The Yurei of Kobata Heiji

Translated from Edo no Kimyou no Hyakumonogatari

It is said that there are no monsters or bakemono from Hakone town, but even here one can feel the mysterious touch of the yurei.

One night, Bando Hikosaburo was walking home, a kyogen play he had heard over the summer running around in his head, when he saw something frightening.  Holding a lantern casting a dim illumination on the scene that was neither dark nor light, a pale blue figure stood before him like some vision.

“I am the yurei of Kobata Heiji.  Those who look upon me and hear my story will endure neither fear, nor my wrath, nor any disturbing thoughts. 

It has been almost two ages since Itoe Shoroku took pity on my suffering spirit and performed a memorial service in my honor.  Still, it brings be pleasure to again stride the stage of this world from time to time.”

With that said, the Yurei suddenly vanished. 

This took place in the 13th year of Bunmei (1830) at the closing of summer.

The Obake Cart

Translated from Nihon no Obake Banashi

Long ago, in the town of Kouka in the province of Oumi (modern day Shiga prefecture) ,when night did fall a mysterious cart was said to appear without fail. 

“Kiiii….kiiiii….”

The sound of the cart could be heard, although where it was coming from or where it was going to no one could say.

“That cart is an obake cart.  Anyone who lays eyes on it will feel the cart’s curse!”

Everyone said this, and when the night fell there was not a soul in the town who was not safely inside with their doors and windows sealed shut to the smallest crack.

In this town there was also a very steadfast and sensible proprietress.

“If this cart really exists, then there must be something especially terrible riding in it.  More likely its nothing more than a rumor spread on purpose to keep us indoors at night.  Either way, I would like to see for myself what the truth is!”

Even though she was thinking this, the proprietress was careful not to tell anyone in the town.  For it was said that if you spoke badly about the obake cart to anyone, or even spoke of it at all, then the cart was sure to come visiting in the night.

“No one speaks about the cart twice.  Anyone who speaks about it even once feels the cart’s curse!”

This the townsfolk would say, and even then at night they would shudder with their eyes held shut but their ears open for the sound of the obake cart.

The proprietress waited until everyone was sleeping and secretly crept from bed.  She silently padded her way to the door where she crept out of sight.  Through a knothole in the door she peered into the night.  Although all was quiet, after a time she began to discern the sound of a cart’s squeaking wheels.

The proprietress watched intently from her knothole.  Suddenly, justas the moon emerged from behind the clouds and shone in the sky, the street became as bright as noon

“Kiiii….kiiiii….”

The sound of the obake cart got louder and louder, coming closer.

What was it?  Was someone riding in the obake cart?  The proprietress held her body perfectly still and stopped her breath, staring with all her life into the light.

The cart came increasingly closer.   The body of the proprietress began to tremble uncontrollably.

“Ah!”

Without thinking, she let out a cry.

Somehow, a cart with only one wheel, with nothing pulling it at all came moving into her view.  Riding on top was a solitary beautiful young woman. 

Now the proprietress had been expecting some sort of terrible oni, not a beautiful young woman, and the proprietress’ gaze was held as if in a trance.  The obake cart stopped right in front of the home from where the proprietress was watching.   She tried to crouch even smaller to hide her body.

“Here.  It would have been better if you had been looking after your precious child than spying on me.  But now it is too late for you to do anything but mourn.”

The proprietress heard this in the young woman’s voice, and with that the single-wheeled cart sped away.

The proprietress released the breath she had been holding in with relief, and didn’t give any worries to what she had just heard.  Instead she crept back to her bed.   And what did she do there?  Why, she crawled into her futon where her baby should be sleeping, only to find that he was not there.

“Husband…husband…”

The proprietress woke up her husband and others of the house.   Everyone began to search for the baby but he was nowhere to be found.

“Ahhh!  I did something terrible!!!”

The curse of the obake cart had fallen not on the proprietress, but instead on her small baby who had been adducted.  But the proprietress would not give up her child so easily.

“This is wrong.  I was the one who looked on the obake cart!  Why should my innocent child pay the price for my misdeeds? It is too terrible. Put your curse on me and give me back my child!!!”

Crying this over and over again it became like a song of sadness for the proprietress.

And so, the following night the proprietress stood at the door of her hour and loudly sang this sad song.  Somehow this penetrated the cold heart of the mistress of the obake cart, and although she had planned only to take the child and be done with it, she found herself thinking.

“This is the home of a woman who truly loves her child.  I had not intended to give back the baby, but perhaps this once I can make an exception.”

The young woman of the obake cart heard the sad song of the proprietress once more, then listened again a third time.  Finally, the sadness was too much even for her and she returned the child. Silently, the obake cart sped away from the town.

“Thank you!!! Thank you!!!!!”

The proprietress fell to her knees on the dirt floor of her house, tears pouring from her face like rain yet never stopping the torrent of thanks that poured from her mouth.  Finally, carrying the baby she had so desperately searched for, she went back to her bed where they were both soon fast asleep.

From that night, the obake cart never came again.  Having revealed her true form to a human without punishment, it was said that she could no longer appear in the town of Kouka.

This legend has been handed down from the Edo period in Shiga prefecture, and the obake cart appears in images of the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons popular at the time.  It is of the style of legends concerning ghostly vehicles.

The Speaking Futon

Translated from Nihon no Obake Banashi

Long ago, in the town of Totori, a shopkeeper opened a small inn.  The inn welcomed its first customer on a cold winter’s night.

 “Welcome my guest, and please spend the night comfortably.  Help yourself to our bedding and futons!”

 The proprietor thus led the guest to his room.

 The exhausted lodger fell quickly into the offered futon, and was soon asleep.  However, in the middle of the night he was awakened by someone’s voice.

 “Older brother…you must be cold.”

 “Little brother, you must be cold too…”

 The voice, little more than a whisper, was a child’s voice.

 “Huh.  There are no kids in this room…that must be coming from one of the neighboring rooms…”

 “But still…at this hour it is awfully rude for someone to be talking and keeping the other guests awake.”

 The lodger made a purposeful show of loudly clearing his throat.  The child’s voice stopped exactly at that time.

 With a sigh of satisfaction, the lodger once again began to settle into sleep.  But just as he was on the verge of sleep, the child’s voice was heard again, this time whispering directly into his ear.

 “Older brother…you must be cold.”

 “Little brother, you must be cold too…”

 It was a sad voice.  The lodger sprang from his futon and hurriedly lit the nearby paper lantern.

 There was no one in the room.  He check the adjoining room, and there was no one their either.  Leaving the paper lantern lit, the lodger lay down yet again.  And again he heard the voice, coming from the base of his pillow.

 “Older brother…you must be cold.”

 “Little brother, you must be cold too…”

 Again it was the sad child’s voice.

 A chill went down the lodger’s spine.  Yet he summoned up his courage and tried to pinpoint the source of his voice.  He could hear it coming from his futon.   The bed covering was speaking to him.

 The lodger fled terrified from the room. Waking the proprietor, he told him the whole story of the haunted futon.

 “What are you talking about?  My inn has only opened today.  And I certainly don’t have any haunted futons.  You must be very tired for your mind to be playing tricks on you.”

The proprietor would simply not believe the story.  And as for the lodger, he had already paid and there was nothing to be done about it.  The proprietor stuck out his belly and would not be budged.

 “Yah…this is a bad omen.  My first day of business and my first customer is like this…”

 However, the following day another lodger stayed in the same room, and had the same story to tell the proprietor about the haunted futon.

 “Now this is a strange thing indeed.  To have two customers report the same thing…I am going to have to look into this…”

 The proprietor was still unbelieving, but he went into the room and put his head next to the futon.  Sure enough, he could soon hear a child’s voice crying:

 Shocked as he was, the proprietor still investigated the mysterious voice and found that it was coming from only a single bed-cover futon used as a blanket.

 “So you are the offending futon?  Why do you say what you say?”

 The next day the proprietor went to the dealer in used clothing and bedding from whom he had purchased the futon.

 “Actually,  before I sold it to you I bought this futon from another used store…”

 And so the dealer in used goods told the proprietor of the inn where he had the futon.  The proprietor hurriedly went to that shop where he heard the story.

 Not so long ago, there a poverty-stricken family of four lived in the town of Totori.  Their father had died of illness, followed by their mother, leaving only the 6- and 4-year old brothers.  The brothers had no family or friends to look after them.  They sold all of their household goods for food, including their mother and father’s kimonos and their hibachi stove.  But because their house was poor, the items they could sell were soon gone, and they had nothing left but a single futon blanket.

 Before long, winter came and the snow fell.  The two brothers had nothing and stayed in a deserted house growing weaker and weaker. Wrapped together in the single futon blanket, they shivered in the cold.  At night they tried to sleep, but the bitter cold would keep them awake

 “Older brother…you must be cold.”

 The kind little brother tried to give the entire futon blanket to his older brother.

 “Little brother, you must be cold too…”

 But the older brother refused and covered his little brother with the futon instead.

 The two passed the night this way, attempting to give the entire futon to their freezing bother.  And that passed another night this way, and then another. How often could they perform this ritual?

 In time, the coldhearted landlord of the house came calling, and unable to pay the rent the brothers were thrown from the house.  The landlord even tore the futon blanket from them as payment for their debt.

 That night there was a terrible snow storm.

 Having not eaten for many days, the brothers succumbed to their hunger and the cold.  Under the stoop of a nearby house they were found dead, still clinging to each other.

 “The poor dears…the poor little dears…”

 Thinking this, the neighbors buried them in a small grave near the temple of Kannon the deity of mercy.

 The proprietor of the inn, hearing this story brought the futon blanket to the temple of Kannon where the two brothers were buried.  The Buddhist monk of the temple prayed for them and held a memorial service for them.

 From then, the futon was never heard to speak again.

This melancholy tale comes from Tottori , next to Shimane prefecture, and was included in the collection of legends known as “Inbaku Densetsu Shu.”  It was made famous by Koizumi Yakumo, also known as Lafcadio Hearn.

Okuri Chochin – The Sending-off Lantern

Translated from Edo Tokyo Kaii Hyakumonogatari

Even though it is called spring,   the weather is bitter cold and the rain is falling.  The coming and going traffic dies down in the face of a wind that pierces the body, and the bell of the temple of Houan-ji can only be distantly heard.

On tall wooden geta a warrior stumbles drunkenly helped along with his tottering steps by a companion.  While suppressing a shudder, the companion says:

“My lord, this is a desolate area…”

The lord laughs and replies:

“There are foxes and tanuki and other mysterious beings here.”

Looking ahead of them, they saw the light of a lit lantern which they attempted to follow.  However, when they got closer to the light, it suddenly blinked out leaving them in pitch blackness.

This was the Sending-off Lantern.

Translator’s Note:

This print, by Utagawa Kuniteru, is called Okuri Chochin (送り提灯), and depicts one of the Honjo Nana Fushigi (本所七不思議) meaning one of the Seven Wonders  of Honjo.

The Severed Heads Hanging in the Fowling Net

 

Translated from Nihon no Yurei Banashi

The Thrush Bird

At the Western base of Noriguchidake in the Japanese Alps there is a picturesque plateau.  All through-out this plateau are scattered small lakes filled with sky-blue water.

In the olden days, the road from Shinshu (modern day Nagano prefecture) to Hida (modern day Gifu prefecture) wound along this plateau linking lake to lake.  However, because fearsome things were known to happen along this route people referred to it as the “Road of the Dead.”

It has been two hundred years since this story was first told.  Sitting near the base of this plateau was a small village, where lived a peasant named Heitaro.  His greatest love was hunting the birds and beasts of the wild, and with the coming of winter Heitaro would venture forth with his fowling net and bow and arrow without fail.

“Today, if luck is with me, I will bring down a thrush!”

Heitaro spread out his great fowling net right in the open plains of the Road of the Dead, and waited for an unknowing thrush to fly into it.

At this time, it was still in the early hours of morning.  The white fog was thick, covering the ground and limiting visibility.  Heitaro crouched silently, hidden in the lee of a nearby tree and patiently smoked a cigarette.  After awhile, he heard a loud voice coming from the vicinity of his fowling net.

“Get that Heitaro!  Get that Heitaro!”

Heitaro could hear someone yelling this.

“Eh? What is that?”

Heitaro peered into the fog from between the branches of his hiding place.

“What the…?

Taken aback, Heitaro held his breath and began to shudder with fear.  The voice was coming from something unspeakably terrible.

Caught in his fowling net, lined up in a row, were several severed heads of dead men. And what’s more the heads were screaming:

“Get that Heitaro!  We are going to get that Heitaro!!!”

At any minute it looked liked the heads would free themselves and coming flying towards Heitaro.

Heitaro was too frightened to speak, and quickly dove into an open cavern in a nearby rock formation where he lay shivering. Because the severed heads might be able to come down the same opening that Heitaro had entered, he closed up the hole with another rock.

But he could still hear the terrible voices screaming:

“Get that Heitaro!  Get that Heitaro!”

In time, the dense fog that enveloped the scene began to dissipate, and along with the thinning of the fog Heitaro could no longer hear the voices.

The Dead among the Fog

 

“Now is the time to make my escape”

Heitaro made no move to gather up his fowling net.  Leaving everything behind, he started to run for his village at the base of the plateau.

As he was fleeing, however, again the thick white fog began to gather around the ground until Heitaro could longer see even those things right in front of his eyes. 

“Ahhh!  This is bad…this is bad…anything could happen in weather like this…”

Thinking this to himself, a long shiver ran along his spine. 

He found himself standing along one of the small lakes that decorated the plateau.  From the lake he could hear certain sounds:

“Slurp.  Slurp.”

It was clearly the sound of someone drinking from the water. Heitaro could also hear the sound of something moving along the ground like a worm.

Fearfully, he tried to search through the fog for the source of the sound…

“Ah!”

Heitaro screamed loudly, when he saw the ghastly blue colored things rolling around on the ground.  Drinking the water, dressed in white kimonos where the yurei of dead men.   And there were many of them!  Clinging to the banks of the lake they were pushing each other out of the way to drink from the blue water.

“O…oh no!”

Wanting desperately to flee, Heitaro turned to run but his legs where knocking together with terror and his feet wouldn’t move.  And it was here that Heitaro was seen.

“Heitaro!  We have been waiting for you!”

In a blind panic, Heitaro drug his unmoving feet finally breaking into a run.  Blindly he fled across the plateau until somehow or other he arrived at his village. But all was not well, as Heitaro could no longer go hunting and in time fell ill and succumbed to his bed.

When news of this affair reached the people of the village, they said:

“Is that so…things like really do happen?  I guess what they say about that road is true.  It really is the Road of the Dead.  A place where you go hunting for thrush and catch severed heads”

From that time forth and for a long time after, no one passed again along that route.

This legend is of the “Haunted Forest”-type, and is common amongst yurei tales. These same types of mysterious stories can be found in almost every area, with only the details changed to accommodate the local setting.

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