by Hiroko Yoda
Incense plays a key role in religious ceremonies throughout the world, chief among them Buddhism, which makes copious use of it in a wide variety of rites and rituals. But in Japan, incense has always been as much about entertainment as enlightenment. For more than a millennium the rich and powerful collected rare varieties of the stuff, both as a personal luxury and to impress visitors. Knowing one’s incense — what varieties suited which occasions — was a hallmark of being a cultivated soul, akin to the Western obsession of wine pairings with food. Incense parties — kokai — rose to popularity in the 14th century, parlor games in which groups of aristocrats would pass around censers of incense and attempt to correctly identify and list the specific types burning within. Although not widely played anymore, at their peak of popularity incense parties were considered every bit as prestigious as the tea ceremony and ikebana flower arrangement, giving rise to an art called kodo (the way of incense). Incense remains a part of the fabric of daily life in Japan. It is burned in home Buddhist altars as offerings to one’s ancestors and the gods. Visitors to many Buddhist temples encounter a large cauldron of burning incense, the smoke of which is scooped over one’s body to purify it before proceeding inward.
But we digress. The topic at hand is not incense in general, but a very specific type, used for a very specific purpose, rarer than rare, and priceless beyond measure. Although the concept of Hangon Incense seems to have originated in Chinese lore, it is well known throughout Japan and referenced or used as a plot device in a variety of traditional entertainments such as Kabuki dramas. Its literal translation is “soul-returning incense.”
A variety of properties have been ascribed to Hangon Incense. Lesser grades are said to restore even the mortally ill to perfect health; the most potent varieties can actually resurrect the dead — so long as no more than three days have passed. But these two details are secondary lore. The vast majority of sources speak only to its ability to conjure forth imagery of the dead within the contours of its smoke. In our modern era of widespread home photography and video, this sort of imaging system may not seem like a very big deal. But in times of old, the images of those we lost remained locked within the fragile confines of human memory.
The original Hangon Incense legend is set in the ancient Chinese capital of Xi’an during the Han Dynasty, ruled by Emperor Wu (157 – 87 BC). The emperor’s favorite consort perishes in the prime of her life, stolen from him by illness. Days upon weeks upon months are consumed by unceasing sorrow; his vassals and servants begin to seriously worry about his health. Desperate to see his beloved one more time, the emperor finally demands the kingdom’s entire store of priceless Hangon Incense, which numbers just three grains. He kindles it while focusing on the image of his consort. Lo and behold, the outlines of her beautiful form begin to coalesce within the smoke, hazy at first and then almost blindingly bright. Overcome with emotion, he calls out to her again and again. But there is no response. In anguish he reaches out to touch her — but the moment his fingers make contact, she evaporates like the mirage she merely was. The priceless incense is gone, and the emperor is plunged even deeper into grief at this renewed loss. This is the double-edged sword of Hangon Incense.
How to Use:
All one needs is to kindle the incense, pronounce certain words, and keep one’s mind fixed upon the memory of the person one wishes to contact.
But here’s the trick. Before you use Hangon Incense, you have to find Hangon Incense. Not an easy task.
According to the 1712 Wakan Sansaizue, an illustrated encyclopedia of Chinese medicine and lore for Japanese readers, Hangonko is “a phantom incense created from the mysterious Hangon Tree, the leaves of which resemble a sweet-gum or oak, and whose intoxicating aroma is said to waft for some one hundred ri (50 km).” Its roots are boiled to a pulp that is then formed into pellets and dried.
Emperor Wu’s stash supposedly came as tribute from the Yuezhi tribe, harvested in their lands beyond what was then the far Western border of China. That the powerful emperor of a vast land had but three tiny pieces of the stuff in his treasure hoard should give you a sense of how tough it is to find.
But let’s say you do find it. What about those “certain words”? Of that, the historical record is silent. If you manage to get your hands on the incense, perhaps you can ask whoever you’re buying it from for advice.
Toriyama Sekien’s portrayal of hangonko in action (1776).
Surviving an Encounter:
There is no physical danger associated with using Hangon Incense. However, as the tale of Emperor Wu shows, its use quite often leads to only deeper sorrow, for the image of the dead is just that: an image, not reality. The very emotion that allows one to conjure forth the spirit is what cuts them all the deeper when they are unable to make real contact.
Trivia:
The Hangon Tree makes a guest appearance in the video game “Final Fantasy 11,” translated into English as “ Revival Tree Root.”
YOKAI CONNECTION:
Although not directly related to Hangonko, the yokai known as Enen-ra (see Yokai Attack!) is another mysterious phenomenon associated with smoke, including that from incense. Enen-ra are creatures that manifest from smoke; they are particularly associated with the eaves of Buddhist temples, which are filled with more than the usual amount of incense smoke. There is no particular danger from these apparitions, but they can startle.
Dangerous Games: 35
SPIRIT PHOTOGRAPHS
Dangerous Games: 35
SPIRIT PHOTOGRAPHS
Name in Japanese: 心霊写真
a.k.a. Shinrei shashin (Japanese);
Ghost Photography; Spirit Photography
Used for: Freaking out friends; Content on Japanese variety shows, etc, etc.
First Described: 1861 (U.S.) 1879 (Japan)
Peak of Interest: Some things never go out of style.
Things You’ll Need: A camera. (If you’re a traditionalist, film, not digital.) A vivid imagination.
Threat Level: Low physically; potentially quite high psychologically
Claim to Fame:
Spirit photography has been with us since the advent of photography in the mid-1800s. The very first photo purporting to show a ghost was taken in 1861 by a Boston engraver named William Mumler. Shocked to discover a phantom person standing behind him in a self-portrait taken in an empty studio, he switched gears and launched a new career as a full-time spirit photographer. The concept dovetailed perfectly with the nation’s growing interest in Spiritualism, a lay religious movement centered on a belief that nearly anyone could establish direct contact with the spirits of the dead.
Haunting though they may be, today it’s obvious at a glance that Mumler’s photos are staged double-exposures. But at the time, he was able to leverage the public’s naïveté about the photographic process into a lucrative (if macabre) business in supplying “spirit photos” of Civil War dead to their grieving families. For a while, Mumler was the nation’s undisputed top spirit photographer, with customers including prominent socialites, journalists, and even a First Lady. But by the end of the decade, Mumler’s critics caught up with him. Embroiled in a costly fraud case of which he was eventually acquitted, his reputation never recovered and he died penniless in 1884.
Japan’s very first spirit photograph appears to have been taken in 1878. Alas, no copies survive today. Famed 19th century paranormal researcher Inoue “Dr. Yokai” Enryo reported that it showed a victim of the Satsuma Rebellion (see p. 92).
The first widely seen spirit photo emerged the following year, taken in a Yokohama studio by a photographer named Yaichi Mita. Unlike Mumler’s case, Mita’s seems to have been an honest accident. Ostensibly a portrait of the head monk of a local Buddhist temple, the developed image revealed what appeared to be an ethereal female presence standing behind the subject. When a local newspaper ran the photograph, it kicked off a craze for spirit photography in Japan that has lasted for well over a century.
Today
, spirit photography — known as shinrei shashin in Japanese — is as popular as ever among a certain set. Modern-day spirit photos differ from their 19th century counterparts in critical ways. This is driven largely by technology: as digital cameras have eclipsed film-based models in popularity, the double-exposures and shutter effects that that caused “spirit photographs” with film cameras have largely been replaced by phenomena specific to digital cameras. And then there’s always Photoshop, which lets even relative amateurs doctor photographs in ways unheard of even a decade ago, let alone a century or more.
Spirit photos continue to pop up again and again on Japanese television shows, with entire (and occasionally multi-hour) specials dedicated to deciphering spooky submissions sent in by viewers, complete with “psychic experts” weighing in with interpretations of the doom about to befall those captured in the images. The times may change, but one thing is for sure: spirit photography will never die. No pun intended.
A phantom figure captured in front of a row of Jizo statues... a dead priest perhaps?
Common Elements of Shinrei Shashin
1) Extra Limbs
Often seen in group photos, these are extra hands, legs, or feet that can’t possibly belong to anyone in the shot.
2) Phantom figures
Actual imagery of what appears to be an individual who was not present when the photo was taken. Sometimes hazy; sometimes quite distinct. Often spotted in photographs of accident scenes or other areas where victims perished.
3) Missing Limbs
Subjects of photographs with mysteriously “deleted” limbs, usually legs or arms. Said to represent misfortune affecting the limb in question.
4) Strange streaks or discolorations
Abstract shapes that can be interpreted in all sorts of ways, depending on the color (red is often said to be worse than white) and the individuals or parts of the body that are affected.
5) Orbs
By far the most commonly encountered phenomena. Critics claim these floating spheres are nothing more than reflections from dust motes or water droplets in the air. Proponents fervently believe they represent tiny souls, or simply denote supernaturally active areas. (Note: these photographic manifestations should not be confused for “hitodama” or “oni-bi,” fireballs that appear over graveyards and the like.)
Sorry, photographs of ghost paintings don’t count as shinrei shashin.
HIROKO’S STORY
Shinrei shashin were hugely popular when I was in middle school in the early 1980s. My school library even carried three different collections of spirit photographs, which we’d pore over in our spare time. It goes to show how big of a phenomenon they were back then.
One day when I was in the tenth grade, my home economics teacher announced to the class that she had taken a “wonderful photograph” when visiting her family grave that weekend. (It’s common for families here to make an afternoon of tidying up their family plots from time to time.) She was a soft-spoken older woman without, so far as we could tell, any particular interest in the occult. She went on to describe it for us, even illustrating it on the blackboard. She drew the grave, her family members posed around it, and the leaves of a tree forming a canopy over it all. This was the kicker: in the photo, each leaf supposedly revealed a tiny, smiling human face. Hundreds of faces, floating over a grave! The class sat in total silence when she was done. She offered to bring it in so that we could see it. But we were all too terrified to take her up on it — both of the photo and her strangely upbeat reaction!
RELATED: Nensha (Psychic Photography)
An offshoot of spirit photography, “psychic photography” involves projecting an image in one’s mind directly onto a camera’s film without actually triggering the shutter. Called nensha in Japanese, the phenomenon peaked in the Seventies and isn’t widely practiced or studied today. Also known as “Thoughtography,” it was used as a plot point in the horror film “Ringu.”
Dangerous Games: 36
HOUSES WITH HISTORIES
Dangerous Games: 36
HOUSES WITH HISTORIES
Name in Japanese: 訳あり物件
a.k.a. Wake-ari Bukken; Haunted homes; Real estate with a checkered past; The scourge of a real-estate agent’s existence
First Described: Undoubtedly around the time the concept of “real estate” was invented Peak of Interest: As long as people keep dying, there’ll be houses with histories
Main Types: Roughly 7, legally speaking (see below)
Result of Use: Potentially seeing a ghost; Potentially taking severe emotional shock; Potentially getting a really great real estate deal
Threat Level: Depends on location and specifics... And your state of mind!
Claim to Fame
You know the old saw about how the three most important things in real estate are “location, location, location?” That’s true in Japan, too, but it’s inevitably followed by another three: “history, history, history.”
The Japanese call the problem children of the real estate world wake-ari bukken: literally, “real estate listings with reasons” for being cheaper than they normally should. This is a catch-all term. Some of these reasons are patently obvious, such as small or oddly shaped lots, basement apartments that don’t get a lot of direct sunlight, or a location whose only view is that of a graveyard.
But there is a subset of wake-ari bukken that concerns listings with flaws that are darkly referred to as “psychologically harmful.” In other words, homes that have the potential to hurt you. Forget walls that have ears; these are walls that have seen some pretty terrible stuff.
The Attack
According to law, a listing is considered “psychologically harmful” to residents if it meets any of the following seven criteria. Some are universal sorts of things — nobody wants to live near a dump or a hotbed of crime. Others are less so, like proximity to wells (which, as we saw in chapter 1, can be pretty frightening places in Japan.) Let’s take a look at the criteria, which are:
• Located near criminal organizations (many Yakuza syndicates operate from clearly-marked office buildings.)
• Built by, or on ground once owned by, a religious cult
• Built atop a well, whether open or filled in
• Located near a waste-treatment facility or crematorium.
• Legal entanglements (such as questions of ownership).
• A history of fires or flooding that caused death or injury
• A suicide, murder, or “lonely death” having occurred on the premises.
The last two in particular are considered particularly bad and are sub-classified as jiko bukken — “accident listings” that have been tainted by death. Mind you, this can’t be just any death. A ninety-year old woman dying of natural causes surrounded by family is sad but doesn’t exactly qualify as a tragedy; if things like that counted, nearly every real estate listing in Japan would have a “history.”
The deaths that most concern potential buyers and tenants are “bad” ones. The death of a family in a housefire. The suicide of a former occupant. A murder having occured on the property. A lonely death, such as a shut-in passing away and their body remaining untouched for months... or years. (In 2010, a string of fraud cases emerged in Tokyo, involving families who deliberately failed to report the deaths of elderly relatives so as to continue receiving their social security payments. In the most notorious of these cases, a family left the mummified corpse of their father sealed in the bedroom where he had died for more than three decades, simply going about their business as normal.)
Surviving an Encounter
There are two ways to approach this sort of thing:
1) Avoid “homes with histories” altogether. This is at once simple and tricky. Those selling or renting property are legally obligated to disclose the history of a listing if it meets any of the conditions listed above, even if a potential buyer or renter doesn’t specifically ask about them.
But there are several loopholes.
One is that they are only required to disclose this information a single time, to the buyer or renter immediately following the incident. Once another person has lived in and left the property, they are no longer required to make the disclosure. But they are still obligated to truthfully answer any direct questions about the history of a property. If this sort of thing bothers you, make sure to ask.
Another loophole: unscrupulous realtors will often attempt to hide a death on the property by claiming that the person was discovered there, but actually died at the hospital, or (in the case of someone who leaps out a window) actually died on the ground, not in the room itself. Because of this, a variety of privately-run websites have emerged that cross-reference police reports with housing listings, allowing potential renters and buyers to double-check. (One is Oshimaland, http://www.oshimaland.co.jp/, which conveniently highlights them on Google Maps.)
2) There’s an entirely different approach as well: taking it in stride. Because of the law requiring disclosure to the next renter or buyer, there is actually a thriving market for houses and apartments with histories. By openly explaining what happened and offering steep discounts (in some cases, more than half) on rent, landlords are able to target clients who value saving money more than potential loss of peace of mind.
These sorts of places are almost shockingly candid about the histories of their properties; the clipped, businesslike descriptions of what happened to former occupants are like a porthole into the depths of the human soul. One site uses colorful icons to denote the assorted types of mayhem that occurred within the walls of their listings. Another even plays up the fear factor, asking renters to consider “sharing a room with a ghost!”