At an intersection near the factory area, there had long been this discarded pot in a rubbish bag.

It was a common gold pot with a handle on each side.

How bad must the contents be if someone threw the whole pot out, I often thought. Or

maybe the factory workers used it as an ashtray. I don't know. One rainy night, I was a little

drunk and on my way home from the bar, when I caught

sight of that pot again.

Normally I'd walk right past it, but the liquor made me feel bolder than usual.

I wanted to see what was in it.

This pot created a strange atmosphere, reflecting the nearby streetlight in the dark of night as

rain fell on it.

I opened the bag, grabbed the lid, and then slowly moved it.

I couldn't believe my eyes.

From the darkness of the pot, a pale arm, like a withered branch, reached out and grabbed the edge of the pot, so forcefully that it made a sound.

I left it and ran home as fast as I could.

I didn't realize I could even run that fast.

That pod is still there, even now, but I no longer take that road home

at night.

Hey guys, I'm your host Tara A. Devlin, and welcome to this week's episode of Kowabana,

true Japanese scary stories from around the internet.

If you're looking for more to listen to once you're done with this episode,

I've been recording various audiobooks that you can now find on our Patreon,

Fourth Wall Store and various audiobook outlets, including Spotify.

...