An Ill-Mannered Squatter
Traveling south through the North Kanto region, I found myself returning to the bustling sprawl of Maebashi, capital of the Gunma prefecture. Upon each of my sojourns there, I am always want to stay at the lovely Regal K Hotel, and this particular instance was no exception to that rule. With
boyish excitement, I warmly greeted the ever-friendly staff, and after a
swift deposit, quickly bounded up the stairs and into my private
suite.
It was late afternoon by the time I was fully settled, and after indulging some light reading on the balcony, I much desired a leisurely soak in one of the hotel's many exquisite bathes. Mentally occupied with the many herbal rinses I might employ, I traipsed across the sitting room and into the master washroom. And yet, as I had just finished filling the claw-toed tub to its limit, my stomach uttered a defiant groan, and I was struck with the sudden need for a light snack.
Marching back into the lounge and toward the built-in kitchen area, I took to crafting an old favorite, eggplant parfait (a time-tested recipe of my own invention). After cutting the components into thin slices, I leveled them into a trim bowl, and set them to chill within the refrigerator. Content with the knowledge that my feast would be at just the right temperature shortly after my bath, I returned to the washroom, eagerly awaiting the next leg of my day.
However, what I found upon reentry was quite unpleasant. The glimmering, inviting bathwater that was clear and hygienic no more than a few minutes prior, was now utterly darkened with a sickening brown hue. An overpowering odor, the likes of which I cannot hope to describe in writing, nearly robbed me of consciousness, as did the filthy patches of black hair that circled the muggy water's surface. I had but a moment to process this development before panic gripped me: what of the parfait?!
Manic with worry over the fate of my beloved confection, I bolted back towards the kitchen area, before total dread rendered me immobile. A scene of carnage had erupted across the counter-top no more than two feet before me. My poor eggplant slices lay strewn across once-neat granite finish, several having been torn in half, or otherwise bitten in half. Standing amidst them was a bald yet hairy little man, whose sickly yellow eyes stared right into my very soul.
Special Features and History
Dirty, devilish, and infuriatingly self-centered, of the many fine river spirits known to Japan, Hyousube is undoubtedly the least civilized and most ill-mannered of its kin. Sporting a thick coat of greasy, rank hairs all over its body, the Hyousube, at first glance, seems little more than a tiny, and remarkably dirt hooligan. That said, make no mistake: these troublesome freeloaders are fearsome force when angered.
The strength of the Hyousube, unlike other water sprites, lies not in brute strength, but rather potent eye magic. The imp's glowering gaze produces an unseen viral infection in a target of its choosing, capable of producing a fever within moments from which no mere mortal has ever survived. So virulent is this invisible poison, that even beasts so large as horses and cattle have fallen victim to its malevolent curse throughout the ages.
Similarly, the loathsome laugh of this creature, if detected by the human ear, will induce a fit of cackling in the victim that results in an equivocal, life-threatening temperature. It is coo of their cry, annotated as "Hyou Hyou", from which this aberration derives its name.
In ancient times, Hyousube was the bane of any self-respecting farmer, as their lustful hunger for eggplants knew no bounds. If any poor, rural provider did not grow such crops, or his stock was of lackluster quality, the arrogant, sludge-ridden spirit would be sure to express its displeasure by smashing all other crops, or simply murdering the farmer in cold blood.
To make matters worse, though the diminished devours know not the feeling of clean, hygienic skin , they are prone to occupying any bath they find agreeable, forever clouding it with their insufferable muck. Any attempts to clean or remove their substances will likewise result in severe punishment, and even death if the squat villains are so moved.
Closing Remarks and Parting Advice
Internally, I fought the urge to weep for my lost treat, as such a belligerent display might otherwise anger my unwanted tenant. I could not afford to look into the fiend's eyes any longer than was necessary, and thus took the only rational precaution I could think of. With a yelp, I fell to the floor with an uncomfortable thump, and proceeded to play dead.
The Hyousube appeared visible surprised at this outcome, and was almost taken aback with my expedient demise. Perhaps, in the fragile seconds leading up to my ruse, it had not yet decided to end my life. Regardless of what ran through that wicked domed head, the squatter shrugged in earnest, and took to consuming the rest of my dear eggplant. When it had finished my meal, it leapt from its perch, and sent one more cursory glance my way, before continuing on towards the washroom.
For some time after, an occasional splash was heard from the bath, and I resolved to stay put until I could be certain the foul creature had departed. Hours passed, and at least the unnatural creaking of pipes signaled what I took to be an exit. Gathering my luggage at a lightning pace, I wasted no time returning to the lobby, and immediately requesting a room change. Though I explained my reasoning at length, the manager regrettably seemed ignorant of my woes.
As cities continue to dominate the Japanese landscape, I've little doubt that the Hyousube has adapted its stalking grounds via sewage and other plumbing. Given the excessive lethality of this minuscule monsters, I dub these interlopers to be an A-Class Threat: to be avoided if at all humanly possible, lest you value your life in even the slightest of terms. Until next time, I encourage you all to adopt the shower as your chief source of cleansing, and hide your eggplants to the best of your ability.
Sincerely,
C.V. Hastings
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