In the bone-chilling horror story “The 1986 Kobe Middle School Murders,” 14-year-old Michiko Yamada faces a nightmarish encounter in the blood-soaked bathrooms of Kobe Middle School in 1986. Alone after a grueling tutoring session, she hears a sinister whisper from the cursed fourth stall, drawing her into the terrifying Aka Manto legend, a Japanese urban myth dripping with gore and dread. This haunting horror story blends visceral terror, psychological suspense, and unrelenting supernatural horror, pulling readers into a world where a single choice could lead to a gruesome end.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: The Stall’s Whisper
The third-floor girls’ bathroom at Kobe Middle School reeked of mildew, rust, and something fouler—a sickly sweet decay that clung to the back of the throat. It was November 12, 1986, 6:03 p.m., and Michiko Yamada, 14, sat hunched in the third stall, her knees drawn tight against her chest.
Her oversized glasses fogged with each shaky breath, her braids trembling as she clutched her worn schoolbag. Michiko was no stranger to struggle—her mother, a factory worker, scraped by to afford her uniform, and her classmates mocked her faded clothes.
But Michiko was a fighter, small but fierce, her sharp tongue a shield against their taunts. Tonight, though, she wasn’t fighting peers; she was hiding from failure. Math tutoring had dragged on, her grades slipping like sand through her fingers, and the bathroom was her refuge from the tutor’s disappointed sighs.
The school after hours was a different beast. The hallways, alive with chatter during the day, now lay silent, their shadows pooling like spilled ink. The air felt heavy, pressing against Michiko’s skin, carrying a metallic tang—like blood left to fester.
Downstairs, a janitor’s mop sloshed faintly, but up here, on the deserted third floor, it was just her and the flickering fluorescent lights, buzzing like dying flies. She stood, smoothing her skirt, and stepped toward the sink, her sneakers squeaking on the slick tiles.
The mirror showed a pale girl, eyes wide with exhaustion, her reflection distorted by a crack that split her face in two.
As she turned on the tap, icy water stung her hands. She reached for a paper towel, her fingers brushing the dispenser, when a voice rasped from the fourth stall—the one kids called cursed: “Shall we wear the red vest or the blue vest?”
The sound wasn’t human—it gurgled, wet and deep, like a throat choking on its own blood. Michiko froze, her heart slamming against her ribs, loud enough to drown the faucet’s drip-drip-drip. She spun, her breath catching. The first three stalls gaped open, their doors swaying as if nudged by an unseen hand.
But the fourth… its lock glowed red, engaged, and a shadow writhed behind the crack, too tall, too wrong.
“Red vest or blue vest?” the voice hissed again, sharper, slicing into her mind.
“Who’s there?” Michiko snapped, her voice trembling but defiant. She’d faced bullies before—kids who shoved her, stole her lunch—but this was no prank.
The air thickened, heavy with that coppery stench, now so strong it made her gag. She edged closer, her fists clenched, refusing to cower. “Show yourself!”
The stall door creaked, inching open to reveal a void—pure black, swallowing the light. A wet drip echoed, and something dark oozed from under the door, pooling on the tiles, thick and glistening. Blood. Michiko’s stomach lurched, her sneakers slipping as she backed away. The voice growled, low and deliberate: “Choose… or I’ll choose for you.”
Her mind raced. She knew the Aka Manto legend—every student did. Red meant slashed to pieces, blue meant choked to death. Her friend Haru had whispered it over lunch: “Don’t answer, Michiko, or you’re dead!” She’d laughed, calling it nonsense, but now, the dripping grew louder—plop, plop—and the air felt alive, crawling with malice.
“I’m not scared!” she lied, her voice cracking. “Leave me alone!”
A chuckle slithered from the stall, wet and guttural, like bones grinding in a throat. “No escape,” it said. “Choose.”
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Chapter 2: The Flesh Unravels
Michiko’s legs screamed to run, but fear rooted her to the tiles. The blood puddle spread, lapping at her sneakers, its warmth seeping through the canvas. Her glasses fogged completely, blurring the bathroom into a haze of shadows and red.
She remembered Haru’s nervous giggle: “Say a different color—trick it!” It was a desperate plan, but the alternative was answering Aka Manto’s question, and she knew what that meant—skin flayed, throat crushed, no way out.
“Green!” she shouted, her voice raw. “Green vest!”
Silence fell, heavy as a grave. Then, with a deafening BANG, the stall door slammed shut. The lights blinked out, plunging the bathroom into darkness so thick it felt like drowning.
A howl tore through the silence—not wind, not human, but a scream of rage and hunger that clawed at her ears. Michiko stumbled, crashing into the sink, her glasses flying off and skittering across the floor.
Her hands scrabbled in the dark, brushing something wet—sticky, warm, like flesh peeled raw. The stench hit harder: rotting meat, iron, decay so thick it coated her tongue.
She gagged, bile burning her throat, and fumbled for her bag, her fingers slipping in the slickness. The lights flickered back, dim and sickly yellow, revealing the horror. The fourth stall door hung open, and inside—God, no—something crouched.
A figure in a tattered red cloak, its mask blank, eyeless, dripping blood from jagged edges where its neck should’ve been. Its hands were claws, glistening with gore, clutching a green vest—Michiko’s vest, torn from her bag, now shredded and soaked red, chunks of flesh clinging to the fabric like maggots.
Michiko screamed, her voice ripping her throat raw. The thing lurched forward, its cloak dragging through the blood, leaving smears like a butcher’s floor. Flesh peeled from its arms in wet strips, exposing bone that gleamed sickly white.
Its mask tilted, as if sniffing her fear, and a gurgling laugh bubbled up, spraying blood across the tiles. Michiko scrambled back, her palms sliding in the gore, her sneakers squeaking as she kicked to stand. The thing’s claws scraped closer—scritch, scritch—tearing gouges in the floor.
She bolted, her shoulder slamming into the door. It gave way, and she tumbled into the hallway, the air cold and sharp against her sweat-soaked skin. Behind her, the bathroom door slammed shut with a boom, muffling a final, guttural snarl: “Green… wasn’t enough.”
Michiko ran, her breaths sobbing, her glasses gone, the hallway a blur of lockers and shadows. She didn’t stop until she reached the school’s entrance, collapsing against the glass doors, her hands leaving bloody prints.
Her vest was missing, her bag abandoned, and her mind screamed one truth: Aka Manto was real, and it had tasted her fear.
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Chapter 3: The School Bleeds
Morning broke over Kobe Middle School, gray and heavy with rain. Michiko’s desk sat empty, her chair tipped over, her math notebook open to a page smeared with frantic scribbles.
By 9 a.m., the whispers started. Haru, Michiko’s closest friend, pale and trembling, told their homeroom teacher, Ms. Kato, “She was in the bathroom last night—I heard her scream!”
Ms. Kato, a nervous woman with a habit of twisting her rings, dismissed it. “She’s probably sick,” she said, but her eyes darted to the third-floor windows.
At noon, a first-year student, Emi Tanaka, ran screaming from the girls’ bathroom. She’d gone to wash her hands and seen the fourth stall—locked, its door scratched with deep, jagged marks.
Blood seeped from under it, thick and dark, pooling across the tiles, bubbling as if alive. Teachers rushed in, followed by police, who gagged at the sight.
The stall was a slaughterhouse: walls clawed with gashes, tiles cracked, blood coating everything like a second skin. In the corner lay a green vest, shredded, matted with chunks of flesh—skin, muscle, something that looked like a finger. No body, no Michiko—just carnage.
The police sealed the bathroom, but the stench spread, rancid and suffocating, seeping into classrooms. Students coughed, some vomited in the halls, the air thick with decay.
A boy swore he found Michiko’s glasses under a sink, lenses cracked, rims coated in blood, but when police checked—nothing. The principal, Mr. Hayashi, locked the third floor, banning students from the wing.
That night, a security guard quit after hearing wet footsteps and a voice: “Red vest or blue vest?” He claimed the walls pulsed, veins of red throbbing beneath the paint.
Haru couldn’t shake the guilt. She’d laughed about Aka Manto, dared Michiko to face the stall. Now, she stayed late, sneaking into the library to dig through old records.
Buried in a 1952 journal, she found a chilling entry: a girl, Yuka Mori, decapitated in that bathroom, her head missing, her body draped in a red vest.
The killer—a teacher in a red cloak—vanished without a trace. Haru’s hands shook as she read, the pieces snapping together. Aka Manto wasn’t just a ghost—it was a predator, tethered to that stall, feeding on fear and flesh.
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Chapter 4: The Claws Close In
By late November, Kobe Middle School was a husk. Parents whispered of curses, pulling students out in droves. The bathroom stayed boarded, but the horror bled outward.
A teacher found a student’s arm—severed, gnawed, bones jutting like broken teeth—behind a locker, blood trails vanishing into the walls. The stench grew unbearable, a mix of rot and iron that clung to clothes, hair, skin.
At night, the third floor groaned, as if the building itself were alive, its walls creaking, its pipes gurgling with something thicker than water.
Haru and her older brother Taro, 16 and reckless, couldn’t let it go. Taro, a baseball star with a cocky grin, had scoffed at the rumors but loved Michiko like a sister. “We’ll end this,” he vowed, gripping a knife from their father’s toolbox.
Haru, clutching a flashlight and a Shinto charm, followed him to the school at midnight, December 3, 1986. The air was freezing, the sky black with clouds, and the school loomed like a tomb.
They pried open the boarded bathroom door, the wood splintering with a scream. The stench hit like a fist—rotting flesh, blood, bile so thick it burned their eyes.
The fourth stall gaped, its walls glistening with red veins, pulsing like a heartbeat. Blood coated the floor, bubbling, alive, lapping at their shoes. “Red vest or blue vest?” The voice came from everywhere—walls, ceiling, inside their skulls—wet and hungry, dripping with malice.
Taro swung his knife, shouting, “Show yourself!” The flashlight died, plunging them into darkness. Claws grabbed Taro—sharp, cold, sinking into his chest. Blood sprayed, hot and thick, coating Haru’s face. She screamed, dropping the charm, as Taro’s gurgled cries filled the air.
The thing’s mask gleamed in the dark, eyeless, blood oozing from its edges, its claws tearing Taro’s flesh in strips. Haru ran, her shoes slipping in gore, Taro’s screams fading as the door slammed behind her.
She collapsed outside, her face smeared with her brother’s blood, her wrist bruised with claw marks. The charm lay torn, and beside it—a yellow vest, not Michiko’s, soaked red, a chunk of scalp clinging to it, hair braided like her own.
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Chapter 5: The Headless End
Kobe Middle School closed in January 1987, abandoned, its windows dark, its halls silent. But the bathroom lived. Students who snuck in at night found heads—Michiko’s, Taro’s, others—stacked in the fourth stall, eyeless, mouths gaping, vests draped over them: red, blue, green, yellow, all dripping with gore.
The walls bled, veins throbbing, tiles cracking under the weight of something ancient. A priest tried an exorcism, but he fled, his face gray, muttering about “a hunger that never sleeps.”
The Kobe Decapitation became legend, whispered across Japan. No records confirmed Michiko’s death, or Taro’s, but the bathroom told its own story: claw marks, blood, flesh chunks that reappeared no matter how often they were cleaned.
At night, the voice echoes: “Red vest or blue vest?” The air stays cold, the stench of rot eternal. Aka Manto waits, its mask blank, its claws sharp, its hunger endless.
Choose, and die. Run… and it follows.
