【Japanese Horror】The Hundred Horror Tales — Episode 16: Someone Using My Name | Haunted Kaidan Tales
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Episode 16 – “Someone Using My Name| Haunted Kaidan Tales” (Full Text)
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The Hundred Horror Tales — Episode 16: Someone Using My Name
In the pitch-black darkness, someone drew a small breath.
For a while, no one spoke. Then came the sound of a match being struck.
— Shhhk… pop.
A small flame caught the wick of a candle, casting a faint light across the room.
One, two… until all five candles were relit, and the faces around the table slowly emerged from the dark.
The silence that had wrapped them moments ago faded away like a distant dream.
“…Well then.”
Sōma stared into the flickering flame and spoke softly.
“I guess it’s my turn.”
He paused, as if choosing his words, then continued in a low voice.
“Ever heard of an online rumor called The Summoned Account?”
Miwa tilted her head. “What’s that? Another internet ghost story?”
“Yeah. It’s been popping up a lot on urban-legend sites lately,” Sōma replied, straightening his posture as he began to tell the story.
“They say that late at night, without any warning, a notification appears. The sender’s someone you’ve never followed.
But if you look closely… the account name is your own.”
“What?!” Aoi gasped.
“So if it were you, it’d say ‘soma,’ right?”
“Exactly.” He gave a faint, uneasy smile.
“And every notification comes with just a single short message — a call of some kind.
Something like, ‘Are you there?’ or ‘Can you see me?’”
“That’s creepy…” Miwa muttered, shoulders tensing.
Shūji chuckled. “Probably just a prank. Anyone can make a fake account.”
Sōma shook his head.
“That’s what you’d think. But if you try to search the account, it doesn’t exist.
Only the person who gets the notification can open the profile.
And…”
His voice dropped lower.
“Everyone who replied to it — disappeared.”
The room fell completely silent.
Aoi clutched at Sōma’s sleeve. “Disappeared… where?”
“No one knows,” he said quietly. “They just vanish from their families and friends.
The last thing anyone ever sees is them holding their phone… smiling faintly.”
Seikichi let out a low hum.
“A name-calling spirit… In the old days, we believed speaking a cursed name aloud could steal your soul.
Now it’s the screen that calls it out, eh?”
Sōma nodded.
“Maybe it’s just changed with the times.
But either way, once you’re called, it’s best not to answer.”
The flame wavered, stretching shadows across the wall.
And one of those shadows — seemed to lean forward, as if something unseen were watching from within it.
Sōma lowered his gaze for a moment, as if choosing each word carefully.
“I first heard this story from someone at school.
Well… to be exact, I should probably say someone who isn’t around anymore.”
The candlelight flickered, sharpening the lines of his expression.
“He wasn’t the kind of guy who stood out. Quiet, always by himself, usually scrolling on his phone during breaks. One day, out of nowhere, he came up to me.”
— ‘Shiraishi-kun… last night… I was called.’
“At first I thought he was joking. But his face was completely serious.
He told me that around two past midnight, a notification popped up.
It was a message from an account with the exact same name as his.
The message said— ‘Are you there?’”
“I told him he must’ve been half-asleep.
But he shook his head and said, ‘No… I really saw it.’
And the strange thing was— he said he definitely closed the app.
But when he woke up in the morning, it was still open.”
Miwa let out a sharp breath.
“Like something was waiting for him…”
“He said the messages didn’t stop.
‘Are you there?’
‘Why aren’t you replying?’
‘I can see you.’
At first, he didn’t even open them—didn’t want to.
But the messages kept coming.
Eventually his whole notification bar was filled with his own name, over and over.”
Shūji frowned. “Okay, that’s seriously messed up.”
“Yeah. I told him to change his username or something.
But he just gave this weird smile and said, ‘I can’t.’”
Aoi tilted her head anxiously. “Why not?”
Sōma paused before answering.
“He said whenever he tried to open the settings, the app crashed.
Password change didn’t work either.
It was like the account was… locking him in.”
Aoi whispered, trembling, “No way…”
Sōma met her eyes, then continued.
“Then one day… he finally replied.
Just one word— ‘Here.’
And the next day… he stopped coming to school.”
A heavy stillness filled the room.
Seikichi’s voice cut through the silence, low and grim.
“Was he found?”
“No. His parents said he went to bed holding his phone, like always…
But in the morning, he was gone.
Front door locked. Windows locked.
No signs of him leaving at all.”
Aoi let out a small cry and clung to Sōma’s arm.
“Sōma-oniichan… did that really happen…?”
He didn’t answer.
He just stared into the wavering flame.
“…What I do know is that his phone still had the last message.
From that account.”
Miwa leaned forward. “What did it say?”
Sōma’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“…‘I found you.’”
The moment the words left his mouth, all five candles flickered violently.
Everyone turned at once—but the windows and doors were tightly shut.
There was no wind.
Sōma kept his eyes on the flame as he spoke quietly.
“…Things got strange after he disappeared.
The very next night, my phone started getting notifications.”
His voice trembled just slightly, but his gaze stayed fixed forward.
“At first it was just a follow alert.
But when I saw the name attached to it… my blood ran cold.
— Shiraishi Sōma.
Same icon. Same profile text. Every detail matched mine exactly.
It was like there was… another me.”
The candle crackled softly.
No one said a word. Only the sound of breathing filled the room.
“I told myself it was a glitch.
Or that someone was impersonating me. That was easier to believe.
But when I searched for the account—nothing.
No results. No traces in the history.
It only existed in one place:
my notification bar.
My… other self.”
Each time he paused, Sōma stared deeper into the flame.
“If that were the end of it, I could’ve laughed it off.
But the timing… that’s what made it real.
Every night at exactly 2:00 a.m.
The very second the hands overlapped, my screen buzzed.
And the message was always just one phrase.”
His voice dropped.
“— ‘Are you there?’”
Silence pressed against the walls.
“I never replied. Not because I was scared…
If anything, I wanted to know what would happen.
But every time I imagined it—my hand refused to move.
So I closed it without opening the chat.
But the next night, right on time, another came.
This time it said, ‘You’re still there, right?’”
The flame bent unnaturally, stretching the shadows along the wall.
“The night after that: ‘Reply to me.’
The words kept changing… tightening.
Like it was getting closer each time I ignored it.
Like it wasn’t just on the screen—
but somewhere around me.
Closing in.”
He exhaled, barely audible.
“And then today. Right before I came here…
I got another notification.”
A pause.
“It said— ‘I’m watching.’”
The moment he spoke the words, all five flames trembled violently.
No one moved.
The windows were shut.
The door was locked.
Yet the candles fluttered as if something had just rushed past them.
Reflected in the flame, a shadow flickered in Sōma’s eyes.
“…If this were just a story, I’d be laughing right now.
But if something is really… calling me—
then I might be the next one to vanish.”
The room fell into a heavy, suffocating quiet,
and the flickering candlelight only seemed to thicken the darkness around them.
The moment Sōma’s words fell silent—
— Bzzzt…
A vibration echoed through the stillness, painfully loud in the quiet room.
Everyone froze. All eyes snapped toward Sōma’s hands.
His phone, resting on the table, was trembling softly.
The screen was facedown, but there was no mistaking it…
A notification had arrived.
“…No way,” Miwa whispered, barely audible.
Sōma didn’t respond.
He simply reached out, slowly, carefully.
Just before his fingertips touched the device, the candle flames fluttered again—an unnatural shiver of light.
Aoi stifled a scream.
Even Seikichi’s brows tightened.
Shūji started to say something, but—
Before he could finish, Sōma flipped the phone over.
The words glowing on the screen were terrifying in their simplicity.
Cold.
Absolute.
— “I’m watching.”
Sent once again
from the account bearing
his own name.
Sōma kept his phone facedown, eyes fixed on the candle’s flame.
“…I haven’t replied. And I’m not going to.”
The words sounded firm, yet a faint tremor hid beneath them.
It felt as if something on the other side of the screen
was holding its breath—
waiting for his next move.
Aoi whispered, barely audible, “Please don’t…”
Miwa only shook her head, saying nothing.
Seikichi murmured in a low voice,
“Never return the name of one who calls you…
That has always been the old rule.”
Shūji exhaled awkwardly through his nose,
but didn’t add anything.
Sōma drew in a short breath and leaned toward the candle.
“…That’s the end of my story.”
— Fff…
One flame went out.
The remaining four swayed thinly in the darkness,
and their shadows stretched across the wall—
warped, as if someone unseen
were leaning in to watch them.
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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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