Translated and adapted from Mizuki Shigeru’s Mujara and other sources

You have a magical ball in your butt, and kappa want it.

At least that is how the story goes. Although modern kappa are often portrayed as cute and mostly harmless, during the Edo period they were monsters who had a particularly vicious method of killing their victims. In probably one of the strangest bits of Japanese folklore, it is said that human beings have something in their body called a shirikodama (尻子玉), which translates literally as “small anus ball.” The ball is nestled either immediately inside the anus, or deeper inside the intestines or the stomach. The kappa have a preferred method of extraction.

Folklorist/manga artist Mizuki Shigeru wrote:

“Ever since I was a child I heard that I had to be careful in the water because the kappa would try and take my shirikodama. It was said that in the water, a kappa would come from below, extend an arm upwards and stick a hand up your anus to extract the ball.”

In some stories, the kappa don’t reach up with their hands but instead actually suck the shirikodama from the body. However it was taken, the person whose shirikodama was extracted from was almost always killed in the process. Usually the kappa would hold them underwater to drown them first, before taking the ball.

What is a Shirikodama?

No one really agrees on what the shirikodama is. Some say that it is the human soul, hardened into physical form. Some say that the shirikodama in pictures resembles the Buddhist Hojo, or wish-granting jewel. The hojo was onion-shaped, with a round body and a tapered top. The usual depiction of the shirikodama does indeed resemble this shape.

Many associate the shirikodama with the liver. Kappa were known to love human livers, and some say that the shirikodama was the liver, or that the ball was blocking access to the liver with the liver being the actual target for the kappa.

Why Do They Want It?

Again, no one really knows for sure. The most basic explanation is that kappa consider the shirikodama to be a delicious delicacy and that they eat it as soon as it is removed. This explanations is contradicted by some Edo era depictions such as the one by Jippensha Ikku that shows a kappa with a freshly extracted shirikodama holding it far away from his face and clearly disgusted with the item. The shirikodama was said to smell as bad as the anus it was removed from.

In one story, it was said that the kappa paid the shirikodama as a sort of tribute and tax to the Dragon King who lived under the sea and was the lord of all things under the water. What the Dragon King would want with such an item no one has dared to guess.

But they did want it. A humorous print by Hokusai Katsushika called “How to Fish for Kappa” (Onajiku kappa-wo tsuru no hō ; 同河童を釣るの法) shows a man using his own backside as bait to lure a kappa in to be caught with a net.

The Origin of the Shirikodama

The most commonly accepted origin is that drowning victims often have an open or extended anus, looking as if something was taken out of it. Bodies that had drowned in the river or ocean and then washed up on shore might have looked as if something had been forcibly extracted from the anus.

With kappa moving further and further way from their role as monsters in Japan, the legend of the shirikodama is on its way to being forgotten. Kappa have been recast in Japan as being friendly mascots of various companies or harmless characters on children’s cartoons. In movies like the popular “My Summer Vacation with Coo the Kappa,” the cute little kappa Coo never once sneaks up on its human friend Koichi to forcibly remove a magical ball from his anus.

Further Reading:

Check out other kappa tales from hyakumonogatari.com:

The Appearance of a Kappa

Do Kappa Really Exist?

The Kappa of Mikawa-cho

The One-Armed Kappa

Translated from Mizuki Shigeru’s Mujyara

Long ago in Koshu (Modern day Yamanashi prefecture), on the base of Mt. Minobu, there was a dark forest where great trees lined up in a row. Inside the forest was an ancient Japanese Pagoda Tree. The tree was worshiped as a spirit, and a shrine had been built near the tree. However, anyone who passed by that tree after sundown had to leave an offering of silver and gold, or fine clothing, or anything of monetary value. Those who ignored this custom would suffer a terrifying curse. Now, I say that the tree was a spirit, but those in the town called it the mori no jyashin, the Evil God of the Forest.

At one time, a poor but hardworking farmer heard that his mother was dreadfully ill. He fled back home to see her, but the quickest path to her house took him right in front of the tree, and he had nothing to leave as an offering. There was nothing to be done, and as the famer rushed by the tree he prayed to the evil god, making a promise that he would come back later with an appeasement. But from the tree an empty suit of armor appeared and followed the man. The farmer dropped to the ground, bowing his head against the ground and begging the evil god for forgiveness. Appearing to accept the promise, the armor disappeared.

The following day, because the farmer terribly poor, he could only muster 500 mon in coins for an offering. Apparently this amount did not please the evil god, who cast the farmer into a giant pot and set him to fire preparing to make a dinner of him. The farmer prayed most solemnly for his life, and his prayers were heard. The son of the diety Fudo Myo appeared, and dispensed with the evil god. Not only that, all of the money and goods that had been paid to the evil god by the village was returned.

Although the villagers called the entity in the tree a spirit, I think it is more likely that some kind of yokai had settled down there.

Translator’s Note:

The name of this story is Enju no Jashin (槐の邪神). The enjyu tree is a species called Sophora japonica, and is known in English as either the Japanese Pagoda Tree or the Chinese Scholar.

Translated and adapted from Japanese Wikipedia and other sources

This is a story from the Edo period.

In Honjo, in Hirosagi-han fiefdom, a Daimyo of the house of Tsugaru had his mansion. Daimyo’s have two mansions, the kami-yashiki, where they live during their year of residence in Edo, and their shimo-yashiki in their native land. This mansion we are speaking of was the Daimyo’s kami-yashiki.

At this Daimyo’s kami-yashiki, there was a tall observation tower that was used for fire-spotting. Fire was the bitter enemy of Edo period Japan, and these towers were a common site. You are probably familiar with them from the roll of a fire tower in the tale of the 47 Ronin. Aside from being high enough to spot any sign of smoke or fire, they were equipped with a large shaped piece of wood, called a bangi, suspended by ropes from the roof. Whenever a fire was seen, the bangi would be loudly struck as an alarm to summon the fire brigade.

The mystery of the Tsugaru tower was that, when the alarm was raised, instead of the usual clack of a bangi the deep booming of a taiko drum would come from the tower.

The townsfolk’s explanation of the mystery varied. Some said that the tower had a bangi like all the others, but that when struck the bangi sounded exactly like a taiko drum. They said that the bangi had come from a tree that was used to make a taiko, or that the bangi itself had once been part of a taiko, but this was just idle talk.

There are some who say that the Taiko of Tsugaru was even less mysterious. They say that, instead of a bangi, the tower of Tsugaru simply had a large taiko drum. The reason for the drum, they said, was that because the fire tower was on a Daimyo’s kami-yashiki, the Daimyo’s didn’t want to use a bangi like everyone else. He just had to be different.

Like all of the Seven Wonders of Honjo, the Taiko of Tsugaru was incorporated into Rakugo performances. However, due to the story’s lack of true mystery, it is the wonder most often omitted.

Translator’s Note:
The Taiko of Tsugaru,  Tsugaru no Taiko (津軽の太鼓), is one of the Honjo Nana Fushigi (本所七不思議) meaning one of the Seven Wonders of Honjo.

This is a story from the Edo period.

In Honjo, in the Hiradoshinden-han fiefdom, in the house of Matsura, there stood a Daimyo’s mansion. More than a simple mansion, this was the Daimyo’s kami-yashiki, where the Daimyo lived during his year in residence in Edo by edict of the Shogun. The Daimyo’s shimo-yashiki was in his native land, but the Daimyo currently resided in Edo.

This kami-yashiki was bordered by a large wall, which ran parallel along the banks of what was then called the Great River, but what we now call the Sumida River of Tokyo. Planted in the Daimyo’s garden was a prodigious chinkapin tree whose leaves hung over the wall. The leaves from this tree never fell.

Now, chinkapin trees are evergreen, not deciduous, but even then at least a few of their leaves fall with the seasons. But not the tree in the Daimyo’s kami-yashiki. No one had ever seen so much as a single leaf fall from its branches.

The Daimyo’s gardener was a diligent fellow, but not even he could clean up every leaf that ever fell. This particular chikapin tree was truly a wonder. And what was the origin of this chikapin tree’s fantastic abilities? Well that is a mystery still to this day.

The Daimyo was unsettled by the tree—perhaps fearing some unknown fox power or mysterious spirits—and used his kami-yashiki as little as possible. But the fame of the tree spread until the mansion was no longer known as the Matsura house, but was locally called the Chinkapin Tree Mansion. The tree hanging over the wall near the banks of the Great River was considered an elegant scene and was popular for strolls.

When the stories of the Seven Wonders of Honjo became popular in Rakugo storytelling, the Chinkapin Tree of Unfallen Leaves was included in the ranks.

Neither the Daimyo’s mansion nor the famous chinkapin tree survive to the modern world. During the Meiji era, the territory was purchased by the Yasuda zaibatsu financial conglomerate who created a private garden called Yasuda Park. In the fifteenth year of Taisho, the Yasuda zaibatsu donated the garden as a public park. The park is now located in the Sumida ward, in the Honjo district. Like all of the Seven Wonders of Honjo, the old location of the Chinkapin Tree of Unfallen Leaves is marked with a sign and stone monument.

Translator’s Note:
The print is by Kobayashi Kiyochika and shows the Ochiba Naki Shii (落葉なき椎), one of the Honjo Nana Fushigi (本所七不思議) meaning one of the Seven Wonders of Honjo.

During the Edo period, the area known as Honjo (modern day Sumida ward in Tokyo) was a meloncholy and shadow-haunted place that drew legends about it like a cloak. Vast fields spread about Honjo, with only a few houses scattered here and there, and many a night-traveler would walk far to avoid a trip though those fields at night.

Several of the ghost legends of Honjo were collected together and called the Honjo Nanafushigi (本所七不思議), the Seven Wonders of Honjo. The number seven is purely nominal; as in many places in the world, the number seven carries mystical significance and when you are telling ghost stories the “seven wonders” sounds scarier than the “nine wonders” or “eight wonders.”

Many local places had their own collection of “seven wonders.” They form a typical model of urban legend, passed down through word of mouth, told and retold over kitchen fireplaces, then transitioning from local legend to stage performance.

The Seven Wonders of Honjo moved from the streets of Edo into the halls of Rakugo performers, who took the seven wonders on tour. In the late 1880s Utagawa Kuniteru (歌川国輝) made a series of prints called the “Honjo Nanafushigi.” In 1937, Shinko Kimura filmed “Honjo Nanafushigi” (本所七不思議), which was remade in 1957, as “Ghost Stories of Wanderer at Honjo” (怪談本所七不思議; Kaidan Honjo Nanafushigi) by Katano Goro. The films featured yokai stories and did not really focus on the authentic Seven Wonders.

Today of course, the Seven Wonders of Honjo are largely remembered as tourist attractions.  You can buy special sweets in the shape of the seven wonders, and take walking tours of Sumida where you read all about the seven wonders on helpful tourist maps and plaques.

The Seven Wonders are:

• The “Leave it Behind” Straggler-  置行堀（Oite Kebori)
• The Sending-Off Lantern 送り提灯（Okuri Chochin)
• The “Following Wooden Clappers” 送り拍子木（Okuri Hyoshigi)
• The Unlit Soba Shop  燈無蕎麦 (Akarinashi Soba)
• The Foot Washing Mansion 足洗邸 (Ashiarai Yashiki)
•The One-sided Reed 片葉の葦 (Kataba no Ashi)
• The Chinkapin of Unfallen Leaves 落葉なき椎 (Ochiba Naki Shii)
• The Procession of the Tanuki 狸囃子（Tanuki Bayashi)
• The Taiko of Tsugaru 津軽の太鼓 (Tsugaru no Taiko)

Teruteru Bozu, the small tissue-paper men, are a not unusual site on overcast days in Japan. Looking exactly like the tissue-paper ghosts American children make on Halloween, they hang from the eaves of houses, each one a wish for sunny weather from a child who wants to go outside and play.

But what the children don’t know—and most likely the parents don’t know either—is that what looks like a simple folk-custom is actually a prayer to ancient Chinese gods and to one of Japan’s monster clan, the yokai called Hiyoribo.

Hiyoribo (日和坊)– The Weather Monk

Hiyoribo is a legend that has been passed down for many years in Japan. He is said to come from the mountains of Hitachi-no-kuni—modern day Chiba prefecture—and his season is the summertime. Hiyoribo is said to be a yokai who brings sunny weather, and who cannot be seen on rainy days.

Toriyama Seiken illustrated the Hiyoribo in his picture-scroll “Supplement to the Hundred Demons of the Past,” and explained that this yokai was the origin of teruteru bozu. He said that when children hang up teruteru bozu and pray to them to bring sunshine into the rain, it is actually the spirit of the Hiyoribo that they are praying to.

Teruteru bozu (てるてる坊主) – The Sunshine Monk

Teruteru bozu are made from white cloth or tissue bound together with a bit of string. They are usually hung upright from the eaves of a house, and are used as talisman in the hopes that tomorrow will bring good weather.

In some areas of Japan the dolls are used by farmers on days when they hope for rain instead of sun. The dolls are are hung head-downwards and called furefure bozu or ameame bozu (both meaning roughly The Rain Monk) or ruterute bozu which is simply teruteru bozu said backwards.

And although teruteru bozu is the most common name, they are also known as teretere bozu and sometimes hiyori bozu. Researcher Miyata Noboru has found that in certain places in West Japan they are still called Hiyoribo and remembered as yokai.

Teruteru bozu appeared around the middle of the Edo period in Japan. In the book “Kiyu Shoran” (Inspection of Diversions) the author writes of the custom that if the teruteru bozu is successful, and the following day is clear, then its head is washed with sacred sake and the doll is sent into a river to be washed away. In Edo period Japan, rivers were thought to connect to the afterlife and the realm of the gods, so sending the teruteru bozu down the river was returning it home in the same way that candles and lanterns were floated down the river during Obon, the Festival of the Dead. There was also a custom where—as with Daruma dolls—a face was only drawn on the teruteru bozu if it had been successful in bringing fair weather.

The origins of the custom are vague. Some say that it comes from China, where untou ningyo (cloud-clearing dolls) and ameku musume (rain banishing girls) are just a few of the similar customs that can be found. Folklorist Fujizawa Morihiko sees the origin of both the yokai Hiyoribo and the teruteru bozu in a Chinese drought-god with similar properties.

The Teruteru bozu Song

Like many Japanese customs, there is a warabe uta—a folksong. The lyrics are allegedly about a story of a monk who promised farmers to stop rain and bring clear weather during a prolonged period of rain which was ruining crops. When the monk failed to bring sunshine, he was executed.

Translated and adapted from Hyakiyako Kaitai Shisho and other sources

Be careful when you pull up a bucket of water from an ancient, abandoned well. You might get more than you bargained for if a kyokotsu 狂骨—which translates literally as “crazy bones”—springs up from the bucket like a Jack-in-the-Box to deliver its curse.

Clad in a white burial kimono, kyokotsu almost look like a classical yurei but they lack the black/white contrast due to shocks of white hair that spring from its bleached-white skull. Kyokotsu appear as little more than bones wrapped in a shroud, springing from a well.

The yokai is best-known from Toriyama Sekien’s Edo-period yokai print-book “Konjyaku Hyaku Kishui” or  “Supplement to the Hundred Demons of the Past.” Author Kyogoku Natsuhiko also recent featured a kyokotsu in his book “Dream of the Kyokotsu.”

Sekien’s original woodblock print was accompanied by this text:

“Kyokotsu rise from the bones in the well. It is said that whosoever commits the horrendous act of abandoning august bones will find it impossible to abandon the horrendous wrath that follows.”

Sekien’s text seems to explain that kyokotsu appear from a well in response to some wrongdoing and bearing a terrible grudge. Seiken also claimed that the regional-dialect term “kyokotsu,” meaning “violent” or “furious,” is an allusion to this yokai. However, while such a term does exist, specifically in Tsuki-gun in Kanagawa prefecture, there is no concrete evidence linking either the term or Seiken’s picture to an older folktale.

It is much more likely that the opposite occurred, that Seiken heard the term “kyokotsu” and decided to invent a yurei to match—much like if an English-language author decided to create a monster called “Lazy Bones” after the pre-existing term. To get the image for his yokai, Seiken was probably just playing on works, combining the local term “kyokotsu” (crazy bones) with “gyokotsu,” which means bones from which all of the meat has fallen off. He might also have been influenced by the words “keikotsu” or “sokotsu” which can mean drifter or wander, but also can be phrased as “someone from the bottom.” It seems likely that Seiken was influenced both by these words and by the old belief of an inexhaustible grudge that can come from the bottom of wells.

There are several Japanese folklore stories—involving both yokai and yurei—that involve the bottom of a well. In Japanese folklore, water was a channel to the world of the dead, and the bottoms of wells were directly connected. Wells also served as a convenient hiding place for murders committed in the dark of the night, and the superstitious believed that any such-disposed of corpse was capable of a powerful curse. Those who died from falling in wells, by accident, suicide, or murder, were thought to transform into shiryo and haunt the well. The spirit connects to the well itself, rather than where they were murdered, and their curse is likely to fall on anyone who used the well and not specifically targeted to the murderer.

A cursed set of bones is another typical trope in Japanese folklore and does not need to be connected to a well. In her book “Nozarashi Monogatari,” the literary scholar Sawada Mizuho wrote a similar story of a weather-beaten, abandoned skull that gets its revenge.

The biggest difference between the kyokotsu and typical Japanese folklore tales of skeletal ghosts is the element of disparity between the spirit form and the physical remains. In most stories, the spirit resembles a typical Japanese yurei—with a physical, full human body—even while the discovered remains are nothing more than a pile of rotting bones. The kyokotsu is rare in that Sekien drew the spirit in skeletal form as well. Because of this, kyokotsu is most often identified as a type of yokai, being a possessed skeleton, rather than a type of yurei, a Japanese ghost.

Translator’s Note:  The manga series “Bleach” has a character called Katen Kyōkotsu that uses the same kanji as this yokai, but seems to have no other relationship.

The Image

The image on the button—not really a button but I will call it that for the time being—was easy to identify. That is not an onryo, but the Buddhist monk Bodhidharma, known more popularly as Daruma.

Daruma is one of the most popular figures in Japanese folklore art and in contemporary Japan. From whisky bottles to women’s underwear, you can find Daruma’s scowling face on almost every product-type in Japan. Daruma is a super-figure in Japanese folklore, credited with inventing everything from tea to Shaolin martial arts. He is most commonly found as the wish-granting, roly-poly Daruma dolls. Sold eyeless, you paint in one eye while making a wish, then paint in the other eye in thanks when the wish comes true.

The historic Daruma comes from 5th or 6th century AD. Most of his life is so completely wrapped in legend it would be impossible to sort fact from fancy, but he is often considered to have come from South India, or “from Persia.” Whatever his origin, he is the divine transmitter of Ch’an Buddhism, known in Japanese—and English—as Zen Buddhism. In art, he is depicted as being grumpy, ill-tempered, scowling, with a beard and deep-set eyes.

The image on this button, with the emaciated, skeletal form, is very different from the portly and robust figure found in most depictions of Daruma.  The scene is most likely taken from Daruma’s “nine years of wall gazing.”In this legend, Daruma was denied entrance into a Shaolin Monostary, so he went to a nearby cave and stared at a wall for nine years.  There are several variations on the legend, including one where he fell asleep after seven years and—disgusted with himself—tore off his own eyelids so they couldn’t betray him.  Casting his eyelids on the ground, they sprouted up into the first tea bushes which Daruma brewed and drank to keep himself awake for the final two years.

The Artist

 The rest of the request—who made this button and what is it?—went out of my area of expertise.  Even reading the kanji on the button was difficult, as it is in archaic form and written in a calligraphic style.  Neither I nor my wife, who is Japanese, could read the signature. So I called on my friend Aaron Rio, with his big brains and phd in Japanese Art to help in the identification.  And help he did!

First off, what is the object exactly?  All we know for sure is that it is not a button.  Without seeing the reverse side and depth it is difficult to make a determination—Is it a medallion or a container? A lid? And why are there cords attached?  The best guess is that it is a netsuke 根付, possibly of the kagamibuta 鑑蓋 variety missing it’s ivory surround. Or it is possibly the lid of a small netsuke container.

As to the writing, the three characters at left are 民乗, the artist/carver’s name, and then his cipher (花押, kaō), i.e., a handwritten (carved) signature. 民乗,whose actual name was 海野珉乗 (Unno Minjō, 1873-1910; note the different character used for ‘min’) is a known netsuke carver. He was a professor at 東京芸大 when he died, as was his far more famous father Unno Shomin (海野勝珉), who was also a metalworker. The Museum of Fine Art (MFA) in Boston has at least one netsuke, a kagamibuta, by this artist, and they date it to the late 19th century.

Just because it is signed doesn’t mean it is real, of course. There are lots of netsuke fakes. However, Minjō wasn’t exactly a celebrity carver, and he did die rather young, so I’m not sure why anyone would fake his signature. And the signature resembles (though isn’t identical) to the signature on the MFA piece, The MFA has an extensive online catalogue, and you may very well find this other Minjō netsuke there as well.

Translated from Mizuki Shigeru’s Mujyara

In Saisetan, located on Fukue island in the Goto archipelago of Nagasaki prefecture, there are legends of things that have the power to enter and possess humans. These things (ikiryo, shiryo, dobutsu-rei, kappa, and the curses of various deities of Shinto and Buddhism) are called inen. They cause various illnesses, changes in personality, and spiritual distress. There is also a type of shaman who can speak directly to the inen, interpreting their demands and negotiating the price that must be paid. These shamans are known as Honin.

At one time, there was the wife of a farmer who had a strange growth on the side of her body under her armpit. It was painful, and because of the tumor she couldn’t sleep at night. She went to the doctor and had the malignant growth removed several times, but it always grew back. Three times she was operated on, and with no success. She finally paid a call on a honin. The honin said “In your house there are many spirits. These are not the beneficial spirits of your ancestors. They are desperate things who want something from you. It is the spirits who have caused this growth on your body. Here is what you must do to appease them. Go home, make a great feast, and set it on your largest plate. Set the plate under a large tree near your house and leave it there, making the proper supplications to the spirits.”

It was long the tradition of the village that the once-prosperous farmer’s wife’s house was built on top of an ancient graveyard. The spirits interred there wanted the humans to honor them and hold regular memorial services, and they made their desires known by causing illnesses such as skin diseases, tumors, and even insanity.

You can read more details about inen in the book “Spiritual and Magical Powers” by Sasaki Miki.

Translator’s Note:

The word inen is written in katakana, and thus has no meaning other than being a name.

Ueda Akinari’s “Ugetsu Monogatari” is a nine-story collection of tales of the mysterious and strange. It is a pedantic work, designed by the author largely as a display to flaunt his own body of knowledge. In the nine stories, Ueda wrote about the nature of yurei. Among them is the story “The Chrysanthemum Vow,” the gist of which goes like this:

In the country of Harima there was a post-town called Kako that stood as a relay station for official messages. Living there in honorable poverty and relative safety was an old mother and her son, who was named Hasebe Samon. One day Samon saw a visitor coming into town. The visitor was sick with a high fever and in obvious pain. Terrified of a contagious infection, the people of the tiny post-town gave the stranger a wide berth. Hasebe alone took pity on the stranger and brought him into his own home where he cleaned him and nursed him slowly back to health.

The visitor was from Shoue, in Izumo. His name was Akana Soemon. He had served as a mentor in strategy and tactics to the Lord of Toda, Enya Kamonnosuke , but one day when Akana was out delivering a message to Sasaki Ujitsuna of Oumi, a man named Amako Tsunehisa betrayed and attacked Lord Enya Kamonnosuke. Sadly, Akana’s patron died in the ensuing battle. Soemon pleaded with Ujitsuna to take up the sword and exact revenge on Amako, but aside from some pretty speeches Ujitsuna did nothing. The lack of action on the part of Ujitsuna was upsetting, so Akana decided to leave Oumi and return home to Izumo. But on the journey back he fell ill.

Akana was overwhelmed by the kindness he had been shown by Hasebe, and the two became sworn brothers. At the beginning of summer, Akana wished to stay with his new companion but he still needed to fulfill his original purpose and return to Izumo to check on his holdings. After that was taken care of, Akana promised to return to Hasebe’s house for a lengthy stay.

Akana promised to return to Kako before the season had a chance to change into fall. He set the day at September 9th, the day of the Chrysanthemum Festival. Akana gave his most solemn vow to Hasebe that the festival would not pass without his return. That said, Akana set out for Izumo.

In time, the promised day arrived, September 9th. From the very earliest light of morning, Hasebe Samon busily prepared for his dear friend’s return, and when preparation was done he waited patiently. Noon came and went with no sign of Akana. Soon it was evening, and even as the sun was sinking into the West Akana did not arrive. After waiting well into the night, Hasebe told his mother that she should retire, and that he would continue his vigil alone. It never occurred to Hasebe that Akana would not fulfill his vow.

Waiting still, as he looked beyond the door of his house, Hasebe saw the faint glow of the Milky Way above, and the dim illumination of the setting Moon. In the distance, he heard the sound of ocean waves breaking, and he could clearly hear the barking of the family dog. The fading moonlight outlined dark silhouettes of the mountains. As he stood in the doorway without any intention of entering, Hasebe watched the night scene.

Just then, from out of the silhouettes of the mountain, Hasebe saw the shape of a person begin to appear. The figure did not walk, but floated as if carried on the wind. Although it seemed impossible, when Hasebe looked closely he saw the shape of his friend Akana Soemon. Exactly as promised, Akana Soemon had kept his vow and come on September 9th, the day of the Chrysanthemum Festival.

But the Akana Soemon that arrived was not the man of this world that Hasebe had been expecting. Only Akana’s spirit had appeared.

Akana’s shade told his story to Hasebe. Once in Izumo, Amako Tsunehisa had Akana placed under house arrest and kept him there, making it impossible for Akana to keep his vow and arrive for the Chrysanthemum Festival. Akana had pondered this for awhile. He reasoned that even if it was impossible for his physical body to make the journey of a thousand ri to see his friend, his spirit alone would have no problem traveling that great distance. And so with his own hand and his own sword, Akana freed his spirit and traveled on the wind in order to keep his promise. Once Akana told this story to Hasebe, his spectral form vanished and Hasebe was alone once again.

After expressing the extreme fidelity of these two friends, Ueda Akinari notes that you should not become attached to frivolous people, or wrap your fate with those who will not pay in kind.

The Chrysanthemum Vow can be seen as a template for this kind of yurei story. If we compare it to other Tokuhon-shu stories popular with Edo period readers, we see the similarities. It stands to reason that the yurei of Akana Soemon came to visit Hasebe Samon, and did not just blindly return to the house where he had stayed. If Hasebe had been elsewhere, then Akana would have found him there and appeared before him. This element of ghosts is one of the unique points of Japanese yurei.

In other words, Japanese yurei have a specific goal in mind, a purpose. If they are seeking a person, they will find them no matter where they go or where they hide. There are some exceptions, most notably the story in my first chapter (Translated as The Scared Yurei) where I tell the story of a ghost of Ginza who wished to get revenge on the person who killed her, but, being still afraid of the murderess even in death, deigned to appear at the kindly old lady’s home next door. But this kind of story is rare, and ignores the rules of Japanese yurei.

Translator’s Note: Those familiar with Lafcadio Hearn will probably reconize his version of this story, recorded as Of a Promise Kept in A Japanese Miscellany.  This is a shortened, less poetic version of the tale told just as a recap for the book Nihon no Yurei.  The story originally appeared in Ueda Akinari’s Ugetsu Monogatari.