INTRODUCTION BEFORE THE MAIN STORY
Kuchisake-Onna, or "The Slit-Mouthed Woman," is an urban legend that originated from Japanese folklore.
The story became very popular in the late 1970s, but its main starting point can be traced back to the Edo period (1603–1868).
According to the legend, Kuchisake-Onna was once a beautiful woman who was married to a very jealous and unhealthyly possessive samurai.
One day the samurai saw her with a ninja trainee, giving him food to eat and went into a fit of rage.
He slashed her mouth from ear to ear with his Katana, and asked, "Who will think you're beautiful now?"
Then he killed her.
Her spirit was filled anger and pain, and eventually, it consumed her.
She began to roam the streets of Japan, seeking for who to compliment her beauty—and revenge.
It is said that she wears a surgical mask and asks her victims the question: "Am I pretty?"
The wrong answer—or most times any answer— will lead to something very terrible.
—-----------
I was never a believer in ghost stories or urban legends.
Growing up in Tokyo, I had heard stories of restless spirits and cursed objects, but I always thought they were just tall tales— just something to pass the time.
That was until one night in Shibuya.
It was like any other Friday night.
I had stayed late at my cram school, and the streets were quiet as I walked to the train station.
The usual buzz, hollars and shouts of Tokyo citizens were absent that evening, as if the city had fallen asleep.
The streetlights were dim from old use,---- our commissioner had not given our town another set yet—- so I was walking slowly.
A cold breeze blew and I felt goosebumps rise on my skin.
I didn't think much of it, just tightened my scarf my mum gave me on my neck.
Then I saw her.
She stood under a lamp post that was dying, turning on and off, repeatedly.
Her head was bent, looking down, with a surgical mask covering her lower face.
Her long black hair was dull and rather dry, and her beige coat looked too thin for the cold.
She seemed… off.
"Are you lost?" I called out.
Slowly, she lifted her head, staring at me with black eyes, not blinking at all.
"Am I pretty?" she asked.
Her voice was soft, like she belonged to a choir, but there was something about it that felt weird.
Or maybe it was the question.
My gut told me to walk away, but politeness got the better of me.
You see, society always forced politeness on males.
"Uh, yeah, sure," I replied feeling awkward.
She walked closer to me, "Even like this?"
Before I could understand what she meant, she yanked the facemask down, showing me her entire face.
Her mouth had been cut from right ear to her left ear and she was stretching it even more, smiling, exposing her yellow teeth.
Blood was smeared all over her mouth, the cut and her cheeks, and her wide grin was causing more blood to spill to the floor.
I stumbled back, "What the hell—?"
"Am I pretty now?"
I panicked, remembering hearing about this legend as a kid.
The Slit-Mouthed Woman. Kuchisake-Onna.
The rules to make sure you survive popped back in my mind:
You must never answer her directly.
Don't "yes" or "no". Always give her an impossible answer.
"Y-you're… average!" I blurted out.
Her head lolled to the side, and for a moment, she seemed confused.
Then her grined even wider than before, impossibly stretching her smile past the cut scars, and she took another step closer.
No. Was it too late?
"Average? How interesting," her voice was beginning to rise into a pitch.
"But you're lying, aren't you?"
I turned and ran.
—---------
My footsteps were making so much sounds as I ran and it didn't help that it echoed in the empty streets.
I turned, running down an alleyway, gasping and breathing heavily.
I could hear her behind me even though her footsteps were quiet.
No matter how fast I ran, she seemed to be just behind me, only I couldn't see her.
"Running won't save youuuuuuu," her voice literally bounced off the walls.
I spotted a convenience store up ahead with its fluorescent lights still on.
That meant they were open.
I had hope.
Running through the doors, I stumbled to the counter, gasping for air.
My lungs were burning from the speed I had used to run here.
The clerk, a middle-aged man with a bored look on his face, barely glanced at me.
"You okay?" he asked, not looking up from his magazine.
"She's after me, Kuchisake-Onna."
That got his attention.
His face paled, and he looked up, nervously, toward the glass doors.
"You must've said the wrong thing. Here."
He reached under the counter and pulled out a handful of candy.
"Take these. Throw them at her if she comes close. She'll stop to pick them up—- it can buy you time."
I stared at him in disbelief.
"Candy? That's your solution?"
He shoved them into my hands.
"It's worth a shot. Just don't look her in the eyes. Now leave, before you attract her to me."
"But I can't, I…I…I need help."
Next thing I know, the man pulled a shot gun out from the counter, pointing it at my head.
"Sir…"
"The only other help I'll give you is to blow your face off. Get the fuck out of my shop!"
Devastated and scared for my life, I fled his shop, holding on to the sweets.
I had only gone five steps out of the shop when heard footsteps.
She was there.
Her long shadow stretched across the floor, and I was sure the air grew colder.
The clerk's voice reached my ears, he was saying a prayer.
"Konnichiwa," she said sounding very cheerful.
I turned and stopped moving, shaking.
Her mask was back in place, but I could feel her grin beneath it.
"Am I pretty?" she asked again, this time tilting her head as she walked toward me.
My mouth went dry.
Slowly, I unwrapped a piece of candy and threw it on the floor between us.
She stopped, looking down to see what I threw.
Her voice turned into something like a child's voice immediately, "Candy?"
And bent down to pick it.
I threw another piece, then another, creating a long trail.
She stayed there bent, picking them up one by one with her overly long fingers trembling as she stuffed them into her breasts.
I had no sweets left but the trail I made already was long enough to keep her busy for a while, so I took the opportunity, taking to my heels again.
---
It was getting darker and the air kept hitting me with cold but I didn't stop running until I reached the station.
Collapsing onto a bench, I looked over my shoulder, half-expecting to see her standing there, grinning.
But she wasn't.
The train arrived, and I climbed aboard, sinking into a seat near the door.
My heart was still thudding, beating hard, but I was relieved.
I had survived.
As the train pulled out of the station, I saw my reflection in the window.
Behind me, in the faint glassy outline, was her face.
She was smiling with her entire teeth on show, her eyes round and wide, her hair sticking to the sides of her bloody face.
"Am I pretty now?"