Scary Stories in Shitamachi
Ghost stories are part of a summertime tradition in Japan: spooky stories used to chill you during those hot summer days. And Japan, with its centuries of violent historical background provides a field ripe for folklore and more than a few supernatural happenings. I love telling and listening to ghost stories, and now I have a chance to tell a few of my own.My encounters with the unknown happened in 1989, in a rather unlikely setting: a part of Tokyo that, while old, was about as romantic as an industrial site. As a matter of fact, it was an industrial site, a place whose primary functions since the Edo period had been shipping and mass production printing. I was living in a homestay arrangement that allowed for cheap rent and a chance to learn Japanese by osmosis. Home was a 10' x 12' room in a battered, roach-infested three-story structure of wood and stucco. Downstairs housed the family's trucking company. Upstairs housed the family: the matron who ran the business, her son and daughter, their spouses and children, a dog, a cat, some goldfish, and a gaijin (me). With four small children (ages 1, 2, 3 and 4), the loud diesel trucks, constant parties, a karaoke bar across the street and a building that rattled when the wind blew, this was hardly the image of a haunted mansion.
I was working as an English teacher at that time, and I taught early morning and late evening classes, which meant I usually arrived home late when everyone else was fast asleep in their rooms. Maybe the spooks were waiting for things to settle down, which is why I saw them. Or maybe the late nights were fuel to an already overactive imagination. Here are the events, in order:
On my way home from an after-class party one night, well after midnight, I was putting my bicycle away in the family's private garage, when I felt a sudden attack of the chills. I then noticed a light glowing from inside one of the mini-vans the Hashimotos use for family trips. At first I thought it was a dash or dome light, and figured I'd better shut it off before the battery ran out. But the dash and dome lights in that van are orange, and the light I saw was electric blue. I took a step or two closer for a better look, then suddenly picked up a powerful impression of hostility coming from the inside of that dark garage. Trust your instincts, said a little internal voice. Leave.
I left.
The family cat, Tama, was the oldest animal I'd ever seen--about 25 years oldÑand much the worse for wear. The poor old thing was losing control of her bladder, succumbing to arthritis and suffering from rotten teeth and all manner of foul-smelling skin rashes. The family tolerated her because of her age, but didn't give her much attention because she stank. Being a sucker for cats, and feeling particularly sorry for this one, I lavished attention on her, and she reacted by latching onto me like a drowning man clings to a life preserver. She tried to follow me into my room, and would howl outside my door when I refused to let her in. I was warned repeatedly to make sure she stayed outside my room and off the carpet, so I would always check on her whereabouts before going to bed.One night, I did my usual check and saw what I thought was her (a white cat) curled on a towel behind the chair in the living room. I locked the door behind me and went to bed. I awoke the next morning to hear a scratching noise coming from my closet door. I opened it, and there was Tama. She'd left evidence of her incontinence all over my wool topcoat during the night.
So who had been outside, curled up behind the chair? I told the family about what I had seen, and was told that they had kept one of Tama's kittens (a white one) for a few years. The cat had been killed in a traffic accident, but its ghost had been spotted in the house several times afterward. The family was apologetic about it, and offered to foot my dry cleaning bill, but I declined.
The big supernatural celebrity of the house was "Ojiichan" ("Grandpa"), the matron's departed husband. Part of the daily prayer ritual in the house included paying respects and leaving offerings to his picture at the family shrine. Ojiichan has become a family legend.My own experience with the family legend occurred at two o' clock in the morning. I was on the living room couch, talking quietly on the phone to a friend from the States, when I happened to glance in the direction of the bathroom/laundry area. There was a bit of laundry hanging about there, but among the shirts and underwear, I caught the sight of a man's head and shoulders. He was balding, and had a white shirt on. I stared for a minute, then said into the phone, "Wow, I think I just saw Ojiichan." Then he disappeared. I never saw him again, but I knew he was there and that he had a sense of humor. Once my stereo turned itself on just as I walked into my room, starting my CD player on a certain track (not at the beginning of the disc). And once he decided to freak me out in the middle of the night.
For some reason, Ojiichan liked hanging around the bathroom area. Japanese bathrooms are a little different than those in the west. The toilet is located in its own tiny room, the bathtub/shower in another, and the sink/washing machine outside the tub room. The bathroom sink was open to the hallway and to the rest of the house, which was pitch black. It was two in the morning, and the entire house was dark and quiet. I was brushing my teeth at the sink when I suddenly got the very strong impression that someone was standing only a few inches away from my right shoulder. Of course, I could see nothing there. This was not a comfortable feeling. What if he decided, I thought, to so something like suddenly yell in my ear? I'd go screaming across the house and wake everybody up, and it would be hilarious, wouldn't it? I felt very, very vulnerable.
Well, I'm not going to show it, I decided. I'm going to calmly finish brushing my teeth, then I'm going to slowly and calmly walk through the pitch-black living room, down the hall to my room, and calmly close the door. If he wants to play games, fine. He's not gonna get a reaction out of me. I finished up and walked calmly across the living room to my room, and softly slid my bedroom door shut. I sat on my bed, feeling rather stupid. What if I'd just been playing brain games with myself? Probably had, after hearing all those stories. I reached for the light cord...
Then I heard it: footsteps squeaking on the floorboards coming down the hall and stopping right outside my door. My hair stood on end and my eyes bugged out. I must have remained that way for fifteen minutes, just listening. But that was it. The sounds stopped.
Eventually, I got to sleep. Rotten old fart, teasing people like that.
The house is gone now; torn down and rebuilt in 1990. I haven't been back there since--somehow never could get to it. But I'm sure it's very nice and modern, somewhat less roach-infested, and just as noisy as it has always been. And I'm sure Ojiichan is still there, keeping an eye on his big brood and playing the odd joke or two.
All Japan stories (c) Wendy Dinsmore 2004.