by Hiroko Yoda
By the time a rescue team made its way into the area on January 27, some 199 of the original 210 were missing, including the Captain. Only eleven horrifically frostbitten soldiers eventually survived, many of them as multiple amputees. It would take until May to recover the bodies of their comrades.
The Attack
Today, a statue of Fusanosuke Goto, the first survivor found, stands on Mount Hakkoda as a memorial to the men who lost their lives in the incident. The statue represents how he was actually discovered, frozen upright in mid-stride.
This entire area in the vicinity of the statue is treated as a highly active “yurei spot” and reports of apparitions both audible and visual abound; footage of purported specters has even been broadcast on Japanese TV. Common reports include strange lights, the sound of men calling out, and even the appearance of rows of soldiers in period clothing.
How to Survive
Don’t want to run into any ghosts? Don’t go to the memorial on Mount Hakkoda, especially in the dead of night, and even more especially in the dead of winter. The conditions atop Mount Hakkoda in a snowstorm can be far more dangerous than any ghost (though that said, there’s actually a ski resort up there now).
Getting There
The Snow March Memorial Museum is a roughly 45 minute drive from JR Aomori Station. It’s open from 9am to 6pm daily (closed Tuesdays). It houses a variety of items carried by the victims and survivors. A trail from the museum leads into the mountains themselves, where the statue of Fusanosuke Goto stands.
This late 1800s political cartoon showing Russia’s Tsar Nicholas II haunted by yokai-like apparitions of military equipment is a sign of the tense times.
______________________
¶ One really did break out a few years later: the Russo-Japanese War (1904-05)
** Literally. Nearby Ashahikawa registered -41° during the storm, a record that has stood for more than 100 years.
Haunted Places: 22
THE SEA OF TREES
Haunted Places: 22
THE SEA OF TREES
Name in Japanese: 樹海
a.k.a. Jukai (“Sea of Trees” in Japanese);
Suicide Forest; Aokigahara (official place name)
Type of Forest: Primeval (old- growth )
Location: Shizuoka and Yamanashi Prefecture (Base of Mount Fuji)
Nearest Station: JR Kawaguchiko
Part of: Fuji-Hakone-Izu National Park
Altitude: 3000-4250 feet (920 - 1300m) above sea level
Foliage: Mixed coniferous/deciduous (Mainly hemlock and cypress)
Area: Roughly 7,500 acres (30 km2)
Event that Caused Haunting: Many, many suicides (Or are they just a symptom?)
Type of Location: Suicide Spot
Type of Phenomenon: Once you go in, you don’t get out
Threat Level: Depends on your frame of mind
Claim to Fame
At the foot of iconic Mount Fuji lies the Jukai (Sea of Trees), Japan’s single most famous spot for suicides. So named for its seemingly endless expanse as seen from the mountain’s peak, this is a stretch of wilderness so dense and untamed that the Japan Self- Defense Forces uses it to conduct survival training exercises.
Some say that those wanting to end their lives here are attracted by a combination of the site’s notorious reputation and its remote location. Others hold that there is something very wrong with the forest itself, and that it traps innocent victims along with those who choose to end their lives here.
The Story
Mount Fuji has long been venerated by the Japanese, both because it truly is an awe-inspiring volcanic peak and for its exquisite symmetry. Its existence is so singular that it is considered a reizan, a hard-to-translate term that is usually rendered as “sacred mountain.” But note that rei — it’s the exact same one as used in the word yurei. The general idea is that this isn’t a peak to be taken lightly. It has a soul. There are powerful energies at work here. It’s the type of place that gets angry from time to time and isn’t afraid to show it.
The Sea of Trees covers a vast expanse of terrain in the foothills of this holy peak. True to its name, it really was once a massive body of water. Although Fuji is dormant today, a 9th century eruption filled the former lake with a thick, mineral-rich deposit of debris and ash that in turn gave rise to the dense forest that blankets the area now.
Today it’s officially known as Aokigahara, which means something like “Green Fields.” Sounds like a great place for a picnic, right? Yet these fields are more black than green, as the dense foliage strains out most of the sunlight before it has a chance to reach the forest floor. And strange forces are at work in the area — some that can be explained by science, and some that cannot.
The Attack
The Sea of Trees claims its victims in one of two ways.
The first is simply losing one’s way in the dark forest. Low light levels make it easy to misjudge the time of day. The thick tree cover and underbrush absorb sounds, making it easy to become separated from others. And while scientists refute the claim, many swear that their compasses only work sporadically here — supposedly thrown out of whack because of magnetic ore in the magma deposits that form the base layer of the forest. Whatever the case, it’s a fact that it’s easy to get lost here — and occasionally never make it out again at all, even if that was your original intention.
But the Sea of Trees didn’t earn its notoriety from navigational issues. It’s infamous for suicides. People come from all over Japan to end their lives here. The police conduct annual sweeps for bodies of missing people here, but the terrain is vast and rugged. Some of the victims are found in advanced stages of decomposition, or ripped to pieces by the animals of the forest. Many are never found at all, their skeletons quietly moldering away amidst the trees. Some feel that more is at work here than mere media sensationalism — that the dead are calling the living to join them.
Whatever is calling them, there’s no question the dead are here. Annual suicide rates climbed throughout the Eighties and Nineties; in 2003 alone, one hundred bodies were recovered from the forest. As such the trailheads are marked with large signs imploring the desperate to reconsider: “your parents gave you life; think about them, your friends, and your children one more time, and call us at the number below.” A box filled with pamphlets for a crisis hotline is even blunter: “Before you go to the underworld, read this.”
The sign at the trailhead.
Surviving an Encounter
1) Forget about the ghosts. Focus on the living. If you encounter someone who seems out of sorts in an area known for suicides, you have an obligation to approach them and see if there is anything you can do to help. Sometimes even the slightest human contact can be enough to turn a desperate soul away from the edge.
2) Follow the lines. Those still struggling with their inner demons often mark their trail through the foliage with vinyl tape or rope, leaving them a “lifeline” to return should they change their minds. In a best-case scenario, these trails can lead to someone in need of serious help. But you also need to steel yourself for the worst-case scenario, which is arriving too late.
3) Take solace in the fact that while the number of people who attempt to kill themselves in the Sea of Trees increases every year, so too do the number of people rescued by local outreach efforts. In 2010, 193 people were persuaded to seek help rather than ending their lives in the Sea of Trees.
Those considering suicide here often leave a trail of colored tape through the foliage, marking a way back should they change their minds.
Why, Jukai?
The Sea of Trees is but the most recent in a series of famed suicide spots. In the prewar era, Japan’s most well-known suicide spot was another active volcano: Mount Mihara on Izu-Oshima Island.
After the sensationalized report of a young girl’s suicide on the volcano’s peak dominated newspaper headlines in 1933, young men and women began making pilgrimages to the island with the aim of endin
g their lives in the volcanic caldera. Driven by crushing poverty, illness, and other personal problems, close to a thousand of them threw themselves into its bubbling cauldron that year. All told, some 3,000 young Japanese chose to end their lives on Mount Mihara in the decade leading up to the end of World War II. It even inspired a grotesque tourist industry in which local ferry lines played up the tragedies to attract desperate souls and rubberneckers alike.
The shift in attention to the Sea of Trees seems to be due in at least part to celebrated Japanese novelist Seicho Matsumoto, who used it as a setting in his bestselling 1959 novel Tower of Waves. The romantic thriller climaxed with an unfaithful woman ending her life in the Sea of Trees. Matsumoto had undoubtedly been inspired by earlier reports of sporadic suicides in the area, but the popularity of his book and the subsequent movie adaptation cemented the connection in the mind of the public. Even today, a half-century later, the Sea of Trees remains virtually synonymous with suicide in Japan.
Getting There
In spite of its macabre reputation, the Sea of Trees represents a thriving patch of Japan’s dwindling virgin wilderness. Crisscrossed by clearly marked hiking trails, it’s a treat for those who enjoy the outdoors. Just don’t forget to bring an extra compass or two along, just to be safe. From JR Kawaguchiko Station, it’s a 35 minute ride on the Saiko Retro Bus to the trailhead.
Dare you follow the path into the Sea of Trees?
Haunted Places: 23
HACHIOJI CASTLE
Haunted Places: 23
HACHIOJI CASTLE
Name in Japanese: 八王子城
a.k.a. Hachioji-jo
Location: Hachioji City, Tokyo
Nearest Station: JR Takao
Completed: 1587
Height: 1450 feet (445 meters) above sea level
Ranking: Top 100 Castles of Japan
Key Figure: Warlord Hojo Ujiteru
Event that Caused Haunting: Siege of July 23, 1590
Type of Spot: Yurei Spot
Type of Phenomenon: Manifestations of fallen warriors and family; Strange sounds
Threat Level: Variable
Claim to Fame
Claim to Fame In a country with a martial tradition as strong as Japan’s, it should come as no surprise that certain of its battlefields and castles are considered haunted. One of the most famous of these is Hachioji Castle. Even today, it is said to be haunted by the specters of the Hojo Clan, a powerful samurai family who died here, quite horribly, on an early summer day in 1590.
The city of Hachioji — literally, “Eight Princes,” so named for a Buddhist parable set here — is a sprawling suburb of the Tokyo metropolitan area, just an hour from downtown by express train. Today more than a half a million people make their homes here, and the roads are dotted with the same sorts of shopping centers and coffee shops and restaurants as anywhere else in Japan. But no matter how much the landscape changes, one key feature remains the same: Shiroyama (“Castle Mountain”), the tallest peak in the area. This strategic high ground is where the Hojo clan built their fortress, Hachioji Castle, some five centuries ago.
Today, Shiroyama is home to a quiet, leafy park. It’s an ideal sort of place for a summer stroll, with shaded footpaths, excellent vistas, and wide-open spaces, all of it narrated by chatter of birds and even the occasional monkey in the treetops. It’s perfect for a picnic.
But as you savor your tea and sandwiches, you may notice the vestiges of what was once a great castle: a stone staircase here, a wall there. A closer look reveals scorching and damage from what must have been an epic battle. And come to think of it, the forest and footpaths here happened to be dotted with stone memorials of the sort use to quiet the spirits of the restless dead. You’ve finished dessert and it’s starting to get dark when you start thinking: perhaps this wasn’t the best place for a picnic after all.
For right where you’re sitting, not so very long ago, the slopes of Mount Shiroyama ran red with blood of man, woman, and child alike. And come nightfall, they say, the long-dead former inhabitants of Hachioji Castle rise to stalk its ruins yet again.
The Story
The 16th century was an era of civil war so protracted that it came to be known as Sengoku Jidai — the Era of Warring States. This generally involved more powerful warlords turning weaker rivals to their cause... or simply crushing them. After generations of fighting, a few key players had consolidated enough power by the end of the 1500s to make a run at taking over the entire country for themselves.
One of them was a brutal warlord by the name of Toyotomi Hideyoshi. By early 1590 he had steamrolled the opposition, all but solidifying the control of Japan under his iron fist. Only one major obstacle remained: the Hojo clan.
They couldn’t be turned. No, Hideyoshi knew he would have to destroy them. And that meant taking their “home base”: Odawara Castle. Ever wily, however, he eschewed a direct attack in favor of smashing their outposts one after another, leaving the biggest prize for last. Hachioji Castle represented the Hojo’s greatest stronghold outside of Odawara, and Hideyoshi’s two top generals launched an early morning pincer attack on it in July of 1590. Although the castle had been designed as an impregnable fortress, it was manned by young warriors who were quickly overwhelmed by Hideyoshi’s battle-seasoned commanders. Some one thousand died in the initial assault, mostly on the defending side. But the Hojo forces put up enough of a fight to temporarily halt the generals in their tracks.
Meet Ujiteru-kun, the mascot of the Ruins of Hachioji Castle! One wonders what the ill-fated Ujiteru would have made of this cuddly effigy.
The defenders, led by Hojo Ujiteru, son of the clan leader, knew that the reprieve was only temporary. While they might hold the fortress for some time, its fall was virtually a certainty. Hideyoshi’s troops had never been known for their sense of mercy. So the families of the men defending the castle took advantage of the lull in the fighting to ensure that they would never fall into enemy hands. The women and children assembled atop a waterfall on the castle grounds to determine their fates. Some cast themselves off the edge to the jumble of sharp rocks below; others committed suicide by slicing their jugular veins with short swords or knives.
The castle fell later that same day. Toyotomi’s men killed every last defender and burned the castle to the ground. The waterfall ran red with blood for three days and three nights. In fact the castle and its inhabitants were so thoroughly wiped from the face of the earth that within a few generations many forgot that a castle had even stood on the spot.
The Attack
Ujiteru’s wife was one of the few survivors of the battle. She spent the remainder of her days wandering the forest in tattered clothing, playing the flute as had been her hobby in happier times. Undoubtedly these weird strains of out-of-context music did much to encourage locals in their belief that the site was haunted. Rumors spread of the phantom sounds echoing through the hills: of horses braying, of gunfire and swords crossing, of the shouts of footsoldiers killing and being killed. The more extreme claimed the ghosts would attack any who dared violate their resting grounds — or worse yet, follow one home to rain misfortune upon one’s family and friends. For generations the entire area was treated as unholy ground, taboo, never to be entered, the forest covering the hills believed to be filled with as many yurei as trees.
And so it remained until well into the 20th century, when an archaeological team finally pushed through the dense foliage overgrowing the site and excavated the long-buried remains of Hachioji Castle. In 1990, the area was officially reopened as a national park.
Surviving an Encounter
These days, few believe that the area poses any real physical threat, but reports of sightings and strange phenomena abound. If you don’t want to run into any ghosts, simply visit during the day. Manifestations occur mainly at night, with chances of encounters increasing greatly during a full moon. Misty or rainy conditions, as existed during the siege itself, are considered another precursor as well.
The vast majority of encounters are said to occur in the vicinity of the waterfall and surrounding stream, where the women and children killed themselves; apparitions of women sitting on the rocks contemplating their jumps are a common theme. The anniversary of the castle’s fall, July 24th by the reckoning of the modern calendar, is said to be particularly “active.”
If you do go at these times, don’t be surprised if you aren’t alone — as a famed “yurei spot,” the ruins are a popular place for local youths and ghost hunters to test their mettle.
Getting There
From Tokyo’s Shinjuku Station, take the JR Chuo Line to Takao Station. Take the #1 Bus from the North Exit. Disembark at the Reienmae (霊園前) stop and follow the signs for the Ruins of Hachioji Castle.
A modern reconstruction of the entrance to the castle grounds.
Haunted Places: 24
THE WEEPING ROCK
Haunted Places: 24
THE WEEPING ROCK
Name in Japanese: 夜泣き石
a.k.a. Yonaki ishi (transliteration) The Nightly Weeping Rock (Literal translation)
Location: Sayo no Nakayama (Shizuoka Prefecture)
Cataloged in: The Seven Wonders of Enshu
Height of Rock: Roughly 3 feet (1 meter)
Weight: Estimated 2,480 pounds (1125 kg)
Key Figure: Oishi (“Ms. Stone”)