Namjoon took in a deep breath of night air, and savored it for a minute as he picked out the notes of smoke and frying meat. He was walking by one of his favorite food stalls on the side of a rather obscure city street, and the owner waved to him as he passed. Namjoon smiled back and continued on. Normally he would stop to grab a bite of one of their many delicious wares, but tonight he was in too much of a hurry. It was finals week, and Namjoon had about three novels worth of unread material to memorize before his test the following Wednesday.

The food cart also served as the last landmark on the otherwise deserted road, and the streetlights started to become slightly more spaced out as Namjoon listened to the sound of his heels clicking against the pavement. It was Monday evening, which meant that Namjoon had just about 36 hours until his 9AM exam, and he was going to need every minute of that time if he ever wanted to pass.

Let’s see. If I don’t sleep tonight, then I have a chance of finishing all those articles by Jean-Paul Sartre. But then when will I have time to review Plato?

As Namjoon struggled to come up with a schedule for himself, he suddenly realized that he had way overshot the turn that he was supposed to take to get to his apartment. Grumbling at the inconvenience, he decided to just keep going until he reached the next side street, and loop back around when he got there instead. The detour would give him more time to plan - or at least, that’s what Namjoon told himself. But really it just seemed like a good excuse to procrastinate.

Namjoon glanced back at the food cart, which still stood out distantly against the glow of the nearest streetlight, before hurrying on his way.

Was it Hemingway who talked about the inauthentic self or-

Namjoon paused. Now the street was wholly unfamiliar, and he had the sinking suspicion that he had missed his second turn-off as well. He was standing in a dark patch, almost equidistant between two of the dimly-lit streetlights, and he could no longer make out the familiar smells or sights of the little roadside stall. Namjoon felt like kicking himself as he turned around, begrudgingly accepting the fact that he would just have to retrace his steps.

❧

The young man forced himself to stay aware of his surroundings, fighting the urge to slip back into making plans about what to study and when - but the street remained strangely foreign to him. He was certain that he had been walking for long enough that he should have practically passed the food cart again, and yet the grill full of delicious meat was nowhere in sight.

Namjoon was becoming increasingly convinced that he had somehow gotten turned around in all his confusion when suddenly a figure came into view underneath one of the streetlights. He briefly considered asking the stranger for directions, but chose not to as he passed under the beam that illuminated the other pedestrian. It was late, and he didn’t have any idea what kinds of weirdos could be hanging out in this totally novel, unknown part of town.

As he passed the other person, he saw that it was a woman, but one that was oddly bundled up considering how mild a spring night it was. She wore a long trench coat and a wide-brimmed hat, neither of which completely concealed her flowing, black hair. Her face was hidden as she stared at the ground while Namjoon walked by, but he thought that she looked decently attractive and wondered what such a nice-looking girl was doing loitering under a streetlight at this hour of the night.

Dammit. I’m lost.

Namjoon groaned aloud, but caught himself before he let out a swear. He checked behind him to see if he had disturbed the young woman, but quickly realized that she had vanished. Odd - though maybe she just had somewhere else she needed to be.

I don’t have time for this .

❧

Namjoon kept walking in the direction he had been going, absolutely sure that he should have crossed paths with the food cart if he was indeed going in the right direction, when an oddly familiar sight appeared under yet another streetlight. It was the woman from before; he was absolutely certain of it. Same trench coat, same black hair, and he could even now see that she wore a surgical mask over . Nothing strange about that; she was probably just trying to avoid whatever swine-flu-zombie-virus-super-pandemic the news was going on about these days. She could have even been a nurse for all Namjoon knew, or maybe she was just a big germaphobe.

All of these perfectly likely possibilities raced through the young man’s head as he once again argued with himself about whether or not to ask the lady for directions. He decided against it again, and was just about to walk past her for what he could swear was the second time, when a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

What the hell?

His eyes trailed up the woman’s covered arm to look at her face. She was still wearing the face mask, but he could see that the soft, pale skin around her large eyes was beautifully radiant. Her hat was in the hand that wasn’t attached to his wrist, which gave him a better look at the thick, straight hair that so nicely framed her hidden face. Although Namjoon couldn’t see , the small, wrinkled creases at the corners of her eyes suggested that the woman was smiling at him.

“Can I ask you a question?”

She certainly didn’t waste any time with introductions. Her voice was high and sweet, and normally Namjoon would have wholeheartedly agreed to answer her question. However, much in the way that they had prevented him from buying a late night snack on his way home, his final exams weighed heavily on his mind, and something in the back of his mind told Namjoon that he should hurry along.

“Sorry, Miss, but I’m kind of in a rush,” he explained, slipping out of her grasp.

❧

Namjoon spun to leave, but before he could even finish turning around, she was in front of him again, looking up with gigantic, glistening eyes.

“Can I ask you a question?” she repeated, her voice twinkling airily.

“Uh… okay, I guess,” relented Namjoon apprehensively.

He glanced to the side, but there was nothing there besides darkened buildings and a few overturned trash cans. The woman took hold of his arm again, startling Namjoon so badly that he almost fell over. He looked down at the shadows cast sporadically on the girl’s slender face, and saw that she had the same crinkly eye-smile as before.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” she whispered excitedly.

Namjoon was taken aback. He wasn’t expecting that to be the question she asked. Where the nearest bus stop was? How to get to the old tavern next to the dog park? Sure; Namjoon couldn’t have answered any of those questions seeing as he was lost himself - but at least they would have made sense. Did this masked stranger look pretty? How was he supposed to know how to answer a question like that?

“Oh. Um, I… uh…” the young man stuttered.

Out of the corner of his eye, Namjoon noticed the woman reach into her coat pocket with her free hand. Her hat was on the ground, and Namjoon thought that he probably didn’t want to stick around to find out what she was reaching for.

“Yes,” he answered before she could pull her hand back out. “Yes, you look very nice.”

He caught a glimpse of something shiny and metal at the edge of her crisply ironed pocket before she dropped whatever it was that she had been holding back into the folds of fabric. Both of her thin-, well-manicured hands were back on Namjoon’s wrist as he continued talking.

“But you know, it’s kind of hard to tell with that mask covering most of your face,” he added.

The woman had bent to pick up her discarded hat, but she paused upon hearing Namjoon’s statement. The young man took this opportunity to wrench his hand free and run in the direction he had been going.

❧

Namjoon was frantically sprinting away, staring at his feet and trying not to trip as he hyperventilated. He looked up just as he was about to pass under the next streetlamp, and was shocked to see the same woman staring back at him from underneath the beam of light.

She was too close for him to run around her, so Namjoon had no choice but to stop short lest he crash into the bundled-up woman.

“!” he yelled, narrowly avoiding the collision.

Namjoon took a step back as he tried to compose himself, the woman continuing to passively block his path. How could she possibly have made it over here before him?

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologized, still trying to maintain a sense of formality and respect despite his frazzled nerves.

He glanced down to brush off his wrinkled clothes, and immediately saw the object that the woman had been reaching for earlier. It was a large pair of glossy, silver scissors, and the sight of them balanced in the lady’s delicate hand startled Namjoon as he jumped back yet again.

The woman giggled at him, her hat perched back on her jet black hair and casting a shadow over her eyes. Namjoon squinted, trying to make out what her expression was, but before he could see it, she raised her own face, illuminating the mask that still covered her features.

“Oppa, do you think I’m pretty?” she asked again, melodically.

“I-I told you: I think so, but I’m not sure,” he replied, his voice a little louder than he had meant for it to sound.

“You said you couldn’t tell with my mask, so let me take it off for you.”

With that, she raised the scissors, and snipped at the strings holding the cloth securely to her face. First one side. Then the other.

As the mask fell away, Namjoon was faced with a horrifyingly gruesome scene. The young woman’s lower face was mangled; the sides of ripped into a permanent, mutilated smile that stretched from ear to ear. Her cheeks were misted with a red too deep to be the result of blush, and her teeth shone white and sharp in the moonlight.

Namjoon’s eyes widened, and he looked to his right, hoping desperately to find some salvation. Miraculously, the food cart was barely visible in the distance, and he could smell the oiled meat as it sputtered and fried fragrantly. The man turned his attention back to the petrifying woman, who was looking up at him with expectant eyes.

“How about now? Do you still think I’m pretty?”

The two cuts that tore at her bloodsoaked lips moved as the lady spoke, and Namjoon was at a complete loss for what to say. She clutched at her scissors as she waited.

“I think… you - you’re… okay, I guess,” he responded in a frightened mumble.

“Only okay?” she echoed, her voice confused.

❧

Namjoon didn’t wait for her to ask another clarifying question. He shot away from the woman and her ruined face, and didn’t look back as he ran for his life toward the safety of the food cart. He could feel the breath exploding in his gasping lungs as his feet pounded against the darkened, empty street - and as he made his escape, only one thought crossed Namjoon’s mind.

At least now I won’t have any trouble staying awake to study tonight.

And that’s why you never go walking around alone at night! This story was based on the urban legend of Kuchisake-Onna, which centers on the spirit of a Japanese woman who roams the streets, looking for children and/or young men of whom to beg the question: “Am I pretty?” If you say “no,” she kills you with her scissors; if you say “yes,” she pulls off her mask to reveal her mutilated mouth and asks you again. This time, a “no” will still get you killed, but a “yes” will result in her cutting up your face to match her own. Supposedly, however, you can escape by giving an ambiguous or nonsensical answer, or by asking her if she thinks you’re attractive.

I feel like - if he was ever to be confronted by a situation like this - Namjoon would be the one to stammer out some weird, slightly-offensive-without-really-meaning-to-be answer that would somehow end up saving his life, so that’s why I chose him for this story. Let this be a lesson to you, though: never approach a strange masked woman on a dark, abandoned street ; )