Ghost Stories (Part 1)

Original story by Mori Ōgai (1862-1922)

One hundred candles, one hundred ghost stories: a classic Japanese pastime for long summer nights. But perhaps the real entertainment is not in the stories, but in the people who tell them...

It happened back in the summer of my fourth year in college. The Gion Festival yamahoko parade had just been held, so I believe it must have been in the second half of July.

At the time, I had just returned from England, where I had gone to study English after fleeing the laboratory to which I had been assigned. I couldn’t just begin working on my graduation thesis again, yet neither did I have a job; the only thing I did not lack was time. If that had not been the case, I never would have attended that strange gathering at the invitation of my friend F.

This is the story of that gathering.

I’d heard of the hyakumonogatari, a game where a large group gathers in a room to tell ghost stories, lighting one hundred candles and blowing one out after each story. The image of the small white candles used in Buddhist altars came to my mind, which made me wonder whether they might go out before the stories were all done. Then again, the thick, sweet-smelling candles you find at Fushimi Inari seemed to me a potential fire hazard. So I wondered how it was that such a game might be played, until F told me that you can also use a hundred oil wicks. I’d never actually seen an oil wick before, though, so I didn’t understand what he meant.

With each story a light goes out, and as the darkness closes in you must clear your mind in preparation for what emerges. That is the hyakumonogatari: an eerie sort of diversion. But from what F told me, it’s quite uncommon for all one hundred candles to go out, and usually the game is ended before that dread moment arrives. That dread moment being, of course, the moment when the last candle is extinguished, the room falls into total darkness, and a real ghost appears.

　　　　　　　＊

After spending a few days with my parents following my return from England, I headed back to Kyoto. I wanted to see how my lodgings had fared after being left open for over a month, and also intended to find a part-time job for the long term. Above all, I wanted to be alone, finding it painful to while away the time at home with no direction in mind.

My lodgings were by the Baptist hospital in Kitashirakawa.

I spent the day walking around town and returned to my lodgings at dusk to find that the rays of the setting sun had turned the 4½ tatami room into a sauna. Though I had been away only a little over a month, I was unreasonably glad to see those cramped quarters again. Opening the window that overlooked the bicycle racks and leaving the door into the corridor wide open for the evening breeze to pass through, I pulled out a well-thumbed book from the shelf and flipped through its pages.

I had an appointment with F that night, so after the sun went down I locked the door behind me and went out. Our rendezvous was at Jeunesse, a cafe at the southwestern corner of the Kitashirakawa Bettō intersection.

F had called me to extend an invitation back when I was still living with my parents. He was a friend from my program at school, easy to converse with, cheerful, and optimistic. Talking to him made you feel like the world wasn’t such a bad place after all. Being guarded by nature, I envied how easygoing he was, and how he could make friends with anyone. Of course, with his happy student days coming to an end I’m sure he had worries of his own, but at the time I was in no position to worry about someone else’s state of mind.

We sat in a dim nook inside the cafe eating light meals, F talking about his graduation research and asking all sorts of questions about my time in England. It was while we were drinking after-meal coffee that F brought up the hyakumonogatari.

“There’s one being held tomorrow night, would you like to come?” he asked. “Or have you got something else planned, Morimi?”

“I do not. But you’re sure it’s alright for me to go?”

“Of course, of course. There aren’t as many people going as originally planned, so I was told to find people to invite.”

“A hyakumonogatari, though...that sounds pretty silly. Whose idea was it?”

“A fellow by the name of Kashima. I haven’t met him myself,” said F. “I’ve got a friend who’s in his theater group.”

This Kashima was the leader of a student theater group, and his name apparently held some repute around the Kansai region. The well-connected F had heard many tales of Kashima. During his first year at college he co-founded a theater troupe with his friends, and a string of well-received performances brought him renown. As I listened to F recount the stories, I recalled having seen a billboard with bold writing daubed on it which said, “Written, directed, and produced by Kashima”.

“Will I have to tell a ghost story as well? I’m afraid I would only disappoint.”

“No need to worry. Many of the audience will only be there to listen.”

“Then I believe I will go.”

F beamed. “We’re gathering at Shinnyo-dō at 5 pm.”

“It’s being held at a temple?” I asked, surprised at how far they were going for authenticity.

But F shook his head. “Once we’re all assembled, we’ll walk to the venue. The precise location is being kept secret until the event.”

“That’s pretty convoluted.”

“It’s all part of the performance.”

We left the cafe at closing time. As we parted ways, F told me that he had some other business tomorrow and might be a little late, promising to call if he was.

It was dark as I headed up the muggy slope back to my lodgings.

Why had I agreed to attend such a dubious event? I was sure it would be a wretched time, since it was unlikely I would know anyone there other than F. Perhaps I was still reticent, having just returned from abroad. I was hardly in any shape to be attending events in public.

During the spring of that year I had suddenly stopped attending my lab. I’d put very little thought for the future during my undergraduate years, and now I was reaping what I had sown; I expected things to work themselves out, yet nothing ever did. I abandoned my lab, yet I had nowhere to go. Seeing how lost I was, my father recommended that I go abroad. So I borrowed money from my parents and set off.

I spent a month in England, living in a house in the outskirts of London and attending an English school by the British Museum. The language study was not much to boast of; I spent half the day at school alongside Spaniards and Italians, and the other half of the day with nothing whatsoever to occupy my time. At first I walked all about town, but never having been much for sightseeing I soon wearied of this. I much preferred buying detective novels from used bookstores, and perusing them at my leisure beneath a tree at the park. It was not much different from living in Japan, whiling the days away seeking only peace and comfort.

A more gifted student might have thrived overseas, but for one of such meager talent as I, leaving Japan only amounted to putting off the problem. One cannot observe his home country from afar forever. I had hoped that something might change in me, but in the end it never did. Idling in some English garden gazing at far off Japan was merely watching my own life go by: no one would live it for me.

And so I came back.

　　　　　　　＊

The next day I rode my bike to Shinnyo-dō late in the afternoon as F had instructed me.

I was familiar with the temple, having been to it several times.

I pedalled down Imadegawa Street and turned onto Kaguraoka Street. Mount Yoshida loomed up on the right, while on the left the ground sloped down towards Shirakawa Street. The sun was hidden behind the mountain, leaving Kaguraoka Street in the shade. A silence lay over the neighbourhood in the sweltering heat. I stopped my bike for a moment at a break in the houses and looked to the left, where I saw Mount Daimonji in the rays of the setting sun. I continued to follow the narrowing road past Yoshida Sansō, and the gentle slope eventually brought me to the long stone steps of Munetada Shrine. There I turned left, where the path led directly to Shinnyo-dō.

I stopped my bike in front of the temple gates where I saw other bikes scattered about, which judging from their appearance probably belonged to students. It seemed that people had already begun to gather for the event, but I didn’t see a soul. All was still. The orange light which passed over Mount Yoshida fell radiantly upon the vermilion gate and the pine trees which stood beside it. A pagoda was just visible above the walls which enclosed the temple. There was something lonesome, yet also nostalgic about the scene.

Thinking that I had arrived too early, I bought a popsicle from the corner store across the street to cool myself down. I lit a cigarette as I continued to observe the gate, but no one showed up. Just as I began to wonder whether I had misheard F’s instructions and come to the wrong place, I got a phone call from him.

“Looks like I’m going to be late after all; you go on ahead without me. Are you at Shinnyo-dō yet?”

“I’m in front of the gate, but I don’t see anyone. You’re sure this is the place?”

“It should be. Maybe they’re around the main hall.”

He hung up as if he was in a hurry. I wondered how he was going to get to the venue when he didn’t even know where it was.

I left the eaves of the shop where I had been standing and started walking.

A gentle paved slope led up from the gate to the main hall at the back of the shrine. Tree branches stretched over from both sides of the path. To the right of the path facing the hall were moss-covered wooden benches and tables where visitors could sit and rest.

I noted a few students loitering around the grounds. Three students sat idly at the foot of the pagoda, while others were sitting at the benches. A few paced around the hall, seemingly with nothing better to do. Perhaps they were all just attempting to avoid the heat, but I also got the feeling that they were surreptitiously observing one another. A few of them furtively looked my way, but the instant our eyes met they would immediately avert their gazes. Yet even amongst themselves they were subdued for reasons I could not discern. It reminded me of the awkwardness that hung over the classroom during orientation in my first year of college.

As I continued to walk forward, I noticed a man, probably another student, sitting about halfway up the steps at the front of the main hall. Feeling that eye contact would be awkward, I kept walking at a deliberate pace as if I was simply out on a stroll. The man seemed to be glaring at the top of the pagoda.

Stopping by the main hall I looked around the temple.

Each cluster of people was probably a group of acquaintances here for the hyakumonogatari. Nothing else seemed to link them together. Now that I thought about it, the only instructions had been to gather at Shinnyo-dō, with nothing to identify that you were here for the hyakumonogatari. The idea of accosting a perfect stranger and asking them if they were here for ghost stories was a little embarrassing.

An atmosphere of uncertainty pervaded the scene, and for a period of time no one moved.

Presently I saw another student come walking through the gate. His old-fashioned wide-brimmed straw hat made him stand out quite a lot. He was extremely thin, and his outfit looked stuffy. But his gaze was quite piercing, and he reminded me of one of the great writers of old. Each time he took a step his brand new straw hat glinted in the sunlight. He walked straight towards the main hall and came to a halt, putting his hand up to his hat and glaring.

“Saitō!” squeaked a voice from one of the benches beneath the trees. “Over here!”

The man called Saitō glanced that way. A scowl was etched on his face, and he snorted mockingly. Folding his arms, he swaggered towards the person that had called out to him.

“Don’t you lot have anything better to do?” I heard him say loudly.

“How’s the Masterpiece-in-Progress?” someone else asked.

“It’s climaxing everywhere,” Saito proclaimed. What an oddball, I thought.

I turned away, only to notice that the man sitting on the shadowy steps of the main hall was smiling. This time I couldn’t help but stare.

He looked to be around my height, with very little that drew the eye. His clothes were ordinary, not shabby or dirty. Yet there was something very plain about his appearance. His was the kind of face you would forget the moment you looked away. But what truly caught my attention was the strange smile that adorned his face. It was a forced smile, not natural in the slightest. The other thing which I noticed was his gaze. His bloodshot eyes roved around the shrine. It was as if he saw everything, and yet at the same time as if he saw nothing. I’m not sure why it seemed that way.

The instant he noticed me watching him the smile disappeared from his face like sugar dissolving into water.

　　　　　　　＊

A representative from the theater troupe arrived at around five, lifting the uncertain mood that hung over the temple. He came from the cemetery to the south, like he had been quietly observing us the whole time. His dyed blonde hair clashed with the kimono he wore on his thin frame, and he took me aback when he emerged from the small gate leading to the cemetery, but I realized that it must be another of Kashima’s theatrics.

The man came up to the front of the main hall, wiping sweat away with a handkerchief, and called all of the students to assemble. The scattered groups came trickling over.

“The hyakumonogatari will be held at a house in Shishigatani Hōnen’in-cho. It is a short walk, so if you all please follow me.”

There was a little grumbling, but the man didn’t seem to care at all. He handed out a bunch of round fans from a paper Takashimaya department store bag, each with “Hyakumonogatari” written on it with an ink brush. Once that was done, he briskly strode off, his body language all but saying that he was only here because Kashima had ordered him. In any event, none of us knew where the venue was, so we had no choice but to follow him. The awkwardness, having lifted for a brief moment, settled on us once more.

We trailed after the man in the kimono in a winding procession. Behind the main hall the sunlight was hidden by the building, and cicadas trilled from the shade of the trees. The band of scruffy students descended towards Shirakawa Street on a little used trail. I was walking right behind the man in the straw hat, who was loudly lecturing the man beside him.

The path behind the Shinnyo-dō was cool, but once we emerged onto Shirakawa Street the heat became unbearable. As I walked I kept wiping away the sweat that beaded on my forehead. The rest of the laconic retinue just fanned themselves, the soft thrum seemingly only serving to fan their irritation.

While we were waiting at a traffic light on Shirakawa Street, the man in the kimono turned around and motioned as if taking a headcount of the assembled students, looking rather uninterested. Seeing his obvious mockery of us, the man in the straw hat loudly clicked his tongue. I looked around at the gathering. There were about fifty in all, though among them I did not see the strange man who had been sitting on the stairs at the front of the main hall. It seemed I had been mistaken in assuming that he was there to participate in the hyakumonogatari.

We crossed Shirakawa Street and continued along under the sultry setting sun.

Though they’d said the house was in Hōnen’in-cho, the guide gave no indication of how far we’d have to walk. Perhaps he was making a mockery of us, or perhaps he wanted to set the mood for the ghost stories, for he led us through a weaving maze of narrow streets. I felt faint with the sun beating down over me, and the heat grew ever more unbearable. Under the dazzling sunlight, the green mountains to the east looked so close I almost felt as though I could reach out and grab them. As I walked I began to feel that this was all a big bother, and that I should just drop out of line and watch the others shamble off to their ridiculous gathering. It wasn’t as if the event mattered to me in the first place, and F probably wouldn’t be too put out. But I just couldn’t quite muster the determination. On a telephone pole I saw a poster, rather distastefully framed in black like a funeral notice, with a hand pointing in one direction underneath the word Hyakumonogatari.

We made our way through the neighbourhood looking sulky, hardly saying a word. Naturally our procession attracted some attention; as we passed by a house with bamboo screens hung over the second-floor windows to keep out the heat, a boy sitting before the front door stared at us slack-jawed. Out of nowhere he shrieked, “Dum-dums!” and ran into the house.

We arrived at the mansion in Hōnen’in-cho just before six.

　　　　　　　＊

It was an old house, surrounded by a wooden fence. A cobblestone path led from the covered gateway to the front entrance. It was a fine setting for the anachronistic hyakumonogatari, though it did make me wonder what kind of person would go to such lengths merely on a whim.

I was last in line, and when I passed through the gate I saw the others already entering the house, crowded in the foyer taking off their shoes. I stopped just beyond the gateway, and listened to the cicadas calling from the mountains.

There was a small opening in the shrubbery to my right. A man and a woman both wearing yukata emerged from it, saying, “How creepy!” as they exited through the gateway. I nonchalantly slipped into the bushes.

Beyond was a small clearing, bare and damp, and an ordinary shed which looked out of place with the rest of the old mansion. I poked my head inside to see a pale face staring back at me and jumped, before realizing that it was a mannequin dressed up to look like a ghost.

I heard the sound of footsteps on dirt, and a shadow loomed up next to me.

Thinking that I’d seen something I wasn’t supposed to, I bowed my head slightly and turned to leave, when I realized that it was the man with the bloodshot eyes I had seen at Shinnyo-dō. He didn’t pay any attention to me, and after I left my spot, he bent over to peer inside the shed and snorted.

I went to the entrance hall and took off my footwear, thinking disappointedly to myself that the secret of tonight’s hyakumonogatari had turned out to be quite dull after all. Having us creep ourselves out with ghost stories, then trotting out a manufactured ghost to scare us—why, it was hardly any different from an ordinary test of courage. It was a far cry from the hyakumonogatari I had imagined when F told me about it.

I didn’t know where the others had gone. The thick scent of incense filled the air. Hearing voices coming from an adjoining room, I looked inside and saw a number of people clad in yukata huddled in conversation. “I’ve told you, I get it,” one of them said in a low voice. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll take care of it.”

One of them noticed me dithering there and stood up.

“Participants should head that way, to the room by the garden.” I thanked them and left. That room must have been for the theater troupe who were running the event.

I followed the corridor, which led to the large tatami room facing the garden.

All of the sliding doors had been removed from the room, which was filled with many more people than I had been expecting. Those I had seen at Shinnyo-dō made up but a few of their number. Everyone sat where they pleased, not only inside the room but also out in the corridor and on the veranda. A kettle and paper cups had been placed in the center of the room. There was even a hanging scroll in the alcove, a surprisingly detailed depiction of a ghost beneath a willow tree. In the garden I could see a small pond with stone lanterns. I crouched down and squeezed through the crowded room, claiming a seat near the veranda.

As I settled down, I noticed that the awkwardness that had permeated Shinnyo-dō was prevalent here as well. Each little huddle talked only amongst themselves; not a word passed in between the groups. But even those restrained exchanges only lasted a little while. Not knowing what to do, everyone was just sneaking quick glances at the other people in the room. They’d all gathered here thinking that it might be fun, but their hopes for excitement soon gave way to disappointment. Yet here they remained, unwilling to give up on that slight chance that it might just be worth the wait after all.

I turned my gaze toward the garden. Wisps of smoke rose up from mosquito coils inside ceramic containers, their nostalgic scent drifting through the air. Shades of evening had crept into the sunlight which illuminated the mountains, and the clouds were tinged with pink. Beyond the garden the streets were quiet.

Staring absentmindedly, I caught snippets of a conversation behind me.

“We might as well enjoy ourselves.”

“I can’t stand this heat. The tea’s not even cold.”

“But don’t you see, that is precisely why this sweltering venue is perfect. Ghost stories are like cold beer. It’s putting up with the heat that makes them all the more delightful.”

“Okay, Serina, you and your masochistic tendencies are welcome to it. But I’m completely fed up...”

“How quick you are to change your mind, Meno.”

This third voice sounded familiar to me, and I turned around to see F sitting there cross-legged, smiling and fanning himself. He looked over with surprise when I called his name.

“Ah, there you are. You were so quiet I didn’t even notice you.”

F was sitting with two other men. Their names were Serina and Meno, and they were both members of the Sophistry Debate Society. Serina bowed his head to me, his silver-framed glasses glinting, while Meno stared glassy-eyed out at the garden. F told me he’d followed another group here, instead of assembling at Shinnyo-dō.

“I’d meant to call you but forgot,” he said, with a slightly chagrined smile. “By the way, have you seen Kashima?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m eager to know what he’s like, aren’t you?” F craned his neck to look around the room and continued in a low voice, “Apparently this house belongs to a relative of his. Not your ordinary type of fellow, I daresay.”

I attempted to chat with them, but my addition seemed to have disrupted the flow of the conversation, and in the end we too found it difficult to sustain our small talk. We exchanged our views on the upcoming hyakumonogatari, but the more we talked the more foolish things felt. Eventually Meno, looking bored, lay down by the wall.

I excused myself and stood up, saying that I needed to go to the bathroom.

When I returned from the bathroom at the end of the hall, F and the two Sophistry Debate Society members had engaged someone else in discussion. Not wanting to return to my spot just to ruin the mood again, I sat down in a corner. I was really starting to want to go home.

After a little while, F stood up and came over.

“I know a few other people here, shall I introduce you?”

“No, that’s all right.”

F nodded, then slipped through the crowd. He seemed to have set his eye on someone else.