Demon saga

A cold autumn night was when Yuki, a university student, finished her part-time work as a convenience store clerk. The streets of her small Japanese town were surprisingly deserted, and the streetlights were swallowed up one by one by a thick fog. On her way home, Yuki heard the soft sound of footsteps behind her. She turned to see a woman standing under a streetlight that flickered above her. She was tall and dressed in a beige trench coat that reached down to her knees, with a surgical mask on her face. Her dark eyes fixed on Yuki's, giving her the shiver. "Excuse me," the woman spoke in a melodious but haunting voice. "Am I beautiful?" Yuki stalled. She had heard of this question before—a myth from years ago about Kuchisake-Onna, the Slit-Mouthed Woman. But that was a myth… wasn't it? Attempting to remain calm, she forced a smile. "Yes, you are." The woman laughed and, with one quick movement, took off her mask. Yuki gasped. The woman's mouth was slit from ear to ear, the wounds deep and exposing sharp, glistening teeth. "How about now?" she whispered. Yuki's heart raced. According to legend, if you replied "no," she would murder you outright. If you replied "yes," she would cut your mouth to resemble hers. She was desperate to get away and shouted out, "You look. average! The woman's smile hesitated for a second, bewildered by the surprising response. Seizing the opportunity, Yuki took a handful of candy from her pocket—another technique from the myth—and hurled them at Kuchisake-Onna. The ghost stopped, her gaze glancing over to the strewn sweets. With this, her signal, Yuki spun on her heel and took off running. She pounded through the fog, her own breathing coming in quick gasps, until at last she hit her front door. Slamming it shut, she fell on the floor, her body shuddering. For weeks, she did not walk alone in the evening. She felt she was safe. But one night, as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, her blood turned cold. Standing behind her, in the fading light, was the woman in the trench coat. "Am I beautiful?" The whispers never ceased after that.