There are few spirits more unnerving than Aka Manto—the infamous bathroom ghost that stalks public restrooms. The legend is simple: you’re alone in a stall, someone whispers, “Red or blue?” Pick wrong, and you die. Pick right… and you still die. The truth, of course, is far worse.

We were called to a small, abandoned school in rural Okayama. A maintenance worker had reported whispers echoing from the bathroom, tiles cracking without reason, and—worst of all—students going missing years ago, never found.

I wanted to wait outside. Morizumi didn’t. “Fear is its power,” he said. “And I am stronger than fear.”

The hallway leading to the bathroom smelled faintly of bleach and damp concrete. Every step echoed unnaturally. I could hear whispers behind the closed doors—“Red or blue?”—though there was no one there.

Morizumi stepped calmly into the nearest stall. I followed reluctantly, heart hammering.

The air shifted. The fluorescent lights flickered. I felt a presence, impossibly close, a cold that pressed into my chest. Then a voice:

“Red or blue?”

I froze. Morizumi didn’t flinch. “Answer,” he said softly. “Not out of fear. Out of intent.”

The question repeated, louder this time. The air vibrated. Shadows writhed along the walls. I could see the faint outline of a figure—tall, featureless, draped in a red cloak. Its face was hidden, its hands impossibly long.

Morizumi exhaled slowly, reaching into his satchel. He produced a small talisman, inscribed with interlocking runes, and pressed it against the stall door. The shadow recoiled, writhing like smoke.

“Red or blue,” he whispered again, “is meaningless if you see it for what it is. This spirit feeds on hesitation.”

The figure lunged. Time slowed. Its cloak stretched, fingers reaching through the gap under the door. Morizumi’s voice rose, chanting a soft, intricate incantation. The runes on the talisman glowed. The shadow shrieked—a sound like metal scraping tile.

And then, impossibly, it froze mid-lunge. Its head tilted unnaturally, twisting as Morizumi’s aura bound it. Slowly, he raised the talisman higher. The figure was pulled back into nothingness, leaving the stall empty, the tiles intact, and the air still.

I exhaled shakily. “It’s… gone?”

Morizumi lowered the talisman, calm as ever. “It is bound. It will not haunt anyone else here. But like all spirits of malice, it waits. Fear is the key. If someone else opens this stall, it may rise again.”

I realized then that the most dangerous ghosts aren’t the ones that strike with claws or fangs. They are the ones that make you hesitate, the ones that toy with your mind.