It had only been a few months since you married Ayaka, a quiet and graceful woman from the nearby village. You had always lived alone, unwilling to take on the expense of feeding a wife, but Ayaka seemed different—she never touched much food, and so you thought her the perfect partner.

One evening, the two of you sat together, sharing bowls of rice. You noticed she barely lifted her chopsticks. Curious, you asked, “Did you already eat earlier?” Ayaka smiled softly and replied, “I ate while you were at work.” Her gentle tone put your mind at ease, yet you couldn’t ignore how quickly your stores of rice had been vanishing.

The next morning, you decided to find out the truth. Pretending to leave for work, you hid nearby and waited. From your hiding place, you watched as Ayaka let her long black hair fall loose around her shoulders. To your horror, her hair shifted aside and her skull seemed to split open, revealing a grotesque second mouth at the back of her head. With sharp teeth glistening and a tongue writhing hungrily, the mouth let out a low groan.

Her hair stirred like living tentacles, coiling and reaching toward the rice bowls in the cupboard. One by one, they seized the food and pushed it into the waiting maw, which chewed greedily and muttered in a rasping, satisfied voice.

You stood frozen in disbelief, unsure whether to flee at once or bury the knowledge deep inside and pretend you had seen nothing.