The Goblin of Adachigahara

Long ago there was a wide plain called Adachigahara in the province of Mutsu, and it was said to be haunted by a goblin who took the shape of an old woman and fed on human beings. Every so often travelers vanished there and were never heard of again. In the evenings old women round the charcoal braziers, and in the mornings girls washing rice at the wells, whispered terrible stories of how the missing people had been lured into the goblin’s cottage and eaten. No one dared go near the place after dark, everyone who could avoided it even by day, and travelers were warned to keep away.

One evening, just as the sun was going down, a priest came onto the plain. His robe showed that he was a Buddhist pilgrim, walking from shrine to shrine to pray for some blessing or to ask forgiveness for his sins. He had lost his way, and because it was so late he met no one who could put him on the right road or warn him about the haunted spot. He had walked all day and was tired and hungry, and the evenings were chilly, for it was late autumn. He grew anxious to find a house where he could stay the night, but he was lost in the middle of the plain, and look as he might, he could see no sign of anyone living there.

At last, after wandering for hours, he saw a clump of trees in the distance, and through them the glimmer of a single light. “Surely that’s a cottage where I can stay the night!” he cried joyfully. Keeping his eyes on the light, he dragged his aching feet toward it as fast as he could and soon came to a wretched little hut. It was falling to pieces. The bamboo fence was broken, with weeds and grass pushing through the gaps; the paper screens that serve as windows and doors were full of holes; and the house posts were so bent with age they seemed barely able to hold up the old thatched roof. The hut stood open, and by the light of an old lantern an old woman sat busily spinning.

The pilgrim called to her across the fence. “Good evening, Baa San! I’m a traveler, and I’m sorry to trouble you, but I’ve lost my way and have nowhere to rest tonight. Would you be kind enough to let me spend the night under your roof?”

As soon as she heard him, the old woman stopped spinning, got up and came toward him. “I’m very sorry for you. It must be dreadful to be lost in such a lonely place so late at night. But I can’t put you up. I have no bed to offer and no room at all for a guest in this poor place.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” said the priest. “All I want is a roof over my head. If you’ll just let me lie on the kitchen floor, I’ll be grateful. I’m too tired to walk any further, so please don’t refuse me, or I’ll have to sleep out on the cold plain.” And he kept on asking.

She seemed very unwilling, but at last she said, “Very well, you may stay. It’s a poor welcome I can give you, but come in and I’ll make a fire, for the night is cold.”

The pilgrim gladly slipped off his sandals and went inside. The old woman brought some sticks, lit the fire and told him to come close and warm himself. “You must be hungry after your long walk,” she said. “I’ll go and cook you some supper.” She went into the kitchen and cooked rice, and after he had eaten, she sat down by the fire and they talked for a long time. The pilgrim thought how lucky he was to have found such a kind and hospitable old woman.

At last the wood ran out, and as the fire died down he began to shiver again. “I see you’re cold,” said the old woman. “We’ve used up all the wood, so I’ll go out and gather some more. You stay here and look after the house while I’m gone.”

“No, no, let me go,” said the pilgrim. “You’re old. I can’t let you go out for wood for me on such a cold night.”

The old woman shook her head. “You must stay quietly here. You are my guest.” And she went out. A minute later she came back and said, “Sit where you are and don’t move, and whatever happens, don’t go near the inner room or look into it. Mind what I tell you!”

“If you tell me not to go near the back room, of course I won’t,” said the priest, rather puzzled.

Then she went out again and he was left alone. The fire was out, and the only light came from the dim lantern. For the first time that night he began to feel that this was an eerie place, and her words, “whatever you do, don’t peep into the back room,” stirred up both his curiosity and his fear. What could be in there that she did not want him to see? For a while the thought of his promise kept him still, but at last he could resist no longer. He got up and began to creep toward the back room, then thought how angry she would be if he disobeyed and went back to his place by the hearth.

The minutes dragged by and the old woman did not come back, and he grew more and more frightened, wondering what dreadful secret lay behind him. He had to find out. “She won’t know I’ve looked unless I tell her,” he said to himself. “I’ll just have one peep before she comes back.” He rose from where he had been kneeling in the Japanese way, crept to the forbidden door and with trembling hands slid it open.

What he saw turned his blood to ice. The room was full of the bones of dead men, heaped in great piles to the ceiling, and the walls and floor were stained dark with blood. He fell backward in horror and lay for a long time in a shaking heap on the floor, his teeth chattering, hardly able to crawl away. “How horrible!” he cried. “What dreadful den have I come to? Buddha help me, or I am lost! Can that kind old woman really be the man-eating goblin? When she comes back she will show herself as she really is and gobble me up in one mouthful!”

At that thought his strength returned. He snatched up his hat and staff and rushed out of the house as fast as his legs would carry him, out into the night, with only one idea in his head: to get as far from the goblin’s den as he could. He had not gone far when he heard footsteps behind him and a voice crying, “Stop! Stop!”

He ran on even faster, pretending not to hear. The footsteps came closer and closer, and at last he knew the old woman’s voice, growing louder as she gained on him. “Stop! Stop, you wicked man! Why did you look into the forbidden room?”

The priest forgot how tired he was, and his feet flew over the ground faster than ever. Fear gave him strength, for he knew that if the goblin caught him he would soon be one of her victims. With all his heart he prayed to Buddha, “Namu Amida Butsu, Namu Amida Butsu.” And after him rushed the dreadful hag, her hair streaming in the wind and her face twisting with rage into the demon she really was. In her hand she carried a large knife, and still she shrieked, “Stop! Stop!”

At last, just when the priest felt he could not run another step, dawn broke, and with the darkness the goblin vanished and he was safe. Now he knew that he had met the Goblin of Adachigahara, whose story he had often heard but never believed. He felt sure that he owed his wonderful escape to Buddha, whom he had prayed to for help, so he took out his rosary, bowed his head as the sun rose, and said his prayers and his thanks with all his heart. Then he set out for another part of the country, only too glad to leave the haunted plain behind him.

Where this story comes from

“The Goblin of Adachigahara” is the eleventh tale in Yei Theodora Ozaki’s Japanese Fairy Tales. Ozaki places the haunted plain in the province of Mutsu and makes the hero a Buddhist pilgrim who prays ‘Namu Amida Butsu’ while he runs. The goblin vanishes at dawn, and he credits Buddha with his escape.

The story turns on a single forbidden door, like many tales around the world, and on the pilgrim’s curiosity. Ozaki describes the goblin’s room in grisly detail; this telling keeps the bones and the stained floor but leaves out the rest.

Read the original: Japanese Fairy Tales (Project Gutenberg)

Reading guidance: older readers who enjoy horror; adults should preview before sharing. The story includes cannibalism, heaps of human bones, bloodstains and pursuit with a knife.

A warning that conceals danger

The reader knows about the goblin before the pilgrim reaches the cottage. Food, a fire and a place to rest therefore feel reassuring to him and alarming to us. The forbidden room changes his knowledge: opening it is disobedience, but it also reveals the danger that hospitality has concealed. A simple moral telling readers always to obey warnings would contradict his escape.

The dwindling fire, long wait and returning footsteps control the suspense. Trace the journey of the light—from the inviting lantern, through the dark room, to the dawn that ends the chase. At which point does light promise safety, and at which point does it reveal something terrible? Compare this door with Urashima’s box: why does breaking a prohibition save one character and destroy the other?

Think about it

• Why do you think the old woman told the priest not to look in the back room?
• How does the priest talk himself into opening the door?
• What saves the priest in the end?

More stories like this

• The Ogre of Rashomon — another Japanese demon disguised as an old woman
• The Farmer and the Badger — a trickster who takes the shape of an old woman
• The Story of Urashima Taro, the Fisher Lad — another story where a prohibition shapes the ending, with a very different result