Day Twenty-Five: Kuchisake-Onna- A Horror Story

Today, I've decided that seeing as the only thing that happened was we drove back to Chigasaki, I will share with you a short story that I wrote about Kuchisake-Onna, otherwise known as the slit-mouthed woman. This is relevant because it’s the Japanese urban legend I told Otosan about. First, I’ll show you a story I wrote about someone who meets Kuchisake-Onna, and then I’ll tell you basically what I told Otosan. This is now a ***WARNING*** for anyone who doesn't like horror stories or thinks this may potentially freak them out. If you keep going and freak yourself out, it’s on you. Personally, I don’t think it’s too bad, but that could be because I've heard the story multiple times already.

I yanked the strap of my bag up higher on my shoulder and tried to walk faster. Tennis club had gone later than I’d expected, and it was already six o’clock. Even though it was my eighth month living in Japan, I still felt like I hadn't fully adjusted to the level of commitment the students at Tsurumine High School put into their clubs.

Back in America, I’d been considered pretty good, but here, I was way behind the other third-year students. It was taking a lot more commitment than I would have liked to catch up in skill level. It was also a little embarrassing to be worse than most of the second year students.

I jumped to the side with a yelp as a woman on a bike shot passed me, feeling the edge of her front tire brush my green plaid skirt. Sometimes, it felt like the people on bikes never truly watched where they were going. I’d already been nearly run over more than once.

The bike shot around a corner, and suddenly, I realized that although the street had been busy a few minutes ago, it was now completely deserted. I clenched the strap of my bag nervously. That wouldn't have been a big deal in America, but in Japan, it was rare for streets such as the one I was on to be well and truly empty.

I glanced around, just to be sure, and realized that wasn't totally the case. There was one woman coming towards me from one of the side streets. She wore traditional clothes and a surgical mask on her face, which was likely due to pollen sensitivity. It is not uncommon for people in Japan to wear masks on their faces if they had sensitivity to dust or pollen. Sometimes, they were even worn if one had a cold. I still hadn't tried because it felt weird to me, but most of the students in my school had worn one at one point or another.

I started to nod at the woman as I passed by, but she put out a hand, stopping me.

“Excuse me,” She said in soft Japanese, a musical lilt to her voice. “I seem to be rather lost. Could you direct me to Tsurumine High School?”

“I can try,” I replied, wondering why this woman needed to go to the high school. “Gomenesai, my Japanese isn't very good. Just go straight and take a left at the green house. You should be able to see it once you get around the corner.”

“Thank you, child.” The woman smiled- or, I think she did. Her eyes crinkled as though that was what she was doing. “Before I go on my way, I have one more question to ask of you. Am I beautiful?”

It seemed like a bit of a strange question, and it definitely didn't seem like something the woman needed to ask. She was beautiful. She had smooth black hair to her waist, with bangs fringing her dark brown eyes. Her skin looked like porcelain, and she was delicately built, with a small frame.

“Yes,” I replied truthfully.

Eyes crinkling again, the woman reached up to her mask, pulling it down to reveal a sight that I knew would cause me to wake, screaming for years afterwards, that would haunt my thoughts and my dreams until my death.

Her mouth had been horribly slit on each side, from the corner of her lips to her ears. The wounds were scabbed with dried blood, but fresher blood dribbled from the corners of her lips, and they looked like they were barely being held together. It was like looking at a smiley face, but the most grotesque, scabbed, bloody, horrifying smiley face you can imagine.

She tilted her head at me. “Do you still think I’m beautiful?” She asked in her melodic voice. How could she talk? She shouldn't have been able to talk!

My limbs trembled with the horror of it, my heart tried to escape to my stomach, which was knotted into a tight ball, and my feet felt as though they’d been frozen to the ground. Yet despite this, I managed to force my face into a weak grimace. “Yes. You’re beautiful.”

In response, the edges of her scarred face stretched up to form a wider smile, defying all logic and reason. I am positive that in that instant, my heart stopped.

“Thank you,” She purred. Her form seemed to flicker, and suddenly there was a searing pain on either side of my face. In that moment, my body gave out and I collapsed into darkness.

~

My feet hit the pavement in a rhythmic tap tapping sound as I walked down the side street, my bag slung carelessly over my shoulder. The little girl playing in the gutter looked up at my approach, her expression displaying childlike curiosity over why this American girl was approaching her.

Stopping about three feet away, I crouched down and said, “Hello.”

“Hello,” She replied, staring at me.

“I have a question for you.” I tipped my head at her and smiled a little.

“Am I beautiful?”

***END***

Okay, so that was my story of a girl meeting Kuchisake-Onna. In the actual story, Kuchisake-Onna was a beautiful woman and the wife of a samurai. But she cheated on him, and in anger, he slit her mouth on each side, telling her that no one could find her beautiful now.

Now, her spirit stalks the streets of Japan, going up to people to ask if she is beautiful. If they say no, she kills them, if they say yes, she takes off her mask. Then, she asks if they still think she’s beautiful. Should the unfortunate person say no, they will be killed, should they say yes, Kuchisake-Onna will either let them go and follow them home only to brutally murder them later, or she will slit their mouth to look like hers. (It depends on the version you read). There is no mention of the victims of this attack actually becoming like her though, that’s just something I added.

There are supposedly two different ways you can escape unharmed from this encounter. After she reveals her face, the intended victim should say, “You’re average,” or turn the question on her. “Well, am I beautiful?”

It’s said that these answers will confuse her, allowing time to run away. Should you ever encounter Kuchisake-Onna, don’t forget these replies.

They could save your life someday.