Kuchisake-onna: The Slit-Mouthed Woman

It was a quiet night in the outskirts of Tokyo, where the streets, narrow and dimly lit, wound through rows of traditional wooden houses. The faint hum of cicadas filled the air, but the atmosphere carried an unsettling weight — a chill that clung to the skin and whispered of something unnatural.

Akira, a university student, walked home after a long evening shift at the café. His tired eyes scanned the empty street, his footsteps echoing against the walls of the darkened shops. He tugged his scarf tighter around his neck, cursing himself for forgetting his earbuds. The silence felt oppressive, amplifying the sound of his heartbeat.

It wasn’t long before he sensed it. That feeling of being watched.

He stopped, turning his head sharply. The street was empty, save for a lone figure standing several meters away. A woman, her face obscured by a white surgical mask, stood under the dim glow of a streetlamp. She was strikingly beautiful — long, jet-black hair cascading over her shoulders, her red coat gleaming like fresh blood in the pale light.

“Strange time to be out,” Akira muttered, quickening his pace. Yet as he walked, he heard footsteps behind him.

“Excuse me,” a soft, melodic voice called.

Akira stopped, turning to find the woman much closer now, her dark eyes locked onto his. There was something off about her gaze, a hollowness that made his stomach churn.

“Am I pretty?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

Akira blinked, caught off guard. It was an odd question, but the woman’s beauty was undeniable. “Uh, yes, you are,” he replied awkwardly, hoping the interaction would end there.

The woman stepped closer. Her hands moved to the straps of her surgical mask.

“And now?” she asked, removing the mask with a fluid motion.

Akira’s breath caught in his throat. Her mouth, grotesquely slashed from ear to ear, formed a permanent, gaping grin. The flesh was raw and jagged, her teeth gleaming like broken glass under the streetlight.

“Am I still pretty?”

Terror rooted Akira to the spot. His mind raced. What was he supposed to say? No would mean instant death, he remembered from childhood whispers. Yes might delay the inevitable, but not by much.

Summoning his courage, Akira forced a smile. “You look… unique,” he stammered, hoping to confuse her.

Her expression faltered for a moment, as if his response had short-circuited her intentions. But the hesitation was brief.

“Not the answer I wanted,” she hissed, producing a pair of gleaming scissors from her coat pocket.

Akira’s instincts kicked in. He turned and ran, his shoes pounding against the pavement as her laughter echoed behind him — a chilling, raspy cackle that seemed to come from everywhere at once.

He darted into an alley, his heart hammering as he tried to think. His childhood memories of the legend came flooding back. Candy. The stories had said she could be distracted with candy. But he had nothing on him — just his wallet and his phone.

The laughter grew louder. Closer.

“Kuchisake-onna!” he shouted, his voice shaking. “Wait! I have something for you!”

The laughter stopped. The alley grew silent. Slowly, she emerged from the shadows, her twisted smile illuminated by the faint glow of a streetlight. Her scissors glinted menacingly in her hand.

“What do you have?” she asked, her voice dripping with malice.

Akira fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a pack of chewing gum. “Mint-flavored,” he said, holding it out with trembling hands.

For a moment, she stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then, with a jerky motion, she snatched the gum from his hand.

She unwrapped a piece and popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly. Akira watched, barely daring to breathe.

“You may go,” she said finally, her voice eerily calm. “But if we meet again, there will be no second chance.”

Without another word, she melted into the shadows, leaving Akira trembling in the cold night air.

When Akira finally reached his apartment, he bolted the door and collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air. His hands were shaking, his mind racing.

The next day, he told his friends what had happened. They laughed, dismissing it as fatigue and overactive imagination. But Akira knew better.

From that night on, he never walked alone after dark and always carried a pocketful of candies. Just in case.

For in the quiet streets of Japan, where shadows dance under flickering lights, Kuchisake-onna still roams, waiting for her next victim. And when she asks her haunting question, you’d better pray you have the right answer — or something sweet to buy yourself a little more time.

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