【Japanese Horror 】The Hundred Horror Tales —Episode 6: They Never Came Back
Watch the Full Episode
Watch the horror story with narration and sound on YouTube.
Episode 6 – “They Never Came Back ” (Full Text)
Prefer reading? Here’s the complete text of Episode6.
The Hundred Horror Tales –Episode 6: They Never Came Back
Silence fell.
No one moved right after the last flame went out.
It was Aoi’s small voice that finally broke the stillness.
“…Hey, they’re all gone now.”
In the darkness, her eyes shimmered faintly.
Shūji exhaled and said with a forced grin, “All right, let’s light them again,” reaching for the matches.
But Sōma stopped him silently, striking one himself and lighting the candles one by one.
Pachi, pachi—soft crackles echoed as five flames rose once more.
Their pale light formed a ring, revealing everyone’s faces in the dim glow.
Within the quiet, the sense of a new story began to stir.
“…Okay. Let’s begin the sixth.”
Sōma’s voice was calm.
At his tone, everyone straightened instinctively.
“Ever heard the phrase ‘The Sealed Exit’?”
He looked slowly around the circle.
“They say there’s an emergency door at certain stations that opens on its own at night.
But anyone who steps outside… never comes back.”
Miwa gave a soft, uneasy laugh. “Another one of your urban legends?”
Shūji shrugged. “Who’d even check that? No one hangs around a station that late.”
But Sōma kept his gaze fixed on the flame.
“I found it on an old online forum.
A thread titled ‘After the last train, someone was standing beyond the exit.’
I thought it was a hoax, but the post had photos attached…
and the station in those pictures—it was mine.”
No one spoke.
Only the trembling candlelight shifted the shadows around them.
“The post was deleted the next day.
But the location of that Sealed Exit was still clear.
At the end of the corridor beyond the ticket gates—
a door that’s always chained shut.
Except… rumor says, past midnight, it opens—
from the inside.”
The flame flickered thinly,
as if a wind had just blown from the other side of that door.
“The person who posted it,” Sōma began, his eyes fixed on the flame,
“was someone who missed the last train and got stuck at the station that night.”
“He wrote that after leaving the ticket gate, he sat on a bench inside the concourse, killing time.
Then the security guard’s flashlight swept across the corridor—
and suddenly went out.
Right after that, he heard a click.”
Aoi gasped softly. “A key?”
“Probably.
When he looked up, the emergency exit at the end of the hall was lit.
That green ‘EXIT’ sign was glowing faintly.
…But that door was supposed to be chained shut during the day.”
Shūji gave a short laugh. “No way it opens on its own.”
“That’s what he thought too. But he went to check.
He said he felt a breeze—
not from outside, but from within.”
Miwa frowned. “From within? Like, an underground passage?”
“No. It’s just a wall away from the surface.
But there was wind.
Cold wind, with a faint, burnt smell.”
Aoi whispered, “…Did he open it?”
“Just a little.
Through that narrow gap, he heard a train passing by.
But the last one had already left long ago.”
Sōma paused for a moment, exhaling quietly.
“The post even had a timestamp—
1:47 a.m.
Exactly thirty minutes after the last train departs from my station.”
The air in the room grew heavy.
The flames wavered, unsteady.
Shūji started to say something, then stopped.
“So… what happened to him?”
Aoi’s voice trembled faintly.
Sōma lowered his eyes, hesitating.
“The post ended right there.
It stopped right after the line—
‘Someone’s standing beyond the door.’”
“After that,” Sōma continued quietly, still watching the flame,
“people started replying to the thread—calling it fake, saying things like ‘Nice try, troll.’
But what’s strange is this—”
He paused, his voice dropping lower.
“Each time the page refreshed, one user ID disappeared.
The comments of the first posters turned blank, one after another.”
Miwa drew in a breath. “You mean they were deleted?”
“No. That’s the weird part.
Another forum reported that the posts were still there,
but the letters themselves had vanished—
as if the words had been erased from inside the screen.
Someone uploaded screenshots, but those images turned pitch-black right after.”
Shūji frowned. “Could’ve been some system bug.”
“That’s what you’d think, right?
But when you search ‘The Sealed Exit’ now, there’s nothing.
No copies, no archives, no summaries.
All gone.
…Except one person managed to follow an old cache.”
Sōma’s voice sank even deeper.
“They said there was just one comment left.
The very last one.
It read—”
He hesitated, letting a long moment hang in the air.
‘Beyond the door… this isn’t our station.’
The words seemed to tighten the air itself.
Aoi flinched; Miwa gently rested a hand on her shoulder.
Only Grandpa Seikichi kept his eyes narrowed, staring into the flame.
“What’s that supposed to mean—‘not our station’?” Shūji muttered.
“No one knows.
But after that line, the entire thread vanished.
As if it had never existed at all.”
The candle gave a faint crackle.
Everyone held their breath, waiting for Sōma to continue.
“I went to the station after that,” he said softly.
“In daylight it looked ordinary—just a chained emergency door at the end of the corridor.
But one night, passing through the platform, I noticed something.”
He looked up, the light flickering across his eyes.
“There was wind.”
Aoi lifted her head sharply.
“The wind…?”
“Yeah. After the last train had left,
the sign above that emergency door was glowing.”
“…That night, I got scared and went straight home.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” Sōma said, his voice trembling just slightly.
“A few days later, after school, I went back to that station.
It was daytime, but the emergency sign was still glowing.
Through the gap in the chain, a cold wind was blowing…
and it smelled like something burnt.”
He made a small gesture with his hand, as if scooping the air.
“It was pitch-dark beyond the door, I couldn’t see a thing.
But when I listened closely, I heard a train.
The screech of rails, the grind of brakes…
sounds that shouldn’t exist, echoing right beside me.”
The moment he raised his phone to take a photo,
the screen flashed to black for an instant.
When he looked up again, the wind had stopped—
only the glow of the green sign remained.
The wind ceased, and when I checked my watch… it was wrong.
1:47 a.m.
The exact same time as the post.
“…After that, I used that station a few more times,” Sōma said softly,
“but the emergency sign never lit up again.”
He spoke as if closing the story, eyes fixed on the flame.
“The photos on my phone—all of them turned black when I got home.
All but one.
In that one, a green exit light floated in the darkness…
and in front of it, a pair of white feet were standing.”
Aoi caught her breath. “Feet…?”
“The upper half wasn’t there.
It was cut off around the knees.
Just the feet—standing, facing outward.”
Silence.
Though there was no wind, the candlelight quivered thinly.
Miwa folded her hands together, murmuring,
“…So they never came back.”
Sōma gave a small nod and leaned toward the final candle.
“The night when The Sealed Exit opens… may never come again.
But I can’t help feeling—
someone’s still standing on the other side.”
He exhaled gently.
—Ssshhh.
The flame vanished without a sound.
Next Episode
New episode drops on Tuesday October 14.
📖 View All Episodes
Work in Progress
✍️ About & Follow
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
If you felt something… or noticed something, we’d be grateful if you quietly left a comment below.
Click here to leave a comment!This story was brought to you by Haunted Kaidan Tales.
Welcome to a world of Japanese ghost stories and eerie folklore.
Feel free to explore more chilling tales at your own pace.
Some stories were meant to be forgotten—
and yet, they still whisper to those who listen…