Once again the mysterious woman came to the little shop, and this time she did not buy midzu-ame, but beckoned the shopkeeper to follow her. Down the street went the pale-faced woman, followed by the seller of amber syrup and some of his friends. When they reached the cemetery the woman disappeared into a tomb, and those without heard the weeping of a child. When the tomb was opened they saw the corpse of the woman they had followed, and by her side a living child, laughing at the lantern-light and stretching forth its little hands towards a cup of midzu-ame. The woman had been prematurely buried and her babe born in the tomb. Every night the silent mother went forth from the cemetery in order that she might bring back nourishment for her child.
The Futon of Tottori
In Tottori there was a small and modest inn. It was a new inn, and as the landlord was poor he had been compelled to furnish it with goods purchased from a second-hand shop in the vicinity. His first guest was a merchant, who was treated with extreme courtesy and given much warm saké. When the merchant had drunk the refreshing rice wine he retired to rest and soon fell asleep. He had not slumbered long when he heard the sound of children's voices in his room, crying pitifully: "Elder Brother probably is cold?" "Nay, thou probably art cold?" Over and over again the children repeated these plaintive words. The merchant, thinking that children had strayed into his room by mistake, mildly rebuked them and prepared to go to sleep again. After a moment's silence the children again cried: "Elder Brother probably is cold?" "Nay, thou probably art cold?"
The guest arose, lit the andon (night-light), and proceeded to examine the room. But there was no one in the apartment; the cupboards were empty, and all the shōji (paper-screens) were closed. The merchant, lay down again, puzzled and amazed. Once more he heard the cry, close to his pillow: "Elder Brother probably is cold?" "Nay, thou probably art cold?" The cries were repeated, and the guest, cold with horror, found that the voices proceeded from his futon (quilt).
He hurriedly descended the stairs and told the innkeeper what had happened. The landlord was angry. "You have drunk too much warm saké," said he. "Warm saké has brought you evil dreams." But the guest paid his bill and sought lodging elsewhere.
On the following night another guest, slept in the haunted room, and he, too, heard the same mysterious voices, rated the innkeeper, and hastily took his departure. The landlord then entered the apartment himself. He heard the pitiful cries of children coming from one futon, and now was forced to believe the strange story his two guests had told him.
The next day the landlord went to the second-hand shop where he had purchased the futon, and made inquiries. After going from one shop to another, he finally heard the following story of the mysterious futon:
There once lived in Tottori a poor man and his wife, with two children, boys of six and eight years respectively. The parents died, and the poor children were forced to sell their few belongings, until one day they were left with only a thin and much-worn futon to cover them at night. At last they had no money to pay the rent, and not even the wherewithal to purchase food of any kind.
When the period of the greatest cold came, the snow gathered so thickly about the humble dwelling that the children could do nothing but wrap the futon about them, and murmur to each other in their sweet, pathetic way: "Elder Brother probably is cold?" "Nay, thou probably art cold?" And sobbing forth these words they clung together, afraid of the darkness and of the bitter, shrieking wind.