Happy Halloween, everyone! Or should I say," Happiharou~in," as they say in Japan. As I've said in the past, Halloween (Harou~in) is a very interesting holiday in Japan. It has become more and more popular since the year 2000, and is really viewed as an opportunity for the busy working class people to drop their inhibitions and have fun in a way that would normally be frowned upon in Japanese society.
Since Japan is a very orderly, subdued culture, where everyone has a job to perform in an orderly fashion, one night of partying (for the adults) and cosplay is a welcome retreat for many people. There are many different aspects of Japanese Halloween that would be interesting to learn about; for instance, the crazy and time-consuming costume culture, the wide variety of sweet and savory snacks that come out around Halloween, or the charmingly strange "Mundane Halloween" parties that take place in office buildings every year. But I've covered a lot of that in a different blog post already, so this year I thought it would be fun to take a step back from Japan's modern Halloween and take a look at a good old-fashioned Japanese legend that is just creepy enough for the October holiday.
A huge part of Halloween is telling and being scared by creepy, hair-raising ghost and ghoul stories. And, while Japan doesn't have too many ghosts that operate solely on Halloween, it has plenty of scary stories that perfectly fit into the holiday. So, take a seat and listen. Have you ever heard the legend of Kuchisake-onna, aka the Slit-Mouthed Woman?
CONTENT WARNING: Contains descriptions of blood, gore, and violence. May be disturbing to some readers.
Imagine this: It is a dark, somewhat chilly, evening. You, a enterprising young student at one of Japan's top schools, have just left campus for the day after spending a few hours getting in some extra studying. As you start making your way towards the train station, you notice absent-mindedly that you are one of the only people in the area. There's a businessman decked out in a full suit and carrying a briefcase heading in the same direction as you, a rowdy group of party girls stumbling down the street towards the next open bar, and one other student who, like you, is heading home after a long day at school. It really doesn't surprise you that there aren't many people out at this hour of the night; in fact there's more than you expected. But it's still a little unnerving to see the streets of Tokyo so deserted. The road that you are on is typically full to bursting with people - hundreds, maybe even thousands, all trying to get somewhere in a hurry. Without this throng of people, the streets seem unnatural and too quiet, almost like a spell has been cast on part of the city. You're not afraid of big open spaces or silence, but both of them together at this late hour is more than enough to unnerve you.
On a whim, you quickly glance over your shoulder; there's nothing there. You knew nothing would be there, but you had to check anyway. You look towards the the train station; it's only a few blocks away but it feels like you still have miles to go. You've walked this route a million times; you know every inch of pavement, every street lamp and gutter grate, and you even know how many steps it will take you to get to the station. Everything is familiar. At least it was until tonight. In the dark, everything seems mildly sinister, everything has a shadow hiding behind it. Without thinking, you pick up your pace just a little bit.
A few minutes later, you're within a few yards of the train station. It's old and dimly lit, but you can still see the outline of its double doors and the stone archway that leads to the waiting platforms. You heave a slight sigh of relief; you're practically in the doors now and there's nothing creepy about the station. You've been there so many times that the ticket taker knows you by name and always has a bit of sage advice for you before you board your train home. Old Mr. Shinohara had always worked at the train station; you couldn't remember a time before he manned the ticket counter. In a way, he had always looked out for you when you were a young child and had rode the train all by yourself. The first time you had ridden alone you had missed your train and had been lost in the station for hours. You had no idea what to do and you were absolutely certain you were going to have to live in the station forever. Considering the fact that you are here, heading home, that obviously didn't end up happening, because Mr. Shinohara had found you, assured you that you were not lost forever, and put you on the next train that got you home in no time at all. Since that day, he had always been a close, somewhat fatherly friend whom you always knew you could depend on. You smiled to yourself as this memory came to mind; you hadn't thought about it in a long long time, because you had been too busy with school and extra studying.
You continue walking as you smile over these fond memories. You're so caught up in your own thoughts that you've hardly kept track of where you're headed. Just before the train station there's a somewhat narrow, yellow-lit underpass that keeps the road open even as another road passes above. This underpass is considered to be the beginning of the train station, so you've under it every time you come into town for school. As you walk you begin to pass through this bridge almost unaware of your surroundings; it seems just the same as it always has. The only thing different tonight is the lone woman in a beige raincoat who is also walking under the bridge close by the wall, barely visible under the illumiating glow of the underpass's floodlights.
You glance absentmindedly in her direction as you begin making your way through the archway. You can hear the woman's footsteps echoing around the close walls of the tunnel, each step a loud, shuffling gate that is only the tiniest bit uneven, as if the woman has one shoe that doesn't fit correctly and she's favoring that foot. Soon your own footsteps join in and make the echoing even louder and more resounding. If the woman didn't know that you were walking the same path as her before, she certainly knows now because it is impossible to miss or ignore the sound of your footsteps bouncing off the walls and ceiling. The woman has noticed you because, after walking for only a few more moments, she stops in her stride and turns to look at you.
The woman, who is short and skinny, has the longest, most unkempt black hair you've ever seen. She continues to look at you as you walk down the tunnel. She didn't just glance at you and then move on; her eyes are still fixed on you in an intense, somewhat searching manner. Her eyes, which are just visible above a clean white surgical mask, are a deep hazelnut color with the prettiest flecks of gold swimming inside them. These eyes watch you intently with a bright, happy expression, almost as if the woman is smiling at you as you pass by, and her grin is reflected in her eyes. She continues to watch you the entire time you are walking past her, turning on her heels every so often so that her eyes are always following you directly. You continue on, aware of this strange woman's gaze, but you try to ignore it. There's something otherworldly about her stare, and you'd rather not look at it head-on. As you pass by her, you can feel her gaze still fixed upon you, never wavering, constant, bizarre. A shiver jumps up your spine and you keep walking.
You are just about to set foot out of the underpass when you feel a light tapping on your right shoulder. Turning to investigate, you come face to face with the strange woman in the mask.
Her eyes seem to smile again, though she doesn't blink. The flecks of gold in her irises seem to sparkle in the light of the floodlights. She ever-so-slightly raises her hand and taps you again, and then she lightly lays her fingers on your shoulder. Her touch is so subtle that you can hardly feel it at all; it's soft like the wings of a dove and it has an almost ethereal quality to it.
You give the woman a puzzled look and open your mouth to speak but she beats you to it. In a quiet, almost subdued, voice she asks shyly, "Am I beautiful?"
She looks down at the ground, as if she's embarrassed by her question, but she never removes her hand from your shoulder. Taken aback by this strange and sudden question, you find yourself at a loss for words. Then, trying to get the woman to look up at you again, you answer in a stupefied voice, "Why, yes."
The moment those words leave your lips and echo against the walls of the underpass, the woman's demeanor changes. Her head snaps back up into a forward position, and she once again fixes her strange, bright eyes on you. Her grip on your shoulder tightens and her fingernails dig into your skin. You recoil in pain, but it's already too late. With her free hand, the woman reaches up to her face and, in one swift movement, she tears the surgical mask from her mouth, uncovering the most horrible sight you've ever seen in your life. Under the woman's bare face, now revealed, is a ghoulish, bloody, maniacal grin stretched from ear to ear. Jagged scars elongate her mouth and and send trickles of blood running down her chin and neck. Behind her slit cheeks, you see rows and rows of sharp white teeth also covered in blood and scar tissue.
Flinging the surgical mask to the ground, the deformed woman continues to hold you tightly. And she reaches into the pocket of her coat and pulls out a shiny, sharp pair of scissors. You fight as hard as you can to get away from the terrifying woman, but her vise-like grip is too strong. Her fingers dig into your shoulder, and you can feel her nails holding on tightly. You scream as loudly as you can, desperately calling for aid from anyone who may be nearby.
No one comes to your rescue; there's no one to hear you. Brandishing the scissors with deathly accuracy, the slit-mouthed woman wildly slashes at your face and throat, carving two jagged cuts into the sides of your cheeks. You can feel warm blood running from the cuts; you raise your hands to your face to shield it from further attacks, and your fingers and hands come away red.
The slit-mouthed woman grins maniacally as she twirls her weapon; her pearly white teeth gleam through her own scars as she inspects her handiwork. Her wide grin and flashing eyes are all you can see as you continue to fight frantically to escape. Those horrible eyes, that demon grin.
Finally, with one final tug, you manage to break free. Stumbling over the pavement, you make a mad dash for the train station. Your feet scrape wildly as you run for your life; you hold your torn and bloody face with one hand and, with the other, you reach for the handle of the double doors. You dare not look behind you.
You get one hand on the door handle, but at the same instant you feel a terrifyingly strong tug from behind you. In one final, desperate attempt, you fight back against the force pulling you, but it's no use. She has you. The slit-mouthed woman spins you around violently, forcing you to face her once more; her horrible face is only inches from yours. With one final, heart-stopping grin, she leaps upon you, knocking you to the ground while simultaneously plunging her scissors into you again and again.
You hit the ground hard and only have one more chance to fight back. You scream into the face of Kuchisake-onna. All she does is scream back, a horrible high-pitched victory scream. The last thing you see is the twisted, scarred face of the Slit-Mouthed Woman. Then everything fades to black.
*****
Kuchisake-onna, aka the Slit-Mouthed Woman, is one of the most terrifying Japanese ghost stories I've ever read. Full of gore, terror, and, more often than not, no happy ending, I think it's safe to say that Kuchiske-onna is one story that is more than scary enough for Halloween. While many people believe that Kuchisake-onna has origins all the way back in the 17th century, her story started being told in rural Japan around 1979. While there are many different versions of the story (i.e., that Kuchisake-onna was the unfaithful wife of a shogun and the angry man mutilated her face for her sins; that she was the victim of plastic surgery gone wrong), everyone agrees that the Slit-Mouthed Woman is an Onryo (a vengeful spirit full of rage due to things that happened to her while she was alive) who will always kill anyone unfortunate enough to cross her path.
And, what started as a spooky story parents told their kids to discourage bad behavior and sneaking out at night soon took on a life of its own. The story was passed by word of mouth from school to school until it was known all over the nation of Japan. It is still a popular ghost story today, and many people still avoid getting into situations where they might meet Kuchisake-onna.
I don't know if there's a moral to this story (maybe don't go out alone at night), but I do know it is very creepy and unnerving to anyone who isn't prepared for it. Of course, it's not strictly a Halloween story, but when else am I going to write about such a scary urban legend?
Happy Halloween everyone!
Stay safe out there as you're trick-or-treating. You never know who or what you may encounter....
