“Ghost paintings”—called yūreiga in Japanese—are a genre of traditional Japanese painting. Some of them are hauntingly beautiful, when they portray a ghost whose story is more pitiable; while other times they can be downright horrifying, when they portray the scarier side of ghosts. Most yūreiga are painted simply, using just ink and water on long scrolls, which is a useful tool for depicting the fading feet and dry grasses that are a staple feature of yūrei paintings. However they can also be painted with pigments on silk, or as woodblock prints, appearing vibrant or comical, depending on what the story needs.

I am enjoying the opportunity to paint several ghosts in this series, and it is a challenge to find something different to paint to express each ghost’s identity without making them look too similar to each other.

Tonight’s story also comes from volume 4 of Mimibukuro, and is in the same vein as last night’s story. It is a ghost story, with a bit of a bittersweet vibe. Let’s take a look!

How a Maidservant’s Ghost Came to Her Master’s House

A woman who had served for several years in the household of a man named Udono Shikibu Nagamori had been ill for a long time and asked to be released from her duties. She was therefore granted an extended leave of absence.

Some time passed, until one day, the woman came back. She went to the home where Shikibu’s mother was living in retirement and offered her greetings, saying, “The great kindness you have shown me for so long has allowed me to recuperate, and I am deeply grateful.”

The elderly mother was delighted to see that she had recovered from her illness and offered her blessings, saying, “Your complexion still looks pale, so take good care of yourself and come back to work for us again when you are better.”

The woman replied, “I am well enough to work now. I brought these as a token of my gratitude. I made them myself.” She offered the appropriate greetings and presented a two-tiered lacquered box filled with dango.

The elderly mother returned her greetings and said, “In that case, take care of your health before anything else, and return to your duties.”

The woman left and went somewhere else, and the elderly mother went straight to the kitchen and told the servants, “That maidservant has returned and says she has recovered from her illness. But she still looks pale, so make sure all of the servants work together to help her.”

The servants replied, “None of us has heard about the maidservant returning.” And they searched all over, but they could not find where she had gone. However, they did find the lacquered box that she had brought, filled with white dango.

They sent someone to the woman’s parents’ home to inquire about the situation, and were told, “She passed away a couple of days ago. We had been putting off telling you.” After that, a member of her family visited the household and formally delivered the news of her death.

It was, as someone from the Udono family later recounted, a most mysterious incident.

Tonight’s story comes from volume 4 of Mimibukuro. Unlike Shokoku hyakumonogatari, which I translated a few years ago for A-Yokai-A-Day, Mimibukuro is not a kaidanshū (a collection of ghost stories). Instead, it is a collection of anecdotes, hearsay, and rumors that Negishi heard over his time as an administrator on Sado Island, and thus the stories contained within vary greatly. While there are a number of genuinely scary ghost stories, there are also several bittersweet ones, and some that make no sense at all. Tonight’s is one of the sweeter ghost tales.

The majority of the stories Negishi wrote down were likely not told to him for purposes of entertainment or to scare him. Rather, many of them were likely just rumors that happened to be the talk of the town at various times during his service. Most of the tales in Mimibukuro follow my favorite kind of yokai pattern: that in which the story is told as matter-of-fact as possible, without embellishment or flourish, and often with a dash of skepticism—more like a newspaper article than a “tale,” and often very surreal. This is a quality common in kidan (Japanese ghost/yokai/strange stories) and is very charming. We’ll see several examples of that kind of story during this year’s A-Yokai-A-Day.

Now, on to today’s tale:

How the Lingering Spirit of an Old Woman Expressed Her Goodwill

Hayakawa Tomisaburō, who served as a senior supervisor of public works, had a grandmother who was often ill.

One day, she went to visit a neighbor of similar social standing with whom she had a friendly relationship to pay her respects. The neighbor’s wife inquired about her illness and remarked, “It is wonderful to see you looking so well.”

The grandmother replied, “When you came and checked in on me while I was ill, I was truly grateful for your kindness. Today, I have come to bid you farewell.”

Since the grandmother’s family was part of the public works department, the neighbor’s wife assumed she might be going on a journey or something of the sort, and so she offered the appropriate farewell greetings.

The grandmother also visited the households of merchants with whom she was on friendly terms and expressed her gratitude in the same manner. Since word had spread that the old woman who had been ill for so long had recovered and was saying farewells, the wives of Tomisaburō’s peers and the wives of the merchants went out to visit Tomisaburō’s home and express their thanks.

However, when they arrived at Tomisaburō’s home, preparations were underway for a funeral. Surprised, they asked what had happened and were told that the elderly woman had died that morning.

Everybody was shocked.

Happy October, everyone!

Today marks the start of A-Yokai-A-Day, now in its 17th consecutive year!

As I mentioned in the previous post, this year’s stories come from Mimibukuro, an Edo period work by Negishi Yasumori. Mimibukuro consists of ten volumes featuring anecdotes, hearsay, and kidan (strange tales) collected and written down over a 30 year period by Negishi during his time working as a shogunate administrator on Sado Island. Many of these stories are about ghosts and yokai, or other strange phenomena.

The title Mimibukuro means “a bag of ears”—and I just love that!

The stories I share this month are in no particular order, as I am jumping back and forth between different books of Mimibukuro. Basically, it depends on what kind of painting I am in the mood to paint each day.

A-Yokai-A-Day started in 2009 as a way for me to both challenge myself artistically by doing a marathon painting project, and to celebrate Halloween by sharing some of Japan’s lesser-known spooky things with the internet. As always, I will be sharing these on social media (Bluesky only) with the hashtag #ayokaiaday, and you are all welcome to use that same hashtag to share your own yokai-related artwork, stories, and anything else this month, and join me in celebrating A-Yokai-A-Day!

Finally, if you enjoy my work, you can help support this project and my other Japanese folklore-related work by following me on Patreon.

Now, on to today’s story!

The Strange Monk’s Calligraphy

It is said this happened during the time of the grandfather of the Mizuno family, who lived in the Kohinata area.

A retainer who served as a yūhitsu (a household scribe) was sitting by the front gate one day when a monk passed by. The monk turned to the scribe and said, “I am forced to attend a calligraphy gathering today. Would you lend me your hand?”

The retainer inquired, “What do you mean by ‘lend me your hand’?”

“I would simply like to borrow it for two or three days. That would be sufficient,” replied the monk.

Though he thought this a strange request, the retainer agreed.

Not long after, when the master of the house had some business that required the retainer to take up the brush, he was utterly astonished to find he could not write even a single character. The master asked him what was wrong, and he explained what had happened with the monk.

A few days later, the strange monk returned. He said, “Well now, thanks to you I was able to complete the task. I am grateful.”

Although the monk said he had nothing to offer as a token of thanks, he took out a piece of paper with something written on it from inside his robes and said, “If a fire should break out in the neighborhood, hang this somewhere—such as above the alcove—and you will escape the fire.” With that, the monk departed.

The retainer reported what had happened to his master. His master had the piece of paper mounted on a scroll and kept it in his possession.

Afterward, it is said that the retainer regained his ability to write. Although there were frequent fires in the neighborhood thereafter, the Mizuno family was spared each time they hung the scroll. However, on one occasion, the scroll had been stored away in the storehouse and was not hung—so, while the entire residence burned completely to the ground, the storehouse mysteriously survived.