No one wants to live with a ghost

There has long been a belief in ghosts and supernatural beings in Japan. You may be familiar with Japan’s Three Great Vengeful Ghosts — Taira no Masakado, Emperor Sutoku, and Sugawara no Michizane — but today’s story is a bit more personal.

It all started with a knock on our door.

Time to move

One evening, our landlord’s real estate woman came to our door and announced without fanfare, “The owner wants you to move out so his son can use the house.”

So what do I do, calm person that I am? I look at my busy spring schedule filled with days away leading tours, and get into a panicky fluster.

House hunting is one of my least favorite things to do. Houses to rent in our city are few and ramshackle at best. Apartments are small and crowded.

I have never considered buying a house as one needs to have a full-time job with a Japanese company to qualify for a mortgage, and I’ve always been a freelancer.

My adult son who lives with me, though, had a different idea. He could get a mortgage and buy a house.

So after having thoroughly explored many narrow lanes leading to the various unpleasant and crowded available housing, I agreed with him that our best option would be to buy land and have a house built. This would take time. Finding a nice piece of land is nearly as difficult as finding a decent house for rent.

We managed to find a few plots we would consider and talked to a nice man at a housing company. We looked at drawings of inexpensive, modern, quick-build houses and started discussing what type of adjustments we would like.

But before any buying or building, we needed to get a loan.

The bank

We visited the local bank and were told that one must have a full-time job for one year before considering a mortgage. The banker assured us that all banks had the same rule. My son had been working for eight months.

So much for buying a house this year.

I wrote to the man at the housing company and told him our disappointing news. He straightaway called and told us of another bank that only required six months of work. He would accompany us to that bank.

Things were looking hopeful.

The house

Meanwhile, I was visiting my 81-year-old Japanese friend. Her late husband had been an architect. In fact, he had designed the simple, practical, and sturdy house where she lived. She pleaded with me, “Diane, please don’t buy one of those trashy modern houses!”

I saw her point. But after weeks of searching, I had no better options.

She said, “One of my husband’s colleagues is the president of a real estate company. I’ll give him a call.”

I sat listening to her describe to him what type of house we hoped to find. Unlike most Japanese people who value locations near train stations, stores, and schools, we wanted a decent-sized, well-built house surrounded by greenery in a rural area.

It just so happened that he had just the thing — a large house with a yard, a bit far from the city, and in a quiet neighborhood. The owner had not yet moved out.

My friend and I found it on google maps and were amazed. It was beautiful. Then I found the listing on a real estate site with the floorplan. It was perfect.

But it was so far away!

As the days passed, the inconvenience of the house’s location loomed large in my mind, causing it to lose its luster. I had nearly written it off as a possibility. But because my friend was so excited about it, I agreed to see it.

After I got home from having been away for two weeks, my son and I met my elderly friend and the real estate man at the house. 

My hesitation over its distance from the city was washed away by its sheer beauty. My son, who had been all-in for building a house, changed his mind immediately. 

“It’s a rich person’s house,” he said, awe filling his voice.

It’s well-built, with traditional roof tiles, a wide entranceway, large rooms, and walk-in closets! It even has a spacious yard, a rare treasure disappearing from modern houses at an alarming rate and replaced with concrete.

There was just one problem. Someone had died there.

The ghost

The house is classified as 心理的瑕疵物件, shinriteki kashi bukken, that is, a “psychologically defective property.” This is a property where the residents may experience distress due to psychological or emotional issues — as a result of sharing the property with ghosts.

Japanese law requires that such information be provided to potential buyers or renters. A “psychologically defective property” is defined as:

• Where one has died as a result of abuse or accident.
• Where one has died naturally but lain undiscovered for a length of time, requiring thorough cleaning of the house to remove insects and odors.
• A house or apartment nearby the scene of a ghastly crime.
• A property nearby a place that people feel strongly against, such as a graveyard, prison, or even a nuclear power plant.

The real estate agent is required to disclose to potential buyers or renters if a property is “psychologically defective.” If they do not, the buyer or renter may sue for damages incurred in the “defective,” or rather, haunted, house.

This law only applies to the first buyer or renter after the incident and within a period of 3 years. After that, there is no legal requirement to disclose this information, unless it is a well-known case. Then the requirement can continue for unspecified years.

If a buyer/renter asks if there have been deaths in the house, the real estate agent must answer truthfully, no matter how many years have passed since the incident.

I looked up our house on Oshimaland, a website of haunted houses, and found only that our house is listed as a “psychologically defective property” for an unspecified reason. Some of the houses on that site have gruesome stories, such as one not far from us where a 26-year-old bludgeoned his parents to death after they criticized his lazy lifestyle and refused to hand over more spending money. I wouldn’t want to live in that house either!

Now, fully informed that its “defective” rating is because an elderly person died alone in the house in 2019 — no bludgeoning involved — we have gone ahead with buying the house.

Moving

We will be moving after a couple of weeks. I will let you know if we encounter any ghosts.

Two months later — A few people wrote and asked me to describe our new house, comparing it with others we’ve lived in, so I did that here.

References:

Chintai.net, toushi.homes.co.jp, oshimaland.co.jp, Ministry of Land, Infrastructure, Transportation and Tourism website.

The post Ghosts in Japan—Buying a Haunted House first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Poet, Scholar, Vengeful Ghost, God of Learning — Michizane is Remarkable!

Japan loves threes. Three Great Beautiful Places. Three Great Night Views. Three Great Mountains. In this three article series, I introduce you to Japan’s Three Great Vengeful Ghosts.

Sugawara no Michizane is my favorite of Japan’s three most vengeful ghosts. He was the most noble, then the most frightening, and today, he is the most honored.

Vengeful Ghost #3 — Sugawara no Michizane

Sugawara no Michizane was born into a family of mid-level aristocrats in Kyoto in 845. Both his grandfather and his father were scholars of classical Chinese literature and history, taught at the Kyoto school of higher learning, and were private tutors to emperors. Michizane was destined to surpass them.

He began reading classical Chinese poetry at age five and composed his first poem at the age of eleven. As a child, Michizane could often be found in the garden of his father’s estate, gazing at the plum trees and admiring their ephemeral, delicate blossoms while he composed poetry, a habit he continued throughout his life. Michizane grew to be the greatest composer of classical Chinese poetry in the history of Japan and the epitome of scholarship.

He began his service to the imperial court when he was 25, and quickly advanced through the court ranks. By age 33, Michizane had attained the highest level of scholarship in Kyoto.

Michizane, Friend of the Emperor

Michizane was not only respected by Emperor Uda for his scholarship, but he became family when Uda chose Michizane’s oldest daughter to be one of his concubines. Closer still, when Uda’s third son married Michizane’s third daughter.

In 901, Emperor Uda named Michizane Minister of the Right, elevating him to the second highest court rank. Soon thereafter, Uda retired, turning over control of the government to his eldest son, Emperor Daigo.

A man with whom Michizane had been on friendly terms, Fujiwara Tokihira — who held the higher position of Minister of the Left — along with many of the nobility, were not happy with Michizane’s quick advancement. Remembering his daughter’s marriage to Uda’s son, they devised a scheme to get rid of him.

False Allegations

Nobles, mainly of the Fujiwara family, accused Michizane of conspiring to make his son-in-law, Uda’s third son, emperor in place of Daigo. The accusations carried such weight that, in spite of Michizane’s innocence, he was banished to Dazaifu, a fortified governmental base in northern Kyushu.

One of the conspirators was Fujiwara Sugane, a close associate of Michizane and one of his former students. When Uda heard of the travesty of Michizane’s banishment, he sought an audience with Daigo, but Sugane would not permit him to see the emperor without an invitation. Uda sent a message to Daigo through Sugane, but Sugane never delivered it.

Misery and Death in Dazaifu

Michizane had to pay his way to Dazaifu, and once there, was provided with no attendants or salary. He was given a broken down, abandoned house in which to live. Although holding an official title, he was forbidden to work or even step foot into the government offices. He could not teach. His writings were censored.

His heart was grieved that his family shared in his punishment for his perceived disloyalty to the emperor and had been scattered. He dearly missed them.

He yearned for his life in Kyoto, his evening poetry parties, and his books. He longed for the fine food, beautiful clothes, and refined culture. He wished to sit again in his garden and gaze at his beloved plum tree, with its delicate and fragrant blossoms. So great was his yearning, legend tells us, that one night Michizane’s plum tree uprooted itself from its home in Kyoto and came to rest in Dazaifu. It is still there.

Nothing but misery, crime, and harassment befell him in Dazaifu. The local situation was so full of corruption that Michizane felt it was beyond hope. People murdered and stole without compunction or fear of retribution.

Curious onlookers came to gawk at his misery. Tokihira’s spies hounded him. The colors of his once-lovely kimonos gradually faded as they turned to rags.

As the months passed, Michizane’s money ran out. He could no longer afford food, clothing, or even a place to live. He died heartbroken and in abject poverty in 903, just two years after arriving in Kyushu.

The Fujiwara scheme to banish him from Kyoto and his work was, in effect, a slow, drawn out, and depressing death sentence.

Michizane Becomes a Vengeful Ghost

After Michizane’s death, unexplained troubles began to shake Kyoto. There were cycles of floods and droughts, plagues and earthquakes.

• In 908, Fujiwara Sugane, Michizane’s former student who had plotted against him and refused to deliver Uda’s message to Emperor Daigo, was struck by lightning and died.
• The next year, the main conspirator, Fujiwara Tokihira, inexplicably fell ill and died.

Rumors spread among aristocracy and commoners alike that Michizane’s ghost had returned to seek revenge.

The troubles continued.

• The man who replaced Michizane as Minister of the Right fell into a swamp and died while out hunting.
• Daigo’s second son died. The historical record, Nihon Kiryaku, attributed his death to Michizane’s curse-like, malevolent feelings towards the emperor. Later that year, a fearful Daigo had Michizane reinstated as the Minister of the Right.
• Before another three years had passed, the eldest son of Daigo’s recently deceased son also died.
• Next, Tokihira’s oldest son died.

Again, fingers pointed to the avenging spirit of Michizane. Anxiety and fear grew.

• In 930, a meeting was held in the great hall of the imperial palace with Emperor Daigo in attendance, along with his highest court nobles. Suddenly, a bright fork of lightning split the sky and struck the imperial hall, causing a devastating fire that killed many important government officials. Daigo, traumatized by the disaster, fell ill and died three months later.

The vengeful ghost of Michizane, embodied in lightning, had made his most powerful attack.

This had to stop.

From Vengeful Ghost to Shinto God

Daigo’s son, the emperor Murakami, ordered the building of Kyoto’s Kitano Shrine to house the spirit of Michizane and had him deified as the kami, or Shinto god, Tenjin, “god of the heavens.” This was the first of many Tenmangu Shrines, specifically dedicated to Sugawara no Michizane.

During the Edo era (1603–1867), the story of Michizane’s life became a popular subject of puppet and kabuki plays. In fact, the most famous of those plays, Sugawara Denju Tenarai Kagami (Sugawara and the Secrets of Calligraphy) is considered one of Japan’s Three Great Kabuki Plays. (I told you Japan loves threes.)

Outside the fanciful world of theater, Michizane came to be worshipped as the god of learning. Students prayed to him in their small temple classrooms, and samurai made offerings for his help in improving their martial arts’ skills.

Today, Michizane is known as the god of scholarship, the god of honesty and sincerity, the god of the performing arts, the god of dispelling false accusations, and even the god of agriculture.

There are approximately 12,000 Tenmangu Shrines dedicated to Sugawara no Michizane in Japan. Each year, thousands of students flock to his shrines to pray for his help in passing entrance exams as well as regular folk hoping to improve their abilities or knowledge.

I wrote about the other two great vengeful ghosts here: Taira no Masakado and Emperor Sutoku.

Sources:

https://news.mynavi.jp/article/20210930-1978876/, https://kitanotenmangu.or.jp/, https://www.dazaifutenmangu.or.jp/about/michizane

The post Sugawara no Michizane —Japan’s Three Most Infamous Vengeful Ghosts, part 3 first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Hell Hath no Fury like an Emperor Scorned

Japan loves threes. Three Great Beautiful Places. Three Great Night Views. Three Great Mountains. In this three article series, I introduce you to Japan’s Three Great Vengeful Ghosts.

Vengeful Ghost #2 — Emperor Sutoku

The central Heian government in Kyoto was beginning to fall apart by the 12th century. A succession dispute in 1156, known as the Hogen no Ran, turned into a fierce battle between the younger Emperor Go-Shirakawa and his older brother, the retired Emperor Sutoku.

This ended badly for Sutoku, and he was banished in disgrace as a criminal to Sanuki (Kagawa Prefecture) on the island of Shikoku.

While under house arrest in Sanuki, Sutoku applied himself to Buddhist study. He made offerings for the souls of those who had died in battle. He reflected on his life and prayed for his rebirth in the Buddhist Pure Land. And he spent months diligently writing out the five main Buddhist texts, or sutras. Some accounts claim that these sutras were written in his blood, so dedicated was he to the purifying of his soul.

Sutoku sent these painstakingly prepared sutras to Kyoto as an offering for a temple. First, though, they were presented at the Imperial Court.

The suspicious Emperor Go-Shirakawa took one look at them and wondered aloud, “Has Sutoku sent us a curse?!” Without even opening them, he had the sutras returned to Sutoku.

This blatant disrespect sent Sutoku into a rage. “If it’s a curse you want, a curse you shall get!” He gnawed his tongue, and with his blood he wrote this curse, “I shall become a mighty demon! I shall cause the Emperor to be made low, and the lowly peasant to be exalted!”

After this, Sutoku changed. He fell into a deep melancholy. His hair, beard, and nails went untrimmed, and he lived out his life in lonely exile away from his beloved Kyoto. Many say he came to appear more like a goblin of the mountains than the once mighty emperor of Japan.

Back in the capital, Emperor Go-Shirakawa retired in 1158, but he continued to keep a tight grip on power through the reigns of the next five emperors — each of whom was one of his sons or grandsons.

In 1164, Sutoku died.

As a final insult, Go-Shirakawa paid no respects and held no funeral services for his older brother, the former Emperor Sutoku. No royal tomb was built for him in Kyoto. He was banished even in death.

The governor of Sanuki Province saw to Sutoku’s funeral.

Birth of a Vengeful Ghost

Twelve years after Sutoku’s death, bad things started happening in the capital.

In 1176, Go-Shirakawa was shaken by the sudden deaths of four of his closest allies in the court. They had died one after the other.

The following year, the powerful warrior monks of Mount Hiei raised their heads, threatening the authority of the emperor. A brazen plot to overthrow the influential Taira clan was exposed. Worse, a massive fire reduced one third of the city of Kyoto to ashes.

A prominent court noble recorded in his diary that all these events were surely the work of the disrespected and banished ghost of Emperor Sutoku.

From that time on, the name Sutoku appeared often in the writings of the aristocracy in connection with any unfortunate event.

At last, the fearful and superstitious nobles pressured Go-Shirakawa to allow Buddhist memorial services to be held for the comfort of Sutoku’s spirit.

He acquiesced.

A mausoleum was built for Sutoku on the site of the Hogen no Ran battle. This was later incorporated into Hirano Shrine, which still stands in Kyoto today.

“Emperors Made Low”

While the nobles in Kyoto were enjoying their sophisticated culture, fine clothing, and poetry, the samurai in the countryside were gradually gaining power. Wars were fought between rival clans, and in 1184, the victorious warlord Minamoto no Yoritomo set up his shogunate in Kamakura. This marked the beginning of the feudal age that lasted until the mid-19th century.

For nearly 700 years, the emperor was reduced to a mere figurehead, cloistered in his palace in Kyoto. All power was held by the shogun.

Sutoku Becomes a Guardian Deity

In the early 13th century, Go-Shirakawa’s great grandson, the retired Emperor Tsuchimikado, was banished to Shikoku Island. He made a point to visit Sutoku’s grave to commiserate with his spirit, and to comfort him by playing his lute. Like Sutoku before him, Tsuchimikado was troubled and lonely, far from his loved ones in Kyoto.

That night, Sutoku appeared to Tsuchimikado in a dream, consoling him and promising that he would look after and protect his family.

Although Tsuchimikado’s family lost power after his exile, about 20 years later through an unexpected turn of events, the baby that Tsuchimikado was forced to leave behind in Kyoto became the emperor Go-Saga. Sutoku’s promise was remembered.

In the 14th century, the powerful samurai Hosokawa Yoriyuki also paid a visit to Sutoku’s grave on Shikoku and made offerings for his happiness in the afterlife. He then prayed for Sutoku’s guidance and help in conquering the island. He succeeded in subjugating Shikoku, and thereafter Sutoku became the guardian deity of the Hosokawa clan.

Sutoku’s Spirit Lives On

In 1868, Emperor Meiji took the throne, ending feudalism and long centuries of samurai rule. Power was restored to the emperor.

The teenage emperor, not wanting any trouble from unappeased angry ghosts, sent an imperial envoy to Sanuki to bring the spirit of Sutoku to Kyoto. Back in his former capital, Sutoku was deified and enshrined at Shiramine Shrine.

On the 800th anniversary of Sutoku’s death, just prior to the 1964 Tokyo Olympics, Emperor Hirohito sent emissaries to Sutoku’s tomb in Kagawa Prefecture. On the emperor’s orders, they honored Sutoku with an imperial memorial service and prayed for the repose of his spirit. Like his grandfather the emperor Meiji, Hirohito wanted no trouble from an aggrieved Sutoku.

The 1964 Olympics were a milestone in post-war Japan, bringing the country to the world stage as a peaceful, progressive, and prosperous nation.

Perhaps Sutoku’s spirit finally was at peace.

Here is part one of this series about Taira no Masakado, the ghost who haunted Tokyo.

Part three is the story of my favorite ghost, Sugawara no Michizane.

The post Emperor Sutoku — Japan’s Three Most Infamous Vengeful Ghosts, part 2 first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Wreaking Havoc in Tokyo from the 10th Century

Japan loves threes. Three Great Beautiful Places. Three Great Night Views. Three Great Mountains. In this three article series, I will introduce to you Japan’s Three Great Vengeful Ghosts.

The Japanese people have long believed in ghosts, hauntings, and spiritual realms. People generally will not move into a house or apartment where someone has died, and there is at least one website that lists such haunted residences to warn potential buyers. Television shows that recount ghost stories are a standard of prime-time viewing.

So please allow me to introduce you to the most famous ghost in Japan, who just happens to haunt Tokyo.

Vengeful Ghost #1 — Taira no Masakado

In the early 10th century, the powerful samurai warlord, Taira no Masakado, staged various uprisings near the northern border of the Japanese state. Far away in the capital of Heian-kyo, now Kyoto, the emperor yawned and turned back to his tea. No need for the son of heaven to bother with petty local skirmishes.

A few years later, though, the situation became more serious. Masakado had captured the governor of Hitachi Province (Ibaraki Prefecture) and taken over Shimotsuke and Kōzuke (Tochigi and Gunma Prefectures). He then proclaimed himself the “New Emperor.”

Time to put down that teacup.

Emperor Suzaku placed a bounty on his head and sent an army to hunt down the arrogant Masakado.

The wily Masakado was hard to corner, but after weeks of pursuit and battles, the final showdown came.

With a strong north wind on his back, Masakado held the advantage. Nevertheless, the imperial forces felt confident in their superior numbers and launched a surprise attack on Masakado’s center. An intense battle raged. Masakado’s samurai repelled the enemy with horses racing, arrows flying, and spears thrusting. Men and horses scattered, and 2,900 of the emperor’s samurai were forced to retreat. Just 300 of their elite warriors remained.

Proud of his victory against a much larger force, Masakado was making his way back to camp when he felt the wind change. He readied himself for another battle.

Using the south wind to their advantage, the remaining imperial samurai quickly regrouped and sprang to the attack.

Masakado charged to meet them, but his fleet-footed horse lost its footing on the uneven ground. In that one moment of Masakado’s distraction, an arrow pierced through the middle of his forehead.

The imperial samurai severed Masakado’s head and brought it back to the capital to present to the emperor. Setting a new precedent in criminal law, Masakado’s head was put on public display in Kyoto’s marketplace as a grisly warning. Worse, the emperor expressly forbade that his remains be given a Buddhist burial or memorial service, condemning his spirit to wander this earthly realm with no hope of redemption.

This is when the rumors started.

Birth of a Vengeful Ghost

Some people reported seeing Masakado’s eyes open while his head was displayed.

A poet recorded he saw Masakado’s head turning left and right, groaning and looking for his body, whereupon his head broke away and flew off north in search of it.

Masakado’s head came to rest in the tiny fishing village of Shibazaki, later to become Edo, then Tokyo. The locals cleaned it and provided it with a proper burial at Kanda Shrine, inscribing his gravestone with prayers to keep Masakado’s troubled spirit appeased.

Yet each time unexplained trouble occurred, the villagers believed it was caused by the angry spirit of Masakado.

During the Edo era (1603–1867), Taira no Masakado grew in fame as Kabuki theater, woodblock prints, and books for the masses grew in popularity. Masakado’s ghost became a recurring theme in entertainment for the superstitious public, and even his daughter came to the fore. A famous Kabuki play portrayed her as a powerful sorceress, fighting off imperial pursuers with witchcraft.

Trouble at the Ministry of Finance

In the late 1800s, Kanda Shrine moved to its present location. The Ministry of Finance took over its former area, sharing its grounds with Masakado’s tomb. Each year, Masakado was treated with ceremonies as befitted a lord. A portable shrine was carried from Kanda Shrine, and priests prayed for the repose of his spirit. Masakado seemed pleased.

During the devastating Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923 and its resultant fires, the Ministry of Finance building burnt to the ground. Remarkably, although reduced to a bald mound of earth, Masakado’s underground tomb remained intact. Archeologists discovered that his tomb was built in the ancient keyhole style of the Kofun era (300–600 AD) and were keen to preserve it.

Sadly, there were no laws in place to protect historical properties, and within two years, the land was leveled. A temporary building to house the Ministry of Finance was constructed in its place.

That couldn’t be good.

Before two more years had passed, 14 people in the finance ministry had died under mysterious circumstances. Even the Vice-Minister of Finance, Hayashi Seiji, passed away after a brief and unexplained illness. People who worked above the former grave sight complained of pains in their feet.

Their disrespect for Masakado was deemed the cause of all these troubles.

Apology to a Ghost

“Even in this modern age of progress and science, bureaucrats apologize to Taira no Masakado,” reported the Yomiuri Newspaper in 1926.

The building that had been constructed upon Masakado’s tomb was torn down. Shinto priests were called in to perform a purification ceremony and to pray for the repose of Masakado’s soul. A hedge, a stone lantern, and a monument were erected in the hopes of appeasing his troublesome spirit.

Perhaps he would like the little garden offering?

Lightning Strike

In 1940, one thousand years after Masakado’s death, fires caused by lightning destroyed the Ministry of Finance and nine other adjacent government buildings. Kawada Isao, the Minister of Finance, hoping to undo the damage, erected a monument upon the exact spot of Masakado’s tomb that had been so thoughtlessly destroyed after the 1923 earthquake. A Shinto ceremony marking the 1,000th anniversary of Masakado’s death was held to comfort his spirit.

WWII and its Aftermath

During the firebombing of Tokyo in March 1945, the area around Masakado’s tomb was again burnt to the ground, but the monument remained relatively unscathed.

After the war, the Americans, unaware of the danger posed by angering the spirit of Masakado, bulldozed the area to make a parking lot. According to records at the Kanda Shrine, the bulldozer flipped over, killing the driver.

Members of the local community were appalled at the Americans’ actions. Fearing further retribution from Masakado, the community leader petitioned the Occupation Forces to allow them to preserve “the grave of an ancient great chieftain.” Their request was granted and the local people adopted the gravesite, keeping it clean and offering flowers and prayers.

From Vengeful Ghost to Shinto God

In 1984, Taira no Masakado’s reputation took a turn, and he became one of the three kami, or deities, enshrined at the Kanda Shrine in Tokyo.

The Bank of Tokyo-Mitsubishi UFJ, located in the building beside Masakado’s grave, opened an account in his name. Money placed into the donation box at his gravesite — to the tune of 800,000 yen per year ($7,000) — is kept there to be used for gravesite maintenance and care.

Although the monument — built in 1940 upon the spot where Masakado’s head was buried so many years before — today occupies prime real estate in downtown Tokyo, it is still carefully preserved, honored, and respected. You can find it near Otemachi Station, a stone’s throw from the Imperial Palace.

Why not stop by and pay your respects on your next visit to Japan?

P.S. Frogs

Until its 2020 renovation, Taira no Masakado’s grave was surrounded by many frog statues. In Japanese, both “frog” and “return home” are pronounced kaeru. Masakado’s head came to rest there because of his quest to “return home” to his body. People wishing for the safe return of missing loved ones, and people going on trips who wanted Masakado to bring them back home safely, placed frog statues around his grave as an offering of prayer.

Today, to keep the gravesite tidy, those frog statues have been moved to Kanda Shrine and can no longer be viewed by the public, nor can any more be given as offerings. A spokesman for the shrine said, “In these days of increased concern about hygiene, please refrain from leaving things at the shrine.”

Links to the stories of the other two great vengeful ghosts:

Ghost #2, Emperor Sutoku, and ghost #3, Sugawara no Michizane.

Sources:

https://skawa68.com/2021/06/16/post-74501/, https://mag.japaaan.com/archives/102341, https://sakamichi.tokyo/?p=15968, https://www.goshuinbukuro.com/entry/2017/08/16/233000, https://bit.ly/34fTakP

The post Taira no Masakado—Japan’s Three Most Infamous Vengeful Ghosts, part 1 first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.