The snow ghost and other.., p.1
The Snow Ghost and Other Tales, page 1
THE SNOW GHOST AND OTHER TALES
Classic Japanese Ghost Stories
Contents
A Note on the Text
The Goblin of Adachigahara
White Bone Mountain
Mujina
A Passional Karma
Ghost Story of the Flute’s Tomb
Of a Promise Broken
Ghost of the Violet Well
Ikiryō
The Tongue-cut Sparrow
The Dream of Akinosuké
The Eater of Dreams
The Secret of Iidamachi Pond
The Legend of Yurei-Daki
Yuki Onna
The Snow Ghost
Jikininki
A Haunted Temple in Inaba Province
The Camphor Tree Tomb
Rokurokubi
How an Old Man Lost His Wen
The Story of Mimi-Nashi-Hōichi
Fragment
Furisodé
The Kakemono Ghost of Aki Province
A Dead Secret
The Nun of the Temple of Amida
A Note on the Text
The stories in this collection are sourced from a variety of books by Lafcadio Hearn, Yei Theodora Ozaki and Richard Gordon Smith, all dating from around the turn of the twentieth century. Those books are Lafcadio Hearn’s Kokoro (1895), In Ghostly Japan (1899), Kottō (1902), Kwaidan (1904) and Kimiko (1923), Yei Theodora Ozaki’s Japanese Fairy Tales (1903) and Richard Gordon Smith’s Ancient Tales and Folklore of Japan (1908). These works were composed during a time of great transition in Japan as it grappled with modernising forces, as well as a period of deep fascination with traditional Japanese culture in the West.
All the stories collected here were originally written in English for the purpose of introducing a Western readership to the folklore and mythology of Japanese culture, and as such originally included footnotes and references to aid the reader’s understanding. For this edition, we have retained as few footnotes from the original texts as possible, taking the liberty to abridge those we have kept so they remain unobtrusive yet provide context where necessary. Where some footnotes originally provided a simple translation, we have included that in the text in brackets. Otherwise, the stories remain unaltered. Finally, we have added initials and the year of publication at the end of each story to indicate the author and collection from which these tales were sourced.
The Goblin of Adachigahara
Long, long ago there was a large plain called Adachigahara, in the Province of Mutsu in Japan. This place was said to be haunted by a cannibal goblin who took the form of an old woman. From time to time many travellers disappeared and were never heard of more, and the old women around the charcoal braziers in the evenings, and the girls washing the household rice at the wells in the mornings, whispered dreadful stories of how the missing folk had been lured to the goblin’s cottage and devoured, for the goblin lived only on human flesh. No one dared to venture near the haunted spot after sunset, and all those who could, avoided it in the daytime, and travellers were warned of the dreaded place.
One day as the sun was setting, a priest came to the plain. He was a belated traveller, and his robe showed that he was a Buddhist pilgrim walking from shrine to shrine to pray for some blessing or to crave forgiveness of sins. He had apparently lost his way, and as it was late he met no one who could show him the road or warn him of the haunted spot.
He had walked the whole day and was now tired and hungry, and the evenings were chilly, for it was late autumn, and he began to be very anxious to find some house where he could obtain a night’s lodging. He found himself lost in the midst of the large plain, and looked about in vain for some sign of human habitation.
At last, after wandering about for some hours, he saw a clump of trees in the distance, and through the trees he caught sight of the glimmer of a single ray of light. He exclaimed with joy:
‘Oh, surely that is some cottage where I can get a night’s lodging!’
Keeping the light before his eyes, he dragged his weary, aching feet as quickly as he could towards the spot, and soon came to a miserable-looking little cottage. As he drew near he saw that it was in a tumbledown condition, the bamboo fence was broken and weeds and grass pushed their way through the gaps. The paper screens which serve as windows and doors in Japan were full of holes, and the posts of the house were bent with age and seemed scarcely able to support the old thatched roof. The hut was open, and by the light of an old lantern an old woman sat industriously spinning.
The pilgrim called to her across the bamboo fence and said:
‘O Baa San (Old Woman), good evening! I am a traveller! Please excuse me, but I have lost my way and do not know what to do, for I have nowhere to rest tonight. I beg you to be good enough to let me spend the night under your roof.’
The old woman, as soon as she heard herself spoken to, stopped spinning, rose from her seat and approached the intruder.
‘I am very sorry for you. You must indeed be distressed to have lost your way in such a lonely spot so late at night. Unfortunately, I cannot put you up, for I have no bed to offer you, and no accommodation whatsoever for a guest in this poor place!’
‘Oh, that does not matter,’ said the priest. ‘All I want is a shelter under some roof for the night, and if you will be good enough just to let me lie on the kitchen floor I shall be grateful. I am too tired to walk further tonight, so I hope you will not refuse me, otherwise I shall have to sleep out on the cold plain.’ And in this way he pressed the old woman to let him stay.
She seemed very reluctant, but at last she said:
‘Very well, I will let you stay here. I can offer you a very poor welcome only, but come in now and I will make a fire, for the night is cold.’
The pilgrim was only too glad to do as he was told. He took off his sandals and entered the hut. The old woman then brought some sticks of wood and lit the fire, and bade her guest draw near and warm himself.
‘You must be hungry after your long tramp,’ said the old woman. ‘I will go and cook some supper for you.’ She then went to the kitchen to cook some rice.
After the priest had finished his supper, the old woman sat down by the fireplace and they talked together for a long time. The pilgrim thought to himself that he had been very lucky to come across such a kind, hospitable old woman. At last the wood gave out, and as the fire died slowly down he began to shiver with cold just as he had done when he arrived.
‘I see you are cold,’ said the old woman. ‘I will go out and gather some wood, for we have used it all. You must stay and take care of the house while I am gone.’
‘No, no,’ said the pilgrim, ‘let me go instead, for you are old and I cannot think of letting you go out to get wood for me this cold night!’
The old woman shook her head and said:
‘You must stay quietly here, for you are my guest.’ Then she left him and went out.
In a minute she came back and said:
‘You must sit where you are and not move, and whatever happens, don’t go near or look into the inner room. Now mind what I tell you!’
‘If you tell me not to go near the back room, of course I won’t,’ said the priest, rather bewildered.
The old woman then went out again and the priest was left alone. The fire had died out and the only light in the hut was that of a dim lantern. For the first time that night he began to feel that he was in a weird place, and the old woman’s words, ‘Whatever you do, don’t peep into the back room,’ aroused his curiosity and his fear.
What hidden thing could be in that room that she did not wish him to see? For some time the remembrance of his promise to the old woman kept him still, but at last he could no longer resist his curiosity to peep into the forbidden place.
He got up and began to move slowly towards the back room. Then the thought that the old woman would be very angry with him if he disobeyed her made him come back to his place by the fireside.
As the minutes went slowly by and the old woman did not return, he began to feel more and more frightened, and to wonder what dreadful secret was in the room behind him. He must find out.
‘She will not know that I have looked unless I tell her. I will just have a peep before she comes back,’ said the man to himself.
With these words he got up on his feet (for he had been sitting all this time in Japanese fashion with his feet under him) and stealthily crept towards the forbidden spot. With trembling hands he pushed back the sliding door and looked in. What he saw froze the blood in his veins. The room was full of dead men’s bones and the walls were splashed and the floor was covered with human blood. In one corner, skull upon skull rose to the ceiling, in another was a heap of arm bones, in another a heap of leg bones. The sickening smell made him faint. He fell backwards with horror and for some time lay in a heap with fright on the floor, a pitiful sight. He trembled all over and his teeth chattered, and he could hardly crawl away from the dreadful spot.
‘How horrible!’ he cried out. ‘What awful den have I come to in my travels? May Buddha help me or I am lost. Is it possible that that kind old woman is really the cannibal goblin? When she comes back she will show herself in her true character and eat me up at one mouthful!’
With these words his strength came back to him and, snatching up his hat and staff, he rushed out of the house as fast as his legs could carry him. Out into the night he ran, his one thought to get as far as he could from the goblin’s haunt. He had not gone far when he heard
He ran on, redoubling his speed, pretending not to hear. As he ran, he heard the steps behind him come nearer and nearer, and at last he recognised the old woman’s voice, which grew louder and louder as she came nearer.
‘Stop! Stop, you wicked man! Why did you look into the forbidden room?’
The priest quite forgot how tired he was and his feet flew over the ground faster than ever. Fear gave him strength, for he knew that if the goblin caught him he would soon be one of her victims. With all his heart he repeated the prayer to Buddha:
‘Namu Amida Butsu, Namu Amida Butsu.’
And after him rushed the dreadful old hag, her hair flying in the wind and her face changing with rage into the demon that she was. In her hand she carried a large blood-stained knife, and she still shrieked after him, ‘Stop! Stop!’
At last, when the priest felt he could run no more, the dawn broke, and with the darkness of night the goblin vanished and he was safe. The priest now knew that he had met the Goblin of Adachigahara, the story of whom he had often heard, but never believed to be true. He felt that he owed his wonderful escape to the protection of Buddha to whom he had prayed for help, so he took out his rosary and, bowing his head as the sun rose, he said his prayers and made his thanksgiving earnestly. He then set forward for another part of the country, only too glad to leave the haunted plain behind him.
Y. T. O.
1903
White Bone Mountain
At the foot of Mount Shumongatake, up in the north-western Province of Echigo, once stood – and probably even still stands in rotten or repaired state – a temple of some importance, inasmuch as it was the burial ground of the feudal Lord Yamana’s ancestors. The name of the temple was Fumonji, and many high and important priests kept it up, generation after generation, owing to the early help received from Lord Yamana’s relations. Among the priests who presided over this temple was one named Ajari Joan, who was the adopted son of the Otomo family.
Ajari was learned and virtuous, and had many followers; but one day the sight of a most attractive girl called Kiku (Chrysanthemum), whose age was eighteen, upset all his religious equilibrium. He fell desperately in love with her, offering to sacrifice his position and reputation if she would only listen to his prayer and marry him; but the lovely O-Kiku San refused all his entreaties. A year later, she was taken seriously ill with fever and died, and whispers went abroad that Ajari the priest had cursed her in his jealousy and brought about her illness and her death. The rumour was not exactly without reason, for Ajari went mad within a week of O-Kiku’s death. He neglected his services and then got worse, running wildly about the temple, shrieking at night and frightening all those who came near. Finally, one night he dug up the body of O-Kiku and ate part of her flesh.
People declared that he had turned into the Devil, and none dared go near the temple; even the younger priests left, until at last he was alone. So terrified were the people, none approached the temple, which soon ran to rack and ruin. Thorny bushes grew on the roof, moss on the hitherto polished and matted floors; birds built their nests inside, perched on the mortuary tablets, and made a mess of everything; the temple, which had once been a masterpiece of beauty, became a rotting ruin.
One summer evening, some six or seven months later, an old woman who owned a teahouse at the foot of Shumongatake Mountain was about to close her shutters when she was terrified at the sight of a priest with a white cap on his head approaching.
‘The Devil Priest! The Devil Priest!’ she cried as she slammed the last shutter in his face. ‘Get away, get away! We can’t have you here.’
‘What do you mean by “Devil Priest”? I am a travelling or pilgrim priest, not a robber. Let me in at once, for I want both rest and refreshment,’ cried the voice from outside.
The old woman looked through a crack in the shutters and saw that it was not the dreaded maniac, but a venerable pilgrim priest: so she opened the door and let him in, profuse in her apologies, and telling him how they were all frightened out of their wits by the priest of Fumonji Temple, who had gone mad over a love affair.
‘Oh, sir, it is truly terrible! We hardly dare go within half a mile of the temple now, and some day the mad priest is sure to come out of it and kill some of us.’
‘Do you mean to tell me that a priest has so far forgotten himself as to break through the teachings of Buddha and make himself the slave of worldly passions?’ asked the traveller.
‘I don’t know about the worldly passions,’ cried the old lady, ‘but our priest has turned into a devil, as all the people hereabouts will tell you, for he has even dug up and eaten of the flesh of the poor girl whom he caused to die by his cursing!’
‘There have been instances of people turning devils,’ said the priest, ‘but they are usually common people and not priests. A courtier of the Emperor So’s turned into a serpent; the wife of Yosei into a moth; the mother of Ogan into a Yasha (vampire bat), but I have never heard of a priest turning into a devil. Besides, Ajari Joan, your priest at Fumonji Temple, was a virtuous and clever man, I have always heard. I have come here, in fact, to do myself the honour of meeting him, and tomorrow I shall go and see him.’
The old lady served the priest with tea and begged him to think of no such thing, but he persisted and said that on the morrow he would do as he mentioned, and read the mad priest a lecture; and then he laid himself down to rest for the night.
Next afternoon the old priest, true to his word, started for the Fumonji Temple, the old lady accompanying him for the first part of the walk, to the place where the path which led to the temple turned up the mountain, and there she bade him goodbye, refusing to go another step.
The sun was beginning to set as the priest came in sight of the temple, and he saw that the place was in great disorder. The gates had tumbled off their hinges, withered leaves were thickly strewn everywhere and crumpled under his feet; but he walked boldly on, and struck a small temple bell with his staff. At the sound came many birds and bats from the temple, the bats flapping around his head; but there was no other sign of life. He struck the bell again with renewed force, and it boomed and clanged in echoes. At last a thin, miserable-looking priest came out, and, looking wildly about, said:
‘Who are you, and why have you come here? The temple has long since been deserted, for some reason which I cannot understand. If you want lodging you must go to the village. There is neither food nor bedding here.’
‘I am a priest from Wakasa Province. The pretty scenery and clear streams have caused me to linger long on my journey. It is too late now to go to the village and I am too tired: so please let me remain for the night,’ said the priest. The other made answer:
‘I cannot order you away. This place is no longer more than a ruined shed. You can stay if you like, but you can have neither food nor bedding.’ Having said this, he sat on the corner of a rock, while the pilgrim priest sat on another, close by. Neither spoke until it was dark and the moon had risen. Then the mad priest said, ‘Find what place you can inside to sleep. There are no beds, but what there is of the roof keeps the mountain dew from falling on you during the night, and it falls heavily here and wets you through.’ Then he went into the temple – the pilgrim priest could not tell where, for it was dark and he could not follow, the place being littered with idols and beams and furniture, which the mad priest had hacked to pieces in the early stages of his madness. The pilgrim, therefore, felt his way about until he found himself between a large fallen idol and a wall; and here he decided to spend the night, it being as safe a place in which to hide from the maniac as any he could find without knowing his way about or having a light. Fortunately for himself, he was a strong and healthy old man and was well able to do without food, and also to stand, unharmed, the piercing and damp cold. The pilgrim priest could hear the sound of the many streams which gurgled down the mountainside. There was also the unpleasant sound of squeaking rats as they chased and fought, and of bats which flew in and out of the place, and of hooting owls; but beyond this, nothing – nothing of the mad priest. Hour after hour passed thus until one o’clock, when suddenly, just as the pilgrim felt himself dozing off, he was aroused by a noise. The whole temple seemed as if it were being knocked down. Shutters were slammed with such violence that they fell to the floor; right and left, idols and furniture were being hurled about. In and out ran the sound of the naked, pattering feet of the crazed priest, who shouted:
