【Japanese Horror】I Was Chosen. Was It Love—Or Something Else? | A Haunted Kaidan Tale
The Perfect Boyfriend, the Perfect Days
I first met him at a work party.
At the time, he just seemed like a “nice guy.” But after running into each other a few more times, I realized I was drawn to him. Clean appearance, calm tone, always considerate—and he noticed even the slightest changes in me.
Once we started dating, he felt even more ideal. He remembered anniversaries, knew my favorite flowers, and would gently stay by my side when I was tired. He was the first person I ever felt truly “seen” by.
His name was Akira.
It had been about six months since we got together when he finally invited me to his place.
He’d always brushed it off with “It’s messy,” and avoided letting me in. So when he finally opened up like that, I was honestly happy.
His apartment was simpler than I expected.
A neat, minimalistic room with white and gray tones. Not a single thing out of place, almost no signs of daily life—yet oddly calming.
It felt… like Akira.
I didn’t suspect a thing that day. I left smiling.
The unease came a few days later.
After work, we had plans to meet, but he messaged saying he had to stay late for an unexpected meeting.
That’s when I remembered—I’d left my earrings at his place.
“I’m not home right now, but you’ve got the spare key, right? Just let yourself in and grab them.”
He said it so casually, like it was nothing.
It made me feel warm inside. Like he trusted me—really trusted me now.
I even picked up a small flower on the way over, thinking he might like it.
I unlocked the door and stepped in. The place was just as tidy as before.
I found the earrings by the bed almost immediately. But as I was about to leave, something caught my eye.
At the end of the hallway…
A door that should’ve been shut, the one he’d always said led to “a storage room I don’t use”—was slightly ajar.
He always locked that door. Always.
Had the wind pushed it open? Had he forgotten to shut it completely?
No. Akira wasn’t the kind of guy to make that kind of mistake.
Before I realized it, I was standing in front of it.
Just a peek. Just to see.
That’s what I told myself as I reached out and slowly touched the door.
Click.
With a soft sound, the door swung open.
What Lies Beyond That Door
The air in that room felt completely different from the rest of the apartment.
Dim. Still. Not a speck of dust, and yet… there was a strange scent.
Not mold or dampness—something more alive. Human, maybe. But not in a comforting way.
More like… something watching.
The moment I stepped inside, a chill ran down my spine.
The walls were covered in photographs. Dozens. No—hundreds.
All of them women.
Some were smiling. Some looked melancholic. Different angles, different expressions.
But as I scanned the images, I froze.
I was in them.
Wearing familiar clothes. Standing in places I recognized.
Some photos were clearly taken without my knowing.
Each one captured “me” more vividly than I remembered myself.
My heart pounded.
“…What is this…?”
I reached out with a trembling hand and peeled one of the photos off the wall.
Beneath it, notes were densely scrawled.
Oct 3, 17:46 – Smiling in front of convenience store → Emotional response: Good
Oct 7, 12:12 – Chatting with coworker in cafeteria → Jealousy response: Mild
Observation logs.
I turned to a notebook on the nearby desk and opened it.
Inside, pages and pages of detailed records—my daily habits, preferences, reactions, moods, trigger phrases, wardrobe patterns, favorite meals…
As if someone had been rebuilding my entire life from the outside.
A nauseating sense of fear welled up inside me.
But what I found next struck deeper.
A brown folder sat on the shelf.
Tabs labeled with names—women’s names. Not mine.
I opened it.
Inside: missing person reports, social media shutdown logs, final call histories.
Girls who… had been with him before?
A prickling sensation ran up my neck.
I turned toward a flickering monitor in the corner of the room. Multiple camera feeds played silently.
One showed me at a café with Akira. Another, reading a book alone in my room.
Footage from places he shouldn’t have had access to.
Places I’d been alone.
I wasn’t just being watched.
I’d been monitored.
For a long time.
I couldn’t breathe. My body shook.
I had to leave. I had to forget I ever saw this room.
Turn around, walk away, pretend—
“You saw it, huh?”
A voice.
Behind me.
Gentle. Calm. But absolutely inescapable.
I turned.
Akira stood there.
When? How? I didn’t even hear the door open.
He was smiling.
“So? What did you think? Do you understand me a little better now?”
That smile—it looked just like always.
But there was no warmth in it.
No human feeling at all.
His True Face
I stepped back. My throat tightened—I couldn’t form words.
Akira slowly took a step forward. Calm. Steady.
Like a predator patiently cornering its prey.
“It’s okay. I’m not mad,” he said gently.
“If anything, I’m glad. Now you’ve finally seen everything.”
He smiled and calmly turned the lock behind him.
Click.
That soft sound shifted the atmosphere entirely.
“I’ve always had trouble trusting people,” he continued. “But you were different. You don’t lie. Your emotions are honest. Predictable. Watching you… felt good.”
His voice was affectionate. Almost loving.
But the way he spoke… it was about control. Total, precise control.
“The girls before you were failures,” he said, tone dropping just a bit. “They all betrayed me. Secret accounts. Guy friends. Whispered messages to family. They thought I wouldn’t know. But I always knew.”
I couldn’t move. My back hit the wall. My heart pounded so hard it hurt.
There was no way out.
“But you, Yuri,” he said with a soft smile. “You were different. You were honest from the beginning. That’s why you were the one. Not just to observe—no, for something more.”
“To correct you. To perfect you.”
My body froze.
Correct… me?
Akira crouched to meet my eyes. His expression didn’t waver—but there was a flicker of something deep in his gaze.
A cold, flat light. Like something behind the eyes had stopped pretending.
“Remember the tea you said you loved? You didn’t actually like it, did you? But you drank it anyway—because I looked happy when you did.”
“And your hair… you started growing it out. Because I said it suited you.”
His words weren’t accusations.
They were observations.
And I realized with a chill—
I hadn’t changed.
I’d been changed.
“As long as you stayed within the plan, you were perfect,” he said softly.
“But now that you’ve seen this—there’s no going back.”
His smile disappeared in an instant.
His face went blank. Like a mannequin.
Emotionless.
Suddenly, something fell behind me with a soft thud.
I turned. A notebook had fallen from a shelf.
Its pages lay open.
Final Stage: Begin Memory Adjustment Process
Final stage?
“Looks like your memory’s a bit scrambled,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you sort it out.”
Akira placed a hand on my shoulder.
His fingers were like ice.
No Way Out
Without thinking, I shoved his hand away.
Akira narrowed his eyes—not with anger, but with a kind of clinical disappointment.
As if my reaction was a deviation from some expected pattern.
“Yuri… that’s not like you,” he said quietly.
“But I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.”
No. There was no more room to hesitate.
I had to run.
My eyes darted around the room. The door was locked. The windows—barred from the inside. An airtight trap.
But then—I saw it.
A small USB drive, plugged into a monitor near his desk.
Next to it sat a lighter and a can of air freshener.
I didn’t think. I moved.
I grabbed the USB, spun around, and tore the cap off the spray can.
Flames flared up between us as I sparked the lighter.
“Yuri—!” Akira flinched back, shielding his face from the sudden burst of fire and smoke.
That was my chance.
I bolted from the room, ran through the pristine living room, and reached the front door.
Locked.
Electronic. Of course.
But I had taken Akira’s phone.
While he was distracted, I’d snatched it from the desk.
Face recognition.
I held it up with trembling hands—
Beep.
Access granted.
The lock disengaged.
I flung the door open and ran barefoot into the night.
I didn’t stop running until I reached the nearest police station.
＊
When the officers returned with me to the apartment, I expected everything to still be there.
The photos. The notes. The surveillance.
Instead—
There was nothing.
The room was just a storage closet.
The computer—gone.
The USB—gone.
The names of the missing women—gone.
And Akira?
No record. No lease. No ID.
The landlord looked confused.
“Akira? Sorry, but… no one by that name has ever lived here.”
Six months.
I’d dated him for six months.
But now… there wasn’t a single trace he’d ever existed.
His Voice Again
It’s been a week.
I’ve slowly returned to my daily life.
I went back to work, smiled with my friends, laughed over small talk.
But sometimes, out of nowhere, it hits me.
That room.
His eyes.
His voice.
There’s no evidence left.
No proof that he ever existed.
I keep telling myself—maybe it was all a dream.
But there’s one thing I can’t forget.
The way his hand felt on my shoulder.
So cold.
That night, I was scrolling through my phone like usual.
Just browsing, killing time.
Then the screen froze.
A strange notification appeared.
“I’m looking forward to seeing you again. — Akira”
I stopped breathing.
My hands trembled.
There was no sender.
No account.
Just… that name.
I slowly looked up.
The curtain swayed gently—
even though the window was shut.
And there was no wind.
This story is a work of fiction. Please enjoy it as entertainment.
Are you sure your partner… is safe?
Let us know in the comments
▶ Related Stories
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…