Kyotou-O
A few years ago, I suddenly remembered a certain village.
It was a small place I’d visited on a solo trip—there was a little inn there. I remembered how heartfelt the hospitality had been. For some reason, I just felt an urge to go back.
So over the holiday weekend, I drove out there alone.
I’ve always had a good memory, so I was confident I’d remember the route.
As I got close to the village, I looked for the sign that should’ve been there.
That’s when something struck me as strange.
I remembered the sign used to say something like “○○ km ahead,” but this time, it just said: “Kyotou-O.”
(Note: “Kyotou-O” is a distorted or corrupted phrase. It resembles Japanese phonetics, but its meaning is unclear and ominous.)
Weird.
A sense of unease crept up on me, but the urge to go won out, so I kept going.
When I drove into the village, it was completely abandoned.
Plants had overgrown the buildings.
As I reached to open my car door—
About 20 meters ahead, something stepped out of the weeds.
It looked human... but the head was huge.
What the hell?
Before I could process it, I saw more of them—dozens.
They started rushing at me with these unnatural, jerky movements...
Their arms pinned stiffly to their sides, their giant heads swaying from side to side.
I thank god I never got out of the car.
I slammed into reverse, floored it, and didn’t stop until I’d made it back to the main highway.
When I got home, I pulled out a map.
It confirmed that both the village I’d gone to years ago, and the one I visited that day, were one and the same.
But still…
There’s no way in hell I’m ever going back.
