山

The mountains rise, dark green against an ash grey sky.  Severing the horizon like the well-worn teeth of an ancient beast.  Wisps of clouds curl along the peaks, flowing down the valleys into the village below like ghostly rivers.  They rise like smoke from the clearings, usually invisible on the heavily forested slopes.  Cold fires tended by unseen forces.

Japanese Ghost Stories

I have always loved ghost stories. The mysterious. The unexplained. The macabre. I have always been drawn to it.

I went through a slasher phase in high school, but I never found the same haunting fascination with gore. To be honest, I find slasher movies dull. They rely on gimmicks, not real fear.

A classic like Psycho, though… It gets under your skin. It doesn’t rely on buckets of fake blood or cutting edge CGI. No, it terrifies you through suggestion. That creepy feeling that makes the skin on the back of your neck stand up and you shiver involuntarily. Even years later, sitting in my sunny living room, it gets me.

My whole life I have been chasing ghosts. Not literally. Though I do believe they exist and I never pass up an opportunity for a Ghost Tour. But ghosts, hauntings, monsters, the supernatural and macabre – I hunt down all the stories. Because I think the things that frighten us are also a mirror into our cultural psyche. We tell children scary stories to keep them safe. But these stories also reveal our values, fears, and deepest desires.

Which is why I found Japanese ghost stories so very interesting. I do not claim to be an expert on yokai, the Japanese term that encompasses ghosts, bogey men, and most things that go bump in the night. There are just some observations I made as I wandered through Japanese folklore and scary stories.

Every culture has its ghouls and goblins. Japan is no different. Their literature, art, and culture are filled with all kinds of supernatural beings. Maybe more than most, honestly. The blending of Shinto (a nature based religion) and Buddhism (a religion with a crowded pantheon) gave rise to a lot of baddies. Quite a few on the harmless/helpful spectrum, too. All of these are classified as yokai. There is no way I could list all the gods, demons, devils, spirits, or other beings that populate the fertile Japanese imagination. There are plenty of books if you are interested, though.

Image from Night Parade of a Hundred Demon

Like the West, Japan has a long, rich history of frightening tales. They even had their own version of one of my favorite 90’s shows, Are You Afraid of the Dark. During the Edo period, Japanese people would participate in a game called 百物語怪談会 (Hyakumonogatari Kaidan-kai). Basically, everyone would gather in a room with a hundred lit candles. They would then take turns telling scary stories and putting out the candles one by one. In the end, they were left frightened in the dark. But many yokai, like the Tengu, Kappa, Funa-yurei, and Tanuki, have resumes that go back even further than the Edo period. They have been tempting, taunting, and haunting Japanese people since the mythological birth of the nation.

A Tengu

So what, you say. Western culture also has a long cast of scary characters. I know. I grew up with stories of boggarts, kelpies, and will o’ the wisps from my Scottish granny. Living in the American South West, I was also surrounded by Mexican and Native American specters like La Llorona and the Wendigo.

However, the part that struck me was the fact that our cast of characters hasn’t really changed in hundreds of years. Vampires, werewolves, and ghosts are still our go to bad guys. Not so in Japan. I found it intriguing that while the fairy stories of my childhood were quite old, Japanese culture continues to create new monsters.

The story of Kuchisake Onna, or Slit Mouth Woman, arose with the recent popularity of surgical masks. Then there is Toire no Hanako, who is kind of like the Japanese version of Moaning Myrtle that haunts elementary school bathrooms. These yokai, and many others, have only recently been added to the Japanese bogeyman role.

While western culture seems content to recycle our ghosts and monsters, Japan is still creating new ones to explain the unexplainable in an ever changing world.

But the inclusion of these new yokai in the Japanese psyche also brings up another interesting aspect of Japanese ghost stories. For the most part, it seems that Japanese yokai are pretty harmless. Except for the later stories like Kuchisake Onna, most monsters or ghosts just cause mild discomfort or inconvenience before moving on. Monsters are easily defeated with simple logic, a magic talisman, or simply walking away. Unlike American hauntings, most Japanese ghosts can be dispatched with a simple prayer. They only want to be remembered, honored, or recognized. There is no mystery to solve. No secrets to dig up. Just burn some incense, pray, and poof.

And honestly, the majority of stories I read or heard ended just like that. Poof. No reason. No questions. Dark things would happen, then stop happening, and the Japanese character just went with it.

As a Western reader, it was really frustrating! But these differences were also reflective of Japanese culture.

With such a long history, you would expect them to have a whole host of things that go bump in the night. But the fact that they are still creating yokai to help educate their children about the dangers of the modern world speaks to their practicality. At the same time, it also shows how, as a culture, they are still very in touch with the mystical and spiritual roots of their country. I have talked before about the magical, eerie quality of Japan. The continuation of these stories tells me that Japanese people feel the same way.

What other culture could come up with an umbrella monster?

Granted, the newer yokai are a bit more violent than their senpai, but I would say the world of today is a little more violent and scary than the world of the Edo era (in some ways). And for the most part, even today’s yokai aren’t necessarily out to harm. They are just looking for recognition and respect. Both values at the heart of Japanese culture.

Despite my frustrations with Japanese story telling techniques, I found the world of Japanese ghost stories to be a fascinating glimpse into the Japanese psyche. It even inspired me to try writing my own百物語怪談会 (some of which you can find here on my blog).

A Japanese Ghost Story

Author's Note: I have always been fascinated by ghost stories. Always. While I was in Japan, I took some time to explore their supernatural beliefs and stories. Their yokai (ghosts) and oni(demons) were very different from what I was used to. But that's a something for another post. I am not an expert on Japanese ghosts or story telling techniques, but I felt inspired by what I read and experienced. So, I made my own imitation. This is an original ghost story written in what I am hoping is a Japanese ghost story style. I hope it will one day be part of my own 百物語怪談会.

Sixth grade was coming to a close. We had taken the tests, finished up most of our studies, and were set for our next great adventure. It was the first time our small class would be separated.

While there were many school events and celebrations to mark this momentous occasion in our lives, there was one we had devised for ourselves and were most anticipating. We had decided that each member of the class must perform a test of courage before graduation day. Keiko was in charge of selecting the test for each girl. Simple tasks, no doubt, but that’s girls for you. It was my job to come up with the tests for the boys.

I spent weeks agonizing over the perfect test for each boy. I researched their fears, their families, what kinds of things they had access to. Ryo’s older brother was terrifying – a Yankee with a motorcycle and a lot of porn hidden somewhere. Daiki had an absolutely gorgeous older sister. Tomo’s family ran a sushi restaurant that specialized in fugu. Stuff like that.

Now, there happened to be a kid in my class named Sano. He joined our class in fourth grade when his family moved from Hiroshima. Nobody liked Sano. He wore thick glasses. He was quiet. He wasn’t good at soccer, or drawing, or really anything. For two years he just sat in the back of the classroom.

I did know one thing about him, though. Sano was terrified of an old, abandoned building that he passed every day on his way to school. To be honest, I wasn’t too comfortable with the building myself. But I didn’t sprint past it every day like Sano. It stood alone in the middle of an overgrown lot. Ivy crept up and over both stories, covering all the doors and windows. In summer, it looked like a green bush in the shape of a house. In fall, the leaves turned bright red and it looked more like a demon’s house. It was probably a shop of some kind once, but no one had been there for many, many years it seemed.

This was Sano’s test. He had to break into the building, go up to the second floor, and shine his flashlight five times out the north facing window. Several of us would be waiting below to make sure he did it.

For the life of me, I will never know why Sano agreed to the challenge. His family was moving back to Hiroshima at the start of break. It wasn’t like he would see any of us again. Though we may have felt he had something to prove to us, he really didn’t. Still, he quietly accepted when I announced his test of courage during the break between math and history.

I couldn’t believe it. Even Ryo had fought me when I told him his test was to steal one of his brother’s dirty magazines and bring it to graduation. This was way more dangerous. I felt cheated. “Fine,” I said, “you will do it the night before graduation. At midnight!”

There was murmuring from Tomo, Daiki, and Haruki. These three had been appointed watchers since we all lived in the same cul-de-sac and it would be easy to sneak out of the house.

But still nothing from Sano. Just a silent nod. The bell rang, and Fujiwara Sensi strolled in before more could be said. Throughout history, I glanced back, but Sano was as blank as ever.

Over the next week, we tormented Sano with stories about what had happened in the abandoned house. The previous owner was murdered one night. It was haunted by ghosts from the nearby Buddhist temple. A hundred years ago an oni had been captured and entombed in the ground beneath the house, but the sealing talisman had been destroyed. Each story was more elaborate and terrifying than the last. Tomo and Haruki backed out midweek, but Sano said nothing.

Finally, the fated night arrived. I med Daiki in the alley behind our houses, and we hurried to the abandoned house. I was glad Daiki was there. I had never been out so late. The streets seemed different. I will admit, I was a little scared.

Sano was already there waiting for us. He stood in the street lights watching the house.

“We will wait right here,” I said. “Flash the light five times, or it doesn’t count.”

Sano nodded. He took a deep breath and stepped out of the light toward the house. Soon, he was lost in the darkness and the overgrowth.

Daiki and I waited nervously.

“We should have gone to the door with him. How do we know he didn’t just scram and leave us standing here like a couple of idiots,” Daiki said. “My dad will kill me if we’re caught.”

“Mine too.”

“What did you have to make it so late?”

“Shh,” I hissed, “I think I heard something.”

We heard the screech and rattle of a sliding door. Light peeked through the dense ivy leaves on the ground floor.

“He must be inside,” I whispered.

A car started somewhere near us. We slunk to the edge of the streetlight, hiding ourselves in the shadows. The night was quiet again.

Slivers of light continued to dart through the green leaves as Sano progressed through the house.

“He’s almost there. We can go soon,” I whispered.

“Good. This place is creepy,” Daiki whispered back.

“That’s only stories we made up to scare him,” I said, trying to push my own fear back down. Honestly, I was ready to run at the next sound.

A burst of light shone from the north window right at us.

“He made it,” Daiki sighed.

A second, a third, a fourth flash.

We waited, without breathing, for the fifth. It didn’t come. Instead, we heard a muffled scream and a thud.

I took off toward home, Daiki close on my heels. We didn’t stop till we were behind our own houses.

“What do we do,” Daiki demanded in rasping pants. “We have to tell someone.”

“No,” I replied, “then we will get in trouble for breaking curfew. He was probably just trying to scare us.”

“It worked.”

“Not a word. We’ll tell everyone Sano chickened out. Even if he contradicts us at graduation tomorrow, who will believe him? We tell no one. Swear it.”

Daiki took my pinky with him. We swore each other to secrecy.

Sano didn’t show up for graduation the next day. I walked by his house that afternoon, but his family was busy with the movers. I watched for half an hour, but I never saw Sano, and I couldn’t get up the nerve to ask about him.

Early the next morning, I saw his family drive away, but the car was too stuffed with belongings to see Sano.

A few weeks later, Daiki and I were coming home late from a pickup soccer game. It was dark already. As we hurried past the abandoned house, a light flashed in the upstairs window.

We stopped dead in our tracks.

Two, three, four, five.

We never walked by that house again.

花

Dew clings to the daisies in the window box.  Sliding along the white petals, hanging tenaciously to the end until gravity wins the silent battle.