“It’s a sad story. The family came out here years ago when the brothers were young boys. They went hiking up in those woods, and the youngest got separated from the bunch. His mama went mad trying to find him. She slept out in those woods the first few nights, worried only for her son. Eventually, Mr. Emory realized his wife wasn’t leaving without her son, so he built a cabin in the woods. It’s still there, that old cabin. I think they’ve all moved into the big house and use it as a shed now. I ain’t never had any problems with their kind. Why don’t you settle in and I’ll have my boys check into it?”
Officer James called his men over the radio and told them to drive over and check out the Tabott house. He then offered me a cup of coffee and inquired about my own life.
His radio squawked. “Briggs to James, do you copy?”
“James here, whatcha got?”
“Not sure you’ll believe this without seein’ it…we got four dead bodies, two girls, a guy and…I don’t know what the hell it is.”
Officer James looked up at me. “You’re gonna wanna call your lawyer.”
My hands began shaking as I pulled out my cellphone and dialed my lawyer. Officer James stepped out of the office to grant me some privacy while I explained my situation to my lawyer. She advised me to not say another word and told me she’d be there by mid-day.
Officer James sent his men to find the other family members and told them to be cautious, as Mark and Jack were now suspects in a murder.
My lawyer arrived and stayed with me a few days until the cops had finished investigating the crime scene. She got me cleared of all charges, and I was free to return home to Seattle.
Before I left, Officer James reported that the creature had choked to death on a human bone and that the house looked ransacked. “We’ll be on the lookout for them, and we have warrants out for their arrests. But you should watch your back. You’re a loose end, Miss Smith, and criminals don’t like loose ends.”
“Thank you, Officer James. I’ll do my best to be careful.” I shook his hand and headed home to Seattle.
Despite missing my chance at the imprint, I ended up finding success in writing a book about the horrors I and the other girls had experienced that stormy night in Oregon on Tabott Hill. My publisher pulled out all the stops to promote my newest title, The House on Tabott Hill, and I began earning more than all my previous titles combined.
My first book signing in a local Seattle bookstore drew quite the crowd. The attendees were a diverse crowd of loyal and new readers. Tabitha helped promote the event with the local TV and newspaper, which I’m sure helped with attendance.
“Thank you for writing this story. I wondered if you could sign both of my books.” A young, beautiful woman held two books out to me.
“Sure, no problem. Who would you like me to make these out to?”
“Mark and Jack,” she answered.
I looked up sharply at her to see if there was any resemblance to the brothers who had held me captive. My heart beat faster, worry creeping in, though she did not look like either captor. Was this merely a coincidence, or had she read my book and was making a sick joke?
She looked at me innocently, awaiting her books. I quickly signed my name and chose not to write a message in case there was a connection to my captors. This type of paranoid thinking had become a new barrier in my life, making simple errands and tasks anxiety riddled. I took a breath and handed her the books. “Thank you for coming.”
She gave me a sweet smile and turned to leave. “Oh, I almost forgot!” She walked over and handed me a small box. “They send their love to you.”
Icy tingles ran down my spine as she left the bookstore. I stared at the small cardboard box with its pink bow in my hand.
“Tabitha, I need a ten-minute break,” I said to my agent who sat beside me. I hurried to the bathroom and locked the stall door. My heart pounded in my chest as so many emotions flooded in, emotions I had worked hard to push aside.
Who was that girl?
I lifted the lid of the box and gasped. Inside, laying atop a cotton cushion, was the fingertip of the monster I had met in that basement of the house on Tabott Hill. I closed my eyes, trembling at the memory of the hideous beast chewing off his own fingertip and lapping up the blood. Although I had escaped alive, the horrors of that evening would forever haunt me, and this macabre gift served as a reminder that I may never be safe again.
About the Author
D.A. Roach has been telling stories since she was a young girl in the suburbs of Chicago. In college, she met the man of her dreams, her happily ever after, and married him two weeks after graduating. They have three kids together and two pet cockatiels named Suki & Poppy.
D.A. discovered her love of reading and writing after college. Her preferred genres to write are YA/NA drama, romance, or paranormal. D.A. has a treasured collection of fiction that includes works by Rebecca Donovan, Larissa Ione, Jojo Moyes, Nicole Williams, Stephanie Meyer, and Richelle Mead.
Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/DARoachDA
Twitter:
http://www.twitter.com/daroach12books
Website:
http://daroachbooks.blogspot.com/
Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/juozupaitis
The Slit-Mouthed Woman
By Jackie Sonnenberg
“Then one day, her husband caught her in an act of infidelity. Filled with rage, he took a knife and sliced her mouth open. ‘Who will think you’re pretty now?’ he asked her, right before the light left her eyes and she bled to death. Now she haunts the streets as a vengeful and vain spirit, an urban legend that has been around for the past hundreds of years. They say she has long dark hair, wears a surgical mask to hide her scars, and a long, tan coat. She approaches mostly children or teens, preying on the young and vulnerable, to ask them, ‘Am I pretty?’ If they say she is, she will take off the mask and ask them, ‘Do you think I am pretty now?’ Mostly everyone is horrified and will scream and try to run away, but the spirit will reappear in front of you no matter what path you try to escape down. If you say yes again, she will slit your mouth open just like hers. If you say no, she’ll slice you up and kill you on the spot. They say that there are ways to outsmart and confuse her to get away alive. Some people answered her, ‘I don’t know’ or ‘You’re average’ and escaped, alive to tell the tale. If you come across The Slit-Mouthed Woman, what will you do?”
Yukiyo lowered her paper and smiled, looking to the class and to the teacher for approval. Most of her peers looked back at her indifferently, bored, or amused. Hardly anyone looked scared or even interested. Ms. Tanaka just nodded.
“Very interesting, Yukiyo.”
Yukiyo nodded. “They say someone who looked like The Slit-Mouthed Woman was seen in the 1970s and ’80s chasing children and slicing their mouths open. She was later found dead after being hit by a car, but people say that the spirit always finds ways of coming back, and I am here to tell you now that she is back.”
Yukiyo flipped the page of her report for effect, even though she already knew everything she was saying by heart.
“People in this very town have reported sights of a tall woman with long hair and a long coat, wearing a surgical mask, approaching children as they walk home from school. Her last victims were by the bus stop that goes to the marketplace…the one that everybody goes to, as well as the movie theatre. This very movie theatre! If we are being hunted and haunted by The Slit-Mouthed Woman, we all better be on the lookout!”
Yukiyo looked to her teacher for dismissal.
“Well, thank you, Yukiyo. Sounds like you did your research.”
Yukiyo turned her paper in and sat down at her desk. She tried to catch the eye of Chiyo for best friend support. Asumi made a snobby smirk and snickered behind her hand. Yukiyo sneered. Whenever Asumi did anything, it did not take long for others to follow suit. She sat back and listened to the rest of the paper presentations on local news stories, bu
t she could hardly pay attention to them. They were boring. Hers, though, hers was the best. Without a doubt. She kept telling herself that when it was Asumi's turn and that socialite goddess glided to the front of the class to steal everyone’s attention. They wore school uniforms, but she looked the best in them. While those uniforms clung to everyone else as stiff and heavy as tablecloths, they formed themselves to Asumi’s body in attractive wraps as though the materials accepted her more. Her skirt flowed around her legs like water, whereas Yukiyo’s just hung there in heavy protest.
Yukiyo told herself that her essay was better, her presentation was better, and her topic was better, even when Asumi mentioned the local fashion show. She repeated it to herself when Asumi said, to the immediate rush of excitement and envy of the rest of the class, she got to interview one of the models and included it in her paper. Yukiyo gritted her teeth as the chorus of questions flooded at once.
“What’s it like to be a model?” one girl asked.
“It’s a lot more work than people think,” Asumi answered with an air of knowledge. “But she said that I had the right body and look for it and I should definitely go out for modeling!”
With that, Asumi made a little pose, putting her hand on her hip and smoothing her hair. All the girls cheered and clapped, and Yukiyo knew that if they were at a co-ed school, she would be getting more reactions from boys. There was no doubt Asumi had plenty of attention from boys outside of school. Yukiyo sank in her seat while everyone praised Asumi, including the teacher.
Yukiyo took a big bite of her okonomiyaki at lunch, perfection in grilled pancake form with cabbage and fried egg on top. She was about to take another when she glanced down and looked at her thighs. Had they always touched? Had they always taken up the space of the chair like that? She lowered her food. Asumi's tray had healthier, less fattening options of plain white rice and vegetables. Yukiyo took a sip of water and crossed her legs, trying not to glare at the way the girls at Asumi’s table all wore the same shade of eyeshadow she did.
Chiyo joined her with her own tray and broke her trance. “I am surprised Ms. Tanaka let you do that,” Chiyo said.
Yukiyo looked at her. “Do what?”
“Your essay topic on the ghost woman.”
“Why?”
“Well, it’s supposed to be a real news story going on in the town, not a legend.”
“It is a real story,” Yukiyo countered. “It’s a local legend. People have actually seen her.”
Chiyo shrugged. “It just seems like a lame ghost story.”
“It’s not.”
“Why? Did you see the ghost?”
“No, but…” Yukiyo shrugged.
“Then it’s just a ghost story,” her friend said. “Do you really believe in that stuff?”
Yukiyo didn’t answer.
Later, after she finished some of her homework, she spent most of her night surfing the internet. The night outside her window almost turned the blue of dawn by the time she turned in. She was captivated rather than sleepy. She read the stories over and over and paid extra attention to those the closer they happened in history…and the closer to where she lived. She did not see any more stories that took place recently and was disappointed. She wanted more details. She read about a girl who encountered The Slit-Mouthed Woman at a bus stop. She answered the woman with her own question, “Do you think I am pretty?” When The Slit-Mouthed Woman paused to think, the girl got away and told everyone about it. She described the ghost as a woman with long black hair, a surgical mask, and a long tan coat. The shoe fit. It was scary to Yukiyo that it sounded like any other woman walking around the streets. She might have seen fifty of her, and any of them could have been the ghost. She fell into bed wondering if she ever walked right past her.
A day off school meant time to rest, and later for most teenagers, it meant time to go out. Chiyo rang while Yukiyo was drinking her third cup of tea at her laptop.
“We’re going to go shopping downtown. Want to come?”
“Sure.”
“Meet us at the bus stop in an hour. Oh, just so you know, Asumi decided to join us.”
Chiyo didn’t see Yukiyo roll her eyes, but she knew she did anyway.
“Usually she tries to mooch off of people who have cars, but apparently there is a sale at her favorite store at the marketplace that she just cannot miss.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Yukiyo said before hanging up. She left her house on foot, carefully noting the area around her, especially the people around her. She turned her head whenever she saw a tan coat or someone with long hair. What if she saw the ghost? What if she tried to get a picture of her? Yukiyo caught up with Chiyo already at the bus stop. Sure enough, Asumi was there too, centered with Hima and Miko giggling at her shoulders looking at her phone. Yukiyo approached the stop and greeted everyone but spent more time looking around.
“She was here too,” Yukiyo said to no one in particular.
Asumi raised her brow. “Who?”
“The Slit-Mouthed Woman,” Yukiyo answered. “She was seen haunting this same bus stop.” The others did not say much, but Asumi and her minions giggled to themselves. They ignored her for the most part when they traveled through the town. The group went into a clothing store, and Yukiyo followed but lingered behind like she was looking for something. Asumi and her minions busied themselves with armfuls of stuff and headed to the fitting rooms for a montage fashion show. The day was casual and uneventful until it was time to leave. Asumi apparently found something funny she did not share with anyone but her two friends. When they got back to the bus stop, Asumi seemed to have disappeared.
The girls backtracked. When had anyone seen her last? Had she gotten lost? Did she go back to the store? While they were all split up, Yukiyo headed back to the bus stop when she was grabbed from behind.
She shrieked and spun around to face her attacker, who just happened to be Hima.
“Yukiyo!” she cried. “Yukiyo! I saw her!”
Yukiyo’s eyes widened. “You saw who?”
“You know!” Hima hissed, leaning in to whisper. “The Slit-Mouthed Woman!”
Yukiyo gasped and looked around. “Really? Where? How do you know?”
“Shhh!” she exclaimed, full terror on her face. “You don’t want her to hear you! She'll cut your mouth open! I'll show you, but you have to be quiet!”
Hima led Yukiyo around the streets, avoiding the street their friends were down. “We should get back to Chiyo and—”
“What?” Hima interrupted. “You’re not scared, are you?”
Yukiyo swallowed the rest of her sentence.
“Besides, you’re the expert on this. Right? We could use your help.”
She heard the mockery in her voice disguised as admiration but was hoodwinked anyway and followed along. They passed the telephone poles in the streets, and Yukiyo kept her eyes trained on the ground to see if any shadows rose from them and turned into a woman. Hima led Yukiyo behind a store.
“She was here…” Hima said, raising her voice for a dramatic effect. Yukiyo did not notice her stopping to let Yukiyo walk ahead of her.
“Hima, where—”
Someone jumped right in front of her and screamed, causing Yukiyo to double back and scream even louder. She saw the girl’s face and the thick lines of red smeared across her lips and all through her cheeks. Yukiyo knew that color. It was too bright to be blood, and it was the shade that Asumi said didn’t match her new cardigan, so she did not put it on that day but apparently still found the best use for it. Yukiyo sighed while Asumi, Hima, and Miko doubled over laughing.
“Well? Do you think I'm pretty?” asked Asumi.
Yukiyo scowled while Asumi kept laughing.
“You should have seen the look on your face!” Asumi shrieked. Miko and Hima used napkins to help Asumi wipe all the red off her face. Yukiyo stood there while they put a group effort in cleaning her face up, using water from a water bottle. They both left her lips untouched, still
suggesting the red of blood. As though on cue, Hima and Miko took out their own lipstick tubes and added their own colors, all different shades of red, three roses distracting you from their thorns.
“Oh, don’t be mad! It was just a joke!” Asumi insisted, because Asumi was always right. “Come on, I see Chiyo already waiting at the bus stop.”
Chiyo.
Yukiyo at once thought she was in on it too, that they all set her up, but she saw the look on her friend’s face when she approached her at the bus stop.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Yukiyo said dismissively. “They can be so immature.”
Yukiyo’s search engine saved all of her previous searches, so all she had to do was scroll down. She started reading another article that was titled “Kuchisake-onna”- The Slit-Mouthed Woman.
She mostly looked for things that had a better back story, interested in how the woman came to be. Yukiyo found that the Kuchisake-onna might have come from the Heian period of Japan from about 794-1185. Kuchisake-onna was the wife of a samurai warrior in one story. One thing was for certain: she was beautiful, with long, flowing hair, and she was very vain, a lady who carried herself well and prided herself on her looks. Yukiyo looked at the pictures of her when she was alive and pictures of her ghost form with her scars.
“Am I pretty?”
Yukiyo imagined the picture on the internet asking her right then and there.
Yes, Yukiyo thought back. Of course you are.
She saw the woman’s face for what it was: wronged and victimized.
It wasn’t your fault.
Yukiyo imagined that the Kuchisake-onna was not caught in the act of infidelity but love. She read about arranged marriages and thought they must have been common, especially in that timeframe. How horrible that must be. How could anyone be forced to marry someone they didn’t love? Pictures of the Kuchisake-onna showed her as an elegant lady whose smile told one story while her eyes told another. She might have shown her husband and the world one side of her but her lover the real her.
13 Night Terrors Page 31