【Japanese Horror】The Hundred Horror Tales — Episode 29: The 30 Minutes That Were Missing | Haunted Kaidan Tales
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Episode 29 – “The 30 Minutes That Were Missing| Haunted Kaidan Tales” (Full Text)
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Episode 29: The 30 Minutes That Were Missing
A thin trail of smoke slowly unraveled toward the ceiling.
The room had grown just a little darker, as if it had taken in the light that had been flickering there moments before.
No one spoke.
Aoi stared down at her knees, saying nothing.
Sōma quietly kept his gaze near the edge of the tatami.
Shūji cleared his throat, a little too deliberately.
“…Shadows, you know. They can multiply however they want, depending on the light.”
He said it lightly.
No one laughed.
Seeing that, Miwa gave a small shrug.
“Alright, alright… guess it’s my turn.”
She spoke a little brighter than usual, as if trying to reset the mood.
“But honestly… this might not be the best timing after that last story.”
She paused, then lowered her voice slightly.
“This isn’t a story about something that disappeared.”
“It’s about something that didn’t.”
The air in the room grew heavier again.
“It’s about a friend of mine.”
She lived alone.
Single, independent, the kind of person who had her life together.
Not the type to scare easily.
One day, she casually said—
“Lately… something feels off in my apartment.”
At first, I laughed it off.
“Maybe you’re just tired,” I told her.
But the more she talked about it, the more it started to feel… wrong.
When she woke up in the morning, the cushions were facing a different direction.
The closet door she was sure she had closed would be slightly open.
The edge of her blanket would be sticking out from under the bed—
just a few centimeters.
Nothing you could prove.
Nothing you couldn’t explain away.
But it kept happening.
“For some reason… I hear noises at night,” she said, forcing a small smile.
“A faint… rustling sound.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Still, it bothered her enough that she bought a small security camera.
She placed it on a shelf so it could capture both the bed and the entire room.
“If nothing shows up, at least I’ll feel better.”
That’s what she said.
For the first few days, nothing happened.
Just a quiet room.
Her sleeping.
Time passing.
Morning coming.
That was all.
So she started to relax.
But then—
One night, while reviewing the footage, she noticed something.
A little past 2 a.m.
The room was completely dark.
She was asleep in bed.
And then—
The shadow beneath the bed… moved.
At first, she thought it was just the blanket shifting.
But it wasn’t.
Something pale emerged from the darkness.
A hand.
A human hand.
Fingers pressing into the tatami.
Slowly… a body crawled out.
It was a man.
A face she didn’t recognize.
Messy hair.
Thin.
He moved carefully, silently, as if trying not to make a sound.
Then he stood beside her bed.
And stared down at her face.
For a few seconds.
Maybe longer.
Then—
He slowly raised his head.
And looked straight at the camera.
For a brief moment—
their eyes met.
And then—
He smiled.
A slow, unnatural grin.
The very next moment—
The screen cut to black.
Recording stopped.
The screen was black.
The playback bar had stopped completely.
At first, she thought it had frozen.
She moved the mouse and pressed play again.
But nothing happened.
The recording ended right there.
“…Did it break?”
Thinking that, she went back to the file list.
That’s when she noticed—
there was another file from the same date.
The timestamp was thirty minutes later.
Her hands trembling, she opened it.
The footage began.
The room looked the same.
Still dark.
She was asleep in bed.
There was no sign of the man.
Nothing moved beneath the bed.
Just a quiet room.
And nothing happened until morning.
That’s when she finally realized.
The previous file had stopped at 2:17 a.m.
The next one started at 2:47.
Thirty minutes.
Exactly thirty minutes.
Too precise to be a coincidence.
And there was something else.
The camera wasn’t set to split recordings automatically.
It wouldn’t stop unless someone manually turned it off.
And it wouldn’t start again unless someone pressed it.
That night, there shouldn’t have been anyone else in her apartment.
…Except him.
Miwa paused there.
“Hey.”
She glanced around the room.
“When you stop a recording… where do you press?”
Sōma answered quietly.
“Either the device itself, or the app.”
“Right.”
Miwa nodded.
“The camera was on a shelf.”
Out of reach from the bed.
Which meant—
He stopped it.
And then—
He turned it back on.
The moment she realized that, she said she replayed the footage over and over again.
The instant the man looked at the camera.
That grin.
And right after—
the screen cut out.
There was no footage of him stopping it.
As if—
in the very next instant,
he was already standing right next to the camera.
Then the footage resumed thirty minutes later.
And when she looked closely—
there were small differences.
The edge of her blanket had shifted slightly.
The cover that had been on her shoulder had slipped down to her chest.
Her phone by the pillow had changed position.
Even her hair—
just slightly…
barely—
had moved.
“…What do you think he was doing for those thirty minutes?”
Miwa’s voice dropped.
Silence settled over the room once more.
She called the police right away.
Her voice was shaking.
At first, they thought it might be a prank.
But the moment they saw the footage, the atmosphere changed.
The man’s face was clearly visible.
No hat.
No mask.
The way he crawled out from under the bed.
The way he leaned over her as she slept.
And then—
that smile.
The police searched the room immediately.
They lifted the bed.
Underneath, they found—
empty plastic bottles.
Convenience store bags.
An old, folded towel.
The dust on the tatami had been disturbed in unnatural ways.
Signs that someone had been living there.
Not just for a few days.
Possibly much longer.
They checked nearby security cameras.
The man was there.
Late at night—
after she had come home.
Just before the front door closed,
he slipped inside behind her.
She never noticed.
He was arrested a few days later,
hiding in an abandoned house.
Unemployed.
No fixed address.
His statements were vague.
“I was just watching.”
That’s all he kept saying.
He claimed he hadn’t done anything.
And when it came to those missing thirty minutes—
he said nothing.
No matter how much they questioned him,
he only looked away.
But—
what was even more disturbing
was what she said afterward.
After the questioning, she spoke quietly.
“About those thirty minutes…”
“I think… I was dreaming.”
Miwa’s voice dropped even lower.
“I felt like someone was whispering right next to my ear.”
“But I can’t remember what they said.”
Later, when the police reviewed the footage again,
they noticed something.
The file that resumed thirty minutes later—
the camera angle had shifted.
Just slightly.
A few centimeters.
Barely noticeable.
As if someone had picked it up—
and put it back.
He stopped it.
And then—
he turned it back on.
On purpose.
“Hey…”
Miwa slowly looked around the room.
“Why do you think he turned it back on?”
No one answered.
“He could’ve just left it off.”
“No one might have ever known.”
The candle flame flickered, thin and unstable.
“…Maybe…”
Miwa gave a faint smile.
“Maybe he wanted it to be seen.”
That he was there.
Proof of it.
Deliberately.
The air in the room fell completely still.
For a moment—
it felt like something creaked beneath the tatami.
No one moved their feet.
The man was arrested.
That should have been the end of it.
She was called in by the police several times—for questioning, for procedures.
But she never watched the footage again.
“I couldn’t handle it anymore.”
That’s what she said.
The recording was submitted as evidence.
It was never returned.
So now—
that footage is no longer in her hands.
That smiling face.
That moment the screen went black.
Those missing thirty minutes.
All of it—
exists somewhere she cannot see.
Even after she moved,
she said she woke up in the middle of the night more than once.
A different room.
A different bed.
But when she woke up in the dark,
she would instinctively check the time.
Sometime after 2 a.m.
Around the same time as that night.
And then—
she would freeze.
Unable to move.
Wondering—
if something had come close while she slept.
If something was standing right beside her.
She wanted to check.
But she was too afraid to open her eyes.
“Those thirty minutes…”
she once said,
“I wanted them to disappear.”
“But they won’t.”
Even without the footage—
that time never left her.
What happened during those thirty minutes…
she still doesn’t know.
Miwa finally fell silent.
The air in the room slowly sank.
“…That’s why,”
she said with a faint smile,
“it’s not just the man that’s scary.”
No one answered.
“He was caught, right?”
She continued calmly.
“So it should be over.”
The candle flame flickered, thin and unsteady.
“But you know…”
“those thirty minutes didn’t disappear.”
Sōma said nothing, his eyes fixed on the flame.
Shūji didn’t interrupt.
Aoi unconsciously pulled her feet in a little closer.
“You know those moments you can’t see?”
Miwa murmured.
“Who’s to say there was nothing there?”
No one replied.
Maybe it was just the old house creaking.
Maybe it was nothing.
But for a moment—
it felt like a faint sound had come from somewhere.
No one mentioned it.
Miwa stared at the candle in front of her.
“…See?”
She took a quiet breath.
“Maybe you just can’t see it.”
And then—
she gently blew.
The flame wavered, stretched, shrank—
and went out.
A thin trail of smoke curled upward.
The room grew just a little darker.
The remaining flame flickered softly.
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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?
Follow for more:
• Twitter: @KaidanTales
• YouTube: @HK_Tales
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