Pathway to Japanese Literature

I While Japan has many ghost stories, most are either karmic tales deriving from Buddhism or yokai like foxes and tanuki; there being few independent demon-like narratives. Among these, the tale of Bingo Province's Demon King stands out as rather unusual, so I shall attempt to recount it here. This is said to have occurred during the Kan'en era.

In Funu Village, Mijii District, Bingo Province, there was a young samurai named Inoue Heitarō. He had an adopted elder brother named Shinpachirō—who had been taken into the Inoue family before Heitarō's own birth to inherit the household—and a young younger brother named Katsuyoshi. However, as Shinpachirō was of frail health, both he and Katsuyoshi had been taken back to the home of Shinpachirō’s biological father, Nakayama Genshichi, leaving only a single servant residing in the house. Heitarō was sixteen years old at that time. Having studied martial arts for three years under Yoshida Jirō, the domain’s martial arts instructor, and having developed considerable skill, he came to be called "Inoue’s Little Tengu."

It was the time of the early summer rains. A dreary rain fell every day. One day, Heitarō took advantage of a break in the rain and went to visit his neighbor's house. The master of the neighboring house, Gonpachi, was formerly a sumo wrestler of the Mitsunoi stable who had once been an ōzeki wrestler retained by the Kishū domain, but around that time had retired to his hometown and was teaching sumo basics to local youths. Though there was a considerable difference in age, Heitarō and Gonpachi were very much in tune with each other. After engaging in various unconstrained conversations, Gonpachi suddenly brought up the matter of the Ōkuma Mountain yokai. Mount Ōkuma was a rugged mountain of towering crags located west of Mijii District in Bingo Province. About fifty *chō* up its slopes lay a place called Senjōjiki, said to be the site of Miyoshi Wakasanokami’s ruined mansion. And after proceeding another twenty *chō* or so, there stood a five-ringed pagoda called Mijii-dono's Mound, behind which spread a great cedar known locally as the Tengu Cedar—its branches stretching some seven or eight *hiro* in length to canopy over the burial mound.

“I wonder what they’re like—wouldn’t you want to meet one of those yokai just once?” Gonpachi proposed. Heitarō’s eyes gleamed with curiosity. “That’s right—I’d like to meet them too.” “Then let’s draw lots between us two, and have whoever gets it go check around Mijii-dono’s Mound.” “Sure thing. When do we set out?” “How about around the Hour of the Boar tonight? Get ready to leave immediately, then we’ll draw lots—whoever gets it can set out.”

By then, it was already evening. Heitarō first returned to his home, ate dinner, prepared everything down to his straw raincoat and hat so he could depart at any time, and then, keeping track of the hour, went back to Gonpachi’s house—only to find Gonpachi had also prepared his own gear and was waiting for Heitarō’s arrival. The two prepared a paper string to draw lots, and when they drew one, it fell to Heitarō. Amidst the pitch-black darkness, the rain fell pattering softly. Heitarō donned his straw raincoat and hat, laced up his straw sandals, and set off toward Mount Ōkuma, but it was as if he had been blindfolded—he could see nothing. He kept stepping into rice paddies and treading on brambles, making his progress slow. Even Heitarō found himself at a loss here, but since turning back would be called cowardly, he pressed forward, feeling out the path with his feet.

At last he reached the foothills of Mount Ōkuma and began ascending its rugged stone-paved path, but the hardship here bore no comparison to his struggles through the rice paddies. However, believing he might encounter a yokai at any time or place, Heitarō’s mind remained so tightly wound that he scarcely felt the physical strain. He did his utmost to calm his mind and climbed with deliberate composure. The stone-paved path gradually leveled out, leading to a flat area. Heitarō had finally reached Senjōjiki and, thinking yokai might appear there, passed through the area before continuing up another similarly rugged stone-paved path. Then he suddenly collided with what seemed to be a stone pagoda......Thinking it must be Mijii-dono’s Mound, he ran his hands over the structure. It was indeed a five-ringed pagoda. He recalled that behind the mound stood the Tengu Cedar. Veering diagonally around the mound toward its rear, he moved forward with outstretched hands to feel his way. His fingertips met the cold surface of an enormous tree trunk......This was definitely the Tengu Cedar, he concluded. He settled himself directly at its base.

A light rain fell sparsely. He sat there in silence for nearly half an hour, quietly surveying the darkness around him, but found nothing particularly strange beyond the faint rustling of a breeze through the tree leaves. He was about to head back, but thinking there’d be no proof of his visit if he returned empty-handed, he tore some grass from the ground, groped his way to the pagoda, tied it to the ornamental finial atop the structure, adjusted his sandal cords, and began his descent.

When he descended to the flat area of Senjōjiki, he suddenly brushed past something suspicious. It certainly appeared to be the torso of some creature. Heitarō was startled and abruptly drew his sword to slash. The sword was met with a metallic clang. Heitarō swung his sword again. That too was blocked. And sparks scattered from the sword’s tip. “Lord Heitarō, it’s Gonpachi,” came a familiar voice.

Heitarō drew back his sword but remained unconvinced. “After sending you off, I grew uneasy—so I came to check.” Heitarō and Gonpachi sheathed their swords and stood side by side. Heitarō’s adventure had turned out to be utterly uneventful. The two men returned home feeling dispirited.

II

The time of early summer rains had passed, and the world transformed into July's sweltering heat. One evening, Inoue Heitarō and Gonpachi set out toward Futasuji River to cool themselves. Having emerged onto the riverbank just after sunset, they sat on a large white rock and were talking when—the mouse-gray clouds that until moments earlier had been billowing and collapsing over Mount Ōkuma suddenly spread across the entire sky, turning into signs of a sudden downpour in an instant. Lightning flashed, stinging their eyes, and thunder began roaring. Following the thunder came rain falling like silver threads. Startled, the two men ran home through the rain and thunder alongside the other cooling-seekers.

And so，the two men parted at the gate and entered their respective homes，but they were drenched from head to toe as if they had swum through a river．Inoue Heitarō had my Rokusuke bring out his sleepwear and put it on；however，having run more than half the distance left him exhausted—so he simply entered his mosquito net and lay down．I hung my master’s wet robe on a pole and then retired to my own room．

The sound of my moaning reached Inoue Heitarō’s ears as he was drifting off to sleep. When he got up and came to my room, I lay on my back flailing my limbs and struggling. “Hey! What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” he called out. I finally sat up as if coming to my senses, “Was it a dream? Just now a giant monk came rushing in—climbed right on top of this humble servant—pressed down so hard I couldn’t breathe.”

he said, still looking terrified as his eyes darted about restlessly. “It’s because thou art cowardly that thou hadst such a dream. Pull thyself together.” Heitarō scolded me and returned to his own room to sleep; however, he was already awake and could not fall asleep. Then, a gust of wind came and extinguished the light of the Ariake andon lamp. As he lay with his eyes open in the darkness, a crimson flame blazed fiercely upon the shoji screens of the engawa veranda. Startled, he leapt up and tried to open the shoji, but it refused to budge as though nailed shut. Having no other choice, he kicked through the shoji screens and stepped out onto the engawa veranda, but the exterior—with its storm shutters left unclosed—was pitch black, and there was no sign of any fire. As he stood there wondering in amazement, his body began to stiffen until he could no longer move. He, increasingly puzzled, found his gaze drifting toward the front garden almost involuntarily. A large monk-like figure stood blocking the way, its eyes glaring fiercely. In the blink of an eye, the giant monk smoothly closed in, stretched out his long hand, and seized him by the collar. Startled, he tried to wrench himself free from the grip by exerting all his strength, but in doing so, he tumbled backward. His hand reached for the sword that had been placed at his bedside. He drew it with a glint and, rising up, slashed at the giant monk. The giant monk nimbly bent his back and slithered smoothly under the veranda. He flew down into the garden and checked under the veranda, but it was too low to enter. Thinking to stab through from above the tatami mats, he returned to his room—only to find floorboards with no tatami in sight. Increasingly astonished, he groped around to light the andon lamp and looked—when he did, all the tatami mats were stacked in the corner of the room.

At this time, Gonpachi had been dozing in bed when clamorous noises from Heitarō’s house made him think something had occurred. He hurriedly rose and went to the neighboring gate. Just then, a twelve- or thirteen-year-old girl came scurrying out and was about to pass by when she suddenly leaped at Gonpachi’s throat and clamped both hands around his neck. Gonpachi fainted on the spot. After some time, he regained consciousness. Dawn was nearing, with roosters crowing here and there. Suspecting something amiss at Heitarō’s house too, Gonpachi hurried through the gate to the entrance and called out—but received no reply. As he opened the wicket gate there and circled around to the garden to climb up from the veranda, Heitarō—standing dazedly with sword in hand—mistook him for a yokai and slashed.

“Lord Heitarō! It’s me! It’s me!” Gonpachi cried out, and at last Heitarō came to his senses.

III

By morning, my servant Rokusuke had gone around spreading tales of the previous night's yokai encounter, making it the talk of the town by day's end. Three of Heitarō’s friends—Takeuchi Denkichi, Yokoi Sonsaku, and Morikawa Ippei—came and declared they would keep watch through the night to witness the true form of the yokai. Fatigued from the previous night, Inoue Heitarō entrusted the watch to the three and went alone to sleep in a separate room.

The three men were vigorously debating their opinions about the yokai before the andon lamp.

“What? How could yokai exist in this world? Utter nonsense!” declared one, while another said calmly, “Well now, let’s observe this for our future edification.”

Night deepened steadily. And then came the hour of the Ox. The three men grew weary of talk and fell silent. Then one among them,

"Why don't we have some tea?" he suggested. In the corner of the room lay tea utensils. As one of them rose to fetch tea bowls, the vessels floated up into thin air and began orbiting around the chamber. In that same instant, the andon lamp levitated once more and started circling the room as if carried by an invisible hand. The three men found their voices frozen. Then the brazier soared toward the ceiling, scattering ashes that pattered down upon their heads like dry rain. Unable to endure more, the men fled in panic.

The strange tales of the Mugiura residence grew increasingly renowned throughout the neighborhood.

Kawata Shigiemon, who was Inoue Heitarō’s uncle, grew concerned about leaving Heitarō alone and came to his house that day proposing to take him to his own home. The bold Heitarō, "I beg you, please let this matter drop," he said refusing to comply. When my servant Rokusuke learned of this he came before Heitarō and,

“Though this humble servant has received your long-standing favor—and it pains him deeply—he finds himself utterly unable to continue his service. He most humbly begs you grant him leave.”

With that statement still hanging in the air, he forced his way out. Nakayama Genshichi came visiting; however, upon hearing my servant had departed*, he lent me* a replacement manservant named Hachizō from his own household.

In front of the Mugiura residence, curious villagers gathered day and night, so the village officials posted a notice at its gate stating that it was becoming a hindrance to agricultural work.

I. Whereas strange occurrences had recently transpired at the Mugiura Residence, and whereas rumors thereof had spread not only within the village but to neighboring districts as well, inciting crowds to gather and cause commotion without distinction between day and night—and whereas it was reported that peasants were thereby neglecting their agricultural duties, with no small number of women and children being frightened—effective today, gatherings before said residence are hereby strictly prohibited and must be observed without fail.

The sixth day of the seventh month in the second year of Kan'en (1749)

Bingo Province, Minoji District, Funo Village Office

IV Shinpachirō, who had come to visit Heitarō in the rain that started at evening, ended up staying over, and the two of them lay inside a single mosquito net talking of various matters.

The rain fell in hushed stillness. Though feigning composure as he spoke with Heitarō, the timid Shinpachirō nursed a dread of yokai deep within. At every rustling sound his heart would quiver, eyes darting fearfully toward the disturbance. Something dropped from the lintel onto the mosquito net with a solid thock before skittering about. Shinpachirō started, "That's...that's...!" he stammered. "Likely yokai mischief. Best disregard it," Heitarō replied with an amused chuckle.

When Shinpachirō looked closely, the object on the mosquito net was the geta he had worn during the day. As he watched, it abruptly vanished. Just as he thought the yokai would cease appearing and tried to close his eyes, the sleeve of a hempen robe hanging on a rack beside the mosquito net glinted, and a severed head emerged from within it, grinning at Shinpachirō. Terrified, Shinpachirō burrowed into his futon and trembled until morning. The next day, Inoue Heitarō saw Shinpachirō off, spent the day amusing himself there, and upon returning in the evening found five or six stalwart men from the neighborhood had come,

“We’ve come to share some tales tonight,” they said. Heitarō was inwardly amused, but,

"That’s most appreciated," he said. When bedtime came, he entrusted the watch to those stalwart men and went to sleep in a separate room.

The stalwart men sat gathered around the brazier mocking their three comrades who had fled back. “Tea bowls and andon lamps don’t just float up on their own. Even if you can’t see them, there are yokai around those things lifting them up—so all you’ve got to do is grab ’em right there,” one man explained in a know-it-all manner.

As the night deepened, it grew as cold as a typical October day. The stalwart men adjusted their collars and exchanged glances. Some among them began to speak as if suddenly remembering something, but their voices strangely reverberated through every corner of the house as though in a forest, causing them to fall into uneasy silence.

Flames erupted within the brazier and swiftly coalesced into a mass of fireballs. The stalwart men leaped back in surprise. The fireball whirled upward only to come crashing down onto the tatami mats with a thunderous roar, sending everyone into such a panic that they leaped into the garden and fled.

Heitarō awoke to the commotion and went to check the room where the stalwart men had been, only to find they had all fled, leaving a two-shaku-square area of the tatami mats slightly scorched. Heitarō returned to his own bed, smiling. From that night onward, Shinpachirō fell ill again and could no longer rise from his pillow.

V

In a place called Yokoshinden lived an acquaintance named Ueda Jidayū. Heitarō went to Jidayū’s residence on the thirteenth of that month when some business arose, but after being treated to a meal and conversing, night fell, so he returned.

There was a bright moon in the sky. Heitarō walked while gazing at the moon. Along the road flowed a river called Miyoshigawa. Heitarō was walking along that river's embankment. The clear moonlight streamed into the river water, sparkling and swaying. Only the sound of currents breaking against rapids roared, leaving the surroundings utterly still.

A robust, alluring woman lay face down in the grass, her white shins exposed and catching his eye. Startled, Heitarō approached and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hello? Hello?” The woman twitched her shoulders. Heitarō persisted in calling to her. “What has befallen you, Miss? Miss…”

The woman looked up with a terrified expression. She had an oval-shaped, lovely face. "I am Inoue Heitarō, a samurai residing in Nunofu Village. There is nothing to fear. What has befallen you?" The woman hurriedly sat up straight, adjusting disheveled clothing as she spoke with embarrassment.

“I fled from villains and came here from the foothills upstream.” “That’s dreadful. What is your background?” The woman looked down and answered. “I am from a place called Yamakita. When I was young, I lost my parents and was raised by my uncle and aunt. Recently, my uncle fell ill, and we could no longer manage our daily livelihood. Wishing to repay their kindness, I resolved to sell myself into service. But my uncle, being a principled man, would never permit this if he knew. So I secretly consulted an acquaintance. A man named Kikutsugu, who frequents my uncle’s house, said there happened to be someone from Nagasaki’s Maruyama seeking women to employ. Trusting his words, I slipped out this evening and went to the meeting place we had arranged. The man was already there. When I followed him afterward, he led me deep into the desolate mountains and tried to make me his mistress. I swore I would rather die than submit to such villains and fled here in desperation. But now I am exhausted beyond endurance—I collapsed here and could go no further. Please, I beg you, help me!” The woman pleaded in a tearful voice.

“That is most unfortunate. However, we cannot discuss matters thoroughly here. In any case, let us settle this once we reach my home.”

Heitarō returned to his home in Nunofu Village with the woman. My Hachizō rounded his eyes and brought water in a foot basin. The woman appeared deeply ill at ease as she washed her feet with it and entered the sitting room.

Heitarō, intending to question the woman further about her circumstances, entered a separate room to change his clothes and went back to where she had been—but she was gone. He grew suspicious and searched every corner of the room, but she was nowhere to be seen. Even if he asked my servant, he wouldn’t have known… It must be another yokai, he realized with a bitter smile.

VI

Sakuhei was a hunter who frequented the Inoue residence. Having heard rumors of yokai at the Mugikura residence, he went before Heitarō one day and, “The Yakushi Nyorai of Saigyōji Temple is a Buddha of remarkable efficacy. If you borrow its sacred image and pray with sincere devotion, it will drive away any manner of supernatural disturbance,” he said. Heitarō was also troubled by the yokai’s mischief, “In that case, I’ll entrust you with one task,” he agreed.

By then, it was already evening. Sakuhei left the Inoue residence for Saigyōji Temple, but the sun set along the way. Normally there would have been moonlight, but since evening brought sudden clouds, the road grew dark—all the more so as this stretch wound through a bamboo thicket as a narrow path. Since he was a hunter who made his living venturing into dark mountain nights to hunt wild beasts, traveling by night didn’t particularly trouble him—but even so, the narrow path through the thicket proved dark and inconvenient. As he trudged along in distress, he spotted the light of a paper lantern in the distance. Thinking that if it were someone he knew, he could borrow a flint fire and make a torch to proceed, he approached—only to find it was Sone Gennojō, a samurai he was well-acquainted with.

“Oh, Lord Sone, is that you?”

Sone Gennojō also called out from the opposite direction along with Sakuhei.

“Sakuhei? Where are you off to now?”

“I am now going to Saigyōji Temple on business.”

“Ah, I see—you must be in a bind without a light. Here, take this lantern with you. This old man could find his way home even with his eyes shut.” Sakuhei initially refused, but when Gennojō insisted, he finally borrowed the paper lantern and continued walking. Upon emerging from the thicket path, a desolate pine grove appeared. When Sakuhei had gone halfway through the pine grove—sensing some presence while walking with his eyes fixed on his feet—he suddenly looked up ahead. Before him stood a giant monk over ten feet tall, eyes glaring fiercely. Sakuhei tried to scream and run, but his body stiffened completely, rendering him immobile. He collapsed right there and lost consciousness.

When Sakuhei regained consciousness some time later, there were no more suspicious figures to be seen. The sky had cleared, and the moon was shining brightly. Even so, he could no longer bring himself to go toward Saigyōji Temple. He bolted upright and ran home like a dog in full flight.

The next day, Sakuhei went to Gennojō’s house. When he saw Gennojō’s face—the man having just risen and come out— “Thank you for last night’s kindness. Having encountered a giant monk in the pine grove where I abandoned the lantern borrowed from you, I shall now retrieve it. Pray wait here briefly.” “What? Lending a lantern? That must be mistaken identity—I did not leave home yesterday at all,” said Gennojō with a baffled expression. Sakuhei stood transfixed in astonishment.

Heitarō had waited for Sakuhei late into the night, but as it seemed he would not return, upon hearing the second watch bell,

"(He probably won't return tonight)," he muttered to himself, and as he started to rise to head toward his bed, someone tugged at his sleeve from behind. When he turned around in surprise, the woman from the previous night was sitting there with a serene smile. "You fiend!" he shouted, drawing his sword and striking in one swift motion. With that, the woman vanished like smoke. Heitarō sheathed his sword with a bitter smile. And when morning came, Sakuhei arrived and recounted the incident with the paper lantern. Heitarō listened with a laugh.

Sakuhei went directly to Saigyōji Temple and successfully borrowed the intended image, so Heitarō enshrined it in the tokonoma alcove, burned incense, and offered flowers. When night fell, he lit an oil lamp before it and sat quietly chanting sutras. The image began fluttering out from its scroll and circling around the room. Heitarō watched this with a smile. After some time, the sacred image retreated back into its scroll as if being rolled up like a book.

It was that night. When Heitarō awoke in his bed, severed heads were swarming around him, laughing at his face and rolling about inside the mosquito net. On yet another night, when Heitarō, intending to sleep, closed the door and returned to his room, a pregnant woman with a hideous visage lay sprawled on her back in the very center of the room. The bold youth laughed as he sat down on the woman’s abdomen. The abdomen bloated and ruptured with a sickening squelch, maggots seething forth in wriggling masses as a putrid stench permeated the air.

Seven Not limited to Sakuhei, all of Inoue’s acquaintances wished they could somehow drive away the yokai. Mukai Jirōemon arrived accompanied by a hunter said to be skilled in cloven-hoof traps.

That hunter was a man called Shigebē. He told Heitarō about an old tanuki that had thrown the Great Prajnaparamita Sutra into the air at a certain temple, frightening the head priest and worshippers, and an old cat that had startled people by making a certain shrine appear triple-layered—stories of how he had captured them using cloven-hoof traps. Then, after scrutinizing the room’s layout and the garden’s features, he set cloven-hoof traps along the garden fence.

It was the eighteenth day. When night fell, Shigebē entered the latrine and waited there, peering through its small window toward the cloven-hoof trap while anticipating a yokai's approach. The twilight sky hung thinly overcast, with a few dim stars shining lonesomely here and there. The night deepened steadily. A cold wind blew as if stroking the nape of one's neck. Shigebē pressed his cheek against the small window frame and stared into the darkness. Then came a splintering crack from the latrine door—a log-like hand reached in to seize Shigebē by the nape and hurl him outside.

Hearing the noise, Heitarō thought a yokai had been caught in the cloven-hoof trap. Lighting a hand candle in one hand and gripping his sword in the other, he went out into the garden—only to find Shigebē collapsed unconscious by the fence. When he looked at the cloven-hoof trap, it remained exactly as Shigebē had set it during the day.

“Hey, hey, what happened?”

When Heitarō placed his hands on Shigebē’s shoulders and shook him, Shigebē finally regained his senses.

“That’s not a tanuki or fox—it’s a tengu, a tengu!” he said, his voice trembling.

Heitarō concluded there remained no alternative but to entrust his fate to heaven and outlast the yokai through sheer endurance. Thus he refused all offers of nightly companionship, maintaining solitary vigil over his household with detached resolve. It was a night of ceaselessly pattering rain when Masatayū, younger brother of Kageyama Sōzaemon, came calling. This Masatayū had been Heitarō's playmate since their bamboo-horse days. Upon completing formal greetings, Masatayū drew the sword at his waist and presented it to Heitarō with these words:

“This is the renowned Bizen Osafune sword that my elder brother received from the lord. I believe even yokai cannot withstand its spiritual power. Let us keep vigil tonight—if any appear, I shall cut them down with a single stroke and exterminate them.” The fact that Kageyama Sōzaemon had been granted the Osafune sword by his lord was something Heitarō knew well and had secretly envied. He was delighted to borrow it and examine it closely.

When midnight approached and the two of them grew weary of conversation, they sat in silence. Then, from the direction of the kitchen, a woman’s head came rolling. Masatayū saw this and abruptly drew the Osafune sword to strike. After splitting into two, the head vanished in an instant. At that moment, the sword’s peg snapped, and the blade flew across the room, striking a pillar and breaking in two. The two were shocked, their faces turning pale.

“This has become disastrous,” said Masatayū, casting a resentful glance at the broken sword. “There remains no alternative—I must die to make amends to Elder Brother.” With these words, he placed his hand on his short sword. Heitarō pressed to stop it.

“This is a blunder you committed trying to save me from my troubles—my own failure stands equal. When dawn breaks, I shall make apologies to Lord Sōzaemon myself so no hardship falls upon you.” “Your kindness is appreciated, but a warrior cannot smear his own failings onto others…” said Masatayū as he took advantage of Heitarō’s momentary lapse, unsheathing his short sword and driving it into his belly.

Heitarō, startled, clung to that hand, but there was nothing more he could do. Even so, he firmly embraced both of Masatayū’s shoulders and,

“Lord Masatayū! Lord Masatayū!” he called out and tried to lend strength—but whether due to the depth of the wound—in mere moments life had left him. The pitiful friend died, having become his own sacrifice. Heitarō sat despondently before the corpse, lost in thought... If it were said that a friend was killed by yokai and such, there would be no excuse to give to society. Moreover, under these circumstances, there was no telling when he might lose his life to yokai. Since this body was fated for misfortune anyway, he resolved to die together with the friend who had become his sacrifice and make at least some amends. The night was already beginning to dawn. He went to another room to write farewell letters addressed to his uncle and Shinpachirō, then returned before Masatayū’s corpse, bared his upper body, and poised the short sword against his abdomen.

“Don’t act rashly! Don’t act rashly!” came a voice as someone rushed in frantically. Heitarō stopped his hand holding the short sword and raised his face. That was Gonpachi, who had been secluded due to illness. “Why would you do such a thing?” Gonpachi grabbed his hand and said reproachfully. Heitarō calmly explained that Masatayū had committed seppuku and,

“Since this is atonement through seppuku, you must not stop me,” he said, trying to shake off Gonpachi’s hand. “...Then where is Lord Masatayū’s corpse?” Gonpachi asked, still gripping Heitarō’s hand while looking around. “Behind you... I’ve killed my friend. I cannot continue living.” Gonpachi turned his head to look behind. There was nothing there.

“There’s nothing here!”

Heitarō seemed to awaken from a dream-like state. Before his eyes materialized the room now fully illuminated by dawn. He let fall the short sword and surveyed the chamber. Neither Masatayū's corpse nor the broken blade beneath the pillar could be seen. He smiled bitterly as he turned his gaze toward Gonpachi. "That was perilously close," uttered Gonpachi, his eyes widening in astonishment.

VIII

The last day of July arrived. It was precisely one month since the yokai had begun their torment. Heitarō sat alone before the andon lamp pondering the previous night's events. Reflecting on having nearly thrown away his life due to persistent yokai - such foolishness - he scorned both himself and his very existence. Then after some time regaining composure, he looked forward to see a magnificent samurai clad in kamishimo with two swords at his waist standing composedly before him.

"You vile yokai!" Heitarō exclaimed as he drew his sword and sprang to his feet. The samurai smiled faintly and retreated toward the wall behind him, his form melting away into it as though seeping through the surface. Heitarō stood bewildered. He kept his blade poised while staring fixedly at the wall.

“No matter how you may try to strike me down, you cannot cut me,” came a voice from within the wall. “I have come tonight to speak with you—sheathe your sword and listen quietly.” Heitarō resigned himself that this was beyond his ability to handle. Following the instruction, he sheathed his sword and returned to his seat—whereupon the samurai from earlier emerged hazily from the wall and sat before him. “Now I shall declare my name—I am no mere fox or raccoon dog spirit, but Yamamoto Gorōzaemon, the Demon King who traverses every lofty mountain across Japan. The reason I manifested strange forms in your dwelling these past months traces to when we crossed paths during those early summer rains as you climbed Mount Ōkuma. Observing your countenance then revealed disaster would befall you this July. Thus I came not to bring harm but to prevent that calamity.” As he spoke these words, he drew a scroll from his robe. “This contains mystic arts called Sōsei Shinkyō-jutsu for saving the afflicted. I bestow it upon you—learn its ways and rescue the sick.”

Heitarō shuffled closer and received the scroll in his hands. "It would be well for you to read it here now," said the Demon King. Heitarō did as instructed, opening the scroll and running his eyes over the characters within. At that moment, the bell tolled the second watch. "Then I shall depart from here for Mount Kinka in Oshū. This marks our final meeting." With these words, the Demon King rose and made his way out toward the veranda.

Heitarō, reluctant to part, followed after him. In the front garden, a palanquin had been set down, and beside it, about fifty or sixty tengu-like grotesque beings could be seen under the light of the waning crescent moon. When the Demon King descended into the garden, those grotesque beings all lowered their heads to the ground in unison and paid their respects. The Demon King settled comfortably into the palanquin. Then, a strange cloud descended from the sky, enveloped the palanquin along with the grotesque beings, and gently soared back into the sky.

When September arrived and Shinpachirō passed away, Heitarō came to inherit the Inoue family and was granted an original stipend of five hundred koku. Since this Heitarō had come to the domain's upper residence in Edo's Kasumigaseki, there were those who met him and heard the story directly from the man himself.