Today’s story talks about a monster called a bakemono (pronounced bah-keh-mo-no). Like yesterday’s henge,  this is not a specific monster’s name, but a generic term for any  monster. Bakemono is written 化物, and it also means “changed thing.” Like  henge, bakemono were often thought to be animals using magic to change  themselves or other things into monstrous shapes in order to mess with  humans.

The main character of the story is a zatō, a word which I have chosen not to translate. A zatō was a member of a guild for blind people. These guilds were established to guarantee that blind  people could find employment rather than having to rely on charity or  welfare. They were granted monopolies of certain trades, including massage, acupuncture, moxibustion, and playing the biwa. Only zatō could legally perform these jobs.

Zatō functioned on the periphery of society. They traveled from place  to place peddling their trades, and were able to do certain things that  sighted people were forbidden to do. Because of this, they appear in a  lot of yōkai tales. You can find zatō yōkai, like ōzatō, umizatō, and tenome, and there are famous legendary zatō like Zatōichi and Miminashi Hōichi. Even biwa yōkai is related to zatō.

This story also references Sanjō Kokaji, a man who might be more familiar to some as Munechika.  Munechika was a legendary swordsmith who lived in the 10th century and  is considered one of the greatest swordsmiths to ever have lived. It  might feel like a weird casual name drop at the end of the story, but  Edo period readers would have immediately understood the reference and  recognized that a Munechika blade would be a holy relic, with powers  beyond that of a normal sword.

The Zatō Who Met a Bakemono on a Journey

    A zatō from the capital was traveling through the countryside with one of his disciples. They were passing through a remote mountain village when the sun went down. There was no place to stay in the village, so they made camp at a wayside shrine.

    Sometime after midnight the zatō heard a woman’s voice: “Where have you visitors come from? My hermitage is not a very nice one, but instead of camping out here why not come spend the night at my place?”

    The zatō replied, “You are generous, and I will not forget your kindness. But we are used to traveling, and so staying out here is no problem. On top of that, it is quite late and thus impossible to travel.”

    The disciple said, “But it is a kind offer. Instead of staying in a place like this, wouldn’t it be better to rest in a place with a fire and hot water? Let us go.”

    “Certainly,” said the woman.

    “Nevertheless, we will stay here,” the zatō replied. And he refused to argue further.

    “In that case, would you please watch my child for a short time,” said the woman.

    “No, no. I am blind. On top of that it is the middle of the night. I cannot take care of a child,” the zatō was stubborn.

    “That is so unkind! Please, you must watch my child,” she asked again and offered her baby.

    “If it’s just for a short time, surely we can watch him,” said the disciple.

    Upon hearing this the zatō became furious. “Never!”

    “Well I don’t mind,” said the disciple. He took the child and cradled it in his arms, and the woman left.

    Soon, the child began to grow larger in the disciple’s arms. By the time the disciple could call out, “What is going on?” the child had grown as large as a boy of 14 or 15 years. Then it started to bite and eat the disciple.

    “What is happening?!” he screamed. In just a few moments, the child had eaten him up.

    Then the woman’s voice reappeared. “Now let Master Zatō hold you,” she said.

    The zatō was terrified. Fumbling around, he found the box containing his family sword. Gripping the sword tightly, he readied himself to stab at whatever might come close to him. The child was too scared to approach the zatō.

    “Why won’t you let him hold you?” the woman’s voice scolded.

    A child’s voice complained back, “I can’t get close enough to him.”

    The zatō listened to them argue for a bit, and then they vanished.

    “What a frightful thing to happen!” thought the zatō. He continued to grip his sword tightly, and soon dawn broke. The zatō decided to leave as quickly as possible. He hurried out to the street, and he bumped into a stranger on the road.

    “Master Zatō, where are you headed to? Do you have a place to stay?”

    The zatō told the stranger about his encounter the previous night.

    “That place is haunted by bakemono!” the stranger said. “It’s a wonder that you escaped with your life. Please come inside and tell me all the details of what happened.”

    The stranger brought the zatō to his home and prepared a fine meal for him.

    “By the way, let me have a look at that sword of yours.”

    The zatō considered for a moment, and then replied, “No, I cannot show this sword to anyone.” He held the sword at his side, ready to draw, just in case.

    Then, right next to him, a voice said: “If he won’t show you, then devour him!”

    The voice repeated itself over and over. The zatō knew it was the same bakemono from before. He drew his blade and slashed wildly in all directions. Then everything grew quiet. The zatō waited for a while, and the sky grew light. This time it was truly dawn.

    It is said that the reason the zatō barely escaped with his life and made it back to the capital was thanks to his sword, which was forged by Sanjō Kokaji.

Hello yokai lovers!

It’s that time of the year again: A-Yokai-A-Day is  here! In celebration of Halloween season, every day this October I will  post a translation and an illustration of a yokai story on this website  & social media.

You can follow along by checking back every day for a new story &  art, or participate along with me and many others by posting your own yokai-themed doodles, paintings, or anything on social media using the  hashtags #ayokaiaday or #ayokaiaday2022.

This year, I am sharing stories from an Edo period book called Shokoku hyakumonogatari (“One Hundred Tales From Various Provinces”). This collection of spooky  stories was compiled and published in 1677. It contains five volumes,  each with 20 stories. The author and editor are unknown, but it was one of the forerunners of the ghost story boom that took place during the  Edo period, and thus its influence can be seen in countless later works.

Perhaps because of its age, copies of this book are exceedingly rare.  The only remaining full set containing all five volumes is owned by the Tokyo National Museum. Fortunately, they have graciously made scans of the book available online. You can see the original book here, including the original illustrations contained within!

All of the translations I share this month are my own. I don’t know of any English language translations of Shokoku hyakumonogatari, although I’m sure at least some of the individual stories have been translated before. Some of them appear in the articles on yokai.com as well, so you may be familiar with some of the stories I share this  month. Hopefully, some, many, or even all of them will be new to you,  and help you develop a deeper appreciation for Japanese folklore!

Note that I will not be translating the names of the monsters in  these stories, for I believe they work better as loanwords. However I will do my best to explain unfamiliar terms found in each story.

Our first story deals with a henge (pronounced hen-geh).  This is a generic term for monsters and doesn’t refer to a specific  type of creature. Henge is written 変化, which literally translates to  “changed thing.” It frequently refers to a shape-changed tanuki, mujina, or kitsune, but can mean pretty much any ghost, spirit, or monster. These days, yōkai is the more common catch-all term for Japanese monsters, but before the  20th century, henge and mononoke were the main terms used for monsters  in Japanese.

How Itagaki Saburō Was Killed by a Henge in Suruga Province

In Suruga Province there lived a man named Yoshimoto. One night, overcome with boredom, he gathered all of his family and servants together for a night of feasting and merrymaking. Then, he said, “Is there anyone amongst you who is willing to climb to the shrine on top of Mount Asama this night?”

Normally, there were many people who boasted about their bravery, but this was a place rumored to be inhabited by evil spirits. Thus, nobody readily stepped forward and volunteered to go.

There was one man, Itagaki no Saburō from Kai Province, whose family had a reputation for bravery and his skill with the bow and arrow going back several generations.

“I will go,” he said.

Yoshimoto was moved by this display of bravery that he immediately gave the warrior a token to use as proof of his visit. Itagaki, being a man of great courage, left for Asama without so much as another word.

It was mid-September. The full moon shone bright through the forest canopy. A strong wind howled, and the sound of the blowing leaves was dreadful. The mountain road was forlorn, but Itagaki passed through it and planted the token in front of the shrine at the top of the mountain.

As he was returning, a woman wrapped in a white traveling robe suddenly came out of nowhere. Itagaki thought this must be the henge who lived on Mount Asama, trying to test him. He ran towards the woman and tore away the white cloth covering her face. Underneath it was a single eye, and countless horns sticking out from beneath her parted hair. She wore light make up and her teeth were blacked. No words can describe how dreadful a sight she was, yet Itagaki was not scared.

“What are you?” he shouted, and put his hand on the sword at his waist. But the figure suddenly vanished.

Itagaki completed his journey and returned to Yoshimoto’s party.

“I have placed the token and returned, my lord,” he reported.

All of the men praised him, saying that only a man such as Itagaki could return safely from such a place.

“And did anything unusual happen to you?” they asked.

“No, nothing at all,” he replied.

Then, although the moon had been bright, suddenly the sky grew dark. It started to pour, and thunder roared. All of the men at the party including Yoshimoto turned white with fear. Then, from the sky, a hoarse voice shrieked:

“Itagaki! Tell them! Tell them!”

All of the men present cried to Itagaki: “If you saw something, you must tell Master Yoshimoto! Tell it exactly as it happened!”

Thinking he might lose his life if he did not speak the truth, Itagaki told the whole story of what had happened on Asama, leaving nothing out. However, the wind and rain did not let up, and lightning thunder continued to crash around them. No words can convey how terrible it truly was.

“If we don’t do something, Itagaki will not survive this!” the men cried. “Hurry, hide him in a trunk!”

The men shut Itagaki in a heavy wooden chest, then took up arms and stood watch over it.

Eventually the storm subsided, and morning came. The men decided to let Itagaki out, however when they opened the trunk, it was empty!

The men were terrified and asked each other and Yoshimoto what was going on.

Then, they heard a noise like two or three thousand voices bursting out in laughter. When they ran outside to investigate, Itagaki’s severed head fell from the sky. It rolled underneath the veranda, then disappeared forever.