Thanks to all of my patrons for supporting this year’s A-Yokai-A-Day project. All stories are from Shokoku hyakumonogatari. You can become a patron at my Patreon page.
Here is the index of this year’s entries:
Stay tuned next year for more!
Happy Halloween!
Today marks the end of A-Yokai-A-Day — a day that is always both sad and a relief for me, as I enjoy doing this project so much, but it’s also exhausting. If you’ve enjoyed A-Yokai-A-Day, I hope you’ll consider becoming a patron (even for just $1!) to help me continue sharing new yokai tales year-round. Patreon is a major source of my income, and I couldn’t do this without the help of all of my patrons. You can become a patron here.
Tonight’s story is about lacquer, and take place place in an area of Tanba Province which is now part of Kyoto. There’s a very similar story from here in Fukui, another famous lacquerware center. So like many folktales, this is one that probably has local variations anywhere that lacquer was produced.
I’ve had the pleasure of learning a lot about lacquer since living in Fukui. Not far from my home is a place where they make traditional lacquerware in the old fashioned way. I’ve visited there several times, and the skill of the artisans as well as the variety of products that can be made are fascinating! Lacquer itself is an interesting substance. It’s basically a kind of tree sap which is very toxic and will give you a really horrible, blistering rash if you touch it. So artisans have to be careful when working with it. It also has this weird property where it dries when it gets wet. It can be used just like oil paint when pigments are added to it, but when it comes into contact with water (or even humid air) it will dry fairly quickly and harden into a very tough substance. That is a key fact to remember during tonight’s story, so keep that in mind!
The Man From Saiki Village in Tanba Province Who Became an Oni While Still Living
There was a poor man in Saiki Village in Tanba Province. He was exceedingly devoted to his parents. One day when he went to gather firewood in the mountains, he went down into the valley to drink and he saw something that looked like a large cow lying down under the water. Mystified, he looked closely and discovered that it was a hardened lump of lacquer that had been flowing down from the mountain year after year.
Thinking that this was a blessing from heaven, he began collecting the lacquer and taking it to Hida and to the capital to sell, and he became very wealthy.
His next door neighbor was an evil man, and when he heard about this situation he planned to somehow stop the man from coming there so that he could collect the lacquer for himself. He put on a large chamfron and a red wig made of yak fur so that he looked like an oni. Then he dove down into the water and waited for the man to arrive. As usual, he came to collect the lacquer, but this time he saw an oni at the bottom of the water and he ran away in fear.
The evil man was overjoyed that his plan worked, but when he tried to get out of the water he found that he could not move. He died, still in his oni disguise.
Tonight’s story is wonderfully silly. And the yokai in this story is a rare one! Instead of a tanuki, yūrei, or a daija, as this book is fond of, we have something like a kodama. To be more specific, this is the spirit of an enoki mushroom, which for some reason or another, has decided to play pranks on humans. Wonderful! Everything about this story, from the evil mushroom, to the ridiculous actor, to the way the mushroom is defeated, is just silly. I love it.
How Mankichi Tayū Became a Bakemono’s Master
In Kamitachiuri, Kyōto there was a sarugaku master named Mankichi Tayū. His noh acting was poor, and when his money ran out he decided to head to Ōsaka. On the way, he stopped to relax and drink tea at a roadside teahouse in Hirakata. It was almost dusk, so he said to the teahouse owner, “I would like to stay here for one night.”
The teahouse owner replied, “That is no problem, except that there is a bakemono who comes here every night and takes people. So we won’t be here at night.”
Mankichi replied, “Even so, I don’t mind.” And he spent that night at the roadside teahouse.
At around midnight, sure enough, he heard the sound of someone crossing the river from the other side. When he looked, he saw a rich monk standing over two meters tall. Mankichi called out to the monk:
“No, no, that kind of transformation is no good. You’re still a novice.”
The monk replied, “What kind of person are you to speak in such a way?”
Mankichi said, “I am a bakemono from the capital, and I heard that a bakemono lives around here, so I came to meet him and see how skilled he is. If he is skilled, I thought I would take him as my master, and if he is unskilled, I thought I would take him as an apprentice. That’s why I’m staying at this teahouse.”
The monk said, “In that case, show me your transformation skills.”
“Very well,” said Mankichi. And he took his noh costumes out of his pack and dressed himself up as an oni.
The monk was impressed and said, “Well now, you’re very good! Next, turn into a woman.”
“Very well,” said Mankichi. And he turned himself into a woman.
The monk replied, “I am amazed at how skilled you are! I would like to ask you to become my master from now on. I am a mushroom who lives under a hackberry tree across the river. I’ve been living here and bothering the people nearby for several years.”
Mankichi asked, “What is your least favorite thing?”
“I can’t stand soup made from miso that has been fermented for three years,” replied the monk. “And what is your least favorite thing?”
Mankichi answered, “I can’t stand freshly caught and cooked sea bream. If I eat it, I will just die right away!”
As they spoke, the dawn was beginning to break. The monk said farewell and went back across the river.
Mankichi dayū told all of the people of Hirakata and Takatsuki about his meeting with the bakemono and their conversation. Then they all gathered together and boiled some miso that had been fermenting for three years. When they poured it on the mushroom underneath the hackberry tree, it immediately shriveled up and disappeared. The bakemono was never seen after that.
Jealousy once again rears its ugly head! It’s a very common theme in Shokoku hyakumonogatari. In fact, tonight’s story contains quite a few repeated themes that we’ve seen throughout this book. But what I find more interesting is what it doesn’t say.
For one, why did the wife murder Momiji? It seems quite extreme, even for the most jealous person in the world, to murder someone just for being beautiful. After all, Momiji was just a maidservant. The wife could have easily fired her. And why, in the end, does Shume become a monk? If his wife murdered the maidservant, the proper thing for a samurai to do would be for Shume to put his wife to death as a murderer. And why does Momiji’s ghost appear with the lower half of her clothing soaked in blood?
These questions all point to an unsaid answer: that Shume was sleeping with Momiji and got her pregnant. This explains the bloodstained clothing; Momiji’s ghost appears in the form of an ubume — a ghost associated with pregnancy and childbirth. It also explains why the wife was upset enough to kill the girl. And, as Shume wasn’t innocent himself, he had no recourse to punish his wife, and instead he became a monk to atone for his own sins.
The Jealousy of Shibata Shume’s Wife
In Miyazu, Tango there was a man named Shibata Shume. His wife was a jealous woman, and she suspected that Shume had his eye on their beautiful maidservant Momiji. One time, after Shume went to Edo, she tossed Momiji into a well and then sealed her inside, killing her.
When Shume returned from Edo he asked his wife, “Why did you dig a new well?”
She answered him, “It suddenly collapsed so I had to dig a new one.”
“Where is Momiji?” asked Shume.
“She quit,” replied the wife.
Shume was suspicious, but he let the matter pass.
Shume had three children, but they suddenly became ill and within 40 or 50 days all three of them died. Shume and his wife were overcome with grief and endless sorrow. Around that time, Shume’s wife was pregnant, and before long she gave birth without incident. The child was a blessing in the middle of their grief, and they showered him with affection.
Before long, the child turned three years old. He suffered repeatedly from epileptic convulsions, and they tried all sorts of treatments, but none had any effect. A rōnin acquaintance of Shume’s knew of a skilled acupuncturist, and brought him to see the child. After the acupuncture treatment, the child recovered a little bit, so Shume asked him to stay the night.
Since it was summer, the rōnin and the acupuncturist hung up a mosquito net and left the area open while they talked. While they talked, they heard the sound of geta from the alley. When they checked to see who it was, they saw a girl. From the waist down, she was stained with blood; her body-length hair was standing on end; and her face was emaciated and blue-tinged. She stepped up onto the veranda. The acupuncturist nearly fainted, and cowered in the corner. The rōnin said, “Who goes there?”
“I am a maidservant who was employed by this house, but the lady of the house, in her jealousy, falsely accused me, murdered me, and buried me at the bottom of the well. I have already taken my revenge on three of her children, and now I have come to take her fourth. No matter how much money you spend on treating him, it will not won’t be enough,” replied the girl. Then she vanished into thin air.
At that moment, they heard a scream from the back room. When they went to check, they found that the child was already dead.
Afterwards, the rōnin told Shume everything that had happened. Shume was shocked, and he divorced his wife and became a monk himself.
Tonight’s story depicts a legendary ritual known as “the shrine visit at the hour of the ox.” This ritual is famous today for being a curse ritual. It is performed by jealous or jilted lovers who want revenge — either against the former lover who betrayed them, or against the person who stole their lover from them. The hashi hime of Uji, Kyoto is a famous example of someone who used this ritual to powerful effect.
To perform this ritual, one dresses up like a ghost: wearing a white burial kimono, and carrying a light source on their head (usually in the form of candles stuck onto an upside-down trivet, or holding a torch in their mouth), and wearing tall geta sandals. The ritual is performed at the hour of the ox, which equates to between 1 to 3 am in western time.
While this ritual is known today as being a curse ritual, long ago it wasn’t restricted to curses. The shrine visit at the hour of the ox was originally performed for very strong, sincere wishes, like the one we see in the story below. For an extra powerful dose of magic, you can perform it during the year of the ox, during the month of the ox, on the day of the ox, and at the hour of the ox — but you’d have to have time on your side to get such a perfect line up.
The Woman Who Every Night Visited Usa Hachiman in Buzen Province
In Buzen Province, about 2 kilometers north of Usa Hachiman-gu Shrine, there is a mausoleum. There is a rumor that a henge comes here every night. One night, a group of young men gathered there and asked, “Who wants to go and see it?”
But not one of them said they were willing to go. Among them was a brave samurai who said, “I will go,” and, boasting about his courage, went off to the mausoleum all by himself. He sat in the shadow of some trees and waited for the henge to arrive.
It was dark and rainy, and it could not have been any more creepy. Just then, he saw a faint light floating towards him from about 1 kilometer away. “Aha!” he thought, and loosened the bindings on his sword and waited for it to approach. The light grew closer until it was seven to nine meters away. Looking closer, there appeared a woman of around 20 years in a burial kimono, her disheveled hair reaching all the way to the ground, wearing an iron trivet with candles on it on her head and tall wooden sandals on her feet.
The samurai thought he would cut her down and discard the body, but then he remembered that he was here to investigate, so he waited off to the side and observed. The woman entered the crematorium, burned something for a while in the embers, then came out and went back to the road to leave.
The samurai wondered what she was up to and went to stop her. He grabbed her tightly from behind, and the woman said, “Oh how sad… now my wish will not come true.”
The samurai was startled, and said, “So, you are human! Tell me what you are doing!”
The woman replied, “I am ashamed to say this, but my husband, due to some karmic causality, has been suffering from a horrible illness, and all treatments have had no effect. In my grief, I fasted in prayer at Usa Hachiman-gu for seven days. At dawn on the seventh day, Lord Hachiman appeared to me in a dream and instructed me: ‘For one thousand days, at the hour of the ox, go to the graveyard and eat mochi baked in the embers of the cremated dead. Your husband will then fully recover from his terrible illness.’ Since then, I have done as instructed and come to this mausoleum every night for the past three years. In four or five days my wish would have been fulfilled, but grievously it has all been in vain. Please help me. I am no monster.”
Hearing this, the samurai said, “Well, there’s no mistake; you are a human. I will help you. But first, to prove to everyone that I was here…” And he grabbed a fistful of the woman’s hair and cut it off.
Then he went back to the inn and told everyone, “I captured the henge and subdued it, then in exchange for its life, I cut its hair and came back here.” And he threw the fistful of hair at them, and they were all amazed.
I’m back from Kyoto’s Uzumasa film studio. It was an exhausting event, but really fun! According to the studio, it was the greatest attendance the park has seen in 20 to 30 years! This just goes to show the international appeal of yokai, and how they’ve become a major tourism force in recent years, especially during the Halloween season.
Tonight’s A-Yokai-A-Day is another story featuring poetry, and like the previous story about poetry, I have to grumble a bit about translating Japanese poems into English.
The poem in this story comes from a famous piece of Japanese literature witten over 1000 years ago: Makura sōshi. The poem describe’s a fisherman’s boat returning home:
“I see someone rowing on the sea; a fisherman returning with his catch.”
However, the monk in this story recites this story using homophones that change the meaning entirely:
“I see something I yearn for in the embers; a frog hanging in the rain.”
The poem works like a magic spell, with the power to recall the spirit back to wherever it came from. It’s a testament to the monk’s wisdom and wit that he able to find the right classical poem and extract a line from it, changing its meaning to apply to this particular situation.
It’s not an easy reference to get. There’s no way to translate it into English in a way that retains the reference, and it doesn’t make much sense without an idea of how highly regarded poetry has been throughout much of Japan’s history, that it should have such an effect on evil spirits. So I hope you can enjoy the story better with this little cultural note.
The Apparitions in Yoshida Sōtei’s House; or, The Power of Poetry
In Murakami, Echigo Province, there was a wealthy merchant named Yoshida Sōtei. Strange apparitions suddenly began appearing in his house.
On the first day, four or five cute chigo appeared in the northwest corner of his warehouse and sang an unfamiliar song for a while, then vanished. The next day, at dusk, a handsome samurai appeared with six others. They all drew swords and fought, and everyone was killed. Upon inspection, they all had turned into ashes. On the third day, a beautiful lady around 16 years old, her head covered in a light kerchief, made a showy entrance, spread her fan and performed a popular dance, and then vanished into thin air.
Sōtei was worried about this, and asked high priests and monks to perform various exorcisms and prayers for him. This perhaps had some effect, as nothing happened for four, five, or six days afterwards; but on the seventh day, when a fire was lit in the sitting room hearth, a single tree frog appeared in the fire. Everyone was startled, and they took the frog out of the fire and released it, but then another one appeared in the fire, and then another, and it never stopped. Sōtei was so distressed that he called a certain pious Zen monk and asked him for help. The monk, seeing the situation, faced the hearth and recited a single poem:
“I see something I yearn for in the embers; a frog hanging in the rain.”
The frog vanished, and nothing strange happened again. This is truly the power of waka poetry.
I was at Kyoto Toei Film Studios all day today for the KaiKai Yokai Festival, so tonight’s write-up will be brief… Thanks to everyone who came to my booth at the festival today!
Tonight’s story is for all the readers who have been outraged at all the stories about samurai killing tanuki, foxes, and snakes so far. Tonight the animals get their revenge!
The Tanuki Who Summoned 25 Bodhisattvas
In eastern Ōmi, there is a place called Sakōtō Village. Deep in the mountains, there is a temple. Whenever the priest of this temple would visit the village, a tanuki would follow him and steal his food to eat.
One time, the priest picked up a mochi-shaped stone in Yokawa and took it home, roasted it on his hearth, and waited for the sun to set. Just as he expected, a tanuki came and started searching for food in the usual places.
“If you stop stealing from now on, I will give you a present,” said the priest. Then he picked up the roasted stone with fire tongs and tossed it at the tanuki. When the tanuki grabbed it and tried to eat it, it suffered severe burns and ran away.
Afterwards, the idol on the altar would sometimes glow with a bright light. The priest thought it was a holy sign, and he became even more devout.
One night, the Buddha appeared to the priest in a dream and commanded him, “When you wake up from this dream, you should throw yourself into the fire and attain buddhahood. I will then come for you and take you away to the Western Pure Land.”
The priest woke up and, thinking it was a holy sign, told everyone around, “On an appointed day, I shall walk into the fire and leave this world. Come and witness!”
Everyone around wept and said, “Oh my, what an admirable thing.”
When the day came, a huge crowd of worshippers from all over the country gathered, all of them waiting to see the coming of the Buddha. The priest had built a 1.8 meter square stone fire pit and stacked it full of charcoal and firewood. Wearing new white robes and a kerchief, he climbed onto the pyre and began to pray. Sure enough, around noon, from the west came a procession led by the Buddha triad of Amitaba, Kannon, and Seishi, followed by 25 other bodhisattvas playing the shō and hichiriki, and giving off shining light.
“Light the fire!” said the priest.
The fire was lit, the pyre went up in flames, and the priest burned to death. Meanwhile, the procession of buddhas revealed their true form and burst out in roaring laughter. Everybody was shocked to see two or three thousand old tanuki running off into the mountains. The tanuki that was burnt by the stone got its revenge.
