【Japanese Horror】The Hundred Horror Tales — Episode 36: Something Stayed Inside Her | Haunted Kaidan Tales
Listen to the Full Episode
Listen to the horror story with narration and sound on Spotify.
Episode 36 – “Something Stayed Inside Her| Haunted Kaidan Tales” (Full Text)
Prefer reading? Here’s the complete text of Episode36.
Episode 36 — Something Stayed Inside Her
Darkness deepened—
one more layer.
Shūji’s breath faded,
and the tatami room fell into complete darkness.
“…Inari, huh.”
Sōma’s voice dropped quietly.
“The kind that borrows a person’s form.”
“Not a good thing if you notice it,”
Seikichi muttered.
A brief silence.
Then, a small flame appeared.
The first candle.
The second.
The third.
The fourth.
And finally, the fifth.
The room returned to a dim orange glow.
Shadows stretched along the walls.
Aoi kept her eyes on the flame,
then spoke softly.
“…Do things ever… go inside people?”
No one answered.
She took a small breath.
“Can I tell you about my friend?”
No one stopped her.
And she began.
There’s a small shrine
behind my friend’s house.
A tiny one.
The red torii gate is faded,
and the stone fox beside it is chipped—
one of its ears is broken.
Her grandmother goes there every day,
places water,
and prays.
My friend would stand next to her
and do the same.
She didn’t really understand it.
She just copied her.
“It’s Inari-sama,”
her grandmother would say.
That’s all.
She lives with her mom too—
just a normal house.
But no one really explained the shrine to her.
One day,
her grandmother made a rice ball.
Plain white.
A little bigger than usual.
She placed it on a plate
and set it in front of the shrine.
My friend said
she wasn’t even hungry at the time.
But—
the moment she saw it,
it suddenly looked
unbearably delicious.
There was no steam.
It was just a plain rice ball.
And yet—
that one spot looked clearer than anything else.
She couldn’t look away.
“Can I have it?”
she asked.
But her grandmother shook her head.
“You mustn’t eat that.”
No explanation.
That made it worse.
She said
she didn’t understand why—
but she suddenly felt like she had to eat it.
Even though she knew it was strange.
While her grandmother stepped away—
she took it.
…and ate it.
The rice ball.
She said it had already cooled down—
but for some reason,
it tasted strangely sweet.
That day ended
with her just getting scolded.
Nothing else happened.
You know—
all of a sudden,
she became really sensitive to smells.
My friend.
At first,
it just felt like a joke.
On the way home,
she suddenly stopped and said—
“Fish. Over there.”
Even though it was still a little far.
But when we got closer,
we could actually smell fish being grilled.
So we just laughed.
Like, “Wow, that’s kind of amazing.”
After that,
she started talking about smells all the time.
“That’s simmered food over there.”
“Curry today.”
She was right a lot,
so everyone thought it was funny.
But—
what felt strange to me
was something else.
One day,
when she came close to me—
I smelled it.
Just faintly.
At first,
I thought it was my imagination.
But it wasn’t.
Whenever she stood next to me,
the same smell was there.
It was kind of sweet.
But also… slightly burnt.
If that was all,
it might’ve just smelled like freshly cooked rice.
But there was something else.
Something I couldn’t really explain.
Like damp soil.
Something… raw.
It stung the back of my nose
just a little.
Not enough to make me feel sick.
Just—
wrong.
And it didn’t feel like
it was coming from her clothes
or her hair.
It felt like
it was coming from right beside her.
“Do you smell something weird?”
I asked.
She tilted her head.
“I don’t know.”
But then she sniffed her own arm—
and smiled, just a little.
“…I think I kind of like it.”
She said it so casually.
But the way she smiled felt off.
After that—
the smell got stronger.
Not every day.
But sometimes.
Just passing by her,
I could tell.
And if I got closer—
it was even clearer.
She didn’t seem bothered at all.
If anything,
she looked a little happier
whenever she talked about smells.
She’d close her eyes
and slowly breathe in.
Like she was searching for something.
That… felt wrong.
So I started keeping a little distance
when I walked next to her.
But saying it out loud
would’ve been strange.
So I just held my breath.
Sweet.
Burnt.
Damp.
That smell—
before I knew it,
it had started to linger around her
like it belonged there.
Not long after that—
she stopped coming to school.
At first,
I heard it was just a cold.
That she had a fever.
But it went on.
Two days.
Three.
And somehow—
I had a bad feeling.
I kept thinking about
that smell.
So after school,
I went to visit her.
The moment I opened the door—
I knew.
The smell was stronger.
Much stronger than before.
Sweet.
Burnt.
And underneath it—
something heavy.
Damp.
It clung to the back of my nose.
It felt like my breath wouldn’t go all the way in.
Her mother came out to greet me.
She looked exhausted.
Dark circles under her eyes,
her voice thin and dry.
“I’m sorry… for making you come.”
She tried to smile.
It didn’t look real.
The house was quiet.
No TV.
No sound.
And yet—
from somewhere deeper inside—
I could hear something.
A faint voice.
Low.
Broken.
Repeating something.
Like chanting.
But not quite words.
I found myself looking toward it.
Her mother didn’t seem to notice.
“She’s been… restless,”
she said quietly.
“All night.”
Just then—
the sliding door opened
just a little.
From the dark inside—
she appeared.
I couldn’t speak.
Her face—
was thinner.
Her cheeks hollow.
Her eyes…
slightly raised.
Maybe she’d just lost weight.
But it wasn’t just that.
There was something in her eyes.
A strange kind of light.
Her mouth—
almost smiling.
But not smiling.
The smell grew stronger.
Clearer.
Sweeter.
Burnt.
And mixed into it—
something faintly rotten.
She didn’t say anything.
She just stared at me.
Without blinking.
Then—
slowly—
she tilted her head.
The movement was too slow.
Like a doll.
“…You came.”
Her voice was hoarse.
But underneath it—
I thought I heard something else.
That same low voice from before.
Layered over hers.
Like two voices speaking at once.
I couldn’t answer.
My chest felt tight.
My breathing shallow.
She let out a small breath.
A quiet, soft laugh.
The same way she used to laugh—
but clearer now.
Too clear.
From the back room—
the voice came again.
Low.
Thin.
Unbroken.
I knew then—
I couldn’t stay any longer.
I knew—
I couldn’t stay.
I looked away from her.
“I’ll come again,” I said.
I could hear my voice
slightly shaking.
The distance to the door
felt strangely long.
I could feel her gaze
pressing into my back.
Like that smell—
clinging to me.
The moment I stepped outside
and closed the door—
Bang.
A loud noise came from inside.
Like something had hit the floor.
Then—
a series of frantic sounds.
Something thrashing.
I thought I heard her mother’s voice too.
But I couldn’t turn around.
My legs moved on their own.
I ran.
I didn’t stop
until I couldn’t breathe.
The next day—
she came to school
like nothing had happened.
Her face looked fine.
If anything—
she looked clearer than before.
“Are you okay now?”
I asked.
She blinked.
“What do you mean?”
When I told her
I had come to visit—
she looked surprised.
“You did?”
And she smiled.
But—
she barely remembered anything
from that day.
“Ever since I ate that rice ball…
something’s been weird,” she said quietly.
“Sometimes I just wake up,
and it’s morning.”
Like the nights were missing.
“I was dreaming the whole time.”
She sounded
almost happy.
“I was playing with foxes.”
Under a red torii gate.
White foxes—
so many of them.
Running together.
There was a sweet smell.
Warm.
She said—
she didn’t want to come back.
When she told me that—
I couldn’t say anything.
A dream about playing with foxes.
A sweet smell.
Warm.
She said she didn’t want to come back.
She smiled—
like it was just a normal dream.
Even the parts she couldn’t remember
from the night she ate that rice ball—
she didn’t seem worried about them.
Because now—
everything was normal.
She comes to school.
She laughs like before.
She doesn’t talk about the smell anymore.
So—
I think it’s okay.
At least…
I try to think it is.
But sometimes.
Just sometimes.
When I sit next to her—
even when there’s no wind—
I catch it.
That smell.
Sweet.
Burnt.
Like damp earth.
Only for a moment.
Then it’s gone.
She never notices.
And I don’t say anything.
I just remember—
what I saw that day
through the half-open door.
Her eyes—
slightly raised.
That voice—
like something layered underneath.
What that was—
I still don’t know.
The candle flame flickers quietly.
I let out a slow breath.
The flame trembles—
and goes out.
Darkness deepens,
one more time.
Next Episode
New episode drops on Saturday May 9.
📖 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…