【Japanese Horror】The Hundred Horror Tales — Episode 37: The World That Was Slightly Off | Haunted Kaidan Tales
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Episode 37 – “The World That Was Slightly Off| Haunted Kaidan Tales” (Full Text)
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Episode 37 — The World That Was Slightly Off
Another darkness was added.
Just one candle going out made the corners of the tatami room feel suddenly distant.
The edges of the floor that had been lit moments ago slowly sank into shadow.
For a while, no one spoke.
“…That smell story was cheating,” Shūji muttered with a small laugh.
“I’m gonna remember that in the middle of the night.”
“I-I’m fine,” Aoi said, though her eyes were fixed on the candle.
Miwa shook her head.
“Kids who say they’re fine are the ones who get scared the most.”
A quiet laugh spread through the room.
But the air never fully returned to normal.
Sweet.
Burnt.
Like damp soil.
Aoi’s words still seemed to linger somewhere in the room.
The candle flame flickered thinly.
Staring at that wavering light, Sōma spoke.
“…Have you heard of a way to get to another world using an elevator?”
Aoi looked up.
“What’s that?”
“If you press certain floors in a specific order, you end up somewhere else.
Sometimes someone gets on along the way… and when the doors open, the place looks like here—but slightly different.”
“Another world?” Shūji leaned forward.
“That’s what people call it. It’s been around online for a long time.”
Aoi’s eyes lit up.
“How do you do it?”
Sōma lifted his gaze and answered plainly.
“I’m not telling you.
You’d try it.”
“Hey!”
“Can you promise you wouldn’t?”
Aoi went quiet for a second, then looked away.
Miwa laughed.
“See? She would.”
Sōma let out a small breath.
“I don’t believe it.
But someone I know tried it.”
The air sank just a little.
“He told me beforehand.
Said he was going to try it late at night.”
“You didn’t stop him?” Miwa asked.
“I did. Told him it was pointless. Dangerous.
But he just laughed.”
‘I’ll prove nothing happens.’
The candle flickered again.
“That night…”
From here, his story slipped into first person.
“On his way back, he called me.”
His voice was unusually bright.
‘I tried it!’
‘Nothing happened!’
‘Just went to the floor like normal!’
I could hear the wind on the other end.
Distant cars passing.
He sounded excited.
I let out a small laugh.
“Told you.”
‘Yeah, figures. Just a dumb rumor.’
He sounded like he’d just finished some pointless experiment.
I didn’t say anything more.
Neither did he.
We traded a few light remarks—
and the call ended.
It was about three days after that call.
When I saw him at school, I did feel something was off—but at first, I brushed it off.
He laughed. He talked.
He sat through classes like normal.
Nothing was obviously wrong.
But—
his gaze lingered.
He would stare at my face, like he was trying to confirm something.
“What?”
I asked.
He hesitated for a moment before speaking.
“Hey…”
“What?”
“…Have your eyes always looked like that?”
“What?”
“Weren’t they… a little further apart before?”
I didn’t understand what he was saying.
“What are you talking about?”
“No, it’s just…”
He trailed off.
That was the end of it for that day.
But the next day, he said it more clearly.
“My parents look… a little different.”
“How?”
“The corners of their eyes… are slightly higher.”
He touched the outer edges of his own eyes.
“The dog’s fur looks a bit lighter too.
And the smell in my room… it’s slightly different.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“I thought so too.”
He answered immediately.
“That’s why I checked photos.”
He pulled out his phone.
“This.”
It was a family photo.
“My mom’s mole… it wasn’t here before.”
He held the screen out to me.
Nothing looked wrong.
“It looks normal.”
“No, it’s not.”
He kept staring at the screen.
“It used to be… a little lower.”
“You’re remembering it wrong.”
“Then look at this.”
He switched to a class photo.
“You too. You look a little different.”
“How?”
“Your eyes are… just slightly narrower.”
I looked at my own face on the screen.
It was the same as always.
“I haven’t changed.”
“You just can’t tell.”
His voice wasn’t strong.
He just sounded… lost.
“Everything is just… slightly off.”
He scrolled through more photos.
“Old ones, recent ones—everything’s different.”
“They all look the same to me.”
“Yeah. I figured.”
He let out a small breath.
“It’s just me.”
Silence settled between us.
“The photos are different too.
But they look normal to you.”
He paused.
“So I can’t prove it.”
Then, finally, he looked up.
“…Maybe I didn’t come back.”
His voice was quiet.
He wasn’t smiling.
He just looked… genuinely troubled.
I didn’t have an answer.
After that, he stopped talking as much on his own.
He still laughed. He still sat through classes.
But there was always a slight distance.
He started looking at people’s faces like he was checking something.
Every time someone laughed,
he would narrow his eyes—just a little.
Like he was searching for a difference.
I told him over and over.
“You’re overthinking it.”
“You’re just being influenced by that elevator story.”
“There’s no way the world changes from trying it once.”
He nodded every time.
“I know.”
He would say that.
But he always added one more thing.
“But it’s different.”
One day, he stopped me again on the way home.
“Hey.”
“What?”
“I talked to my family about the old photos.”
“What did they say?”
“They don’t remember anything different.”
The position of his mother’s mole, the color of the dog’s fur—
they said it had always been that way.
“They said I’m just confused.”
“Well… yeah.”
That’s what I said.
He didn’t laugh.
“If I’m losing it, that’s fine.”
“That’s fine?”
“Yeah.
Better than the world changing.”
He went quiet for a moment.
“But…”
“…What?”
“I don’t like this.”
“The feeling that everything is just slightly off…
I can’t live with that.”
The wind blew. Leaves rustled.
He looked at me.
“You’re really the same, right?”
“I haven’t changed.”
I answered immediately.
For just a moment, his eyes wavered.
Like he doubted me.
“If I’m the one that’s wrong… maybe I can fix it.”
“Fix what?”
“Do the same thing again.”
I frowned.
“Don’t.”
“If it shifted once, maybe it’ll shift back.”
“That’s not how anything works.”
“I know.”
He said it without hesitation.
“But it’s better than this.”
He tightened his grip on his phone.
“I already know how to do it.”
There was something unsettlingly calm about the way he said it.
“Don’t do it.”
“It’ll be fine.”
It didn’t sound anything like that night.
“I’ll make sure this time.”
He didn’t say what he meant by that.
“If I get back, everything goes back to normal.”
“And if you don’t?”
I asked.
There was a brief pause.
“…Then it is what it is.”
Maybe he meant it lightly.
But it didn’t sound light.
I couldn’t stop him any further.
After that, I don’t know whether he actually tried it again.
That night, I kept checking my phone.
“Finished.”
“I made it back.”
I expected some kind of message like that.
But nothing came.
No calls.
No messages.
Not even a read receipt.
Maybe he stopped.
Maybe he thought better of it because I told him not to.
That’s what I told myself.
The next day, when I got to school—
he was there.
Sitting in his usual seat,
with the same face as always.
“Morning.”
His voice was natural.
“…About yesterday—”
I stopped myself.
He tilted his head.
“Yesterday?”
“Nothing.”
He looked the same.
At least, that’s how it looked to me.
His eyes, his mouth, the way he smiled—
everything was the same.
I couldn’t feel that “slight difference” he had talked about before.
After school, on the way home, I asked—
“You okay now?”
He thought for a moment before answering.
“Yeah.”
“…Did you do it again?”
The question came out vague.
For just a moment, he narrowed his eyes.
“I’m fine.”
That was all he said.
He didn’t say whether he had done it or not.
I couldn’t ask anything more.
After that, he was normal.
He laughed, got annoyed, joked around—
nothing had changed.
At least, from my point of view.
So I figured… he must have made it back.
That’s what I chose to believe.
But—
whether he actually stepped into that elevator again…
I still don’t know.
A long time has passed since then.
Even after that, I kept hanging out with him like usual.
We’d stop by the convenience store after school,
laugh at stupid things,
and waste time talking about nothing.
To me, he felt the same as always.
Well—he always did.
Those few days almost felt like they had never happened.
Nothing had changed.
He stopped talking about it.
And I never asked.
Maybe it’s something that could be settled with a single question.
“Did you try it again?”
That’s all it would take.
But the moment I ask it,
I feel like something would be decided.
So I don’t.
He hasn’t changed.
At least, that’s how it looks to me.
The way he laughs. The way he talks.
The way his emotions show on his face.
All the same as before.
And yet—
back then, he said it clearly.
“Everything is just… slightly different.”
If that method really shifts the world—
then maybe it can bring you back.
But—
that doesn’t mean you return to the exact same place.
Just a little.
From a world that’s just slightly off—
maybe him came back instead.
The one sitting next to me now—
is he really the original one?
Or—
is he the one who came from a world
that’s just slightly different?
I still can’t bring myself to find out.
The candle flame sways quietly.
For a moment,
it looked just slightly distorted.
I close my eyes
and breathe out slowly.
The flame flickers—
shrinks—
and goes out.
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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?
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• Twitter: @KaidanTales
• YouTube: @HK_Tales
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