【Japanese Horror】The Hundred Horror Tales — Episode 14: The Empty Space Beside Me | Haunted Kaidan Tales
Listen to the Full Episode
Listen to the horror story with narration and sound on Spotify.
Episode 14 – “The Empty Space Beside Me| Haunted Kaidan Tales” (Full Text)
Prefer reading? Here’s the complete text of Episode14.
The Hundred Horror Tales — Episode 14: The Empty Space Beside Me
— Fff…
When Seikichi blew out the candle, the flame wavered once before disappearing.
The room sank into an even deeper darkness.
No one spoke. A heavy silence spread across the tatami like damp fog.
Miwa was the one who finally broke it.
“…Too scary, Dad.”
She joked lightly, but the smile on her face was stiff.
“Alright then, I’ll go next.”
She straightened her back, laced her fingers together, and took a slow breath.
“My story isn’t about gods or curses. It’s something… much closer to home. Something that happened in my everyday life.”
Shūji snorted, teasing her. “Another mom-friend story?”
Miwa shrugged and gave a small laugh.
“Yeah, it happened during one of our playdates. But—this time, it’s not the kind you laugh about.”
She paused once, then continued quietly.
“That day, I took a picture of the kids while they were playing.
They were lined up on the living-room sofa, each holding snacks, smiling so sweetly.
…It came out beautiful.
All the kids looked adorable, nothing messy in the background—almost like a magazine photo.”
Miwa’s voice dropped slightly.
“But when we all leaned in to look at it together, one of the moms said,
‘Huh? Isn’t there an empty spot here?’”
Aoi tilted her head. Miwa glanced at her before explaining further.
“I could see her clearly.
My daughter, right in the middle, smiling and flashing a peace sign.
But the other moms all insisted she wasn’t there.
‘It’s just an empty seat,’ they said.”
Shūji frowned. “But she really was in the picture, right?”
“Yes. I could see her as clearly as anything.
But no matter how many times they zoomed in or looked again, they kept saying, ‘No one’s there.’
Even when I pointed right at her—‘See? She’s right here!’—they just gave me that awkward smile and shook their heads.”
Miwa’s hands tightened on her lap.
“In that moment… a chill ran down my spine.
I didn’t know which one of us was wrong anymore.
Maybe… I was the only one who believed my daughter was really there.”
The air in the room grew noticeably colder.
“At first, I thought they were just… misreading the photo.
Because I could see her so clearly.
My daughter was right there in the middle—hair tied back, giving that slightly awkward smile, flashing a peace sign.”
Miwa clasped her hands over her chest and let out a slow breath.
“But the other moms insisted, ‘There’s no one there.’
‘There’s just an empty spot on the sofa. Weird, right?’
Even when I traced my finger across the screen—‘Here! See? She’s right here!’—they just exchanged glances and gave me those tight, uncomfortable smiles.
And that smile… it was cold enough to make my skin crawl.”
Aoi hugged her knees and let out a tiny gasp.
“And it kept happening. Every time we got together.
A photo of the kids around a plate of snacks…
A quick snap while they were playing video games…
I always saw my daughter in every single picture.
But the moms would just say, ‘That spot’s empty again.’
No matter how much I zoomed in or changed the angle—‘There’s nothing there.’”
Miwa lowered her gaze, fingers tightening against her knee.
“What scared me most was that… even the kids started saying it.
‘Hey, why didn’t ○○-chan come today?’
Even though she was standing right beside me—smiling, picking up snacks, playing with everyone like always.
I could hear her voice as clear as anything…
But to the other children, she simply wasn’t there.”
Shūji let out a small breath. “Yeah… that’s rough.”
“It was.
I held her hand the whole time—warm, solid, undeniably there.
But in everyone else’s eyes, she didn’t exist.
The more those contradictions piled up, the more my chest tightened…
and I started wondering if I was the one losing my mind.”
Miwa’s voice trembled despite her attempt to keep it steady.
“And slowly… the way people treated me changed.
At first they laughed it off—‘Maybe your camera’s acting up.’
But then they stopped meeting my eyes.
‘Miwa, are you okay?’
‘Maybe you should get some rest…’
All those gentle words, hiding the real message:
“Something’s wrong with you, isn’t it?””
The air in the room grew even colder.
“That’s when I realized something.
They weren’t even trying to see my daughter anymore.
It was easier for them if she just… didn’t exist.
I still don’t know if she truly wasn’t visible to them,
or if they could see her but pretended not to.”
Miwa bit her lip, voice dropping to a whisper.
“Not knowing the truth—that was the scariest part.”
“One day,” Miwa said quietly,
“one of the moms finally said it out loud.
‘Miwa, you don’t have to force yourself, okay?’
The way she said it… it sounded like she meant,
‘You don’t have to pretend you have a child who doesn’t exist.’”
Miwa pressed her lips together and lowered her gaze.
“After that, everything changed.
They stopped inviting me to get-togethers, messages slowed down…
And when we did run into each other, they still smiled, sure—
but their eyes were cold.
It felt like they were avoiding not just my daughter… but me.”
Shūji looked away awkwardly.
Aoi shrank a little, worried.
“But the scariest moment,” Miwa continued, taking a shaky breath,
“happened that day in the park.”
She swallowed.
“The moms lined up the kids to take a picture.
I leaned in with them to look at the screen afterward.
And there she was—my daughter, smiling just like always.
But the other moms all said,
‘Yeah… she’s not there.’”
Miwa’s voice trembled.
“I saw her.
Standing there.
Smiling.
But to them, it was nothing but an empty space.
Every single person there insisted she ‘wasn’t there.’
In that moment, I grabbed her hand—hard.
‘She’s right here!’ I said.
But no one answered me.
They all looked away… like they didn’t want to be involved.”
Aoi whispered, trembling, “Miwa… that’s scary…”
“After that, it happened everywhere.
I ran into a mom at the store, and she said,
‘How come your daughter didn’t come last time?’
She was there.
She even spoke up, said hello.
But the woman acted like she hadn’t seen or heard anything at all.”
Miwa clenched her hands on her knees.
“Little by little, I felt myself unraveling.
Was my daughter really here?
Was the hand I held, the laughter I heard… all just my imagination?
I started checking the mirror—standing beside her and making sure her reflection was there—
just to convince myself she existed.”
A cold silence settled over the room.
Sōma’s brows drew together, uneasy.
“But the moment I knew something was truly wrong,” Miwa said,
“was that day when we compared photos.
The picture I saw… and the picture they saw…
were completely different—
even though it was the same phone.”
She stopped there, shoulders trembling as she let out a long breath.
“…Before long,” Miwa said, lowering her voice,
“it wasn’t just the photos anymore.”
“The day I went to pick her up from kindergarten, the teacher asked me,
‘Are you alone today?’
My daughter was standing right beside me, holding her little school bag.
But in the teacher’s eyes… she simply wasn’t there.”
The room grew noticeably colder.
“It was the same when we went shopping.
The cashier asked, ‘Just one bag today?’
My daughter was right there, holding a pack of snacks…
yet they acted like she wasn’t with me at all.”
Miwa’s expression tightened, fear and confusion tangled together.
“And then I realized—it wasn’t just the moms anymore.
The teachers, the neighbors… everyone started ignoring her existence.
Like I was the only one who believed she was there.
Like I was some mother pretending to have a child who didn’t exist…”
Her trembling voice faded into the darkness of the room.
“…But you know,”
Miwa lowered her eyes, her shoulders trembling slightly.
“One day, all of it just… went back to normal.
Suddenly, she started appearing in photos again.
Everyone acted like they could see her—like she’d been there all along.
As if nothing had ever happened.”
Aoi let out a relieved, “Oh, that’s good then!”
But Miwa gave a faint shake of her head.
“I don’t know if it was good or not.
Even now, I still don’t know.
Back then… was my daughter truly ‘invisible’ to them?
Or did they all agree to pretend she wasn’t there—
just to push me out?”
She bit her lip and stared into the darkness ahead.
“—I’ll never know which it was.
But those cold eyes and that heavy silence when they stared into that empty space…
I can’t forget it. Not even now.”
With that, Miwa leaned forward and gently blew toward the candle.
— fff…
The flame vanished, and the room sank into deeper darkness.
Next Episode
New episode drops on Tuesday November 24.
📖 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…