【Japanese Horror 】The Hundred Horror Tales — Episode 10: The Well That Calls Back | Haunted Kaidan Tales
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Episode 10 – “The Well That Calls Back” (Full Text)
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The Hundred Horror Tales –Episode 10: The Well That Calls Back
Shuuji straightened up a little.
When his sister blew out the candle’s flame, the room grew just a bit darker again.
“Oooh, spooky, spooky. You always nail it, sis—your stories hit hard.”
He exaggeratedly shrugged his shoulders, making Aoi chuckle. Souma, on the other hand, stayed silent, eyes fixed on the flickering flame.
—That city boy hadn’t moved an inch the whole time. Couldn’t tell if he had nerves of steel, or if he was frozen stiff with fear.
“…Alright then, guess it’s my turn. I’ll start with something light.”
Leaning forward, Shuuji stared at the last candle—the thin flame swaying gently in the dark.
“This happened, what… twenty years ago now? Back when I was just a kid. A story from when my friends and I went camping.”
—Not a proper camp, though. No parents, no permission.
We just grabbed some snacks and cup noodles from a convenience store, pitched a sloppy tent in an empty clearing at the foot of the mountain, and called it a night.
It was half camping, half test of courage. So, around midnight, we started wandering around with a single flashlight between us.
That’s when we found it—a weird hollow in the ground, a bit off from where we were.
“What the hell’s that? A well?” someone said, stepping closer.
And yeah—it looked like one. But there was no lid, no fence.
Just a square stone frame, standing there, cutting a hole into the air.
Naturally, we peered inside. Pure darkness. Couldn’t see a thing.
But the strange part wasn’t what we saw.
It was the sound.
“Hellooo!” someone shouted.
A few seconds later—
“…Hellooo…”
—it came back.
But it wasn’t an echo. It sounded like someone else.
A sluggish, drawn-out voice, almost like it was trying to mimic ours.
One of the guys muttered, “Uh… there’s no way someone’s actually living down there, right?”
—That’s where things started to get weird.
We started circling the well, shining our flashlight into it, tossing in a few pebbles just to see what would happen.
But—nothing. No sound at all.
Not a clink, not a splash.
Every single noise just got swallowed by the dark, like the night itself was eating it.
It felt bottomless—like space had a hole torn right through it.
“Maybe it’s too deep to have a bottom?”
“Or… is this even a well at all?”
Someone muttered that, and that’s when Kazuma—the guy holding the light—leaned over the edge to look.
The beam traced the stone rim, trembling a little as it slid down into the black.
“Hellooo? Anyone down there?”
He called out, half-joking—
and right after that came a reply.
“…I’m here.”
A faint gust brushed past us, and the voice drifted up from the depths.
But the weirdest part—it was Kazuma’s voice.
Exactly the same tone, but flat, mechanical, like someone had recorded him and hit “play.”
“I’m here,” it said again.
We all froze.
The air suddenly felt colder.
Nobody laughed this time.
Kazuma just stayed there, staring into the dark, not moving an inch.
“Hey, Kazuma?”
No answer.
I nudged his back, half-kidding, and he jerked like someone had shocked him, finally turning around.
But his face… wasn’t right.
All the color had drained out, his lips were bluish, his eyes unfocused.
And his mouth—slightly open—like he was listening to someone we couldn’t hear.
“Dude, what’s wrong with you?”
“…There’s someone down there,” he whispered, voice dull and distant.
“…They called my name.”
“…They said—‘come down.’”
That’s when I felt it—this chill crawling up my spine.
A breath, maybe wind, sighing up from the well.
None of us spoke after that.
The jokes were gone.
“ ‘Come down’…? Who said that?”
“… I don’t know.”
Kazuma answered in short, broken words.
But his voice sounded distant—like it wasn’t really him speaking.
More like someone else was using his mouth to talk through him.
The air got heavy; nobody laughed anymore.
“Let’s go. Seriously. This place ain’t funny anymore.”
Someone grabbed Kazuma’s arm and pulled him away.
I still remember how cold his skin felt—unnaturally cold.
We left the well behind and went back to the fire.
Only the crackling of the flames filled the night.
No one spoke.
Even the crickets and the distant owl felt far away, muffled.
Every time the fire shrank, the silence grew thicker.
That night, I could barely sleep.
Kazuma’s behavior just kept replaying in my head.
I lay still inside my sleeping bag, pretending to rest, watching him out of the corner of my eye.
…He never closed his eyes.
Just stared up at the roof of the tent, blank and still.
Sometimes his lips moved—no sound, just motion.
It wasn’t like he was talking to himself.
It looked more like he was listening—like someone was whispering inside his head.
Repeating the words he was being fed.
Then morning came.
The sky was clear, but the air felt heavy as lead.
Everyone looked exhausted. We started packing up, saying, “Guess it’s time to head back.”
We’d come by bike, so each of us began strapping down our gear.
…But Kazuma was gone.
“He was just here, right?”
“Bathroom maybe?”
There wasn’t any bathroom around here.
No sign of him anywhere near the tents.
A bad feeling hit me hard, and we spread out to look for him.
Then it hit me—the only place he’d go.
The well.
And sure enough, there he was.
Kazuma stood before it—or more like leaned over it—
body tilted forward, staring straight down.
Like something inside was pulling him in.
“Hey! Kazuma!”
He flinched when I shouted, shoulders jerking before he slowly turned to face me.
And his eyes… they weren’t normal.
Bloodshot, dry, wide open and unblinking. He just stared.
“…We’re going home,” I told him.
He gave a tiny nod.
“…Yeah.”
His voice sounded normal.
But I knew.
That wasn’t the same Kazuma as yesterday.
Something was still down there in the dark—
and a part of him had never climbed back out.
Kazuma wasn’t the same person anymore.
In class, he’d just stare at one spot—
not the blackboard, not even the teacher—just somewhere past the window, far away.
When the teacher called on him, he’d mumble under his breath, like he was talking to someone who wasn’t there.
One time, someone saw him standing at the end of the hallway, facing the wall.
He was saying, “Hellooo…”
over and over, to no one.
They said it looked like he was waiting for an answer.
At first, we laughed it off. Thought he was just messing around.
But every day, he looked worse.
Pale skin, dark circles under his eyes, no energy in his voice.
When I asked him about that night, about the well,
he just muttered, “I don’t remember.”
But his eyes said otherwise—like something from that night was still happening inside his head.
And then, one day… he was gone.
No transfer. No move. Just—gone.
Vanished.
His family didn’t know. The teachers were baffled.
Even the cops got involved, but they didn’t find a single clue.
Only one person claimed to have seen him last.
It was just before dawn, on that old road outside of town.
They said Kazuma was crouched down by the roadside,
talking to something.
But the thing was—
no one else was there.
…After that night, we never found the well again.
It’s not on any map, and no one in town seems to know about it.
I haven’t gone back—not once.
Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could find the path anymore.
But sometimes—
I catch the faint smell of smoke on the wind.
That mix of burning wood and damp earth…
the same scent from that night.
Every time it drifts by, my chest tightens.
Like the well is still out there somewhere,
calling.
The scariest thing is knowing it might still exist—
a hole in the earth, waiting quietly for someone to find it.
Mouth open, patient,
ready for the next person who dares to look inside.
…Oh yeah, one more thing.
This morning, there was a wet stone sitting on my doorstep.
No idea who left it.
Strange, huh?
It’s under a roof—should’ve stayed dry.
Shuuji gave a faint smile
and blew softly on the last candle.
— Fwooo…
All five flames went out.
The room sank into complete darkness.
From somewhere deep in that black silence came a whisper—
“…Hellooo…”
—or maybe that was just my imagination.
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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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