This is fucked.
Everything is fucked.
Why did I have to come here? If I could go back in time, I'd punch myself in the face for even thinking this was a good idea.
For the record, I'm a streamer. My content is mainly ghost hunting and folklore. You know, the kind of stuff people watch at three in the morning when they can't sleep and want to scare themselves stupid. Today's story was supposed to cover a local legend—nothing too serious, just another creepy tale to get some views and maybe a few donations.
The Well at Tsukimi Shrine.
There's this small, forgotten shrine deep in the forest of Kisaragi, where the moon never seems to wane. Locals call it Tsukimi Shrine, though most refuse to speak its name after dark. I thought it was just superstition, the kind of stuff old people tell kids to keep them from wandering off into the woods. I was wrong.
Before the tragedy, the shrine was cared for by a gentle family. The father was the head priest, the mother a miko who sang old hymns to the gods of harvest and purity. Their only daughter, Sayaka, was a quiet girl—slow to understand things, but always smiling and humming. The villagers pitied her and often brought her sweets.
When Sayaka was sixteen, both of her parents died. Some say it was illness, others whisper it was despair. She inherited the shrine, and from that day, everything changed.
At first, Sayaka would talk to herself, kneeling before the old offering well—a deep stone pit that legend said connected to the spirit world. She began leaving dolls, food, and even small animals at the edge, whispering, "Mama, Papa, eat well, okay? Don't be lonely down there."
Then, one by one, visitors to the shrine started to disappear.
A traveling merchant. A lost child. A young couple praying for marriage.
No one suspected the soft-spoken miko. Who would? She was too innocent, too kind. But when the disappearances reached sixteen people, the police were finally called.
When they arrived, they found Sayaka sitting by the well, her hands clasped in prayer, murmuring, "Mama, Papa, everyone's with you now. You can smile again."
When the officers tried to approach, she suddenly laughed—a sound that still makes the locals shiver when they remember it. Then she jumped straight into the well.
It took the authorities three days to recover what remained. The smell was unbearable—a pit of rot and bone, black water thick as tar. Sixteen skeletons, their flesh melted away, tangled together in a foul soup that clung to the stones. And Sayaka's body, bloated and pale, her long black hair floating like seaweed in the filth. Her face was twisted into a smile—peaceful, almost proud.
The shrine was sealed off afterward, but the villagers say if you walk too close on a moonlit night, you can still hear the sound of her voice echoing from the well: "Mama, Papa, someone new is here. Let's keep them company."
That was the story. That was what I read to my viewers before we set out. That was supposed to be it—just a story.
But here we are, and the story is real, and I'm about to die.
.
.
.
There were four of us at the start. Me, Mike, Hiroshi, and Josh. Mike was my cameraman, a guy who'd been with me since the channel started. Hiroshi was the tech guy, always fiddling with audio equipment and EMF detectors. Josh was the muscle, the guy who'd laugh off anything and crack jokes even when things got tense.
We reached the shrine around midnight. The forest was quiet, too quiet. No crickets, no rustling leaves, just the sound of our footsteps crunching over dead branches and stones. The shrine itself was small, barely more than a wooden roof held up by rotting beams. The well sat in the center, surrounded by broken stone lanterns and withered offerings. The air smelled like wet soil and something else, something sour and rotten that made my stomach turn.
Mike set up the camera while Hiroshi tested the audio. Josh walked around the perimeter, shining his flashlight into the trees. I stood by the well, reading the story again for the stream. Everything was going fine. Normal. Just another haunted location.
Then the temperature dropped.
It wasn't gradual. One second it was cool, the next it was freezing. I could see my breath misting in the air. Hiroshi's equipment started going haywire, the EMF detector screeching so loud he had to turn it off. Mike backed away from the camera, his face pale.
"Guys, I don't like this," he said.
That's when we saw her.
She crawled out of the well.
Not climbed. Crawled. Her body was wrong—too long, too thin, limbs bent at angles that didn't make sense. Her skin was bloated and gray, swollen with water, and her hair hung down in thick, wet ropes that dragged across the stone. Her face was the worst part. It was split into a wide, toothy grin, her mouth stretched so far it looked like her jaw had been dislocated. Her eyes were black pits, empty and hungry.
She made a sound, a wet gurgling laugh, and then she moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
Mike screamed. He tried to run, but she was on him before he could take three steps. She grabbed him by the shoulders, her fingers sinking into his flesh like it was soft clay, and she bit down on his neck. Not a clean bite. She tore into him, ripping chunks of meat away, chewing with that horrible smile still stretched across her face. Blood sprayed everywhere, hot and thick, and Mike's screams turned into choking gurgles as she kept eating.
I stood frozen. My legs wouldn't move. My brain couldn't process what I was seeing. This wasn't supposed to be real. This was supposed to be a story.
Hiroshi bolted. He ran toward the shrine's entrance, but something grabbed him. A hand, pale and impossibly long, shot out of the well and wrapped around his ankle. He fell hard, his head smacking against the stone with a sickening crack. The hand dragged him back, slow and steady, his fingers scraping at the ground, leaving bloody trails. He screamed the whole way, begging for help, but none of us moved. We couldn't.
Then there was silence, and the hand disappeared back into the well, taking Hiroshi with it.
Josh finally snapped out of it. He grabbed my arm, yanking me toward the exit. "We're getting the fuck out of here!"
We ran. My lungs burned, my legs felt like jelly, but I kept running. Josh was ahead of me, his flashlight bobbing in the dark. We were almost there. Almost out of the shrine grounds. Almost safe.
Then she appeared.
Right in front of him.
She wasn't crawling anymore. She was standing, tall and crooked, her head tilted at a sickening angle. Josh skidded to a stop, his flashlight shaking in his hand. She took one step forward, her wet feet slapping against the stone, and then she laughed.
It was the same laugh from the story. The one the villagers talked about. High and childish and wrong.
Josh turned to run the other way, but she moved faster. Her hands shot out, grabbing his head on both sides, and she squeezed. His skull caved in with a wet crunch, blood and brain matter exploding between her fingers like a watermelon. His body crumpled to the ground, twitching, and she kept laughing.
I fell to my knees. My legs had given out. I couldn't run anymore. I couldn't do anything. My pants were soaked with piss, and I didn't even care. I was going to die. Just like Mike. Just like Hiroshi. Just like Josh.
She turned toward me, her head lolling to the side, her smile never fading. She walked slowly, dragging her feet, leaving wet footprints on the stone. Her voice echoed through the shrine, high and sing-song.
"Mama, Papa, someone new is here."
She said it again.
"Mama, Papa, someone new is here."
And again.
"Mama, Papa, someone new is here."
I grabbed a rock. I was going to do it. I was going to smash my own head in before she could reach me. Better that than being eaten alive. I raised the rock, ready to bring it down, when a voice cut through the air.
"Oi, you ugly NTR looking fat bastard."
I froze.
The ghost froze too, her head snapping toward the sound.
A man stood at the edge of the shrine. No, not a man. A figure. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black. His hair was long and dark, falling past his shoulders in loose waves. His face was sharp and pale, his eyes a strange golden color that seemed to glow faintly in the dark. But it wasn't his face that caught my attention.
It was the tattoos.
A massive black dragon coiled around his neck and chest, its scales shimmering faintly in the moonlight. Oni masks and wisps of smoke curled across his skin, the ink so detailed it looked like it was moving. The tattoos pulsed, faint red light flickering beneath the surface.
He stepped forward, his hands wrapped in red talismans that glowed like embers. They covered his knuckles and forearms, tight and deliberate, like boxing wraps.
"Ghosts shouldn't involve the living in their games," he said, his voice calm and cold.
The ghost hissed, her smile widening impossibly further. She lunged at him, her claws outstretched, moving faster than anything I'd ever seen.
He didn't flinch.
He sidestepped, his movements smooth and precise, and slammed his fist into her ribs. The talisman-wrapped hand connected with a burst of red light, and the ghost shrieked. She stumbled back, black liquid oozing from the impact point, but she didn't fall.
She came at him again, swiping with both hands. He ducked under the first strike, blocked the second with his forearm, and drove his knee into her stomach. Another burst of light. Another shriek. She twisted away, her body contorting in ways that shouldn't be possible, and lashed out with her hair. The wet strands wrapped around his arm, yanking him forward.
He didn't resist. Instead, he used the momentum, pulling himself closer and slamming his elbow into her face. Her head snapped back, teeth scattering across the stone like shattered glass. She howled, releasing his arm, and he spun, driving a kick into her chest that sent her crashing into the well's edge.
She tried to crawl away, but he was on her before she could move. He grabbed her by the hair, yanking her upright, and punched her again. And again. Each hit landed with a sickening crunch, the talismans burning brighter with every strike. Black blood sprayed across his face, his shirt, the ground.
She clawed at him, tearing through his shirt and leaving deep gashes across his chest, but he didn't stop. He slammed his fist into her face one more time, and her jaw broke, hanging loose and useless. She tried to scream, but all that came out was a wet gurgle.
He dropped her to the ground, placed his foot on her chest, and stomped.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Her ribs shattered. Her chest caved in. Black liquid pooled beneath her, thick and oily. She twitched, her fingers clawing weakly at the stone, and he stomped again. And again. He didn't stop until her body stopped moving, until there was nothing left but a pulpy mess of torn flesh and broken bones.
Then silence.
I sat there, still holding the rock, my whole body shaking. He turned toward me, wiping his hands on his pants like he'd just finished a workout. His face was covered in black blood, dripping down his chin, staining his shirt. But he smiled.
A calm, easy smile.
"You're safe now," he said.
I dropped the rock. My legs felt like they might actually work again. I forced myself to stand, stumbling toward him. I had to thank him. I had to say something.
Then I saw what he was doing.
He knelt down beside the corpse of the ghost and bit into it.
Not metaphorically. He actually bit into it, tearing off a chunk of rotting flesh with his teeth. He chewed, black liquid dripping from his mouth, and swallowed.
I stopped walking.
What the fuck.
He took another bite, tearing into the ghost's arm like it was roasted meat. Gore splattered across his face, his hands, the ground. He ate slowly, methodically, like he was savoring it.
I felt bile rise in my throat.
He glanced up, noticing me for the first time. He swallowed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and stood. He dusted off his pants, completely casual, like he hadn't just eaten a fucking ghost.
Then he turned toward me, still smiling.
"Hello," he said, his voice warm and friendly. "My name is Zion Qin. You're safe now."
The smile would've been reassuring if it wasn't for the black blood and chunks of rotting flesh stuck to his teeth.
I stared at him.
He stared back.
Then he tilted his head, confused. "Are you alright? You look pale."
I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
What the actual fuck did I just witness?