Let's collect some stories that are too terrifying to even think about. 75
This isn't really a scary story, but rather a strange one. When I was in the eighth grade, a friend of mine suddenly said to me, "If you drop it, pick it up." I had no idea what he meant, so I asked him, "What?" but he just ignored me. After that, even my teacher told me, "If you drop it, pick it up." When I asked, "What are you talking about?" they just brushed it off with unrelated things like, "Did you say something?" It started to really bother me. So when my cram school teacher told me, "Hey, if you drop it, pick it up," I finally asked him what exactly it was that I was supposed to be dropping. To that, the cram school teacher just replied, "I didn't say anything like that." Even now, 14 years later, people still occasionally tell me, "If you drop it, pick it up." What on earth is going on?
I heard this story somewhere. Not sure if it's made up or not. One night, a woman named A-ko was out for a drive with her boyfriend. He decided to stop at a convenience store to buy some drinks, leaving A-ko in the car while he went inside. Well, 30 minutes passed and he still didn't come out. Losing her patience, A-ko went into the store to look for him, but he was nowhere to be found. When she asked the store clerk, the clerk replied, "That man? He bought two coffees and left 30 minutes ago." Hearing that, A-ko turned pale, jumped back into her car in a panic, drove away, and called the police. The reason? Both A-ko and her boyfriend absolutely hated coffee, so there was no way he would have ever bought any. To this day, her boyfriend remains missing. A-ko can't forget the look on that convenience store clerk's face.
I was an only child with both parents working, and on top of that, I was timid. I couldn't make friends easily and was always the kind of child who played alone indoors. Feeling lonely, I naturally longed for siblings and would play house while always imagining my ideal older brother. Gradually, I stopped just playing house—even when I was playing alone in the park or eating dinner, I would bring up my imaginary older brother and talk to him. My parents found it unsettling and tried to make me stop, but the habit apparently wouldn't go away. Eventually, however, I grew up and became more social. Now I'm an adult myself, with a four-year-old daughter and another baby in my belly. My daughter had been constantly asking for a sibling until right before I got pregnant, but then she suddenly stopped talking about it. When I brought it up and asked, "M-chan, do you think it's going to be a little sister or a little brother?" She answered, "An older brother." Thinking she just got the terms mixed up, I told her, "It's going to be born after you, so we call that a little brother." But my daughter looked annoyed and said, "No. Mommy's big brother is going inside your tummy. We used to play together before I went into Mommy's tummy." I remembered myself as a child and figured she must have been lonely too, when my daughter added: "Hiroshi-oniisan. He was always glaring at Mommy." I got goosebumps all over. The name of the older brother I had imagined in my childhood was also Hiroshi. My mother had never experienced any miscarriages, so Hiroshi-oniisan was definitely just a creation of my imagination. Without understanding what any of this means, I hold my belly in anxiety.
A memory of mine. When I was in kindergarten, I fell and got a scratch and was crying when a girl in the same class gave me a bandage. It was in a metal tin. There were about five of them. She told me, "I'll give you all of them. Don't waste them." When I got home, my mom asked, "A bandage? Did you get hurt?" so I peeled it off to show her. The injury was completely gone. I thought it was strange, but I believed in the power of the bandage. A few days later at breakfast, I noticed a crack in my favorite rice bowl. Being a foolish kid, I tried putting a bandage on the crack. ...When I peeled it off at dinnertime, it was fixed. I had a toy pushcart with a duck on it. The duck's head had fallen off, but when I put a bandage on it, that got fixed too. Just as I was realizing the gravity of the situation and thinking I had to use them carefully, our cat, Yaaya, was hit by a car. I put all the remaining bandages on her, covered her with a blanket, and skipped kindergarten to nurse her. I must have fallen asleep from crying so much. I woke up because Yaaya was licking my face. She was healed. There wasn't even a trace of a scar left. Tomorrow when I go to kindergarten, I have to thank Miya-chan. I'll say, "Thank you for the bandages." When I got to kindergarten, I realized something. There was no girl named Miya-chan. I had never seen her except for the time she gave me the bandages. Yet when I saw her, for some reason I just knew she was Miya-chan. Now that I think about it, the mother cat who died right after giving birth to Yaaya was also named Miya.
Back in the past, I frequently had a strange experience. Someone would tap the shoulder of the person sitting right next to me. The target was always a close friend sitting to my right, regardless of whether they were male or female. Sometimes it was just the two of us, and other times it happened when there were about ten people around. The funny thing is, it always happened the exact moment everyone looked away. Because of that, it always looked like it was my prank. I remember brushing it off with an "Oh, this again" when I was in the second grade of elementary school, so it must have been happening for quite a long time. It happened at a pace of once every two or three months and continued until my late twenties. Only once, back in high school, when a junior sitting to my right was tapped on the shoulder and turned around, both of my hands were full so I couldn't brush it off, and the junior totally panicked. That was the only time I was "caught" (if you can call it that). Also, occasionally tapping my own shoulder was a playful touch. By the way, there was no harm done, but there was no punchline either.
A story from when I was in the sixth grade of elementary school. I got into a fight with my closest friend because she kept it a secret from me that she was transferring schools. In the end, we couldn't make up before she moved away. That night, I went to sleep regretting that we hadn't made peace. When I woke up the next morning, it was still yesterday. I impulsively went to my friend's house, but I didn't make it in time. This went on for three days. On the fourth day, as I found myself crying, my dad woke up. Knowing he probably wouldn't believe me, I told him anyway, and he immediately drove me over. I just barely made it in time, apologized to my friend, and we were able to make up. I went to sleep feeling at ease that night, and when I woke up, it was properly tomorrow.
When I was about six months old, my mother suddenly woke up in the middle of the night. Hugging me while I was sleeping, she faced the empty air and started screaming, "I won't give him to you! I won't give him to you! Get out! Get out!" My dad woke up in a panic, shaking her and calling out to her, but she stayed in that state for about 30 minutes. It sounds like it was absolute chaos, with my mom continuing to scream and me getting scared and wailing at the top of my lungs. Eventually, my mom quieted down, and I fell asleep from crying so exhaustion. Just as my dad was letting out a sigh of relief, an urgent report came in saying that his mother back in the countryside had passed away. The next morning, my mom woke up with a blank look on her face, saying, "Eh? I didn't say any such thing." My dad told me this when I was in junior high, believing that his mother had gone out of her way to catch one last glimpse of her grandchild, but my mom had chased her away instead (apparently my mom and her mother-in-law didn't get along very well).
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