“For your kind intention and your generous hospitality, I 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 of ghosts 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—_tōmyō_—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 Musō 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 Musō:—
“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 Musō 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.”