【Japanese Horror】The Hundred Horror Tales — Episode 44: The Woman Who Never Changed | Haunted Kaidan Tales
Listen to the Full Episode
Listen to the horror story with narration and sound on Spotify.
Episode 44 – “The Woman Who Never Changed| Haunted Kaidan Tales” (Full Text)
Prefer reading? Here’s the complete text of Episode44.
Episode 44 The Woman Who Never Changed
A thin trail of smoke slowly rose toward the ceiling.
The wick of the candle, just extinguished, still glowed faintly red.
No one spoke right away.
Aoi sat hugging her knees, giving a slightly embarrassed smile.
“But still…”
“Becoming a high school student in a dream… that’s kind of weird, right?”
Shūji shrugged.
“Could be a dream of the future.”
“Maybe that’s you a few years from now.”
“Don’t say that.”
Aoi frowned.
“That’d be scary if it turned out to be true.”
Sōma, watching the candlelight, spoke quietly.
“Time is strange, isn’t it?”
Miwa tilted her head.
“Time?”
“It’s supposed to flow the same for everyone,” Sōma continued,
“But sometimes… it feels different depending on the person.”
Shūji let out a small laugh.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re getting philosophical all of a sudden.”
It was then—
Seikichi, who had been silent until now, slowly began to speak.
“Time, hm…”
His voice was low.
Naturally, everyone turned to look at him.
He kept his eyes on the candle as he spoke.
“A long time ago…”
“Something strange happened.”
He paused.
“It was when I was still young.”
“There was a heavy rain.”
“The river overflowed.”
That year, the rain just wouldn’t stop.
Water from the mountains rushed down all at once,
and the river swelled again and again.
The muddy current roared as it rushed past.
Branches, grass, anything from upstream
kept drifting down.
We all gathered by the river.
Fixing the broken embankments,
clearing whatever had washed in.
Our boots sank into the mud,
our clothes soaked through in no time.
The river was still raging.
The muddy water growled as it flowed.
Then—
“Hey!”
someone shouted.
“There’s something caught over there!”
We all turned.
At first, I thought it was driftwood.
But something felt off.
It was stuck on a branch near the bank,
pushed there by the current.
It was a person.
A few of us climbed down and pulled it closer.
A man.
I didn’t recognize him.
Not from this village.
His clothes clung to him, heavy with water.
His face was pale.
“Probably from upstream,” someone said.
“Must’ve been swept away.”
I stood a little back, watching.
Then one of the men frowned.
“…Huh?”
The man’s hand was tightly clenched.
He was holding something.
“What’s this?”
We pried his fingers open.
Inside was a crumpled piece of paper,
darkened from the water.
Someone carefully unfolded it.
“…It’s a photo.”
An old black-and-white photograph.
Wet. Wrinkled.
Barely holding its shape.
In it, a man and a woman stood side by side.
Holding hands.
Like a married couple.
One of the men looked at the corpse, then at the photo.
“…That’s him.”
“Same face.”
The man in the photograph
was the same as the body.
But—
There was something else
that caught my attention.
The woman in the photograph.
The image was too distorted to see clearly.
And yet—
If you looked closely—
She seemed to be
faintly smiling.
Everyone there kept staring at the photograph for a while.
All we could hear was the river.
The muddy water roared as it rushed past.
“Maybe they were a couple,” someone muttered.
“Travelers, maybe.”
“Could’ve been swept down from upstream.”
That’s what we said.
We reported the body to the village office that same day,
and the police came not long after.
Word was sent to the villages upstream,
but no one could identify him.
Back then, people didn’t carry much that could prove who they were.
Bodies drifting down a river—
it wasn’t something unheard of.
So in the end,
the matter just… faded away.
—or at least, it should have.
About three days later,
the rain had eased,
but the river was still muddy.
We went back again,
checking the banks, clearing debris.
I was there too.
The current was still fast,
the water still thick and dark.
Then—
“Hey.”
Someone called out.
“There’s something caught again.”
At first,
I thought it was just driftwood.
But as we got closer,
something felt wrong.
It was caught on a branch near the bank,
pressed there by the current.
“…It’s a person.”
Someone said it under their breath.
The air grew heavy.
Some of us just sighed—
not surprised anymore.
A few men climbed down
and pulled the body closer.
Another man.
Not from this village.
His clothes clung to him, soaked through.
“Probably got swept away too,”
someone said.
Then—
one of the men lifting the body stopped.
“…Wait.”
“What is it?”
“He’s holding something.”
We all looked.
His hand was tightly clenched.
We pried his fingers open, one by one.
Inside was a crumpled piece of paper.
Dark. Soaked.
“…Another photo.”
someone muttered.
We carefully unfolded it.
A black-and-white photograph.
Wrinkled. Water-stained.
But still—
clear enough.
A man and a woman stood side by side.
Holding hands.
Just like before.
“…Again?”
someone said quietly.
We all remembered.
The first body had one too.
For a moment,
no one spoke.
Then—
the man holding the photo went silent.
“…Hey.”
His voice had changed.
“What?”
He didn’t look away from the photograph.
“This woman…”
He tilted his head slightly.
“…Don’t you feel like you’ve seen her before?”
A few of us leaned in.
The photo was blurred,
creased from the water.
Her face wasn’t clear.
And yet—
“…Isn’t that the same woman?”
someone whispered.
No one answered right away.
We all looked again.
And again.
That woman—
standing there beside the man—
looked exactly the same
as the one in the first photograph.
And just like before—
she seemed to be
faintly smiling.
That story started to spread a little around the village.
“Apparently, it’s the same woman in the photo,”
someone said.
But no one really took it seriously.
The photograph was soaked, black-and-white.
You couldn’t even see the face clearly.
“Just imagining things,”
someone said.
“There are plenty of people who look alike.”
We all laughed it off like that.
And at the time,
I thought the same.
Bodies drifting down the river weren’t all that unusual.
And the photo was crumpled beyond recognition.
It wouldn’t have been strange if we were mistaken.
So I thought
that story would fade away just like the rest.
—but it didn’t.
It happened again.
Four or five days later.
The rain had stopped,
but the river was still muddy.
That day,
I went to check the river alone.
Just to see how the embankment was holding up.
Branches and debris still got caught there often.
I had just reached near the bridge
when I noticed something dark
at the edge of the current.
At first,
I thought it was driftwood.
But something about it felt wrong.
It moved slowly,
turning in the water.
I narrowed my eyes.
And then—
I realized it was a body.
A faint unease
stirred in my chest.
“…Again.”
I muttered under my breath.
I climbed down toward the riverbank.
The muddy water rushed past my feet.
The body was easy to pull in.
Another man.
Someone I didn’t know.
Not from this village.
His clothes clung heavily to him, soaked through.
I frowned slightly.
Then—
I noticed his hand.
It was tightly clenched.
I crouched down
and pried his fingers open, one by one.
Inside—
was a crumpled photograph.
Black-and-white.
Darkened from the water.
I slowly unfolded it.
The wet paper opened with a faint resistance.
There they were again.
A man and a woman
standing side by side.
Holding hands.
Like a couple.
I stared at it.
For a moment,
I didn’t move.
Then—
something in my chest turned cold.
That woman.
The one in the photograph.
She looked the same—
as the woman I had seen before.
The image was distorted,
wrinkled beyond clarity.
But still—
the shape of her face,
her hair,
the way she stood—
And more than anything—
That faint smile.
It was the same.
She was smiling
just like before.
And after that—
people in the village gradually stopped talking about the river.
Life returned to normal.
And I…
I completely forgot about the woman in that photograph.
—It must have been about ten years later.
Someone in the village said it quietly.
“They found another body in the river.”
At first,
I didn’t think much of it.
Accidents like that weren’t unusual.
But then—
I heard something.
They said
the body had been holding a photograph.
Clutched tightly in its hand.
When I heard that,
something came back to me.
…Something like this had happened before.
So later,
I asked about the photograph.
They told me—
this time,
it was in color.
And the woman in it—
was the same.
The same face
as the one I had seen before.
Even after ten years—
she hadn’t changed at all.
Seikichi stopped speaking there.
The room fell silent.
The candle flame flickered softly.
No one spoke right away.
After a moment,
Shūji muttered,
“…So what was that woman?”
Seikichi tilted his head slightly.
“Who knows.”
“I don’t know either.”
He said, still watching the flame.
“Whether she was a spirit…”
“Or something else.”
He paused.
“Or maybe—”
He gave a small shrug.
“…a woman who bends time itself.”
No one laughed.
The candle flame swayed gently.
Seikichi let out a quiet breath.
“Well…”
“If they find another body in that river someday…”
“And it’s holding a photograph again…”
He gave a faint smile.
“…I suppose she’ll be there too.”
With that,
he reached toward the candle.
He took a small breath.
—fuh.
The flame trembled for a moment,
then quietly went out.
A thin trail of white smoke
rose slowly toward the ceiling.
Another candle
was gone.
Next Episode
New episode drops on Saturday May 30.
📖 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!