The Round Hole Underground
Original author: “Scary Story Submission: Horror Teller” By: “Anonymous” Posted: 2009/10/20 18:04
This happened 17 years ago, during the winter of my senior year of high school.
Most of my memories from that time are gone, but over these 17 years, I’ve kept notes based on the fragments that remained.
I used those notes to write this down.
I’ve filled in or adjusted some of the details and dialogue to make sense of it, but I’ve tried my best not to exaggerate anything.
I grew up in a really rural area.
As far back as I can remember, we were surrounded by rice fields and mountains.
If we wanted to hang out, we had to hop on a scooter and ride about an hour into the city—karaoke was about the only thing we could do for fun.
Such a quiet, remote town—and then suddenly, in 1991, a facility belonging to a certain new religious movement was built there.
Even during the planning phase, there was major pushback from the local residents.
I remember my parents attending protest meetings on multiple occasions.
They apparently submitted petitions to the mayor and the prefectural governor, and tried to get the local media involved.
But in the end, the religious group presented them with a “certain condition,” and the construction was forced through.
There were all kinds of rumors and speculation around what that condition was, but…
The most widely believed theory was that the city, already suffering from depopulation, accepted a massive donation from the group—
and in exchange, the local government turned a blind eye to the outcry from its own people.
The religious facility was built on the outskirts of our town.
If I had to guess, the grounds were about the size of two or three Tokyo Domes.
Land must have been cheap in such a remote, depopulated area.
The facility was completed around the fall of my second year in high school.
Both my parents and my homeroom teacher warned me:
“Don’t go near that place.”
“Don’t talk to the followers.”
There were about eight of us from class who went to check it out.
The entire place was surrounded by tall walls, and there was a huge gate at the front.
Above both ends of the gate were carvings of terrifying faces—like some kind of demonic Hannya masks.
When the others saw them, they started yelling,
“This is bad! It’s some kind of satanic cult!”
“It’s a devil-worshipping sect!”
—laughing like it was just a game.
And from then on, at school, that place came to be known by weird nicknames like
“The Devil Cult” or
“The Hannya Group.”
Sometimes when we were bored, a few of us would ride our bikes around the area out of curiosity or just to kill time.
But strangely enough, we never once saw a follower or anyone even remotely connected to the place.
There was such an eerie lack of human presence—and no real incidents ever happened—
so eventually, everyone just lost interest.
By the time we were in our third year of high school, nobody really talked about that religious facility anymore.
But one day, one of our classmates—let’s call him A—suddenly said,
“Wanna go test our courage and check that place out?”
According to A,
“My parents told me there’s a cute girl who’s been going in and out of that Devil Cult building. She comes to our store every day.”
A’s family ran the only somewhat large supermarket in our area.
His parents, it seemed, were actually pretty thankful to the “Devil Cult” folks—
they were spending 20,000 to 30,000 yen a day at their shop.
A said,
“My folks say the people from that place are quiet and polite. Nothing scary about them. Let’s just go check it out.”
There weren’t many places to hang out, and all of us were bored out of our minds most days,
so we were like, “Alright, let’s go then!” and the test of courage was on.
The members were: me, A, B, C, and D (all classmates), plus underclassmen E and F.
Seven guys in total—nothing to be scared of with a group that size.
Everyone was pretty casual about it, not taking it too seriously.
We agreed to meet in front of an old, abandoned post office near the facility.
When I got there, A, B, C, and E were already waiting.
D and F never showed up, even after we waited for nearly thirty minutes,
so the five of us decided to go on without them.
We left our bikes near the facility and walked toward the gate.
“Man, it’s way creepier at night.”
“Should’ve brought another flashlight.”
That kind of stuff was being said as we approached.
When we got to the massive front gate, we noticed that one part of the building way inside the grounds still had a light on.
“Whoa, guess the cult people are still up.”
“Maybe they’re summoning demons or something, lol.”
We were tossing out dumb jokes like that when C said,
“Hey, looks like we could actually get in.”
Then A goes,
“I know a way. There’s a small gate if you go around the side—should be open.”
We were all like,
“A, why didn’t you say that earlier?”
So we started walking along the wall, turned a corner, and sure enough, there was a small door set into the wall.
A gave it a push, and it swung open inward.
It was just big enough for one person to squeeze through, so we took turns going in, all five of us.
After that, we wandered around the open area inside the compound, turning our flashlights on and off as we went.
We were whispering stuff like,
“There’s nothing here.”
“Getting close to the buildings might actually be bad news though.”
But honestly, it was too boring, so we decided to get closer to the main facility.
From the front gate, it was just this huge stretch of open land—like 100 meters of nothing—leading up to three large buildings lined up side by side.
I don’t remember them clearly now, but the design was really bizarre… totally unnatural-looking buildings.
As we crept around near the buildings, we came across a clean, well-lit public restroom building sitting by itself between two of the main facilities.
The whole area around the restroom was paved with pristine white concrete, and there was even a bench nearby.
A spoke up:
“Let’s take a break here for a sec.”
The rest of the guys were like:
“Huh? That’s seriously pushing it if we get caught.”
“Let’s just make a loop and get outta here already.”
I added,
“If someone sees us, they might call the cops. We’re this close to graduating—if we get into trouble now, it’s bad news. Let’s just go home, man.”
However, A sat down on the bench and lit up a cigarette.
“Alright, one smoke and then we go,” we all agreed, and sat down to smoke with him.
Then A said,
“I’m gonna hit the restroom real quick,” and walked into the public toilet.
B and C were cracking jokes like,
“Man, how’s he able to take a leak in some random cult’s bathroom?”
“If he drops a deuce, the devil’s totally gonna curse him.”
We were still laughing and smoking when, after a short while, A called out from inside:
“Hey—come here for a sec. There’s something weird in here.”
We all got up and walked over.
A pointed to one of the stalls and said,
“Look at this. What do you think it is?”
B said, “It’s a toilet, obviously.”
Then A replied, “Open the door and look.”
B, a little annoyed, muttered “What is it now?” as he pushed the door open.
Inside, instead of a toilet, there was a staircase leading down into the ground.
A grinned and said, “Weird, right? All the other stalls have toilets, but this one’s just stairs.”
That’s when we all finally realized something about this whole situation was seriously off.
First of all, A had been acting strangely the whole time:
He was the one who suddenly brought up the test of courage,
He somehow knew the exact location of that side gate,
And now, he was the one who just happened to open the door to this weird stall.
I asked him,
“Wait—were you actually gonna take a dump in here or something?”
A dodged the question with a vague, “Well… yeah, I guess so.”
Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he added,
“Wanna go down and check it out?”
Naturally, I refused.
“Don’t say weird stuff. Let’s just go home. If we hang around here too long, someone’s gonna catch us.”
But A smirked and said,
“Haha—what, you scared? Just a little peek and you’re already freaking out?”
He was clearly trying to provoke me.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was deliberately trying to lure us down there.
Thankfully, B chimed in too,
“Yeah, I’m not going either. Let’s just get out of here.”
But the other two—C and E—looked intrigued.
“Kinda sounds interesting, doesn’t it? Just a quick look.” they said, siding with A.
A, full of himself now, turned to us with a smug grin:
“Wow, you guys really have no guts, huh?”
He kept trying to bait us into following, but B wasn’t having it.
“Go ahead then. I’m not stopping you,” he snapped, clearly fed up.
So A shrugged and said,
“Alright, the three of us will go down. You two just wait here.”
And with that, the three of them descended the stairs.
B and I stayed behind, choosing not to leave the restroom.
The bathroom was sandwiched between the facility buildings, and there were windows all around—
we didn’t know which one might get us spotted, so we figured staying inside was the safest move.
After a while, B turned to me and asked,
“Hey… don’t you think A’s acting weird?”
I nodded.
“Yeah. Something’s definitely off about him tonight. It’s like… he brought us here on purpose.”
B frowned and replied,
“I was thinking the same thing.”
From there, we spent the next while quietly talking—
about the situation, about what we’d do if we got caught,
and how to handle it if something really went wrong.
After about five minutes had passed, both B and I started getting irritated.
“Isn’t this taking too long?!” I muttered, frustrated.
B chimed in,
“Should we just head back without them?”
But both of the flashlights we’d brought had gone down with A and the others.
In the pitch darkness, trying to find that narrow side entrance again would take time—
so, reluctantly, we decided to keep waiting.
Then we started to hear footsteps in the distance.
Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.
Multiple sets, unmistakably drawing nearer.
B and I instantly froze with tension.
In hushed voices, we muttered,
“Shit… someone’s coming. This isn’t good…”
The entire atmosphere shifted—thick with dread.
We couldn’t tell where the footsteps were coming from, only that they were approaching.
And even if we stepped outside now, we didn’t know the layout of the facility well enough to escape unseen.
“Crap... they’re getting closer... what do we do?”
B’s voice trembled, clearly shaken.
Inside, my heart was pounding like mad, but I forced myself to say,
“They might not be coming here. If it sounds like they are, we’ll find somewhere to hide.”
But the footsteps were definitely getting closer.
They were heading straight for the restroom.
That’s when B suddenly grabbed the handle of one of the stall doors—the ones that weren’t the stairs.
Locked.
He yanked the next one—also locked.
“Shit! Locked! Ah—goddamn it!” he hissed.
The footsteps were maybe 15 meters away now.
And somehow, I just knew—whoever they were, they were definitely coming to this bathroom.
I think B felt it too.
Both of us stood frozen in place, completely paralyzed.
B whispered, “…We’ve got no choice. Let’s go down.”
I replied, “Wait—seriously…?”
The idea of going down that creepy staircase was terrifying.
But the truth was, there was nowhere left to hide inside the bathroom.
And if we ran, we’d probably get caught. We had no idea where anything was in the dark.
It was a weird situation—late at night, inside some cult facility—and maybe our judgment was already slipping.
With the footsteps closing in fast near the restroom,
B and I slowly opened the stall door and crept down the stairs.
The steps were made of cold concrete. I’d expected a long, winding descent, but we reached the bottom after just about ten steps.
Pitch black. I couldn’t see a thing.
B, who was walking ahead, reached the wall in front of us and opened a door.
There was a room inside.
A few small orange bulbs dangled from the ceiling, casting a weak, flickering glow.
The whole room was bathed in a hazy, dim orange light.
B and I stepped into the room and quietly closed the door behind us.
We looked around—it was a bare concrete room, maybe around 15 tatami mats in size (though I don’t remember clearly).
Right in the center, something huge and circular was suspended from the ceiling.
It’s hard to explain, but it looked like a massive iron hula hoop hanging vertically.
This thing was so big, it nearly touched the walls at both corners of the room.
At first, we didn’t pay it any attention.
We just froze there in front of the door, holding our breath.
I whispered, “Where’s A and the others? They’re not here…”
B replied through a tense, twisted expression, “I… I don’t know…”
Then it happened.
Just as we feared, the footsteps we had heard earlier made their way into the restroom above us.
Footsteps echoed directly above us, reverberating through the concrete.
It sounded like there were about three or four people.
B and I just stood there, frozen in place by the door, unable to move.
We could hear murmuring—faint voices talking, but we couldn’t make out what they were saying.
It sounded almost like a conversation… or maybe each of them was muttering something under their breath.
B kept his head down the whole time, eyes shut tightly.
I had no idea how much time had passed.
To stay sane, I desperately tried to remember something funny—
an old comedy show that was popular back then, Bakushow☆Prestige.
I clung to those memories with everything I had.
At some point, I noticed that the murmuring voices in the bathroom above us had multiplied.
What started as three or four had become close to ten.
I started to feel like they knew we were hiding down here.
My whole body began to shake with fear. The endless murmuring was so creepy it made me feel like I was going to pass out.
Then suddenly, the murmurs stopped.
Clack!—the sound of two doors opening in quick succession. Then another clack.
I immediately realized those were the sounds of toilet stall doors opening. My skin broke out in goosebumps.
What if someone was inside those stalls all along?
I don’t know if B realized it too, but those stalls had been locked earlier.
So if they were opening now, it wasn’t from the outside…
It meant someone had been inside—and they were stepping out.
And then—I heard footsteps coming down the stairs.
That was it. I couldn’t take it anymore.
Whoever was up there was now coming down. It would take them maybe fifteen seconds to reach the bottom.
I grabbed B’s arm tightly.
The footsteps hit the midway point of the staircase.
B let out a panicked scream—
“UwaaAAHH—!”
He tore his arm out of my grip and bolted toward the back of the room.
And that’s when it happened.
As B jumped through that huge metal ring—
he vanished.
Just like that. Gone.
I was stunned.
He should have landed on the other side of the hoop—
but instead, he disappeared midair, like he was swallowed by the ring itself.
I wasn’t even scared anymore—
I was just completely numb.
I stepped back from the door and stood there, between the door and the giant ring.
My mind was blank except for one desperate thought:
I’ll apologize.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come in here. I really am sorry.”
That’s what I kept telling myself I would say.
And then—
The door slowly creaked open.
From the gap,
a face suddenly popped in—deliberately, almost playfully.
An old person—wearing something like a crown—was peeking in with just their face visible.
They were smiling from ear to ear.
I couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman.
They had long white hair and deep wrinkles, and that crooked crown on their head…
But the thing I’ll never forget was that smile.
It was the most sinister, twisted grin I had ever seen.
The kind of smile that made it instantly clear:
This is not a person you can reason with.
This isn’t even a person anymore.
There was something so wrong about it—something completely detached from empathy or sanity.
I didn’t want that face to see me, not even for a second longer.
“Ha-uh-hyah!”
Some ridiculous, pathetic cry escaped from deep in my throat,
and without thinking, I did what B had done—
I leapt straight through that massive ring.
[yokonaga]
When I opened my eyes, I was lying in a hospital room.
My head felt hazy, like it was full of fog.
There was an IV needle in my arm, and I was flat on my back.
It took me almost three full minutes just to sit up.
Out the window, the sky was painted in a soft, glowing sunset.
I was alone. A private room.
My mind was completely blank. I couldn’t think.
I just sat there, dazed.
I don’t know how much time passed like that.
Eventually, I heard the door creak open, and a nurse stepped in.
The moment she saw me, her eyes went wide in total shock—
then without a word, she spun around and bolted out of the room.
Even then, I just sat there, staring blankly.
A little while later, my doctor came rushing in with several others.
They were talking to me—asking me something, maybe checking my vitals—but
apparently I just stayed there, still dazed and unresponsive.
As more time passed, my mind slowly started to clear.
The doctor came to me and said,
“We called your family earlier, okay? You were asleep for a long time. But don’t worry. Everything’s alright now.”
What he said made no sense to me.
Even after waking up, I still couldn’t get a grip on time. Everything felt strange.
Eventually, a woman who seemed to be my mother and a younger girl walked into the room in tears.
They were both crying as they entered.
But that wasn’t my mother.
And my name wasn’t the one the doctor had used—“○○”.
The woman claiming to be my mother wept and said,
“Oh thank god… thank god…”
The young girl, sobbing, clutched my arm and cried,
“Welcome back, big brother…”
Then she broke down completely.
But I didn’t have a little sister.
I had an older brother, three years ahead of me in college—but never a sister.
I kept asking, over and over again, “Who are you? Who are you?”
But the doctor just told the woman—who was supposedly my mother—and the girl, “It’s likely just aftereffects. Give it time. He’ll remember.”
They both looked like they were trying to be strong.
The woman gently smiled at me and said,
“I’ll stay with you tonight, okay?”
While lying in bed, I underwent a series of tests. During one of them, I told the doctor,
“I’m not this ‘○○’ person. That woman’s not my mom, and I don’t have a little sister.”
But he just tilted his head and replied,
“Hmm… It seems your memory is still a bit... off…”
Then he said,
“You’ve been in a coma for nearly two years, you know. I think your memory just hasn’t come back yet.”
But even after hearing that, I couldn’t feel shocked.
It wasn’t that I was calm—I just couldn’t process what was happening.
The situation was so surreal, it numbed even the ability to be surprised.
The doctor kept trying to encourage me, choosing his words carefully.
And the woman—who claimed to be my mother—was bawling her eyes out, devastated that I didn’t remember her.
I told them, “I need to use the restroom,” and headed that way.
When I tried to stand up, though, my legs felt unnaturally heavy—like I hadn’t used them in years. I couldn’t get up on my own.
The doctor, the nurses, and the girl who claimed to be my sister all helped me to my feet.
As I walked to the bathroom, that night finally came back to me.
Strangely enough, I hadn’t thought about that night even once since waking up—until now.
I was terrified of going into the restroom, but since the doctor, the woman, and the girl all accompanied me and stayed nearby, I managed to step inside.
After I finished, I looked into the mirror—and screamed.
The face staring back at me wasn’t mine.
It was someone completely different.
I don’t remember much after that, but apparently I went into a total panic.
They told me it was bad. Real bad.
I ended up staying in the hospital for nearly a month.
During that time, I kept insisting to everyone—the man and woman claiming to be my parents, the girl calling herself my sister, the so-called friends who came to visit, even the man who claimed he used to be my homeroom teacher—
“I’m not ○○. I don’t know who any of you are.”
I told them everything I could remember—about A, about B, about my life and my memories.
But it was all brushed off as a symptom of memory loss.
They told me there was no such person as A. That B didn’t exist. That no one like that had ever existed.
They tried to convince me of that again and again.
And yet, they all treated me with nothing but kindness.
According to the doctor and the others, I had been found collapsed beside a bicycle on my way home from school,
and was rushed to the hospital just like that.
Every single thing coming at me from this world was completely unfamiliar.
For example, when they told me, “You’re in Kanagawa Prefecture,”
I had never even heard of such a place. As far as I knew, Kanagawa didn’t exist.
Same with the currency—they said it was called “yen,”
but I’d never heard of it.
Tokyo? No idea. Japan? Never heard of it.
That’s how it all felt.
Each time, the doctor would ask, “Then where did you come from?”
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t remember.
Even A’s real name wouldn’t come to me.
I kept repeating, “He was a friend, a classmate,” but everyone responded the same way:
“There’s no one like that.”
I explained the story about sneaking into the facility,
about going through that hoop—
I must’ve tried telling the doctor dozens of times.
But every time, he just brushed it off.
“That was all just a dream you had while you were asleep.”
But the most terrifying thing was…
I myself had started to believe it.
“I must have amnesia. My past life, that other world—maybe it really was all just a dream I had while I was unconscious.”
I was beginning to truly think that.
I even started to believe this:
“I’ve lost my memory, and someone else’s personality—someone from a completely different world—got imprinted over mine.”
Either way, one thing was certain.
I had no choice but to keep living… as someone else.
After I was discharged from the hospital, my supposed father, mother, and younger sister brought me back home.
“Do you remember anything?” they asked.
But it was the first time I had ever seen that house—
and the streets around it were just as unfamiliar.
I started going to counseling, determined to somehow adjust…
to this new life that had been handed to me.
Some of the words and information I encountered felt familiar, while others didn’t at all.
The names of prefectures or countries were completely new to me, as were all the historical events and famous figures they talked about.
But most everyday words—like “TV,” “newspaper,” “chair,” “remote”—those felt totally natural.
At first, I couldn’t get used to the family.
I spoke to them formally, didn’t like it when they washed my underwear, and insisted on doing my own laundry.
But strangely enough, at some point, I began to feel like maybe they were my real family.
I started to believe that my previous life was a dream—or perhaps a past life.
And once I started thinking like that, my memories of that old life began to fade.
The faces of my parents, my brother, my friends, the rural streets I’d known so well—all of them started slipping away.
It began to take effort just to recall them.
But that last night—the night at the religious facility—remained clear as day.
Especially the face of that grinning old man.
I’ll never forget that smile.
I eventually adjusted to my new life. The counseling sessions gradually decreased, and after about six months, I was able to return to high school.
At twenty years old, I started over as a third-year student.
I made new friends, and honestly—I was enjoying myself.
All the TV shows were ones I’d never seen before, which made everything feel new and exciting.
And since I was now living in an urban part of Kanagawa Prefecture, I clearly remember how much I enjoyed the fast-paced, city life.
However, about four months after I’d returned to high school, an unexpected connection between that world and this world appeared.
It was during summer break, while I was browsing a bookstore looking for a book for a homework assignment.
That’s when a particular title caught my eye—“○○○○”.
It was a book about religion. And “○○○○” was unmistakably the name of the new religious group I had infiltrated on that final night.
I was stunned.
And so I picked up the book and began reading desperately.
I quickly realized that “○○○○” was a massive religious organization in this world.
In the world I came from, it had been nothing more than an obscure, nameless fringe cult—but here, it was a globally recognized religious group.
After that, I bought and devoured several books related to the religion.
But that was ultimately meaningless.
No amount of reading would change anything.
It’s not like I could go back.
And it’s not like I could prove anything about my past to anyone.
Even if I told someone, they’d probably just say,
“You must’ve just dreamed about ○○○○ while you were unconscious.”
I didn’t want to burden the kind, caring people around me—my new family, my friends.
They were finally starting to feel at ease now that I’d stopped talking about my past.
I didn’t want to cause them more worry.
And the thought of going back to counseling was exhausting.
So I chose to ignore it.
I chose to live a normal life.
Seventeen years have passed since then, and now I’m just an ordinary office worker living in Tokyo.
So why have I decided to write all of this down now, after all this time?
Last month, a letter arrived at my home.
It was anonymous.
The contents of the letter read:
“I’m sorry to contact you so suddenly. But I know you very well.
And you should know me, too.
It took a very long time and a lot of effort to find you.
You are—or were—called ○○. Do you remember that?
I will send another letter soon.
Please don’t tell anyone about this. Not even your fiancée.
Thank you.”
The name they used—○○—doesn’t spark anything in me now.
But... somehow, I feel like maybe that really was my name.
Strangely, I didn’t feel fear. I didn’t feel excitement either.
It just felt… distant. Like it was happening to someone else.
And then, just last week, that same person sent a second letter.
To summarize, the letter said:
“The name you know me by is ○○. I’m sure you don’t remember me, do you?
It seems like… only you and I ended up here.”
And it ended with:
“I will be at ○○, in front of ○○ Station, on the 25th of this month at 7:00 PM.
You must come.
There is something I urgently need to tell you.
Please come alone.”
I don’t remember anyone named ○○, but I’ve decided to go meet them.
I feel like I have to.
Even if I don’t recognize the person standing there, if it’s one of us from that night, I think I’ll know once we talk.
I hope it’s B.
I have no idea what might happen, so I wanted to write this all down.
I’m planning to leave the same message for my fiancée and for my sister, who’s now the only family I have.
Thank you for reading all the way through.
The End
