【Japanese Horror】The Hundred Horror Tales — Episode 4: The Flawless Mother | Haunted Kaidan Tales
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Episode 4 – “The Flawless Mother ” (Full Text)
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The Hundred Horror Tales –Episode 4: The Flawless Mother
—Fff. The third candle went out.
The room grew a little darker, leaving only two flames.
Each flicker of light sent uneasy shadows crawling along the walls.
In the silence, the soft clink of a teacup being set down echoed.
“…Well then, I’ll go next.”
It was Miwa who leaned forward.
Her tone carried the same cheerful warmth as always—yet underneath, there was a strange tightness.
“Scary stories aren’t just about ghosts or curses, you know.
Don’t you ever think… that sometimes, people can be the scariest of all?”
She asked it to no one in particular.
Aoi gave a small nod, and beside her, Sōma narrowed his eyes slightly.
“…There was a time I met a mom friend who was just too perfect.
At first, I admired her, I really did.
But at some point… her ‘perfection’ started to feel frightening.”
Her name was Reiko Fujishiro.
Everything about her—appearance, manners, the way she carried herself—was the very image of an “ideal mother.”
She was about my age, but carried herself with a composure that radiated refinement.
Her skin glowed, her white blouse was always crisply ironed, her hair never a strand out of place.
At pickup time, she would always arrive five minutes early, casually chatting with the teacher as if she belonged there.
Her words were flawless, her manner graceful—yet she never sounded condescending.
She even managed to make herself seem approachable.
The first time she spoke to me, I was honestly a little thrilled.
Me? Someone like me gets to be friends with her?
That’s what I thought.
My daughter Yuna and her daughter Miu quickly became close friends, and naturally, so did we.
We let the kids play at the park, sometimes invited each other over…
But there was something odd.
No matter how many times we met, I never saw a single crack in her.
Never without makeup. Never a hair out of place. Never a trace of fatigue.
Meanwhile, I was always running ragged, catching my breath after chasing Yuna around. But Reiko? She stood there serene, smiling gracefully, as if nothing could touch her.
“All in all, she really is an amazing woman,” the other moms would always say.
And yet… the more I heard that, the more uneasy I became.
Humans are supposed to have flaws, right?
How can anyone stay perfect, all the time?
That faint unease… one day, it hardened into certainty.
The first time I thought, “Huh?” was on the way home from Reiko’s house.
“Thank you so much for visiting today. Next time… Wednesday works for us. I’ll be finished cleaning by 11:30, so anytime after that would be fine.”
As she spoke, she handed me a sheet of paper—
a handwritten schedule.
On A4 paper, every hour was blocked out: cleaning, laundry, shopping, study time with her daughter—
and even specific slots marked ‘Visitors Welcome.’
“…Wait, you make this every month?”
I almost laughed, but Reiko only smiled and nodded.
“Our whole life is built on ‘optimized routines.’ Before you know it, everything falls neatly into place.”
…If it really felt natural, that would be impressive.
To me, it felt suffocating.
Another day, after playing with Reiko’s daughter Miu, my own daughter Yuna said this:
“Mom, Miu bows like a robot at home.
She says everything properly—‘I’m home,’ ‘Thank you,’ ‘I was wrong.’
Even when we play, if I mess up, she keeps saying, ‘That’s wrong, that’s wrong.’”
It didn’t sound like a funny story.
Those are heavy words for a child to repeat so often.
And then—
“Yuna, why did you come home crying?”
“…Miu kept looking at me, smiling, and saying… ‘You’re wrong.’ Over and over.”
I never meant to put my daughter in that position.
But somehow, without realizing it, I’d let her get pulled into that “perfect world.”
One afternoon the doorbell rang unexpectedly.
When I opened it, Reiko was standing there.
“I’m sorry to drop by unannounced. But… Miu made this. She wanted Yuna to see it.”
What she handed me was a handmade “manners picture book.”
Inside, a little girl drawn in a childish hand was smiling as she scolded another child.
‘Rules are for everyone to follow.’
‘A child who corrects mistakes is a strong child.’
‘If someone does wrong, kindly, patiently, remind them again and again.’
The “scolding girl” was unmistakably Miu.
And the “mistaken child” she corrected… looked exactly like Yuna.
“…Is my daughter the model for this?”
“Oh, no, no. Miu just drew freely. But doesn’t it look alike? Hehe… Children are so perceptive, aren’t they?”
That smile… I’ll never forget it.
It wasn’t kindness.
It was the smile of someone who meant it.
From that day on, I tried to keep my distance.
But she… did the opposite.
“This morning, Yuna’s skirt was a little crooked. Didn’t you notice?”
“The teacher told me she put a library book back out of order. Just a small thing, but habits can become troublesome…”
It felt like—everything was being watched.
Not only my daughter’s every move,
but my household, my life… all of it.
Once, after I came back from the supermarket, she peered into my shopping basket.
“Potato chips? Once in a while is fine, but… the salt content…”
Her gentle tone cut deeper than any scolding.
No matter what I did, it was all being measured against her standard of “correctness.”
That’s when I realized:
She didn’t just control her family.
She was trying to manage everyone around her.
The decisive moment was the day I accidentally stepped into her house.
I was only dropping off something she’d left behind. But when she said, “Please, come in,” I couldn’t refuse.
She led me to the sitting room, then excused herself.
“I’ll just make some tea.”
That was when I heard it—
a child’s singing voice, drifting from the back room.
“Fix mistakes… become correct… bad children… disappear…”
The song was mechanical, drained of emotion, and yet… steeped in madness.
I stood up before I realized it, creeping toward the sound.
What I saw wasn’t Miu.
It was a doll.
A large black-haired Ichimatsu doll sat formally before a low table,
the eerie song playing from a hidden speaker.
And the walls… were plastered with drawings.
Miu, smiling as she scolded.
Yuna, drawn again and again as “the mistaken child.”
When I returned to the living room, pale and stiff, Reiko was already there.
Smiling sweetly, she said:
“Our style of education… some people call it a bit ‘strict.’
But children are pure, you see. They learn to believe in what’s right… simply because it is right.”
My hands shook as I grabbed my things.
I fled that house.
That woman wasn’t just raising her daughter.
She was turning her into a doll of correctness.
And now… she was trying to pull my daughter into it, too.
For a while after that, I kept my distance from Reiko—and from Miu as well.
I gently told Yuna, “Maybe you shouldn’t play with her anymore.”
Thankfully, my daughter didn’t resist. If anything, she seemed relieved.
But it wasn’t over.
One night, as I was washing the dishes, Yuna suddenly spoke from the living room.
“Mom… lately, when I’m about to sleep, I feel like someone is peeking through the crack in my door.
A woman with a white face… smiling at me.”
I froze, turning to look at her.
“…That sounds like a dream, doesn’t it?”
Yuna shook her head.
“No. I don’t think it’s a dream. After I close my eyes, I hear it… right by my ear.
‘Let’s be correct.’
Every night… I hear it.”
A chill ran straight down my spine.
Let’s be correct.
Those were Reiko’s words. Her favorite phrase.
I rushed to check Yuna’s bedroom.
The lock was secure, the curtains drawn, even the closet was empty. Nothing.
But under Yuna’s bed, sticking out from beneath a picture book, was a sheet of paper.
I pulled it out. On it was a child’s drawing.
A girl sitting formally, smiling as she scolded another child—
that picture again.
And in the corner, written neatly in careful handwriting:
“To Yuna. May you become a correct child. From Miu.”
My hands trembled, and the paper slipped from my grasp.
That “correctness”… had already invaded my home.
Since then, I’ve kept a nightlight burning in Yuna’s room.
I changed the locks on our door, and I never take the road past that house anymore.
The picture book and the letter—I threw them all away.
…And yet.
Sometimes, when I see Yuna standing in front of her bedroom door,
the angle of her shoulders looks… too perfect.
Her posture is so straight, her back so rigid—
as if she’s presenting herself for someone watching.
I think I’ll always be afraid.
That perfect smile might appear again,
at any moment, without warning.
—Tell me.
When you meet someone flawless,
do you feel safe?
Or… do you feel just a little afraid?
…
With those words, Miwa let out a slow breath and leaned toward the candle before her.
“…That’s the end of my story.”
Her breath stirred the flame.
It wavered—then vanished with a faint hiss.
Only one candle remained.
And the fear… was far from over.
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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
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