by Catrien Ross
In addition to Shutendoji and Tamamo no Mae, major yokai in Japanese folklore include Zegaebo, the Chinese tengu who came to Japan in 966 to frighten Buddhist monks, but failed miserably. There is also Sutoku Joko, born in 1119, the first son of the unlucky Emperor Toba who was victimized by Tamamo. Deeply embittered by his politically blighted life, he died cursing, biting his tongue so that he could write his last hateful oath in blood. After death he fulfilled his vow by becoming the great king of ghosts.
Momiji was a female demon, while Tsukumoshin tells the tale of monsters born out of the resentment of discarded tools. When they reach the age of one hundred years, tools can become spirits, so most people throw out tools long before then. To give themselves a greater chance of survival, a group of disgruntled tools planned to use the celebration of setsubun, the first day of spring on the lunar calendar and a time of renewal, as their chance to enter the heart of creation, or emptiness (mu in Buddhist doctrine). Here, where the eternal flow of yin and yang creates new matter, they believed that they, too, would receive spirits. They thus became monstrous yokai, killing humans and animals and drinking their blood. Another yokai was Princess Hashi, whose thirst for revenge transformed her into a living demon.
Demons, or oni, of course, are almost always troublemakers in the human world. A female demon, the shikome, is first mentioned in the Kojiki. Today, female demon masks are still common, and many a Japanese household has a mask representing a jealous, vengeful woman with two horns sprouting from her head. Demon quellers, with their power to devour goblins and their evil ilk, are associated with the festival known as Boys’ Day, held every year on May 5.
But insight into Japanese ghosts and demons is best gained by looking at the stories themselves. The following selection collected from around Japan and translated anew here offers an intriguing glimpse into regional folk tales and supernatural beliefs.
Shadow Woman
This tale comes from the Tohoku region, which comprises the six prefectures of Akita, Aomori, Fukushima, Iwate, Miyagi, and Yamagata.
In the clear Akita moonlight, a woman’s shadow falls in the doorway of a house at the far end of the village. The woman raps at the door, awakening Sakube. Stumbling out of his sleep, he opens the door. An icy wind blows in. Shrouded in the night is the black shape of a woman cradling a small bundle, a baby only days old. Instinctively, Sakube draws back. Who are these midnight visitors and why are they here? The woman replies that she is lost and unable to give milk, and needs some rest. Sakube relents and welcomes her in, taking the baby from her arms. Immediately the woman disappears into the cold, night wind. With a scream, Sakube sees that the baby has grown fangs and a black, hairy covering all over its body. In a panic he throws it down, and it, too, disappears into the cold night wind. From that moment on, whenever there is a chill wind at night, the same woman arrives outside Sakube’s house. Driven mad, Sakube abandons his home and nobody sees or hears of him again. Shadow Woman has been too much for him.
Muddy Rice Field
This tale comes from western Japan. In this nation office culture, people everywhere believe that when a rice field is left uncared for, a spirit or monster moves in. Or, there might be some supernatural entity keeping people away.
In Bizen, in Okayama Prefecture, there was a rice field that people said was the really the home of a yokai. Out of fear, nobody in the village went near it. It was also said that the water in the rice paddy was bottomless, and certainly many animals had already drowned there. Yet, every year, this field produced an excellent harvest, although nobody was ever seen tending it. One day, a traveling monk from faraway heard the ringing of a temple bell near the field and went to look. At once the yokai loomed out of the paddy and grabbed the monk. As he disappeared into the depths of the rice field, the flowers of the rice changed from white to blood red.
For much of Japan’s history the more rural parts of the Tohoku area have been very poor. The practice of infanticide, or baby weeding, was common. Babies who were discarded and left to die are said to have become zashiki warashi, or “parlor children,” destined to haunt houses throughout the region.
Some three hundred years ago in an Iwate village there lived a wealthy man called Masaimon. Everybody liked him because he was also very kind. So it was a great surprise when an itinerant monk arrived at his house one night and murmured that Masaimon would soon be completely ruined. After the monk left, Masaimon began to brood about the traveler’s words. The more he worried, the sicker he became, until, feverish and hallucinating, he came close to death. As he was lying down one night, he could hear the sound of footsteps running lightly above. Abruptly the footsteps stopped. A small voice just over his head whispered, “Are you dead? Are you dead?” Then water began to drip down on his face from the ceiling. “Limbo is very cold,” whispered the voice again. Suddenly a small child appeared, wet from head to toe. Terrified, Masaimon lost consciousness. When he came to he heard the shoji screen sliding open and then closing. There was a sound of brushing, then the shoji surrounding the room started to shake violently. A child’s laughter pealed out and there again was a small boy standing over him. “Are you dead? Are you dead?” whispered the child. This was too much for Masaimon, who died of fright. Soon afterward the fortunes of his house, as predicted, rapidly declined. His family was ruined.
The Eyes
And then there is the story about a temple haunted by myriad eyes, or mokumokuren.
Nobody could recall when the Mokurenji temple had last had a head monk. The temple had long been abandoned and the only inhabitant was thought to be a fox or a tanuki, which was sometimes glimpsed during the day. Villagers used to dare one another about going there after dark. Young people used to tease each other that the man brave enough to remain in the temple until dawn would be given a night with the most beautiful girl in the village. But still, no one went there. After one autumn festival, however, a group of young men became quite drunk and made a bet with a traveling peddler, Yoshimaru. He took them up on their dare, and fortifying himself with saké, entered the temple. As he sat drinking, he heard strange sounds, but he continued until he fell asleep in a drunken stupor. In the middle of the night, he was awakened by a loud noise, and, looking around, he saw eyes peering in everywhere through the many holes in the old shoji. The young men waiting nearby outside could hear him screaming, “The eyes, the eyes!” Then, the shoji began to fall down, with Yoshimaru still crying aloud. After that, there was silence. When dawn broke, some young men crept into the temple. They found nothing but a bloody rag and what may have been Yoshimaru’s eyes. No one ever talked about the incident again.
In Japan today, children still play a game called niramekko, where two people stare into one another’s eyes. Each makes a strange face, daring the other to laugh. The one who laughs first loses. It is said that whoever plays niramekko with mokumokuren is sure to lose his or her eyes.
Old Mountain Woman
Among the monsters in Japan are the female mountain ogres, who like nothing better than to eat human beings. Varying versions of this story are found throughout Japan, especially to the west and south.
A hard-working family lived near a mountain. One day the mother had to leave the house and, as usual, she cautioned her three sons not to open the door for anyone, no matter what reason. Everyone knew that an awful ogre inhabited the deep forest high up the slope, and several people had disappeared. After she had gone there was a knock at the door. “Who is it?” asked the oldest son.
“I am your next door neighbor, and I need help. Please open the door.”
“Your voice is too strange,” replied the boy. “I won’t open the door.”
A short time later, there was another knock at the door. “Who is it?” asked the youngest son.
A voice sweetened with honey answered, “I am a good friend of your mother’s. She has a message for you.”
“Show your hand at the crack,” ordered the boy. A grizzled, hairy hand appeared. “I see by you
r hand that you are really the ogre. I won’t open the door,” said the boy.
Shortly afterward there was another knock at the door. “Who is it?” asked the middle son.
“I am your mother, and I’m so tired. Let me in,” said a feeble voice.
“Show your hand at the crack,” the boy replied. A hand newly shaved and powdered white appeared. The middle son hesitated, but at last opened the door. At once the ogre jumped in and devoured him. The other two sons managed to run out of the house, the ogre in pursuit. By the river grew a tree so tall that it was said to reach heaven. The two boys reached the trunk and began climbing as fast as they could. Further and further they climbed, as the ogre, heavy and panting, tried to follow. When the ogre had reached high enough, the boys took some stones they were carrying and dropped them on the ogre, who lost her balance and plunged from the tree to her death. Her monster blood spilled out, deeply soaking the earth. And that, say the Japanese, is why the roots of the soba plant, the source of beloved buckwheat noodles, were forever turned to red.
In yet another version of story the older son additionally becomes the moon, the younger son a star.
Ancient Tree
In rural Japan, some people believe that once a tree becomes more than one thousand years old, it changes into a spirit which can be well-intentioned or quite malevolent. In some places they say that when a woodcutter dies in the forest, his spirit turns into a yokai.
The woodcutter Musabi no Gen goes up the mountain to cut wood. As he tries to hew down a large, old tree, however, he hears a voice murmuring, “Be careful, I’m going to fall down, get away.” Startled, he looks around, but seeing nothing unusual, continues his cutting. The voice repeats the words and this time the woodcutter cries aloud, “Who’s there?” The only reply is the sound of a tree falling. He jumps back in alarm, but no tree actually falls. Determined to persevere, the woodcutter keeps on until it grows dark. As night falls, the tree begins to change in the most horrifying way. Eyes and mouth appear on a writhing trunk. From the gnarled roots rises a blue light, the spirit of the tree. Stubborn Musabi no Gen is enveloped by the tree and is seen no more.
Simple Dwelling
But if the realm of yokai can be terrifying, the world of human spirits can show such virtues as loyalty and love stronger than death. Indeed, these are common themes in the Ugetsu Monogatari, from which the following story comes.
A merchant named Katsuhiro has to visit Kyoto to sell silk. His wife Miyagi, a woman of great beauty and strong character, is very worried about this new business venture. She also knows that it will be difficult to manage financially without her husband, but she nevertheless helps him prepare for his long journey. On the eve of his departure the couple talk fondly, with Miyagi sad about life’s uncertainty but promising that she will be waiting for his return, day and night. Katsuhiro consoles his wife by promising that he will be back by autumn, when the leaf of the arrowroot will be rippling in the wind.
That summer, however, fighting breaks out, and Katsuhiro is caught in the turmoil, unable to go home. When autumn comes with not even so much as the slightest rumor of her husband, Miyagi grows depressed at his faithlessness and unreliability. Writing her grief in a poem she asks the rooster to tell her husband that autumn has passed.
The political situation throughout the country worsens. Miyagi considers fleeing to safety but recalls her promise. Then a new toll gate is built, requiring travel permits, but Katsuhiro has no papers. Again he is trapped. Resigned to his situation, he remains in Kyoto. Miyagi, in the meantime, loses all her money when she is robbed by a servant who runs away. Her beauty also attracts many suitors, all of whom she rejects. With the country at war and no place truly safe, Katsuhiro imagines his wife to be dead. Seven long years pass, and finally things settle down enough for Katsuhiro to return home. Arriving back, he is relieved to find his old house standing intact, although the rest of village is desolate. And there, beautiful and strong as when he had last seen her, is his beloved wife Miyagi. It is a joyful reunion, each sharing the sorrow of separation and hardships endured before lying down to sleep. When Katsuhiro awakens next morning he finds that Miyagi has gone. Soon a wandering beggar informs him that Miyagi died years before. Katushiro has slept with her ghost, a spirit that kept her promise to be waiting for his return.
Chrysanthemum Promise
Fierce loyalty is also featured in this story.
A monk named Sanmon came to know Soyenmon, a scholar of military tactics. When Soyenmon fell ill it was Sanmon who took care of him, so much so that the two men pledged to become blood brothers. Soyenmon had to return home, but promised to meet Sanmon again later that year, on September 9. When the day arrived, however, it was not Soyenmon himself, but his ghost who came. While home, he had been arrested and detained by his cousin, who had plotted against him. Knowing that he would thus be unable to keep his promise to Sanmon, Soyenmon had committed suicide so that his spirit could come instead. A distraught Sanmon then traveled to Soyenmon’s hometown and killed the cousin, avenging Soyenmon’s death. After that, Sanmon himself disappeared.
Blue Mask
Then there is this tale of strange determination.
When Kaian, known to be a virtuous Zen Buddhist monk, visited a mountain village in present-day Tochigi Prefecture, the villagers feared he was a demon. When he asked why, the people told him about another monk, living on the mountain, who became so depressed about a young boy’s death that he ate the corpse. Villagers therefore mistook Kaian for another flesh-eating monster disguised as a monk. So Kaian went up to the mountain temple to visit this monk. The monk attacked Kaian, planning to devour him. Failing in the attempt, however, he asked Kaian to help him spiritually. Before he left, however, Kaian gave the monk a blue mask and a special sutra, instructing the monk to chant it. The following winter Kaian visited the mountain temple again. The monk was still there, grown incredibly thin and still sitting and chanting the sutra. Kaian lifted his staff and gave the monk a sharp whack. Immediately the monk disappeared. All that remained was a crumbling pile of bones and a blue mask.
Princess Hashi
In this tale, also known as Hashihime, the wife of Yamadazaemon Kunitoki had bit by bit driven herself crazy over the fact that her husband kept a concubine. Although she many times pleaded with her husband to give up the woman, he ignored her pleas, so she decided to exact revenge. Near her house was a shrine where people visited at the hour of the ox (between 1 and 3 A. M. in the traditional Japanese clock) to ask favors of the gods. For seven consecutive days, the same time every day, she prayed to become a living demon.
On the seventh night, she stayed at the shrine, and it was the shrine priest who dreamed that the god agreed to grant the woman’s earnest request. But first she had to don a red kimono, paint her hair red and divide it like horns, and wear a three-pronged iron crown, in which fires should be lit. After that she had to sit in the Ujigawa river for twenty-one days. She would then become a living demon.
Her husband, meantime, had a series of horrible nightmares which he asked the court astrologer, Abe no Seimei, to explain. The latter warned him that he could lose his life as a result of a woman’s revenge, so the man confessed to having made his wife madly jealous by keeping a concubine. The astrologer gave precise instructions for the man’s protection, so that when the living demon, his former wife, broke into his bedroom one night and stood by his pillow, she was unable to exert any power over him.
Unable to take revenge as she had wished, she stalked the streets of Kyoto each night, terrorizing the citizenry. Upon meeting a man, she would change into a beautiful woman he could not resist. When she met a woman, she became a handsome man. Either way she killed the hapless victim she had cleverly bewitched. Eventually nobody dared go out at night, so the emperor ordered Minamoto no Raiko to find her and destroy her. Raiko dispatched two disciples who cornered her one night after a long chase. Surrendering, the living demon vowed to cease her evil actions, asking them to mourn f
or her after death, and promising to become the palace protector. She then jumped into the Ujigawa and drowned. When the emperor heard this story he held an elaborate funeral, where one hundred monks chanted sutras. Soon after, the demon appeared in a dream to the emperor’s servant, requesting that a shrine beside the Ujigawa be built in her honor. The emperor complied, and erecting the shrine, he renamed the unhappy woman Princess Hashi of the Ujigawa.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Edo-Era Tales
By the late eighteenth and into the early nineteenth century, Edo joined the ranks of the world’s great cities, with its population exceeding one million. By comparison, the population of Europe’s largest city, London, had not yet reached one million.
Vigorous and dynamic, Edo was a center of popular culture that gave birth to many things now considered quintessentially Japanese, among them kabuki, sushi, and woodblock prints. It was in this culturally bustling metropolis that ghost stories enjoyed a new heyday.
The following tale of supernatural love, which borrows elements from China, is once again based on an actual incident that took place during the Edo era. Encho, the famous storyteller, told his own version to enthralled audiences during Japan’s Meiji period. The poignant tale is here reworked anew.
The Peony Lantern
THE MAD FATHER
Some two hundred years ago, in Tokyo’s Ushigome district, there lived a samurai called Iijima Heizaemon. After the sudden death of his wife he was left alone with his daughter, Otsuyu, but he soon married again, this time to his former servant, Okuni. Just when Otsuyu reached marriageable age and was ready to begin a life of her own, however, Okuni fell in love with the servant Genjiro, and the two plotted Heizaemon’s death by poisoning. The amount of poison they put into his food was not enough to kill Heizaemon, who survived their attack, but with his mind unhinged. Okuni and Genjiro, meanwhile, their murder plot discovered, escaped together.