【Japanese Horror】The Face That Was Forgotten | A Haunted Kaidan Tale
Beginning: The Shop Sunk into Night
On my way home from work, I noticed something.
Down a narrow alley just past the corner, a small barbershop glowed faintly in the darkness.
──Had this shop ever been open before?
No, I had known about it since I was a child.
But it had always been closed, even during the day, its shutter rusted and half-collapsed.
No sign of anyone going in or out, no hint of it being cleaned.
Yet now, behind the dusty glass window, a pale light flickered softly,
and a hand-painted sign hung there: “Open.”
An odd sensation gripped me — something between nostalgia and dread.
Before I knew it, my feet had carried me toward the alley.
I gently pushed open the small wooden door. A bell chimed overhead.
A faint scent of soap and old-fashioned hair tonic drifted out from inside.
“Welcome,”
came a quiet voice from deeper within.
There stood an elderly barber, waiting.
Though the light was on, his face remained hidden, swallowed in shadow.
“Please, have a seat.”
Without thinking, I sat down in the worn leather chair he offered.
I hadn’t planned to come in — but somehow, refusing didn’t even occur to me.
In the mirror before me, my reflection wavered faintly,
as if a thin film had been stretched across the glass.
Something You Shouldn’t Touch
The barber, silent, gently wrapped a white cloth around my neck.
Then, with a startlingly smooth motion, he combed my hair and began snipping with his scissors.
Chik, chik.
Only the rhythmic sound of cutting filled the still air.
There were no other customers.
No sounds of cars, no city noise — nothing reached this place.
It should have been comforting, and yet… unease prickled at my skin.
The barber’s face remained hidden, swallowed in the same shadow as before.
When I tried to meet his gaze through the mirror, he shifted slightly, as if avoiding my eyes.
It felt as though he were silently warning me: You must not look.
“It’s been a long time,"
he murmured suddenly.
“…What?"
I glanced up at him, but the barber simply let out a small chuckle, offering no further explanation.
Had we met before?
No — today should have been the first time I’d ever set foot in this shop.
I was sure of it.
The blades of the scissors grazed the nape of my neck, and I flinched instinctively.
Each time, the barber would gently tap my shoulder, as if to soothe me, silently urging me to relax.
Yet every touch sent a chill deep into my bones.
“You used to visit here often when you were little,"
the barber said again, his voice soft but full of an eerie certainty.
“…I don’t remember that,"
I replied with an awkward laugh.
The barber chuckled again, a low, dry sound that clung to the air long after it faded.
In the mirror, my own reflection seemed to blur ever so slightly.
As if a thin membrane was warping the world beyond the glass.
Chik, chik.
The sound of the scissors continued, unnaturally sharp against the suffocating silence.
Memories Stirring Awake
“You know… back then, too.
Your hair had grown too long, and you didn’t know what to do."
The barber spoke softly, almost as if reminiscing.
“Your mother was so busy with work.
She hardly had time to take you to the barber.
You used to cry about it, didn’t you?"
…That much was true.
When I was small, my mother had worked long hours,
and there were times I cried because I couldn’t get my hair cut.
But — how could this man possibly know that?
A chill slithered up my spine.
“You came here, remember?"
he said, leaning in close to my ear.
“All alone.
In the middle of the night."
──That can’t be right.
At that age, I wasn’t even allowed outside by myself, much less at night.
It was impossible.
And yet, deep in the back of my mind, something stirred.
A vague image, like sediment rising from the bottom of a forgotten pond.
A narrow alley at night.
The faint light of a small barbershop.
A figure, beckoning from within.
“You came to have your hair cut.
Right here,"
the barber whispered.
His voice grew heavier, wrapping around me like smoke.
In the mirror, his face remained indistinct,
but now, faint patches of deathly pale skin began to emerge.
His mouth stretched unnaturally wide in a slow, chilling smile.
“Think back.
You promised to come back to us."
My reflection in the mirror blurred further,
the edges crumbling, melting away.
It felt as if the barrier between me and the mirror world was dissolving.
The world tilted, warping around me.
Through the thin fabric of the white cloth,
I felt his hand press down heavily on my shoulder —
and it was no longer the hand of a living man.
It was cold, slick, and somehow boneless, like something dead and decaying.
“You can’t run away anymore,"
he whispered, his breath rotten and wet against my ear.
At that moment, the world went dark.
Trapped in the Mirror
I woke up.
The coldness of the floor seeped into my skin.
It seemed I had collapsed right there, inside the barbershop.
My head was heavy, my limbs sluggish, as if they no longer belonged to me.
Staggering to my feet, I turned toward the mirror.
──The face reflected there wasn’t mine.
The clothes were mine.
The hairstyle, the rough shape — they matched.
And yet the facial features were subtly wrong.
The lines of the cheeks, the shape of the eyes, the curve of the mouth.
It was like someone had traced my face — but imperfectly, carelessly.
My heart pounded violently.
No matter how I looked away, no matter how I blinked,
the reflection remained that unfamiliar, alien face.
“Welcome back,"
whispered the barber’s voice near my ear.
I spun around — but no one was there.
Only in the mirror,
the barber remained, grinning widely at me.
A creeping dread coiled up my spine.
I had to get out — now.
Before I realized it, my body moved on its own.
I bolted from the shop, bursting into the night.
I tore through the narrow alley, running blindly,
never daring to look back.
When I reached my apartment, I didn’t bother locking the door.
I stumbled inside, threw myself under the covers, and curled up, trembling.
Even with my eyes shut tight,
the barber’s grotesque smile remained burned into the darkness behind my eyelids.
I clutched the blankets, desperate to block it all out.
Breathless, heart hammering against my ribs,
I trembled, waiting for morning to come.
And somehow, at some point —
I lost consciousness.
The Face That Was Forgotten
When I opened my eyes,
I found myself staring at the familiar ceiling of my apartment.
Morning light poured in through the window.
For a moment, I thought it had all been a dream.
But that fragile hope shattered the instant I looked at the mirror beside my bed.
The face reflected there —
──was not mine.
The eyes were slightly smaller.
The bridge of the nose, the curve of the mouth — subtly, unmistakably wrong.
Staggering, I left my room.
Almost as if drawn by invisible threads,
I found myself heading toward that narrow alley again.
──I had to see it for myself.
I turned the corner.
And there it was.
In broad daylight,
the barbershop’s shutter was wide open.
Through the dusty glass,
the same pale, ghostly light seeped out.
The hand-painted sign still hung from the door: “Open.”
And inside — reflected in the mirror —
someone sat quietly in the old leather chair.
It was the face I had lost.
The “me" from before…
smiling gently back at me.
──I could never return.
My feet stumbled backward on their own.
Somewhere deep inside, I understood.
If I stepped through that door again,
I would be swallowed whole.
I would vanish completely.
I turned away.
Only the blinding, empty daylight stretched out before me.
Since then, sometimes,
I no longer know who I really am.
Each time I look into a mirror, I wonder:
──Who is it, truly, that’s reflected there?
The answer remains forever trapped —
behind the glass.
This story is a work of fiction. Please enjoy it as entertainment.
If your name and face were forgotten… would you still be you?
Let us know what you think in the comments.
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