Horror Tales of Japan: 21 Japanese folktales not to be read to children, coupled with (mostly) uplifting cultural commentary

Horror Tales of Japan


21 Japanese folktales not to be read to children, coupled with (mostly) uplifting cultural commentary

Kyota Ko

About the Author

Kyota Ko writes and speaks about Japanese culture and history on online media, aiming to make the subject matters accessible and enjoyable to people worldwide. He was born and raised in Tokyo.

He is the author of:

Folk Tales of Japan

28 Japanese folk tales with cultural commentary

and

Underdogs of Japanese History

11 tales of iconic characters who prevailed against odds... or didn't

Text copyright ©️ Kyota Ko, 2024

Cover design by Kyota Ko

Illustrations by Kyota Ko

Copyediting by Alice Choyke

ISBN: 9798326499356

Contents

The Murderer of Rokubu

The Singing Skull

Sakichi’s Boat

Mount Iburi

The Monster of the Weathered Temple

The Peony Lantern

The Goddess of Lake Kamo

Death

The Story of Neko-yama

The Cowherd and the Yamamba

Michibiki Jizō

Kissaku's Plunge

Leave it at the Moat

The Tale of the Old Woman at Rajōmon

Sixteen-men Valley

Anchin and Kiyo-hime

The Funeral at Midnight

The Saucer Mansion at Banchō

A Hundred Ghost Stories

The Razor Fox of Sanbon-eda

The Entrance to the Underworld

Introduction

Why so many? If there were a chart categorizing all the hundreds of Japanese folktales into story genres, those under the horror umbrella would take up a fairly good portion of the pie.

For the past three years, I have read, on average, two Japanese folktales a night to my son, who listened eagerly with absolutely no intention of falling asleep, a different story almost every time. As we swam through the sea of folklore, we saw recurring themes and patterns that slowly merged into prominent messages, silently presenting the cultural values of the Japanese people.

While most of these stories inspire the listener to be generous, smart, diligent, or humble, horror tales specialize in inspiring don’ts. Don’t lie. Don’t take lives. Unfaithfulness or cruelty leads to dreadful consequences, sometimes resulting in the delivery of karma in the form of death.

Equally devastating are the outcomes of taking nature lightly and something as seemingly innocent as developing a bond with members of the natural world, like animals. Our forefathers and foremothers warned youths against feeling too comfortable in or with nature through bedtime stories. I feel that the overarching takeaway is to keep a healthy distance from nature, or in other words, to hold a healthy respect for it.

Almost 70% of Japan’s landmass consists of forests. 75% consists of mountains. Maintaining a balance is crucial in sustaining relationships, but the right balance between nature and the Japanese people is not fifty-fifty. We aren’t equals with nature. Perhaps even us occupying 30% is pushing it. So, when natural disasters are on a break from reminding us of our place in the world, horror tales fill in as the substitute teacher.

Thank you for picking this book up. Here is a collection of stories that have discouraged, rather effectively, the Japanese people from overstepping their bounds.

The Murderer of Rokubu

六部殺し

Rokubu Goroshi

Long ago, monks embarked on a pilgrimage to visit sixty-six renowned temples scattered across the country. These monks were called Rokubu.

One day, a Rokubu was invited to stay over at a house on the outskirts of a village he had wandered into. After supper, he excused himself from the dining room as he was tired from walking all day.

It was late at night when the man who owned the house noticed that the candle in the Rokubu’s room was still burning. The man glanced inside and saw the Rokubu counting his coins. It was a sum of money that would allow a whole family to live comfortably for years.

Rokubu, are you awake? The moon is out and it’s beautiful. You should come out and see, called the man.

The Rokubu was perplexed when he stepped outside and gazed at the sky. There’s no moon, sir, he said as he turned around. A machete swung down on his head and took the Rokubu’s breath away.

The man and his wife used the Rokubu’s money to start a successful business. They were soon blessed with a long-awaited child. The couple loved the boy with all their hearts. But strangely enough, the boy did not speak a word even after turning three.

On the night of the boy’s fifth birthday, he twisted and squirmed on his futon. The man figured his son needed to relieve himself, so he took him outside.

Hurry up and pee, the man urged while his son gazed into the dark sky.

Then, the boy who had never uttered a single word began speaking abruptly. It was a moonless night like tonight, he said as he turned toward his father.

What? the man responded, startled.

When you killed me, said the boy. His face had turned into the face of the Rokubu’s corpse he had buried years before.

***

When the moon is absent, when the moon is out

As seen in the story Rokubu Goroshi, there seem to have been quite a few cases of villagers preying on travelers like the Rokubu, unfortunately. As horrible as it sounds, a common method of taking the lives and money of these poor voyagers was to drop a heavy stone on their faces after they fell asleep. Travelers came and went; nobody took notice, even if they suddenly disappeared.

It could be said that travelers bring out our true selves because they interact with us with less regard for our social status, responsibilities, and roles at work or in our communities that normally dictate how we should behave. So, do we exert kindness to a person who is likely to never show up in our lives again, or do we take advantage of this helpless wanderer? This, actually, is not an effective question as none of us live in such a binary world. Multiple factors determine how we conduct ourselves.

As with pretty much every notable part of nature, Japanese culture personifies the moon. In the Japanese language, certain honorifics are used when addressing someone of higher status. The moon too receives this treatment: O-tsuki-sama.

O- = An honorific prefix

Tsuki = The moon

-sama = An honorific suffix

Double honorifics! As honorific sandwiches with -sama are, as far as I know, only applied to gods and rulers, it is clear that the moon has always been seen as an entity with that kind of stature.

When the moon was out, not only did people conspiring to commit misdeeds hesitate to carry them out from the fear of being seen under the moonlight, but they may have also been discouraged by the watchful gaze of a supernatural overseer.

In fact, there is a cliché phrase used to convey threat in Japanese that goes,

月夜の晩ばかりだと思うなよ

Don’t assume every night is a moonlit night.

Once upon a time when there were no streetlamps, New Moon nights offered opportunities where you could remain anonymous while doing something you were not supposed to. The Rokubu might have been killed partly because his visit unluckily fell on a New Moon night.

Japan’s love for the moon

On a less grim note, I’d like to point out that the Rokubu was lured outside successfully because it was customary for Japanese people across the country to regularly view and appreciate the moon. At least 150 Japanese vocabulary words are dedicated to describing the moon, and the sheer variety hints at the ancient Japanese people’s incredible attention to detail as they discovered subtle beauty in every little moonlit situation.

Here are ten such words that point to Japanese culture’s love for the moon:

月代 Tsukishiro

When the East sky glows white just as the moon rises

有明の月 Ariake no Tsuki

When the moon is still visible at dawn

朧月 Oborozuki

When the moon is hazy, particularly at night in the spring

月虹 Gekkō

When you see a white moonbow

月露 Getsuro

When the moon shines on a dewdrop

江月 Kōgetsu

When a moon’s over a river

潭月 Tangetsu

When the moon reflects on still water

月影 Getsuei

When the moon casts someone’s shadow on a paper screen door

薄月 Usuzuki

When the moon glows weakly behind a thin cloud

Don’t you feel excited to see what the moon might do tonight? Nobles of the ancient capital of Kyoto were particularly obsessed with the moon, and a vestige of their obsession can be found at Daikakuji Temple, located north of Arashiyama some 15 minutes by foot from Saga-Arashiyama Station.

Ōsawa Pond is the oldest artificial pond in the country, created under the command of the 52nd Emperor in the ninth century. Japan aspired to develop a culture as sophisticated as China’s. Adopting the continent’s captivating tradition of admiring the moon was part of its cultural refinement program.

Nobles gracefully sailed a dragon boat onto the pond and enjoyed the sight of dual moons—one above and another mirrored on the water below.

Today, the dragon boat welcomes anyone who drops by Daikakuji Temple in September on the evening of a full moon, give or take one night. If you are asked why you came to Kyoto on your next visit there, to see the moon will be considered a totally valid answer.

The Singing Skull

歌い骸骨

Utai Gaikotsu

A long time ago, there were two good friends called Senzō and Manzō who grew up in the same village. When they came of age, the two decided to leave their impoverished hometown and work in the city.

Senzō worked as hard as a horse and saved up quite a sum of money. But Manzō kept himself busy frolicking around and was always penniless at the end of the day.

Three years passed and one autumn, Senzō urged Manzō to go back home together. He wanted to bring all the savings he had amassed to his mother so she could finally retire. Senzō even offered to lend Manzō money for the trip. Manzō was reluctant as he did not have any trophy to bring back, but when he caught a glimpse of several dozen gold coins in his friend’s wallet, a dark thought crept into his mind. He agreed to travel home.

When the two had gone a little bit outside the city, Manzō stabbed Senzō from behind, took his money, and kicked the dead body into the bushes so no one would see it.

Manzō returned to his village as if nothing had happened and bragged about all the money he had made. When Senzō’s mother asked about her son’s whereabouts, Manzō described the human mess his friend had gotten himself into, frolicking around, and gambling every day; he said Senzō was too embarrassed to return home.

Senzō’s mother resumed harvesting rice from her field, all alone as she always had been since her son left for the city. Sorrow lingered on her stooping shoulders.

Another three years passed and Manzō had used up all the money he had taken from his friend. Bored out of his mind, he decided to head back to the city.

Along the way, he found a skull singing a most cheerful song in the bushes right around where he had hidden Senzō’s corpse.

Say, skull. Do you sing all day like you do today? asked Manzō.

Yes, human. I sing all day like I do today, replied the skull.

The skull seemed like a good sport. Manzō took the skull with him, smelling the potential for easy money.

Manzō set up a showroom in the city, mesmerizing everyone who came to see the spectacle. He made a name for himself as the wizard who made a skeleton sing, and all the riches he had ever imagined were now within reach. Success was his! As it was always meant to be! Manzō’s fame grew so great that he was summoned by the regional lord one day.

I hear you trick my people into believing you wield some kind of sorcery, said the lord.

No, sir. The skull I have here sings a most cheerful song I believe you would be delighted to hear, explained Manzō as he unwrapped the cloth he kept the magic skull in.

And what if it doesn’t sing? asked the lord, glaring at Manzō with an eyebrow arched.

If it doesn’t, I shall give you my head, Manzō replied with confidence in his eyes, thinking that would impress all the samurai surrounding him. Now skull, sing!

But the skull remained as silent as the tomb, as still as a statue.

What’s wrong? Sing for me! exclaimed Manzō, but the skull wouldn’t spit out a note. He shook it and hit it, but the skull refused to break its silence.

I’ll have this fixed in a moment, sir! Manzō could feel moisture gathering on his