The Ghost of Himeji-Jou
It was the urgent call of fellow paranormal experts that drew me from my northern expedition down south to Himeji, in the heart of the Hyougo prefecture. My colleagues, who I knew through marginal exploits, had brought the resurgence of an old spirit to my immediate attention. Specifically, the ghost of a woman from samurai antiquity, whom I had read extensively about over the course of my studies. Though popular accounts had claimed her to lie dormant, new reports fanned old flames of spectral discovery.
Traveling by bullet train, I arrived at Himeji in record time. After securing temporary lodging, I set about preparing for an extended stakeout at the renowned Himeji Castle. Visiting the grounds by day was simple enough, but by nightfall, when the possibility for an encounter was at its strongest, the gates would be sealed. I thus concluded that I would have to penetrate the castle complex by means of stealth, and took cautious steps as to not incur the detection, much less the ire of local authorities.
The plan was simple: at midnight, I would swim across the outer moat, and attempt to climb up the smaller of the east wall sections. I must pause here, dear readers, and inform you that I am not the most athletic man, nor was I ever schooled in the art of infiltration and siege warfare. It pains me even now to recollect the cold, unforgiving waters that threatened to freeze me as I entered them, and the sturdy battlements from which I slid and fell numerous times over the course of several hours.
Nonetheless, in the interest of scientific and demoniacal pedagogy, I persisted, and at last vaulted over the shortest, mildest palisade I could locate. Heaving and weary from my labors, I sought to rest a moment, before continuing on into the larger castle courtyard. In the reassuring light of the moon, I sat for a time, until a silvery voice entered the periphery of my hearing. The calm, yet unnatural tone of a woman became clearer to me as I chased after their utterance, until finally I understood their words: the absent-minded utterance of a near-ten count.
Special Features and History
To grasp the nature of this particular spirit, one must keep in mind their tale of woe. In life, Okiku was lovely handmaiden in service to a noble samurai family. Though her motivations differ over the course of several potentially accurate narratives, the nature of her folly and demise remain consistent. In a bid to gain amorous attentions, or justify the blackmail of one of the samurai lords, Okiku destroys, or has stolen from her one of ten priceless ceramic plates entrusted to the ruling family.
As punishment for her intentional, or in other cases perceived crime, the local lord ferociously beats Okiku to near death, before tossing her mortal frame down in the castle well. And, depending on which story one elects to believe as true, her haunting visage also comprises one of several mannerisms:
According to the oldest folk recording of the tale, Okiku's ghost counts up to ten from the bottom of the well, only to shriek with fury in recognition of the missing tenth plate, as a means to frighten and shame the samurai that conspired against her.
Drawing from a popular music adaptation of the tale, another version describes Okiku's ghost as floating up from the well to glower down silently, and disapprovingly at her murderer.
In his retelling of the original myth, lauded Meiji storyteller Okamoto Kido details the specter of Okiku rising up from the well, and searching for the plates throughout the castle grounds, counting as she goes. In Okamoto's version, her countenance is remarkably serene, so much so that her lover and killer is prompted to commit seppuku.
The original story claims that if one shouts "ten" and complete Okiku's numerical cycle, her soul will be sated and depart. All the same, this feat has never been actively confirmed since the days of antiquity, and I hence remain skeptical of its claim. Even today, Okiku's well remains an adamant motif in Japanese art, and the most famous landmark of the Himeji castle.
Closing Remarks and Parting Advice
After
nearly tripping over a stone lamp, I came upon the countenance of the
ethereal Okiku. Of all the ghosts I've yet encountered, I confess she
was perhaps the most beautiful, and the most sorrowful. Phasing in and
out of my visual spectrum, the lithe spirit seemed to be wandering about
the old stone well, increasing the arc of her orbit each time she
completed a rotation. Entranced by her luminous dance, my better senses,
and a good portion of my memory left me, and I ventured to ask what the
specter was doing.
What
I received in response was, I wager, the most bloodcurdling scream ever
uttered on this earth. So shrill was the spirit's voice that I toppled
over, and nearly lost consciousness from the sheer stress brought to
bear against my ears. Content that I had been silenced for the moment,
Okiku then resumed her endless count, and paused just before arriving at
ten. Her ghost stopped in place, and began to shudder for a moment,
wriggling and writhing where it stood.
I
braced myself for yet another cacophonous wail, but to my surprise, it
was weeping, not screaming that buffeted the night air. The spirit had,
from what I could tell, suffered a major emotional breakdown, and was
shedding tears with reckless abandon. Thus I sat confused, contemplating
a rare bout of sympathy that had swelled within me. Resolving to assist
this downtrodden specter, I righted myself, and rummaged about my bag.
After
a few moments, I produced Tupperware from among my belongings, a
steak-out snack contained within. Damning my nourishment to the outside
atmosphere, I tore off the cover, and offered it to the spirit as a
stand-in for her lost dishware. At first, she remained still, staring at
the odd, flat object in my hands. Then a small, innocent smile sprouted
across her face, as she gingerly accepted my gesture, and began to trot
back towards the well. Deep-down, I mourned the loss of my late dinner,
yet I was overcome with a sense of warmth for the measure of rest I
provided the ailing soul that eve.
In
the end, Okiku was never overtly violent nor ill-meaning in her
designs, and though her voice was a weapon in itself, I do not think it a
particularly lethal one. Left to her own devices, this specter is quite
tame compared to the larger host of her companions, and should you
encounter her, for whatever reason, you need not fear for your
livelihood. Such being the case, I deem her to be a C-Class Threat,
harmful only if provoked, and neither homicidal nor murderous in any
capacity. Until next time, if, dear readers, you journey to the
Himeji-Jou in the evening, be sure to keep an ear to the ground, and a
portable meal at hand: you may just delight a spirit who continues to
avoid the ultimate, undying night.
Sincerely Yours,
C.V. Hastings
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