The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn

by Tom Hoobler

  “No,” Seikei said. “It was a good one, but I was not afraid.”

  “I must return to my father now,” said Michiko. “Perhaps we will meet again, and then you can read me a poem you have written.”

  “I promise,” said Seikei. He watched as she rose and went into the inn. How graceful she is, he thought.

  After she left, a cool wind blew across the terrace, sending a chill through Seikei. The play across the lake was over, and now all was silent. He began to think of the jikininki, and stood up. It was too quiet and too dark. He had the odd feeling that something might be hiding in the darkness beyond the terrace. He didn’t want to stay out here any longer.

  4: The Hour of the Rat:

  Seikei hurried back to the room where his father was sleeping. He took off his kimono and lay down on the other mat.

  But he didn’t fall asleep. The inn was still noisy. Only rice-paper screens separated one room from another, and Seikei could hear Lord Hakuseki’s men talking loudly in other rooms along the corridor. They were drinking rice wine, and showed no concern for the slumbers of the other guests.

  Seikei heard his father snoring. All the noise did not disturb his sleep. Seikei knew that tomorrow would bring another long, uncomfortable trip in the kago. He sighed, and tried to shut the sounds out of his ears.

  Then loud shouts made him sit up and listen. He could hear very clearly, though the voice was farther down the hallway. It was Lord Hakuseki himself. He was scolding one of the inn’s servants for not bringing the wine quickly enough. The sound of a blow was followed by a muffled cry. Then heavy footsteps and a loud thud. The servant had been thrown out on the wooden floor of the hallway. Much laughter followed from the other samurai.

  Truly, as the girl Michiko had said, this daimyo did not have a noble spirit. I would not be that way if I were a samurai, Seikei thought. He reminded himself of the three qualities of a samurai—loyalty, right conduct, and bravery. Right conduct meant setting an example for others to follow. Lord Hakuseki, powerful though he was, did not know the difference between right and wrong.

  The noise of the partying continued for some time. Gradually, it began to die down. Seikei heard the slow footsteps of samurai going down the hall to the privy in the courtyard, and then returning. Finally, the inn became quiet.

  Seikei tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable. He regretted telling the girl he liked ghost stories. Now he could not get the image of the jikininki out of his mind. The dim light from the corridor shone through the rice-paper walls of the room. The walls were decorated with a pattern of whorls and curlicues. Every time Seikei looked in their direction, he seemed to see large eyes staring at him.

  Far off, a temple bell rang once, a hollow sound that meant the first hour after midnight had begun— the Hour of the Rat. Seikei closed his eyes, but he could hear the sounds of heavy breathing all around him. He knew it was only the occupants of the rooms on either side. But it sounded like a gang of jikininkis waiting to gobble him up as soon as he fell asleep.

  Then his body tensed. He heard another sound. Something was sliding across the floor outside the doorway. Seikei’s eyes popped open, and he saw the bamboo-screen door begin to slide open, very, very slowly.

  Seikei felt his hair stand on end. As he watched in horror, the door opened wide. Something was standing behind it—something larger than a man. The light in the hallway was too dim for Seikei to see anything more than a shadow. But he could see that it had a huge head, with horns sucking out of it.

  Seikei sat up as quickly as if he had been a marionette on strings. He waved his arms wildly, and tried to say, “I’m not dead!” But his throat was paralyzed with fear, and only a squeak came out.

  The shadow turned in his direction. Seikei saw its eyes flash in the light from the hallway. The creature’s white face looked down on Seikei. It stared at him for a second and then raised one arm. Seikei saw a small object in its hand, red and glowing like a fiery eye. The ghostly form waved the red object toward him. To Seikei, it seemed like the spirit was trying to cast a spell on him.

  The shadow moved backward, and the door slid closed again. Seikei felt as if he were made of stone. He could not move a muscle, but his heart was pounding so fast that he thought his chest would break open.

  His ears were so keen now that he thought he could hear insects crawling in the comers of the room. As he listened, he heard a door sliding back. The ghost must be going into another room.

  What should I do? Seikei asked himself. He must get up and raise an alarm. It would be his fault if the monster devoured some other sleeping person. Perhaps even the girl, Michiko. He clenched his fists, and thought of the first quality of a samurai—bravery. He must do it.

  He forced himself to stand, but his legs were shaking and weak. Ignore weakness, he told himself. Move forward without thinking. He took a step toward the door.

  When he reached it, he had to remind himself again not to think of danger. Death had no meaning to the samurai, he told himself, for that is the fate of all and it does not matter if it comes today or tomorrow.

  He slid the door open, and looked out in the corridor. At the far end, where the darkness was deepest, he saw the shadow moving. Seikei again found that fear silenced his voice. He was angry at himself, and stamped his foot.

  As soon as he did this, the shadow began to sink into the floor. Seikei could hardly believe what he saw. Bit by bit, it shrank from sight until only its great horned head was visible. Then that disappeared as well. Nothing remained.

  Seikei looked around. The corridor was empty and silent. All the doors were tightly closed. He walked to the place where the shadow had disappeared. There was a door beyond it, but he was sure it had not opened. Checking, he slid it aside and looked out. The rain had stopped, and the moon shone brightly over the courtyard beyond. Nothing was there.

  Seikei went back to his own room and shut the door. He was calmer now, proud of himself for having been brave enough to follow the ghost. Perhaps when he stamped his foot, he had frightened it away.

  He lay down on his mat again. The inn was peaceful. Once more he heard the sounds of snoring people. But they did not seem so fearful now. Something told him that the danger was gone. But what had it been? Why did it come to his door?

  All night, he asked himself those questions. Finally, when the first twittering sparrows outside signaled the dawn, he fell asleep. But he did not rest for long.

  5: Prisoners in the Inn

  Early the next morning, angry shouts and the sounds of running footsteps woke everybody in the inn. Seikei kept his eyes firmly closed, hoping the noise would stop. Someone rapped on the bamboo frame at the doorway. Seikei heard his father get up to see what was happening.

  It was the innkeeper. “I apologize for the disturbance,” he said. “But my honored guest Lord Hakuseki has reported something missing from his room.”

  “We know nothing about it,” said Seikei’s father.

  “I am sure,” the innkeeper said. “But his men have surrounded the inn and will let no one leave.”

  “Are we prisoners, then?” asked Father angrily. “I am on an important journey. I must arrive in Edo in three days.”

  “I regret that the matter is beyond my control,” the innkeeper replied. “We must wait for the judge to arrive.”

  “Bring us tea and something to eat at once,” Father said. “Unless we are to be starved as well.”

  “I will see to it myself,” said the innkeeper.

  Father closed the door and rubbed his fingers through his hair, the way he did when he was angry. “Are you awake?” he asked Seikei. “Did you hear?”

  “Yes, Father,” Seikei mumbled. “Could I sleep a bit longer?”

  “No. You will develop lazy habits, like the samurai you admire so much. See what trouble this one has caused us.”

  Seikei rose slowly. He wondered if he should tell his father what had happened during the night. It seemed like a dream now. No, he decided. Fathe
r was angry enough, and would only tell Seikei not to imagine foolish things.

  A maid brought tea and a bowl of pickled vegetables. The sharp taste of the pickles helped to clear Seikei’s head. Secretly, he was glad not to have to get inside the kago this morning. The innkeeper said that a judge was coming. Seikei thought it would be exciting to observe how he would investigate the crime.

  There was a knock at the door. Seikei slid it open and saw another samurai, one who did not wear the crest of Lord Hakuseki’s clan. ‘The judge commands you to come,” he said. They followed him down the hallway to the large room that Lord Hakuseki had occupied the night before.

  The judge now sat on the platform in the center of the room. He wore a brown kimono, embroidered with yellow chrysanthemums. The man was fat, but his eyes were as sharp as a cat’s. He reminded Seikei of a statue of Buddha, except that the judge wore the swords of a samurai under his obi.

  Lord Hakuseki and his men were seated along the walls of the room. The other guests of the inn filed in and sat on the floor in front of the magistrate. Michiko and her father sat right in front of Seikei. Seikei glanced at her shyly, and she smiled.

  “I am Judge Ooka,” the judge said in a voice that seemed surprisingly pleasant. “I am here to investigate the theft of a valuable object that belonged to Lord Hakuseki. Does anyone wish to confess to the crime?”

  The room was silent. Seikei kept his eyes on the floor. He knew that anyone accused of a crime must admit his guilt before he could be punished. However, judges had the power to order a suspect to be tortured to force a confession. It would be far better for the guilty person to confess at once.

  “Since no one has confessed,” Judge Ooka said, “I will order my men to search your rooms to prove your innocence.” Seikei heard his father sigh softly. He was probably worried that their belongings would be carelessly handled.

  At the judge’s nod, three of his assistants left the room. “The object was taken while Lord Hakuseki was sleeping,” he said. “Yet his guards outside saw no one enter or leave the inn. I ask anyone who heard anything strange during the night to speak.”

  Seikei lifted his head, but quickly lowered it again. However, Judge Ooka noticed, and looked in his direction. “Did you hear something?” he asked. Seikei did not know what to say.

  It was his father who answered. “The inn was very noisy,” he said. “Everyone must have heard sounds.”

  Another guest spoke up. “There was loud singing, and then an argument.” A third guest added, “I heard someone being beaten.” Seikei thought that many guests must have been annoyed by the noisy doings of Lord Hakuseki and his men. They were glad to be able to complain freely.

  ‘You did not report this earlier,” Judge Ooka said, looking at Lord Hakuseki. “Who was beaten?”

  The daimyo shrugged. “A servant. He was careless, and I gave him a couple of knocks to teach him manners.”

  Judge Ooka asked the innkeeper, “Where is this servant?”

  “I will bring him at once, Lord,” the innkeeper said. He left the room and in a few seconds returned with a thin little man who lay face down on the floor in front of the judge. “Sit up so I can see your face,” Judge Ooka said.

  He looked at the servant’s face. “I see you have a bruise on your cheek,” the judge said. “How did you get it?”

  “It was my fault, Lord,” the man said. “I was too slow and stupid, and I deserved a beating.”

  “You brought wine to Lord Hakuseki and his men, is that so?”

  “Yes, that was my duty.”

  “When you came to this room, did you see this box?” Judge Ooka picked up the shiny black casket that had held the jewel.

  “No, Lord, I saw nothing.”

  “Nothing? Nothing at all?”

  The man hesitated. “I saw nothing I was not supposed to see.”

  “How long have you worked in this inn?”

  “Two years.”

  “Then you must know it very well. You could probably find your way about the hallways in the dark, is that so?”

  “Yes, Lord.”

  “You probably know many places in the inn where you could easily hide something small, is that so?” The man did not reply. Judge Ooka went on, his voice as calm and gentle as if he were talking with a friend. “Suppose you found a gold coin in the street and wanted to hide it so no one could steal it from you. Where would you put it?”

  “I would give the coin to a temple, Lord,” the servant replied.

  The judge nodded. “That would be virtuous.” In the same tone, he added, “You know that I could have your arms tied behind your back and have them pulled upward until you confessed?”

  The servant nodded. He was shaking now. “Wouldn’t it be better to confess at once and spare yourself that pain?” the judge said.

  The servant lay on the floor again. “I have not stolen anything, Lord. I swear it.”

  Before the judge could reply, the door to the room slid open. One of his assistants entered, and Seikei saw that he carried the sample box of paper that Michiko had shown to Lord Hakuseki. The man strode forward and placed the box in front of Judge Ooka. “We have found the stolen jewel,” he said. “It was hidden inside this box.”

  6: Looking for a Ghost

  Lord Hakuseki pointed at Michiko and her father. “They are the thieves! ” he shouted. “She tricked her way into my room and saw the jewel.”

  Judge Ooka gestured for them to come forward. Michiko put her hands to her face and knelt alongside her father.

  “This box belongs to you?” Judge Ooka asked.

  “Yes,” her father replied. “But we did not touch the jewel. I do not know how it got there.”

  “What is your name?” Judge Ooka asked.

  “Ogawa Iori, a paper-maker from Kyoto.”

  “And this girl?”

  “My daughter Michiko.”

  “She’s a sly one,” said Lord Hakuseki. “She asked me to show her the jewel.”

  Seikei stared at him. He was lying! He was violating the samurai code of honor.

  “Let me see your face,” Judge Ooka said to Michiko. His sharp eyes stared into hers. “You will receive only a light punishment if you tell the truth. Think carefully before you answer. Is this man really your father?”

  “Oh yes, Lord.”

  “And did he tell you to ask to see the jewel?”

  “No! No! We did not know there was any jewel here. I only showed our paper, and Lord Hakuseki wrote a poem and asked if I wanted to see something beautiful.”

  “Torture them,” Lord Hakuseki said. “They’ll soon tell the truth.”

  Judge Ooka ignored him. He took the ruby from the paper-box and held it out. “Is this the jewel that Lord Hakuseki showed you?”

  Michiko nodded.

  “Where did you go after you left his room?”

  “I returned to our room.”

  “Did you stay there the rest of the night?”

  “Yes,” said Michiko’s father. “We went right to sleep.”

  “No,” said Michiko. “I could not sleep, and I went to the terrace to see the view.” Her father groaned softly.

  “But it was raining last night,” said the judge.

  “Yes. But it was quieter outside, and very pleasant.”

  “How long did you stay there?”

  “Not very long.”

  Seikei waited for her to say that she had met him there, but after a moment, she added, “I soon went back to our room and fell asleep.”

  “Perhaps you stayed on the terrace until everyone else in the inn had gone to bed?”

  “No, it was still noisy when I returned.”

  Judge Ooka frowned at her. “Can you explain how this jewel got into your room?”

  “I do not know. But I did not take it.”

  The judge sighed. “Though you are only a child, this is a very serious crime. I must warn you that I can—”

  “It wasn’t her! ” Seikei’s voice rang out from behind
Michiko. Everyone turned to look at him. Even his father was staring. But Seikei had to tell the truth. He could not let the girl be tortured.

  “I saw the thief,” Seikei went on. “It was a ghost, a jikininki. It had horns, and it opened the door of our room. It was holding the jewel in its hand.”

  Seikei’s father jumped up. “Lord, you must excuse this boy, my son. He is fond of imagining things, and he has strange dreams.” Father gave Seikei a ferocious look that told more than words could about the scolding he would get later.

  “Come here,” the judge commanded. Seikei went forward. His father followed, still explaining that Seikei could not be trusted to tell the truth, for he was only a half-witted child who read poetry.

  “What did you call the thief?” said Judge Ooka. “A jikininki? Where did you hear of jikininkis?”

  Seikei hesitated. “I was on the terrace when this girl came out. She told me a ghost story. But I really saw it. You must believe me. I was not dreaming.”

  “You see?” said Seikei’s father. “He is very nervous. We had a long journey yesterday, and he is not used to travel. This girl may have enchanted him in some way. Who knows what kinds of people you will meet on the road? Thieves, beggars, madmen...I blame it on the innkeeper, for letting such people stay here.”

  “You were glad enough to find a room last night,” the innkeeper shouted.

  “The boy may have been one of the thieves,” added Lord Hakuseki. “He saw the jewel too. They were all in it together.”

  Judge Ooka stood up. “I cannot think here,” he said. “Hold all these people until I return,” he told one of his assistants. Pointing to Seikei, he said, “You come with me.” When Seikei’s father began to protest, the judge silenced him with a wave of his hand.

  Seikei was frightened. Perhaps the judge was taking him to be tortured. He regretted having spoken out, but he could not have remained silent.

  “Show me where your room is,” the judge said when they were in the corridor. Seikei led him there. “Where were you sleeping?” said the judge.

  Seikei showed him. “Lie down, just as you were, and tell me everything you saw,” Judge Ooka said. He listened carefully as Seikei retold the story.