A-Yokai-A-Day: The Obsession of the Woman from Peony Hall

Tonight’s story is a variation on a folktale that is famous all over the world. The Tale of the Peony Lantern has been featured in A-Yokai-A-Day before, and also appears on yokai.com. It’s inspired Toriyama Sekien to create the yokai hone onna, who also has appeared in A-Yokai-A-Day before.

This version is clearly based on that story, with a few differences. Instead of a Peony Lantern (牡丹灯; botan dō), we have a Peony Hall (牡丹堂; botan dō); pronounced identically in Japanese. Although the story still roughly follows the same storyline, it’s an interesting change. The ending is basically the same, and it’s so startling that it is clear why this story has remained so popular for such a long time and over such a wide geographical area.

Interestingly, this is also the only story in Shokoku hyakumonogatari that does not take place in Japan.

The Obsession of the Woman from Peony Hall

In ancient China there was a temple called Peony Hall. When a person died, their remains were placed in a box and peonies were painted on its sides, and these boxes were brought to Peony Hall and stacked on top of each other.

One man who lost his wife was so overcome with grief that for many days he went to Peony Hall every night and recited nenbutsu.

One night, a young woman wearing a gong around her neck came to Peony Hall to recite nenbutsu. The man found this strange, and asked her, “Why would a woman come to a place like this?”

The woman explained, “I was separated from my husband by death, and so…”

Then she began to cry. After that, the two of them stood up and wandered together among the graves, here and there, chanting nenbutsu. They returned every night and did the same thing. Eventually they developed deep feelings for each other, and they confessed their love and went back to the man’s house together. After night fell, they were drinking sake and merrymaking, when a neighbor peeked in at them only to see that the man was sitting across from a woman’s skull and drinking with it.

The neighbor was astonished, and the following day he spoke to the man and told him what he had seen. The man was shocked. He waited for evening to come, and when the woman came back, he saw that she was indeed a skull! The man was so horrified that he shut himself in his home for three years, which he spent fasting and purifying himself.

After three years, the man stepped outside for a diversion and tried to catch a small bird. While he was chasing after a sparrow, it flew into Peony Hall to hide. The man was seen following the bird up to the entrance of Peony Hall, but a moment later he disappeared. His servants were astonished. They searched among the boxes stacked up in Peony Hall, where they found a box that was smeared with blood. When they looked inside the box, inside they found a woman’s skeleton gripping the man’s head in her jaws. Though three years had passed, the woman’s obsession caught the man at least.

A-Yokai-A-Day: Learning the Art of War from Yuzuru no Kannon

Tonight’s story is from Shimōsa Province, which today covers part of Chiba, Ibaraki, Saitama and Tokyo Prefectures, however, the precise location of Sano nor of the Yuzuru Kannon are not known. It’s a strange story in which the main character gets teleported across the country from Shimōsa to Sado in the pursuit of military knowledge.

Today’s story features another chigo (see yesterday’s story) and also uses the term kamuro to describe the person carrying the teacup. Both chigo and kamuro are common figures in Shokoku hyakumonogatari. Kamuro have appeared in other posts on this site, so I’ll refer to them to explain the term.

The tiny man in the cup is hard to figure, as nothing detailed is given about him, other than he is tiny and is carried around in a teacup by a kamuro, and has the ability to grant wishes. Presumably this tiny man is one of the many forms of Kannon, a Buddhist goddess of mercy. The tiny man reminds me of Issun bōshi, a Japanese fairy tale character, but it’s hard to say much else about him.

Anyway, here is the story!

Learning the Art of War from Yuzuru no Kannon

In a place called Sano in Shimōsa Province there was a samurai who excelled in the art of war. In the same province was another man who, one way or another, wished to surpass this master tactician. He had heard that there was a renowned and miraculous holy site called Yuzuru no Kannon deep in a place called Tatebayashi, so he went there and prayed continuously for his wish to come true.

On the third night of his vigil, a kamuro of around eleven or twelve appeared, carrying an indigo-dyed teacup in which sat a person. The person in the teacup said, “If you can defeat this chigo in sumo, I will grant your wish.”

The man wrestled the chigo, but the chigo was stronger than he expected. It looked like he was going to lose. Finally, he managed to grab the chigo, but just as he was about to throw him down, he was thrown down himself.

When he got up, he saw that he was not standing in front of the Kannon statue, but was instead on top of a steep, rocky crag. Surprised and confused, he managed to descend to the base of the crag by clinging to the branches of trees growing out of the cracks in the rocks. Then he found someone on the road and asked, “Which way is Sano?”

The traveler laughed and asked him, “Who are you, and what are you talking about?”

Thinking this strange, the man asked, “What is this place called?”

“This is Sado Province,” replied the traveler. “And where did you come from?”

“I came from the top of this mountain,” replied the man.

The traveler was astonished. “This mountain is called Hokusangatake, and no humans live there anymore. Why have you come down from this mountain? You must not be human!” And he ran away in fear.

Afterwards, the man boarded a ship headed for the eastern provinces and returned to his village in Sano. He was so puzzled that he returned to Yuzuru no Kannon’s village, and the person in the teacup appeared once again.

“Well, well, you are an honest and good-natured person. Therefore, I will grant you your wish,” said the person in the teacup. And he taught the man all of the secret techniques of the art of war.

After that, the man became a renowned tactician. He even mastered the technique of not allowing others to draw their swords, and the technique that, if his arm was ever cut by another’s sword, he would make it so that he was not injured at all.

Until very recently, his child resided in Edo, but I heard that he is no longer able to perform that technique.

A-Yokai-A-Day: How the Power of Sake Overcame a Bakemono

October has arrived and Spooky Season is upon us! Welcome to another year’s season of A-Yokai-A-Day! Every day this month I will translate, illustrate, and post one spooky Japanese folktale on this site. Feel free to join me in sharing yokai online using the #ayokaiaday hashtag!

This year continues where last year left off: the Edo period story collection called Shokoku hyakumonogatari, or “100 Tales from Various Provinces.” This book was published by an anonymous author in 1677, and is in the public domain. Scans of the book are available online, but the old script and archaic language is difficult to read, so I am also making use of digital OCR tools to transcribe the text, as well as a modern Japanese translation of the book by Shimura Kunihiro.

As far as I am aware, Shokoku hyakumonogatari has never been translated into English, although some of the stories have appeared in other publications. So this may be the first time at least some of these stories have been read outside of Japan!

Tonight’s story takes place at a very famous site in Kyoto, which visitors to Japan may be familiar with: Sanjūsangendō. The story pattern is a famous one, and there are many variations of this one all over Japan, so you may have heard another version of this somewhere else. There are a few words I chose not to translate in tonight’s story, because they don’t have good English equivalents (or I just prefer them in Japanese):

bakemono – a generic term for a monster; tonight’s story never specifically names what creature is responsible for the haunting

rōnin – an unemployed, landless member of the warrior caste; generally not a very respectable thing to be

chigo – an adolescent page boy or acolyte, often dressed and made up to look like a beautiful girl, and often kept in a pederastic relationship with an older man

How the Power of Sake Overcame a Bakemono

People do not go to the Great Buddha of Sanjūsangendō after 4 pm because of the presence of a bakemono. When the emperor heard of this, he put up a public notice declaring that if anyone defeated the monster, they would be granted anything they wished.

A certain drunkard rōnin went before the emperor and declared, “I shall subdue this monster.” Then he filled a bottle gourd with sake, went to Sanjūsangendō and waited in a corner of the hall. Sure enough, in the dead of night, a nearly three meter tall priest, with eyes shining like the sun and moon, reached out and tried to grab the rōnin with its rake-like hands.

The rōnin immediately lowered his head to the floor and said, “Are you the bakemono-sama that I have heard so much about? Please allow me to introduce myself.”

Hearing this, the bakemono let out a dreadful laugh: “Well, well, aren’t you a funny thing. I was going to eat you in one bite, but I’ll hold off for a moment. So, why did you come here?”

The rōnin replied, “I came here for some reason; but Master Bakemono, I have heard that you are able to transform into many things. Would you show me by transforming into a beautiful noblewoman?”

“You are a clever one. I will transform as you wish, and then I will eat you in one bite,” said the bakemono, and then he transformed into a giant noblewoman.

The rōnin replied, “Well now, this is interesting! Could you also transform into a chigo?” And the monster transformed into the form of a beautiful chigo.

“Well that is just wonderful!” said the rōnin. “Next could you transform into an oni?”

The monster became a three meter tall oni and waved his horns around in the air.

The rōnin said, “Master Bakemono, you are a skilled artist! You can transform into anything you wish. But, how about turning into something small like a dried plum?

The bakemono said, “If I turn into a dried plum, will you let me eat you already?”

“You don’t even need to ask!” replied the rōnin.

“Then I will show you,” said the monster. And he transformed into a tiny dried plum and rolled around on the floor.

“What a marvelous transformation! Climb up onto my hand!” said the rōnin, putting out his hand. The plum rolled onto the palm of the rōnin’s hand, and he popped it straight into his mouth, chewed it up, and washed it down with seven or eight drinks from his bottle gourd. Then he scurried away in a drunken stupor.

“I subdued the bakemono!” the rōnin declared to the emperor. The emperor was overjoyed, and he awarded the rōnin a generous fief to rule over. This is truly the power of sake.

Coming Soon: A-Yokai-A-Day 2024!

Hey everyone! It’s the end of the September, and that means Halloween season is almost upon us! Personally I think that all of September should just be called Halloween Eve, but I’ll make do with a month-long celebration of horror as I do every year, with A-Yokai-A-Day!

For those of you unfamiliar with A-Yokai-A-Day, it’s a project I started in 2009 to celebrate traditional Japanese horror, yokai, ghost stories, kaidan, etc. Early on, I introduced specific yokai on this blog — a project which eventually evolved into yokai.com and my own yokai encyclopedias. In recent years I’ve translated longer epics, Edo period supernatural comics, and short ghost story collections. For the past two years I’ve translated stories from Shokoku hyakumonogatari, a collection of spooky and weird tales (kaidan) published in 1677.

This year I’ll be continuing Shokoku hyakumonogatari, and by October 31st I’ll have translated 93 out of 100 of the stories in this book! You can catch up on stories 1 through 62 in my blog’s A-Yokai-A-Day archives here: 2022, 2023.

And if you feel so inclined, please feel free to join me in celebrating Japanese folklore this Halloween season by sharing your own yokai stories, sketches, paintings, and anything else using the hashtag #ayokaiaday!

A-Yokai-A-Day: How Genshin of Mt. Hiei Saw Hell and Came Back

🦇 Happy Halloween!!! 🦇

Tonight’s is the final story in this year’s A-Yokai-A-Day. Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed these stories and my paintings (and my wife’s, when my broken arm kept me from painting)!

Of course, I will continue to translate and illustrate Japanese folktales throughout the year, but starting tomorrow it will be my patrons who get to read them, instead of me posting them here on my blog. So if you’d like to read my newest stories, learn even more about yokai, and keep up with what I’m working on (including news about when my next Kickstarter will launch…) sign up at my Patreon!

If you want more stories and art, you can also order my books from Amazon, or even get the special collector’s editions from Yokai.com’s web shop. (Books ship from Japan, so order soon if you want them in time for Christmas!)

Tonight’s story features another famous historical figure: Genshin. One of his claims to fame is a book called The Essentials of Rebirth in the Pure Land, in which he describes in graphic detail the Buddhist hells and urges Buddhists to aim to be reborn in the Pure Land, a cosmic realm not unlike heaven, free from pain and suffering, filled with the sweet music of karyōbinga and gumyōchō, where anybody at all can strive to attain buddhahood without the distractions that are found in any of the other realms of existence. After reading this story, it seems no wonder that Genshin is an expert on hell!

There are two yokai named in tonight’s story. One is an oni, which we are all familiar with. The other is a rasetsunyo. Rasetsunyo means “female rasetsu,” and rasetsu is the Japanese word for the Sanskrit rakshasa (the females of which are called rakshasi). Rasetsu are powerful evil spirits which live on earth and feed upon human blood. They can fly, change their shape, and even become invisible. They have vampire-like fangs, and are especially good at seducing humans. But from this story, it appears they are no match for the power of an oni.

The purple cloud at the end of the story is a symbol of the Western Pure Land of Amida Nyōrai. When a devout practicioner is on their death bed, it is said that Amida comes to them on a purple cloud and takes them away to Gokuraku Jōdō. The final scene demonstrates the salvatory powers of Genshin’s prayers.

How Genshin of Mt. Hiei Saw Hell and Came Back

During the reign of Emperor Ichijō, a virtuous teacher named Genshin lived on Mt. Hiei. One time, while traveling down the mountain to the capital, it suddenly started to rain, and a beautiful woman came running up to him from behind and cried in anguish. When Genshin asked her what was the matter, she replied:

“I am a rasetsunyo. I serve an oni who commands me to deceive humans, by taking the form of a woman when approaching a man, or the form of a man when approaching a woman, and bring them to the oni to eat. The oni said that if I don’t catch anyone, it will eat me instead. I haven’t caught anyone today, so I will surely lose my life. I pray that by your dharmic power I might be saved. I humbly beg you. If you think I speak falsely, then follow me and see.”

She went away, and Genshin went after her. They reached a mountain ridge, and night fall. Genshin followed her deeper into the mountains, and they came to a gate. The woman knocked on the gate, and the terrifying voice of an oni was heard. The gate opened, and the oni was furious at her lack of prey. Many oni gathered around her, spitting flames from their mouths. They tore off the woman’s limbs, ripped them into pieces, and devoured them in a dreadful scene.

Genshin took pity upon her. He returned to Mt. Hiei, and he recited scriptures and performed a solemn memorial service for her. That night, the woman came to him in a dream, riding on a purple cloud, with a beatific expression on her face. She turned to Genshin and said:

“Thanks to my teacher’s dharmic power, I was reborn in heaven, and I became a buddha.”

She bowed three times, and then went off into the west.

a blue-skinned, haloed rakshasi rides a purple cloud from the sunset

A-Yokai-A-Day: How Hashii Yasaburō Ferried a Ghost

Tonight’s story is one of my favorites in Shokoku hyakumonogatari. Something about the ghost being upside-down is so creepy and visually striking. Not only that, it’s part love story, part revenge story, and the ghost is both sympathetic and terrifying. Good stuff!

Upside-down ghosts are no stranger to Japanese folklore. In fact, there’s even a name for it–sakasa yūrei–and one appears in 1853’s Kyōka hyakumonogatari as well. As for upside-down yokai, sakabashira also comes to mind, and carries the same notion of being placed upside-down as a method of torture. Another famous example is the upside-down woman’s head from Inō mononoke roku. The upside-down position kind of mirrors the position of those suffering in mugen jigoku, the endless hell from which there is no redemption; falling, head first, into the pit for all of eternity.

There’s only one day left of A-Yokai-A-Day, so I hope this one gives you sufficient chills!

How Hashii Yasaburō Ferried a Ghost

Among Lord Oda Nobunaga’s retainers was a samurai named Hashii Yasaburō who was well-versed in both the literary and military arts. Later, while in Kiyosu in the service of Lord Bingo, he maintained a deep romantic relationship with Lady Inuyama’s son, to whom he traveled eleven kilometers to see every night.

One night after his night watch was over, he went to Inuyama, when it suddenly started pouring rain. The night was terribly dark and lonely. Along the way there was a river ferry. He called out for the ferryman, but he must have been sleeping downstream, as he did not answer. Yasaburō stood resting by the water’s edge and gazing up and down the river, when a fire appeared upstream. He watched it get closer and closer, and he saw a woman with long, disheveled hair, flames billowing from her mouth, walking upside-down on her head. Yasaburō drew his sword and called out, “Who’s there!”

The woman let out a painful cry and said, “I am the wife of the headman from Yamura across the river. My husband conspired with his mistress, and strangled me to death, and then buried me upside-down so that my spirit could not come back upstream to get him. I want to avenge my death, but it is difficult to cross the river upside-down like this. Ah! I hoped to meet a person brave enough to take me across the river. I have been watching the people who cross here, and there is none as brave as you. Please, show me compassion and take me across the river!”

Yasaburō agreed, and he called the ferryman. “Take that woman across to the other bank in your boat,” he said. But upon seeing the woman, the ferryman threw down his oars and fled.

Yasaburō retrieved the oars, picked up the woman and put her in the boat, and then rowed to the opposite shore. Then the woman pointed towards Yamura and flew towards it. Yasaburō followed her to the village headman’s house. He stood at the gate and listened, and he heard a woman’s scream, “Agh!”

Shortly after, the woman came out of the house, the mistress’s head dangling in her hand. She turned to Yasaburō and said, “Thanks to you, I easily took care of my nemesis. I am grateful.” Then she vanished without a trace.

Afterwards, Yasaburō went to Inuyama and stayed until dawn. On his way home, he stopped at Yamura and asked, “Did anything happen here last night?”

One of the residents told him, “The village  headman recently took a wife, but last night, for some reason, somebody ripped off her head and left.”

Yasaburō was mystified. He told Lord Bingo everything that happened, then he went to the upper reaches of the river and dug. Sure enough, he dug up the remains of a woman who had been buried upside-down. It was an unprecedented scandal, and the village headman was executed for it.

a ghost in burial kimono, standing on its hands