"Reverend Sir, it is my painful duty to tell you that I am now the

responsible head of this house. Yesterday I was only the eldest son. But
when you came here, tired as you were, we did not wish that you should feel

embarrassed in any way: therefore we did not tell you that father had died
only a few hours before. The people whom you saw in the next room are the

inhabitants of this village: they all assembled here to pay their last
respects to the dead; and now they are going to another village, about

three miles off,-- for by our custom, no one of us may remain in this
village during the night after a death has taken place. We make the proper

offerings and prayers; -- then we go away, leaving the corpse alone.
Strange things always happen in the house where a corpse has thus been

left: so we think that it will be better for you to come away with us. We
can find you good lodging in the other village. But perhaps, as you are a

priest, you have no fear of demons or evil spirits; and, if you are not
afraid of being left alone with the body, you will be very welcome to the

use of this poor house. However, I must tell you that nobody, except a
priest, would dare to remain here tonight."

Muso made answer:--
"For your kind intention and your generoushospitality and am deeply

grateful. But I am sorry that you did not tell me of your father's death
when I came; -- for, though I was a little tired, I certainly was not so

tired that I should have found difficulty in doing my duty as a priest. Had
you told me, I could have performed the service before your departure. As

it is, I shall perform the service after you have gone away; and I shall
stay by the body until morning. I do not know what you mean by your words

about the danger of staying here alone; but I am not afraid ofghosts or
demons: therefore please to feel no anxiety on my account."

The young man appeared to be rejoiced by these assurances, and expressed
his gratitude in fitting words. Then the other members of the family, and

the folk assembled in the adjoining room, having been told of the priest's
kind promises, came to thank him,-- after which the master of the house

said:--
"Now, reverend Sir, much as we regret to leave you alone, we must bid you

farewell. By the rule of our village, none of us can stay here after
midnight. We beg, kind Sir, that you will take every care of your honorable

body, while we are unable to attend upon you. And if you happen to hear or
see anything strange during our absence, please tell us of the matter when

we return in the morning."
All then left the house, except the priest, who went to the room where the

dead body was lying. The usual offerings had been set before the corpse;
and a small Buddhist lamp -- tomyo -- was burning. The priest recited the

service, and performed the funeral ceremonies,-- after which he entered
into meditation. So meditating he remained through several silent hours;

and there was no sound in the deserted village. But, when the hush of the
night was at its deepest, there noiselessly entered a Shape, vague and

vast; and in the same moment Muso found himself without power to move or
speak. He saw that Shape lift the corpse, as with hands, devour it, more

quickly than a cat devours a rat,-- beginning at the head, and eating
everything: the hair and the bones and even the shroud. And the monstrous

Thing, having thus consumed the body, turned to the offerings, and ate them
also. Then it went away, as mysteriously as it had come.

When the villagers returned next morning, they found the priest awaiting
them at the door of the headman's dwelling. All in turn saluted him; and

when they had entered, and looked about the room, no one expressed any
surprise at the disappearance of the dead body and the offerings. But the

master of the house said to Muso:--
"Reverent Sir, you have probably seen unpleasant things during the night:

all of us were anxious about you. But now we are very happy to find you
alive and unharmed. Gladly we would have stayed with you, if it had been

possible. But the law of our village, as I told you last evening, obliges
us to quit our houses after a death has taken place, and to leave the

corpse alone. Whenever this law has been broken, heretofore, some great
misfortune has followed. Whenever it is obeyed, we find that the corpse and

the offerings disappear during our absence. Perhaps you have seen the
cause."

Then Muso told of the dim and awful Shape that had entered the
death-chamber to devour the body and the offerings. No person seemed to be

surprised by his narration; and the master of the house observed:--
"What you have told us, reverend Sir, agrees with what has been said about

this matter from ancient time."
Muso then inquired:--

"Does not the priest on the hill sometimes perform the funeral service for
your dead?"

"What priest?" the young man asked.
"The priest who yesterday evening directed me to this village," answered

Muso. "I called at his anjitsu on the hill yonder. He refused me lodging,
but told me the way here."

The listeners looked at each other, as in astonishment; and, after a
moment of silence, the master of the house said:--

"Reverend Sir, there is no priest and there is no anjitsu on the hill. For
the time of many generations there has not been any resident-priest in this

neighborhood."
Muso said nothing more on the subject; for it was evident that his kind

hosts supposed him to have been deluded by some goblin. But after having
bidden them farewell, and obtained all necessary information as to his

road, he determined to look again for the hermitage" target="_blank" title="n.隐居生活(的地方)">hermitage on the hill, and so to
ascertain whether he had really been deceived. He found the anjitsu without

any difficulty; and, this time, its aged occupant invited him to enter.
When he had done so, the hermithumbly bowed down before him, exclaiming:--

"Ah! I am ashamed ! -- I amvery much ashamed! -- I am exceedingly
ashamed!"

"You need not be ashamed for having refused me shelter," said Muso. "you
directed me to the village yonder, where I was very kindly treated; and I

thank you for that favor.
"I can give no man shelter," the recluse made answer; -- and it is not for

the refusal that I am ashamed. I am ashamed only that you should have seen
me in my real shape,-- for it was I who devoured the corpse and the

offerings last night before your eyes... Know, reverend Sir, that I am a
jikininki, [1] -- an eater of human flesh. Have pity upon me, and suffer me

to confess the secret fault by which I became reduced to this condition.
"A long, long time ago, I was a priest in this desolate region. There was

no other priest for many leagues around. So, in that time, the bodies of
the mountain-folk who died used to be brought here,-- sometimes from great

distances,-- in order that I might repeat over them the holy service. But I
repeated the service and performed the rites only as a matter of business;

-- I thought only of the food and the clothes that my sacred profession
enabled me to gain. And because of this selfish impiety I was reborn,

immediately after my death, into the state of a jikininki. Since then I
have been obliged to feed upon the corpses of the people who die in this

district: every one of them I must devour in the way that you saw last
night... Now, reverend Sir, let me beseech you to perform a Segaki-service

[2] for me: help me by your prayers, I entreat you, so that I may be soon
able to escape from this horrible state of existence"...

No sooner had the hermit uttered this petition than he disappeared; and
the hermitage" target="_blank" title="n.隐居生活(的地方)">hermitage also disappeared at the same instant. And Muso Kokushi found

himself kneeling alone in the high grass, beside an ancient and moss-grown
tomb of the form called go-rin-ishi, [3] which seemed to be the tomb of a

priest.
MUJINA

On the Akasaka Road, in Tokyo, there is a slope called Kii-no-kuni-zaka,--
which means the Slope of the Province of Kii. I do not know why it is

called the Slope of the Province of Kii. On one side of this slope you see
an ancient moat, deep and very wide, with high green banks rising up to

some place of gardens; -- and on the other side of the road extend the long
and lofty walls of an imperial palace. Before the era of street-lamps and

jinrikishas, this neighborhood was very lonesome after dark; and belated
pedestrians would go miles out of their way rather than mount the

Kii-no-kuni-zaka, alone, after sunset.
All because of a Mujina that used to walk there. (1)