Red Mask (Kuchisake-onna) - The Torn Mouth Beneath the Mask Asking Again
It happened on my way home after cram school.
It was a little past 8 p.m., and once I turned from the main road near the station into the side streets, it took about ten minutes to reach my house.
There weren’t many people out that night.
It had rained earlier, so the ground was wet, and the streetlights reflected in the puddles.
I was halfway down the alley when it happened.
A woman was walking toward me.
Long hair, a coat, and a white mask covering her face.
Even back then, people wore masks when they had colds, so I didn’t think much of it.
But she stopped right in front of me.
I tried to step aside.
That was when she spoke.
“Hey.”
Her voice was too low.
Not angry, not cheerful—just flat.
I couldn’t answer.
She lowered her head slightly and asked again.
“Am I pretty?”
The moment I heard that, a chill ran down my back.
It didn’t feel like a joke.
It didn’t feel like someone filming a prank.
I just nodded.
“Yes.”
The woman slowly reached for the mask strap.
For some reason, the motion felt unbearably slow.
Her fingers pulled the strap, the white cloth slid down under her chin—
and even as I watched, my legs wouldn’t move.
Her mouth was split open.
The corners stretched all the way toward her ears.
It didn’t