“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.

Tonight’s story is a ghost story, because what would Halloween be without a ghost story? Unlike much of what we’ve read earlier from Mimibukuro, this story is not analytical or skeptical; it is a straight up ghost story. I think it’s a perfect fit for the chilly, rainy Halloween we’re having here in Fukui. Enjoy!

Also, just in case you haven’t checked it out yet: this is the final night to back Echizen-Wakasa Kidan on Kickstarter! Don’t miss this awesome book of local folktales!

Happy Halloween!

The Ghost of the Akasaka Sergeant’s Wife

This took place during the previous year of the monkey. A teahouse proprietor working along the horse road had business in Fukagawa, and as night fell he was passing Reigan-ji Temple. At that moment, he saw two ghostly fires – one red, one blue –  but they vanished in an instant. He was a courageous man, so he walked on to the end of the temple without a thought. Then, a young woman’s voice called out to him, so he turned back.

The woman said, “I am the wife of a certain sergeant from Akasaka, but I died of illness and am buried in this temple. My husband has taken a second wife, but she is an intensely jealous person, and because of this I am not able to pass on. I beg of you, please tell this reason to my husband…”

And then she vanished into thin air. The man thought of just leaving it be, but then he thought, “If I don’t tell him, who knows what will happen?” Since he happened to be near Akasaka anyway, he searched around for the sergeant’s place and requested an audience. Being a stranger, his request was denied at first; but when he insisted, the sergeant agreed to meet him.

During their meeting, when he conveyed the young woman’s plea, the sergeant said, “My second wife’s deep jealousy is also driving me to my wit’s end.”

The sergeant gave thanks for passing on his late wife’s words, and offered the man a reward before they parted ways.

Later, the man again had business in Fukagawa and was passing by Reigan-ji at night, but this time he did not see any ghostly fires. However, a voice did call out to him. When he stopped to see, a faint female figure appeared.

“I am deeply grateful to you for passing on my words the other day. That new wife has also died, and now I have no more impediment and can finally pass on,” said the woman, bowing in gratitude.

Astonished, the man went back to the sergeant’s place to inquire about the situation.

The sergeant explained, “When my second wife died, I feared there would be trouble if I buried her in the same place; so I had her sent to her family’s temple.”

He then confessed, “My second wife was an intensely jealous person, and one time she begged a favor from me. When I asked what it was, she said, ‘Please give me your first wife’s burial tablet.’ When I asked her why, she was insistent, so I just told her, ‘Do whatever you like.’ She immediately brought the burial tablet to some hidden place and chopped it up into pieces with a hatchet. After that, she fell ill and died. What a dreadfully jealous woman she was!”

Good grief, it’s October 30th! Back in New Jersey we always called this Mischief Night, although I’ve recently learned that’s not a thing in other places. Of course here in Japan it’s just October 30th, and much to my dismay the stores are already putting up Christmas decorations! At least wait until November, for the sake of Halloween!

Two quick reminders before tonight’s tale:

First, my Kickstarter ends on October 31st at midnight! This is your last chance to join and get your name listed as a backer in the book! So don’t miss out on your chance to back this amazing collection of never-before-seen folktales from Old Fukui. These are the last 48 hours, so check it out now if you haven’t already!

Second, A-Yokai-A-Day ends tomorrow, so after tonight there is only one story left! For members of my Patreon, that won’t change much, as I will continue to post regular updates there (albeit at a more reasonable pace). However, the number of free, public blog posts I make will decrease. If you’re not already a Patreon member, now’s a perfect time to join so you don’t lose access to deeper discussion about each yokai (plus other cool benefits, like the monthly postcards and high res artwork). You can join up here.

Alright, now let’s take a look at tonight’s penultimate story! This tale is #700 from Negishi Yasumori’s Mimibukuro — the final story from volume 7. This was a particularly tricky one to envision. The creature is so sparsely described, and its dimensions are totally unbelievable. It almost sounds a bit like a pangolin, except that pangolins have arms and legs, and of course are not native to Japan. And they’re not 9 meters long either… Or else it sounds like an anaconda, but these are also not found in Japan, nor are they hairy with a weasel-like face — and yokai stories generally have no trouble identifying when a creature is a snake, as snakes have long been thought to have supernatural powers. So snake-like, but not a snake. Yet what else could it be? The final line in the tale satisfies me in the way vague yokai tales often to: “Nobody had any idea what kind of creature it was.” Negishi is just as confused as we are!

The Monster Under the Veranda of the Hikosaka House

In the third year of Bunka (1808), the year of the tiger, a minor construction manager named Hikosaka Kyūbei was assigned to Sunpu Castle and had to relocate. While preparing for the move, a strange creature emerged from beneath the veranda.

Its head was like that of a weasel, it had no legs or arms like a snake, and it was around two shaku (60 cm) in girth. Its entire body was covered in hair like palm bark, and it was probably around three jō (9 meters) in length. It came out from under the veranda and entered the garden, formed a ring and circled around the garden for a while, then it went back underneath the veranda. Nobody had any idea what kind of creature it was.