【Japanese Horror】The Hundred Horror Tales — Episode 33: The Space Beside Me | Haunted Kaidan Tales
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Episode 33 – “The Space Beside Me| Haunted Kaidan Tales” (Full Text)
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EP33: The Space Beside Me
The room still held the lingering echo of the story just told.
“If you believe strongly enough, even something small can take form.”
Seikichi’s voice had already fallen silent, yet those words remained, drifting quietly in the air.
The candle flame flickered, thin and unsteady.
After a moment of silence, Aoi spoke.
“Hey… Grandpa.”
Seikichi turned his gaze toward her.
“What is it, Aoi?”
“What if… only one person believes in it?”
Sōma slightly lifted his head.
“Only one?”
“Like… something only that person can see. Or hear.
Can something like that exist too?”
Seikichi kept his eyes on the flame as he answered.
“If the belief is strong enough, it can take form.”
Shūji let out a small laugh.
“An imaginary friend, you mean?”
Aoi shook her head.
“I don’t think so.”
She paused, just for a moment.
“This is a story from when I was little.”
The candle flickered again.
“Back when I was in kindergarten.”
I used to play with a girl named Mai every day.
When I walked into the classroom in the morning, she would already be there.
On my right.
Sitting in a small chair, quietly watching me.
“Good morning.”
When I said that, she would smile—just a little.
She didn’t talk much, but I knew she was listening.
When we played with blocks, Mai would gather the red ones.
I would collect the blue ones.
Together, we built towers.
When the teacher told us to clean up, we would glance at each other and laugh.
It was the same during pretend play.
I was always the mother.
Mai would sit in the same chair, every time.
“Here, Mai. Eat this.”
I would hand her an empty plate, and she would take it.
During nap time, she was always on my right.
Sometimes, the edge of her blanket would lightly touch mine.
That was just how things were.
I never once doubted that Mai was there.
Because she was.
Every day, she was there.
Always sitting on my right.
When I got home, I would talk about her.
“Today, Mai and I—”
At first, my mother would just smile and listen.
“What kind of girl is she?”
“Her hair is about this long—”
I showed the length with my hands.
My mother nodded.
But one day, her expression changed—just a little.
“I asked your teacher…”
I still remember her voice, faintly.
“She said… there’s no such child.”
I tilted my head.
Because she was there.
Every day, she sat on my right.
But—
Even when I was shown photographs.
Even when I looked through the class list.
Mai’s name was nowhere to be found.
“Maybe she’s just an imaginary friend.”
My mother said it gently.
I couldn’t say anything.
I looked to my right.
There—
was space.
Even after that, I couldn’t accept it right away.
Because she was there.
When I walked into the classroom, she was sitting on my right.
When I stacked blocks, she was beside me, gathering the red ones.
During nap time, she held onto the edge of her blanket, just like always.
I kept telling myself that.
“She’s here.”
“Mai is right here.”
But the adults would only give me troubled smiles.
My teacher would crouch down and speak gently.
“Where is she today?”
I pointed to my right.
The teacher looked at the empty space for a moment—
then slowly nodded.
“I see.”
She didn’t say anything more.
But her eyes never stopped on anything.
They passed straight through.
That was the first time I felt something shift.
Maybe… I was the only one who could see her.
The thought came quietly, but it didn’t go away.
One day, we took a class photo.
We lined up together, everyone smiling.
I made sure to leave space on my right.
“Move closer.”
The teacher told me, but I didn’t.
Because Mai was there.
When the photo came back, I checked it right away.
The space beside me—
was empty.
Not just empty.
It looked wrong.
Like something had been there, and then removed.
I tried to tell myself it was just the way the picture turned out.
But after that…
things began to change.
Mai didn’t move as much anymore.
Sometimes, when I handed her a block, she didn’t take it.
Sometimes, when I spoke to her, she didn’t respond.
Even then, I believed she was still there.
But the other children walked straight through that space.
They passed by my right side without hesitation.
As if nothing had ever been there.
One day, another child sat in that chair.
I pushed them away.
“You can’t sit there.”
They looked at me, confused, and called for the teacher.
The teacher looked straight at me.
“There’s no one there.”
For the first time, I hesitated.
I looked to my right.
Mai was sitting there.
Still.
Quiet.
Her face… looked uncertain.
But—
I couldn’t hear her.
She didn’t smile like before.
She was just… there.
After that, I stopped saying her name out loud.
At home, I didn’t talk about her anymore.
At school, I didn’t call to her.
But still—
I kept leaving space on my right.
Even when I tried not to.
Even when I told myself there was nothing there.
Something in me refused to let it go.
And then, one day—
I realized.
There was no one there anymore.
There was no one on my right.
The moment I realized that, something inside my chest turned cold.
The chair was just a chair.
The scratches on the desk legs, the pattern on the floor—everything was the same as yesterday.
But the feeling that someone was there… was gone.
I didn’t say anything.
To anyone.
I had already decided I wouldn’t.
I rolled Mai’s name silently in my mouth.
But I didn’t let it become a sound.
If I did, it felt like something would fall apart.
For a while, I just kept looking at the space beside me.
Maybe she would be there again.
Maybe if I narrowed my eyes, her outline would return.
But there was nothing there.
Only air.
From that day on, I stopped looking to my right.
If I didn’t look, then no one was there.
If I didn’t look, then maybe there had never been anyone there to begin with.
That’s what I decided.
Even when I tried to remember Mai’s face, it wouldn’t come clearly.
I knew she used to smile, but I couldn’t remember how.
The shape of her eyes, the length of her hair—everything blurred.
Like it was being slowly erased.
So I stopped trying.
The blocks.
The chair.
Nap time.
The fact that someone had once been sitting on my right.
If I didn’t think about it, it would fade.
And if it faded, then eventually, it would be gone.
That’s what I believed.
And yet—
I kept leaving a little space on my right.
Even when I tried not to.
I couldn’t sit perfectly close to the edge.
Whenever someone came near, I would shift slightly without thinking.
I didn’t know why.
I shouldn’t have remembered anymore.
There should have been nothing there.
And still—
something in my chest would stir, just a little.
I ignored that feeling.
Given enough time, it would disappear.
I believed that.
And eventually, it did.
I could barely remember Mai at all.
Not her name.
Not her face.
Not her voice.
Only—
the space on my right remained.
A small space.
Just enough for one person.
By the time that became normal,
a thought crossed my mind.
Back then—
maybe
I was the one who erased her.
I remembered it on a completely ordinary day.
On my way home from school,
as I passed by a park.
Little kids were playing in the sandbox.
I stopped without really thinking.
I used to play like that too, I thought.
Not with blocks—
but with sand.
Then, suddenly, I felt someone watching me.
At the edge of the sandbox.
Beside a bench.
A girl was standing there.
She looked about my age.
She wasn’t wearing a uniform,
but her height, her build—
almost the same as mine.
She was staring straight at me.
I felt like I had seen her before.
But I couldn’t remember where.
I took a step closer.
She didn’t move.
She only tilted her head slightly.
That small gesture struck something deep inside my chest.
The space on my right stirred, all at once.
I froze.
Then I saw her face clearly.
The shape of her eyes.
The line of her nose.
The curve of her mouth.
—it was me.
She looked exactly like me.
Like I was staring into a mirror.
And yet… something was different.
Her eyes were a little sad.
And just a little—relieved.
When our eyes met, she smiled.
That smile.
The same one from before.
From when she used to sit beside me.
I almost said her name.
The sound rose up to my throat—
And then—
her outline began to fade.
There was no wind.
No movement at all.
And yet, she thinned away,
as if she had never been there to begin with.
Beside the bench, there was nothing.
Only the evening light, falling quietly.
I stood there, unable to move.
The space on my right felt unbearably cold.
I looked to my right.
No one was there.
And yet, it felt like the warmth of someone who had once been sitting there still lingered.
When I was little, I chose to believe she wasn’t real.
And the other day, I only thought—just for a moment—
that maybe she had been.
That alone was enough for her to appear.
I didn’t call out to her.
I didn’t say her name.
I only remembered.
And still—she took form.
If, back then—
in that park—
I had called her name…
If I had let myself believe, even once more, that she was allowed to be there…
maybe she would still be sitting beside me now.
Or maybe—
this time,
I would have been the one sitting beside her.
I took a slow breath.
“…I won’t call you again.”
I said it quietly.
Leaving just a little space on my right.
The room had fallen completely silent.
Aoi stared at the candle flame.
Its light trembled in her eyes.
She didn’t move for a while.
Then, slowly, she leaned forward.
A soft breath slipped from her lips.
The flame wavered—
and went out without a sound.
For a brief moment, the wick glowed red.
Then it faded, and a thin trail of smoke rose into the air.
The darkness deepened, just a little.
No one spoke.
Only the faint scent of the extinguished candle spread quietly through the room.
The remaining flames flickered in silence.
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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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