【Japanese Horror】The Hundred Horror Tales — Episode 1: The Red Umbrella Woman | Haunted Kaidan Tales
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Episode 01 – “The Crimson Umbrella Woman| Haunted Kaidan Tales” (Full Text)
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The Hundred Horror Tales — Episode 1: The Crimson Umbrella Woman
“…Then, I’ll go first.”
Sōma’s voice slipped quietly into the stillness.
He straightened his back a little and glanced around the room once.
“Have you ever heard of the Red Umbrella Woman?”
No one answered.
But all eyes turned toward Sōma.
Without waiting for confirmation, he began to speak in a calm, steady tone.
“They say she appears on Tokyo’s subway platforms… only around the time of the last trains.
A woman with soaking wet hair, standing alone under a red umbrella.”
The distant cry of cicadas still echoed, as if time hadn’t moved.
But in this tatami room, lit only by candlelight—nothing stirred.
“You feel someone watching you on an empty platform.
And when you turn around… the tip of a dripping umbrella is right next to your face.
That kind of story pops up a lot.”
Sōma’s voice didn’t rise or fall.
But each word landed clearly, lingering in the air.
“But here’s the weird part.
No one’s ever seen her face.
Only the photos remain.
People say, ‘There was a picture on my phone I didn’t take.’”
Someone gasped softly.
But Sōma didn’t react. He kept his eyes down and continued.
“In those photos, it’s always the same.
Your own back, standing there…
And the Red Umbrella Woman in the distance, at night, on the train platform.
No flash, no filters—
and yet, she’s crystal clear.”
A beat of silence followed.
“If that were all, maybe it’d just be a spooky rumor.
But… someone I know told me they really saw her.”
The air seemed to ripple—subtle and unnatural.
From that moment on, the story started to feel… real.
“That guy—Sasaki—he suddenly sent me a photo late at night.
No explanation. Just one message."
Sōma’s voice remained steady.
“‘…Who is this?’”
The air grew just a little heavier.
“The photo showed the inside of a subway car.
You could see Sasaki’s reflection in the window…
And right behind him—stood a woman holding a red umbrella.
She had her head down. You couldn’t see her face.
Her wet hair clung to her cheeks… but weirdly, the umbrella was completely dry."
The candle flame flickered, ever so slightly.
“At first, I thought it was a prank.
But then I checked the timestamp on the photo—
23:58. Two minutes before the last train."
Shūji let out a quiet breath.
“Sasaki swore up and down that he wasn’t on any train at that time.
He said he’d gone straight home after practice.
But the timestamp stayed the same.
Even the file info—the metadata—listed the location as inside the station."
“…So, you’re saying his memory got messed with?”
Aoi muttered, barely audible.
“Maybe. But that wasn’t the only strange thing.
The next morning, something was off in his phone’s notes app.
Sasaki used it like a diary, just for himself.
He remembered writing: ‘Nothing special happened today.’
But when he woke up, a new line had been added—
‘The woman with the red umbrella was there.’“
Miwa frowned, uneasy.
“And it was weird, because the app was locked with fingerprint ID.
No sign of tampering. No edit history.
After that, Sasaki started shutting down—
He said, ‘Maybe… it’s me that’s broken.’"
“…Creepy…”
Aoi whispered.
Miwa gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
“After that, Sasaki started avoiding mirrors… and windows…
Anything reflective terrified him.
He said he always felt like something was right behind him.
And whenever he saw the color red,
his head would start pounding—like something was squeezing it from the inside."
Sōma looked down for a moment.
“…Then, he sent one last message.”
A beat of silence—
and then, Sōma spoke.
“If she ever closes that umbrella… it’s over.”
After that… Sasaki stopped coming to school.
No messages. No login history on social media.
…it was like he’d never existed in the first place.
But the story didn’t vanish with him.
Instead, it began to quietly spread online.
“On message boards, urban legend sites…
I found similar posts mixed in—
like, ‘There was a photo of a station in my gallery I don’t remember taking,’
or ‘The woman with the red umbrella showed up in the picture… but my face was gone.’“
Shūji frowned slightly.
“What caught my attention was a strange pattern connecting them all."
Sōma raised one finger.
“Each post said the same thing:
‘The red umbrella is clear in the photo, but my own memory is foggy.’
They’d write stuff like—
‘I think I passed someone in the hallway,’
‘My shadow looked doubled,’
‘There was someone else in the mirror…’
But none of them were sure. They all said:
‘I think it happened… but I can’t be certain.’“
The flame trembled.
“I think… their memories were rewritten.
They were left only with the feeling that something terrifying had happened.
But they couldn’t explain it to anyone.
No one believed them.
That’s what made it worse."
“…Do you think she’s… real?”
Aoi whispered.
Sōma didn’t answer right away.
He lowered his gaze, took a breath—
then spoke.
“Honestly, I thought it was all fake.
Photoshopped, or just people misremembering stuff.
But then… one day, I found a photo on my own phone."
Someone shifted in their seat, the sound barely audible.
“I had no memory of taking it.
The date and time were completely blank.
All the metadata—gone.
But in that picture…
there I was, facing away—
and at the edge of the subway platform, stood the woman with the red umbrella."
“…Seriously?”
Miwa’s voice dropped, cautious.
Sōma didn’t answer. He just smiled faintly.
“I don’t know.
But after that… I couldn’t stand in front of mirrors.
Not even the glass doors at night convenience stores.
Every time I saw a reflection—
I thought I saw red creeping in at the edge of the frame."
The candle’s flame jumped high—
as if reacting.
“That’s why I wanted to share this story…
while there’s still someone out there willing to listen.“
When Sōma finally lifted his head,
everyone in the room was staring back—
meeting his eyes.
Even after the story ended,
no one spoke right away.
Only the candle’s flame swayed gently in the silence.
“…You know, station windows really do reflect weird sometimes,”
Aoi tried to laugh—
but her words trailed off.
Almost unconsciously, her hand reached toward her phone—
and then pulled back, slowly.
“Hey, hey, what if one of us actually has a weird photo?”
Shūji joked, trying to lighten the mood—
but quickly averted his gaze.
“…It does happen, though,”
Miwa murmured quietly.
“Sometimes you find pics you don’t remember taking…”
She said it like a joke—
but ended up frowning at her own words.
The air in the tatami room felt just a bit heavier.
It was supposed to be just a story.
A made-up tale.
And yet…
each of them felt like they might’ve had a memory just like it.
Something they couldn’t quite explain.
Sōma said nothing.
His gaze lowered.
No one noticed—
as his fingers quietly slipped his phone
back into his pocket.
“──Alright. That’s the end of my story.”
Sōma spoke quietly,
reaching out toward the candle at the far edge.
He gently blew on the flame—
and with a soft flicker,
it vanished without a sound.
The room dimmed, ever so slightly.
Just one candle gone,
and yet the shadows seemed a little deeper.
The lines between light and dark, sharper.
“Ooh… It’s begun,”
Shūji said with a faint grin.
“That makes… ninety-nine to go,”
Miwa whispered,
and Aoi glanced nervously at the remaining flames.
“It’s fine… It’s just the first one… right?”
Her voice sounded like she was trying to convince herself.
No one disagreed.
From the tip of the extinguished wick,
a thin thread of white smoke rose—
drifting gently upward,
like the lingering scent of the story just told.
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The Hundred Horror Tales is an original Japanese horror anthology inspired by the tradition of Hyaku Monogatari.
Five storytellers gather around flickering candles to share chilling tales—urban legends, ghost stories, folklore, daily fears, and real encounters.
Can you endure until the last flame goes out?
Follow for more:
• Twitter: @KaidanTales
• YouTube: @HK_Tales
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