Ada’s obsession…

Ada had always been obsessed with her nails. They were her pride, her beauty, her signature. While other girls focused on makeup and fashion, she believed her hands were her best feature. Long, perfectly shaped, always polished to perfection—her nails made her feel powerful. But she also had a problem. No matter how much she cared for them, her nails always seemed to chip too easily. Just a small tap on a hard surface, and there’d be an ugly crack. It drove her mad.

One evening, after trying yet another expensive nail treatment that failed, Ada stormed out of a salon in frustration. As she walked through the dimly lit streets, she noticed a tiny, almost hidden shop tucked between two old buildings.

A wooden sign hung above the entrance, the letters barely readable: “Madam Koto’s Nail Parlor – Everlasting Beauty.”

Something about it felt off. The door was slightly open and a faint smell of wax and smoke drifted out. A strange humming sound came from within. But Ada didn’t hesitate. Maybe this was the place that would finally fix her problem.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of nail polish and melted candles. A single chair sat in the center of the room, surrounded by mirrors covered in a thin layer of dust. An old woman appeared from the shadows. She was tall and unnervingly thin, her skin wrinkled like dried parchment. Her fingernails were the longest Ada had ever seen, curling in sharp, unnatural spirals.

“You seek perfection,” the woman said, her voice low and crackling like dry leaves. “I can give it to you… for a price.”

Ada smirked. “How much?” Her obsession for her nails clouding every sense of reasoning.

The woman stepped closer, reaching into a small jar filled with a dark, thick substance. “Not money,” she whispered. “Something deeper.”

Ada hesitated but then laughed. “Fine. Whatever it takes. I just want strong, unbreakable nails.”

The woman smiled, revealing teeth too sharp for comfort. She dipped a brush into the jar and began painting Ada’s nails with the deepest shade of red she had ever seen. It gleamed like wet blood under the candlelight.

The moment the polish dried, a sharp sting shot through her fingertips. Ada gasped. Her nails felt… alive.
“It’s normal,” the woman said, stepping back into the shadows. “Go home. You’ll see the results soon.”

That night, the pain from the sting worsened. Ada tossed and turned in bed, her fingers throbbing as if something was growing beneath the surface. She looked at her nails. They were longer. Much longer. At first, she was excited—until she realized they were still slowly but steadily growing. The tips curled like claws, extending beyond what was natural. She tried to file them down but the moment she did, a deep, sickening pain shot through her entire body. Desperate, she grabbed a nail clipper and snapped off one of her nails.

A bloodcurdling scream tore from her throat. The pain was unbearable, like cutting through living flesh. She dropped the severed nail on the floor, breathing heavily.

Then… it moved.

The broken nail twitched, then crawled back toward her hand.

Ada stumbled backward in horror, but before she could react, the nail reattached itself, merging seamlessly as if it had never been cut.

Her breath came in gasps. She grabbed a knife, determined to cut all of them off, but the more she hacked at them, the faster they grew back—thicker, stronger, longer.

By morning, her nails had become talons, curling and twisting around her fingers. She could no longer move her hands. They had trapped her fingers in a cage.

And then she heard it—a whisper in her ear, dry and crackling, the voice of the old woman.
“You wanted them to last forever… now they will.”
Ada let out a shuddering scream.

The next day, she dragged her weak body to the salon to seek help from the old woman but the outcome of that visit is not known because no one ever saw Ada again, but some say, if you walk past that same salon at night, you might hear scratching from the shadows—the sound of nails that never stop growing.