MY MOTHER WAS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN THE VILLAGE… BUT EVERY MAN WHO ENTERED OUR HOUSE AT NIGHT NEVER WALKED OUT THE SAME
My mother was known as the most beautiful woman in our village. Even though she was well into her thirties, she looked no older than twenty. She had the face of youth but the presence of someone who had lived a lifetime, and that combination made people unable to look away.
The men were drawn to her in ways they couldn’t control. The women, on the other hand, hated her with a quiet, burning resentment. They called her names, whispered that she was a temptress, a fox spirit. Yet my mother never got angry. She would simply smile and say, “Instead of insulting me, maybe you should learn how to keep your own men.” After a while, even the harshest voices fell silent.
But there was something strange about our house. Every night, men would sneak in under the cover of darkness. The door was never locked. I had grown used to the sound of it creaking open, used to the muffled noises from the next room. What I couldn’t ignore was what happened afterward. Within just a week, every man who had entered our house ended up either gravely ill… or dead.
Then one day, a monk came to our village. He was going door to door asking for food. I ran out with a bun in my hand, wanting to give it to him. But the moment he saw me, his face turned pale.
“What… are you?” he blurted out.
I froze, anger rising in my chest. I was trying to be kind, and he insulted me like that? I snatched the bun back and turned to leave, but he hurried after me, apologizing again and again. Then he pulled out a handful of colorful candy and offered it to me. I hesitated, but the sweetness was too tempting, and I took it.
“Who do you live with?” he asked.
“My mother,” I answered without thinking.
He frowned deeply. “That’s impossible. Your face… you look like a child born from a corpse. How can you still have a mother?”
I didn’t understand his words, but something about them made my skin crawl. Then he smiled strangely and said, “Do you want more candy?”
I nodded immediately.
“Then tonight, take a green onion and place it under your mother’s bed. Leave it there all night. Bring it back to me in the morning, and I’ll trade you more candy.”
It sounded like an easy deal. Onions were everywhere, but candy was rare. I agreed without much thought.
That night, while my mother was cooking, I sneaked into her room and placed a green onion beneath her bed. Later, as always, the door creaked open again. Another man had come. I pulled the blanket over my head, trying to ignore the sounds from the next room, just like I always did.
The next morning, I woke up early and rushed to retrieve the onion. But when I picked it up, I froze. The fresh green stalk from the night before had withered completely, as if it had been left there for weeks.
When I handed it to the monk, his expression changed instantly. He stared at the onion, then at me, his voice trembling. “This isn’t just a corpse… what exactly is it?”
Then he looked straight into my eyes and said, “Your mother… is not human.”
I exploded in anger and shouted back at him, but he quickly apologized again and handed me a yellow talisman. His voice turned serious. “Tonight, stick this on your body and look through the crack of your mother’s door. If you don’t, and it notices you… you won’t survive.”
That night, I lay in bed, clutching the talisman, my mind in chaos. I didn’t want to believe him. My mother had always been kind, gentle, caring. How could she not be my real mother?
But when the sounds from the next room finally stopped and the man left, I couldn’t resist anymore.
I pressed the talisman to my forehead and crept toward her door. Slowly, carefully, I looked through the narrow crack.
At first, everything seemed normal. My mother lay still on the bed, unmoving. I almost felt relieved, thinking the monk had lied.
Then suddenly, she opened her eyes.
There were no pupils. Only white.
My entire body went cold. I couldn’t breathe. I was sure she had seen me. But after a moment, she turned her head away.
Then she stood up and walked to the mirror.
And slowly… she began to peel off her own skin.
It came off like a layer of clothing, revealing a raw, blood-covered body underneath. I watched in frozen horror as she carefully adjusted that human skin, brushing its hair, fixing its face, as if preparing to wear it again.
I don’t remember how long I stood there. I only remember stumbling back to my room, my clothes soaked in cold sweat, my body trembling uncontrollably.
The monk was right.
My mother… was no longer my mother.
The next morning, I ran up the mountain to find him. He was already there, sitting calmly as if he had been waiting.
I looked at him, my voice shaking. “How did you know?”
He smiled faintly and said, “You told me.”
Then his expression darkened. “Black energy surrounds your head, and your body carries the chill of death. You’ve been living… with a corpse for far too long.”
