasable in the Ogikubo Station and Hon Atsugi Station areas, potentially the perpetrator's stomping grounds at the time. Each piece provided significant details about his identity to the police. Take, for instance, the sand in his jumper, whispering of a possible pitstop in the Miura Peninsula in Kanagawa before the incident.
There have been more red herrings than in an Agatha Christie novel. His footprints emerged as a crucial clue for the police, unveiling the shoes he wore – "Slazenger” – British sneakers manufactured in South Korea. The specific size, 27.5 cm, is distinctive in Korean markets and not readily available in Japan. Following this trail, the Metropolitan Police Department sent investigators to South Korea, yet their endeavors bore no fruit. Amplifying this theory of foreign involvement, in 2019, the police disclosed that the way the handkerchief was secured around the murder weapon mirrored a method employed by the military in the northern Philippines. For a while, the police were convinced that foreigners must have played a role, but this investigative thread proved to be another dead end in this enduring, cold case.
Yet, one question persists: how can investigations be at square one despite the abundance of DNA traces and evidence left behind? Globally, DNA has unlocked detailed profiles of a person's medical history and physical attributes, solving countless cases.
Understanding the limitations of DNA usage in murder investigations in Japan might provide some insight. In Japan, the National Public Safety Commission regulations dictate that DNA can only be collected and used for personal identification confirmation after an arrest. This means that all the valuable evidence in the Setagaya murder case remains unused and unusable. Despite discussions in the Diet in 2005 to enact new legislation aligning with modern police investigative practices elsewhere, it’s been all walk and no talk.
Not For Sale
In the midst of it all, the house remains stoic, silently observing the passage of time as the neighborhood grows and changes. There are new residents moving in, the landscape evolving. The house sits untouched and patient, as if awaiting the day when it will finally be destroyed. Most modern houses in Japan are poorly built with a life-span of twenty to thirty years. It is very unlikely that anyone would ever live in the house if it was put on the market; it’s said to be haunted.
Not only do Japanese people fear living in places where people have died, the way they died colors the depth of that fear. Most Japanese have strong superstitious feelings about places where violent death has taken place. Onryo (怨霊) are vengeful spirits are thought to haunt such places bringing ill-fortune and tragedy to the living, who they envy with murderous rage. Go watch the The Grudge (呪怨) to get an idea of the lore. Nobody wants Kayako as a roommate.
Such spirits do not rest until those who caused them to die are delivered to justices—and even then, sometimes they do no not move on. Even if the family really wanted to sell the house, there are laws in place that make that very difficult.
The house is technically what real estate brokers call a jiko bukken (事項物件). It means that the sordid history of the place has to be explained to anyone who might purchase it. Most real estate agents won’t touch them. Japanese law requires all real estate agents to inform buyers of any "important issues'' with a property. That includes whether someone committed suicide or was murdered there or whether a yakuza lives in the building or near it. If they fail to meet that obligation, they can be sued, the contract can be declared invalid, and in a worst case scenario, they could be arrested for fraud.
Not only are real estate brokers obliged to inform prospective buyers of anything lurid that took place on the property, they are required to tell them if there are “eyewitnesses of spirits” at the place. Which could mean that if some “psychically sensitive” friend of a friend claims to have seen the spectral form of a samurai wandering around the kitchen, the broker is going to have to mention that as well.
This means when someone kills themselves, dies, or is murdered in a property owned by another, the owner is faced with an incredible financial burden—one they may not be able to get rid of. According to an article in Japan's Yomiuri Shinbun, the state of jiko bukken was so bad that unscrupulous real estate agencies would even sue the family members of those who have killed themselves for property damages caused by the suicide. Once, in Miyagi prefecture, a real estate agency interrupted the cremation services of a girl who had killed herself in a rented apartment to demand compensation of more than 60,000 dollars from her bereaved parents.
There are some real estate dealers who specialize in unloading these properties. It's worth noting that in Japan, there is also a significant number of akiya. As of 2018, it was estimated that there were over 8 million akiya across Japan. Many of these also fall into the jiko bukken category.
Obviously, the first thing you have to know to be a real estate broker who specializes in akiya or jiko bukken is that no one wants to live in a jiko bukken. So real estate brokers on the dark side of the equation have figured out how to rake in the yen from what should be profitable properties by being adept at unloading them on unsuspecting people, one after another.
It’s important not to be the one left holding the bag at the end of the day. If you play your cards right, you can make a very good living off the misfortune of others—as a dealer or a buyer. According to Christopher Dillon, author of Landed: The Guide to Buying Property in Japan there are large discounts applied to places where there has been a murder, suicide, death, rape, or other crime. After two title transfers or two years, real estate agents are no longer required to disclose this information to prospective buyers. It's within that window of opportunity where some real estate agents make a lot of money. And some of the sales are faked to get around having to inform the buyers.
Of course, legitimate real estate agencies always inform prospective buyers of the property's past. Sometimes they will hire an exorcist (kitoshi) to come and purify the property as part of the transaction. But do you think there’s an exorcist up to the task of purifying this place? One perk of being a Zen Buddhist priest, my side gig, is that I do know some rituals for chasing away hungry ghosts. I’m not so sure that’s going to work for angry vengeful ghosts.
Even before the crime, the house was destined for demolition, set to make way for an extension of Soshigaya Park. Of course, the brutal murder of its residents just three months before the deadline to vacate disrupted all plans. The house, a sort of onryo made of wood and mortar, has been entrapped by the police investigation. It clings to its spot, in some ways the largest box of cold case evidence in the world. As time passes by and the possibility of the case being solved remains elusive, the house keeps enduring, bearing witness to a mystery that refuses to be solved.
As its structure continued to crumble, the Metropolitan Police opted for an extensive 3D video reconstruction to save crucial evidence. With this, they once again approached the grieving family, pushing for demolition. Shunichiro Noma, the former senior officer who led the investigation team for years before retiring, opposes bringing down the structure. He argues that potential future arrests would necessitate a re-examination of the site.
The family has been pondering the decision for years, caught between the house's declining condition and the fear that erasing it will also erase the memories of the victims.
Her feelings still uncertain, Yoshiko Irie, Yasuko’s sister, mourned, "The urge to escape the sorrow through demolition is intense. But if we tear it down while the case is still unsolved, what would the spirits of the four think?"
Meanwhile, Miyazawa’s mother Setsuko stands firm, insisting the site must be preserved until the case is solved. Her greatest fear is that the case might fade into obscurity, and investigations could lose their momentum.
Her unwavering desire for justice for her son and family persists. Every time the phone rings, she answers with the hope of that crucial call from the police announcing an arrest. And each time it doesn't come, she crosses out the day on the calendar, bracing herself for the next. Celebrating her 92nd birthday in 2023, her sole wish was to see a resolution while she's still in good health.
And there stands the house, vines entwining the entire structure up to the roof, and prominent cracks etching the walls. The family's personal items are still inside — Mikio and Yasuko's large mirror, Nina's boots and piano, and the school books and supplies the children used to take with them when they left the house in the morning.
Over time, what was once a beautiful house has morphed into a sinister presence amidst lively surroundings, a constant reminder that while time moves forward, the events that transpired within will linger indefinitely.
They say, “There’s no place like home.”
And this haunted home is one that no one wants to live in again; a place that will soon have no one left to call it “home”.
This article was co-written with Francesca Annio. She is a freelance writer and journalist and a former editorial intern at CNN Tokyo. She graduated from the MA Asia-Pacific studies at Waseda University, currently living in Tokyo.