ROKUROKUBI

Table of Contents

Alex used to work as a cleaner—not for one house, but for several. Over the years, she’d dealt with all sorts of people: lonely widows, fussy artists, overbearing couples who couldn’t clean up after themselves. But nothing—not even the client who kept jars of preserved rats in his bathroom—prepared her for the Nakamuras. They lived in a moderately large home tucked into the wooded outskirts of Lin. It wasn’t the kind of flashy wealth that screamed for attention. No. The Nakamura home was quiet, tasteful, and unusually still. Even the wind outside seemed to hush as it passed.

Mrs. Nakamura was the one who interviewed her. She opened the door wearing a silk robe that glided as she moved, her skin impossibly pale and smooth like porcelain. Her eyes were dark but gentle, and her voice soft as wind through leaves.

“I adore animals,”

She said as she guided Alex through the house.

“Birds, cats, reptiles… I feel connected to nature through them.”

Alex nodded politely. There were birds in golden cages near the windows, several cats lounging across furniture, and a series of terrariums housing frogs, geckos, and insects. It was almost like a sanctuary. Mrs. Nakamura’s explanation was odd, sure, but it was also peaceful. The house smelled like cedarwood and jasmine. And besides, Alex was there for the money.

The job was simple. Cleaning, dusting, changing linens, feeding the animals when needed. Mrs. Nakamura floated through rooms, silent and watchful, occasionally speaking in hushed tones to the cats as if they understood her. Mr. Nakamura, however, was practically invisible. On most days, Alex never saw him. Only the creak of the third-floor floorboards or the closed door to the study told her he was still around. Still, things seemed normal. For a while. But then she started noticing oddities.

The mirrors, for instance. Every mirror in the house was either covered, removed, or angled away from view. At first, she thought it was a cultural thing. But one afternoon, while dusting behind a bookshelf in the guest room, she found an antique mirror leaned face-down. When she flipped it to clean the glass, she noticed a thin crack near the center—nothing major. But as she polished it, something strange happened. Her own reflection… moved. It tilted its head just slightly off-beat from her real movement. Just enough for her heart to stop for a second. She dropped the cloth and quickly turned the mirror back over. She told herself she was tired.

That night, she couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking about the way Mrs. Nakamura’s voice would sometimes echo faintly even when she was alone in the room. Or how the cats would stare into corners, ears flat, eyes wide. Once, she caught one hissing and backing away from the bedroom door, even though nothing was there. A few days later, Alex came in early. Earlier than usual. Mrs. Nakamura wasn’t downstairs yet, so she started her usual routine, beginning with the library. As she climbed the stairs, she heard something soft—like humming. It was slow, drawn out. A lullaby, maybe.

She paused outside the master bedroom. The door was slightly open. The humming grew louder, but distorted, as though underwater. And then she saw it. Through the sliver of the open door, Mrs. Nakamura stood before her dressing mirror. Her back was to Alex. Her robe hung loose on her shoulders. But her head… it wasn’t on her shoulders. It was floating inches above her body, bobbing gently in rhythm with the humming. The neck below was stretched—elongated like a snake—pale and thin, bending unnaturally as the head moved in slow circles.

Alex gasped.

Mrs. Nakamura’s head stopped moving.

The humming ceased.

Alex didn’t wait. She backed down the stairs, her hands shaking, heart racing. She nearly dropped her bag trying to grab her things.

By the time Mrs. Nakamura came downstairs, gracefully and smiling, the image was burned into Alex’s mind.

“Leaving early today?”

She asked with her usual calm tone.

“I….I’m not feeling well,”

Alex stammered, avoiding eye contact.

“Pity. You’ve been doing such wonderful work. The animals seem to like you.”

She smiled wider than before. Her teeth were perfectly white. Alex forced a nod and left, the woman’s voice echoing in her ears long after the front door had shut behind her. She didn’t return the next day. Or the day after. She ignored the calls. She turned down the paycheck.

But curiosity gnawed at her. She started researching. Searching words like elongated neck, floating head, Japanese woman, animals acting strange. And she found it.

ROKUROKUBI

A creature from Japanese folklore. During the day, they appear as ordinary women. But at night, their necks stretch, allowing their heads to roam freely—often spying, haunting, or worse. Some legends described them as cursed souls. Others as malicious spirits hiding in plain sight.

The animals. The mirrors. The eerie silence of the house. It all fit. A few weeks later, she passed by the Nakamura house again—by accident, she told herself. But as her car rolled slowly down the street, she saw the For Sale sign hammered into the yard.

The windows were all dark. The cages empty. The house was abandoned. She never saw the Nakamuras again. No one ever did.