The following episode contains descriptions of ableism and graphic body horror. We advise extreme caution for children under 13. The following is from Lafcadio Hearn's The Story of Mimi, now she Joichi. We have been very anxious about you, friend, who has to go out blind and alone at so late an hour is dangerous. Why did you go without telling us I could have ordered a servant to accompany you? And where have you been? Koichi answered evasively.

Pardon me, kind friend. I had to attend to some private business and I could not arrange the matter at any other hour. The priest was surprised rather than pained by his reticence. He felt it to be unnatural and suspected something wrong. He did not ask any more questions, but he privately instructed the men, servants of the temple to keep watch upon his movements and to follow him in case that he should again leave the temple after dark. On the very next night, Joichi was seen to leave the temple and the servants immediately lighted their lanterns and followed after him, but it was a rainy night and very dark.

And before the temple, folks could get to the roadway, Joichi had disappeared. Evidently, he had walked a very fast a strange thing, considering his blindness. Hi, everyone, I'm Alastair Murden, and this is Haunted Places Ghost Stories, a Spotify original from podcast. Ghost stories have arisen from every century in every corner of the world, from the streets of Victorian Whitechapel to the swamps of Bangladesh, whether seated around the campfire or curled up with a pair of headphones, we returned to them time and again to feel our skin crawl and our hearts race.

Each week, Ghost Stories reimagines chilling paranormal tales from history's most sinister storytellers told like you've never heard them before. You can find episodes of Ghost Stories and all other the Spotfire originals from podcast for free on Spotify or wherever you listen to podcasts. Today's story comes from a Japanese folktale that found a new audience in the hands of Greek Irish writer Lafcadio Hearn. His book, Kaidan Stories and Studies of Strange Things, include seventeen's supernatural legends collected from Japanese storytellers.

They are unearthly, chilling tales, ones that have inspired centuries of nightmares. And the story of me, Menashe Joichi, is no exception. I will be telling this tale from the perspective of Joichi a Bue Hoshi or Ludt priest in pre Meiji era Japan. The Bue Hoshino were both supernatural healers and travelling performers who blended Buddhist and Shinto beliefs through storytelling and music. But they were most prominently known for their dramatic retellings of the Heikki Monogatari, the Heikki Monogatari or The Tale of the Heikki is an epic poem that narrated the bloody fall of the Heikki clan at the hands of the M.

Moto clan, ending the death of six year old Emperor and Toku Taino. It was said that the Minamata sought out and killed every man or boy with Heikki blood. This led to legends that any misfortune was caused by restless Heikki Spirits. Beevor Hoshi, like our hero Joichi, were believed to have a unique ability to tame the spirits due to their knowledge of Heikki history. But sometimes even a song can save you. Coming up, a mysterious samurai calls upon Koichi.

I have never seen the sea, but I have tasted its salt. I have never seen a child, but I have heard it cry. And I have never seen a blade, but I have felt it cut, it is not easy to be blind in a seeing world, and that is why I have always been grateful for my friend Kiyoshi. We grew up together in Accomack Osaki, our little coastal town. I could not see the Buddhist temple they'd constructed, but Kyoshi told me it was the most beautiful place that ever existed.

When I ran my fingers over the intricate carvings on this columns, I had to agree. It is no wonder Kyoshi joined the priests of the Amador's temple. But like a true companion, he didn't leave me behind. Instead, he arranged for me to stay at the temple too, so that I may play my lute and become a bue Hoshi. We have lived here together for years now. Most of our time at the temple has been peaceful except for one incident.

I tell Kyoshi again and again that it was not his fault. It is not, believe me. He feels he failed me both as a friend and a priest. I believe my mistakes are my own.

Moving through the world without sight means I have to accept a certain degree of the unknown. If I did not, I would be consigning myself to a life of constant fear. But the unknown should not be taken lightly, and my body bears the scars to prove it.

It was too hot to sleep in Nagasaki.

Kiyoshi and his acolyte had gone to complete the service and I was left alone, idling on the temple steps with nothing to distract me but my bue.

A man's voice carry through the sticky air. OAG, he called out. His tone was quite gruff, considering I did not recognize it. Hogy, he demanded again. I answered, Sir, I am lying, there is no point in calling my name if you do not tell me yours. The man didn't answer my question. Instead, he said, My Lord, a person of exceedingly high rank desires to hear you perform, take your bue and come with me at once.

His formal language and the soft clink of armor told me he was a samurai.

His Lord was a daimyo at the very least, and to disobey him would not be wise.

I put on my sandals and slung my bra on my back, then followed the samurai through the streets, under normal circumstances, I would know that it took 200 steps to travel from the shrine to the marketplace, but I could not count and follow the strange sound of the samurai armor.

At the same time, I smelled Azalea's, which meant we were still within the borders of the shopping district. But otherwise I couldn't be sure where we were when we passed beneath a massive gate. I lost all sense of direction. The ground beneath my feet was muddy and soon I lost the ability to hear the samurais footsteps. I had to strain my ears to hear the tinny shift of his armor. Then it stopped believing we had reached the entrance of our destination.

I remove my sandals and stepped into a vast space. I heard what sounded like the rustling of leaves, but the echoing hum of voices betrayed the nature of my surroundings. I was not in a woodland or a park. I had mistaken the swish of silk for the wind in the trees and the soft whispers of high born women for the buzzing of bees. I stepped forward tentatively. My foot struck a kneeling cushion and I sat upon it. A stately woman's voice cuts above the crowd.

She was surely the Rojo, the matron of the Deimos Noble Apartments. As she spoke, the whispers suddenly faded. It is now required that the history of the Heikki be recited to the accompaniment of the Beevor. The full recital of the Heikki Monogatari would take many nights, so I bowed before I asked what portion is desired. She answered without hesitation. Recite the story of the battle at Dannemora and allow us to feel that sorrow. I bowed again and began.

I plucked the strings quickly to evoke the straining of oars and the hissing of arrows, I tapped the body of my instrument ever so slightly to conjure the crash of steel and trampling of men. The audience was rapt, so still that I wondered if any of them breathed at all.

But they let out great cries as I reached the climax of the tale when the grandmother of the tragic child emperor carries him to the bow of the ship, knowing their country is lost. They could barely contain themselves. As I proclaimed, Nino Armour held him tightly in her arms and whispered softly in the depths of the ocean. We have a capital. Then she sank with him at last beneath the waves. My new patrons were beside themselves. I never heard such screams, such anguish.

I was at the heart of a typhoon of my own making, and I, too, was swept away. It was as though I could hear Emperor Antakya's last gasping breaths near the ocean surface. My voice cracked, but I persisted, tears streaming down my face as the little emperor was swallowed by waves. After my performance, I coughed politely, waiting for someone to speak. Finally, the Raho broke the silence. We will see you again tomorrow.

I bounce an acknowledgement, knowing there was no choice, she continued. You should speak to no one of your visits here. Now, that was slightly strange, but it was not my place to question a Horoho or her DIMOS demands. I bowed my head in agreement and the samurai let me out. Relief washed over me as we traveled through the night and the sounds and smells became familiar. Finally, I knew where I was headed. I slipped off my sandals before I entered the temple and the warm scent of plums let me know.

Kiyoshi had returned. I thought he would be happy to see me. Instead he ran to me and held me tight in his arms. His cheek was damp against my face and I knew he had been crying. I asked him what was wrong and his voice shook with worry. He asked me why I traveled alone and where I had gone. I wanted to tell him about the samurai and ease his concerns, but instead I evaded his question and set off for bed.

It hurt to lie to Akiyoshi, but the Rojos wrath would hurt more.

The samurai came at the same time the next night, I noted that the tone of his voice was more polite than it had been the night before. But though his manners had improved, his speed had not. I found myself careening around corners after him as if we were chased. I was ready to demand an explanation when I sensed us pass beneath the great gate again. Even the Rojos voice was rushed as she bit me to begin quickly. Joichi, tell us of what happened next.

After the Emperor's death, I was puzzled at this as it sounded like she didn't know the rest of the story. Everyone knew the story. The massacre of the Heikki kind was why the crab ghosts rose from the sea. It was why the typhoon swirled and earth shook. This was why we recited the Heikki Monogatari to honor and remember. But it was not my right to inquire. So I kneeled on the cushion and began to play. As I plucked the Bois's strings, the soft whispers of the noble ladies changed, they sounded too quick to be human.

I tried my best to focus on my playing sweat forming on my brow, but then my fingers slipped on the strings. Suddenly I was pulled from my cushion with rough hands. What is the meaning of this? I cried. I have been asked to play in front of this assembly and I will do as ordered. This was answered with shouts and grumbling, which certainly wasn't behavior befitting servants of the Daimyo. But then I recognized the puzzled voice of Kiyoshi acolyte Iwao.

There is no one here. Joichi son. You are in the cemetery of the ancient temple before the great tomb of the Child Emperor and Toku Tanum. I was confused. Suddenly the moisture that clung to my skin was not sweat. The cold rain and the rustling silk of the noble ladies kimonos was only the blowing of the maple tree. I thought I had been led to a Deimos palace, but it seems I had never ventured far from the Ahmedzai temple at all.

I had performed my entire song in a cemetery. For an audience of the dead. Up next, Joichi fights to escape a ghostly trap, podcasters, if you're fascinated by the mysterious and manipulative side of true crime, you'll love the stories told in the Spotify original from podcast Cults every Tuesday step inside the minds of those who led and followed the most controversial, radical and sometimes deadly organizations in history go beyond the headlines and discovered the foundation behind notorious cults like Jim Jones and People's Temple, the Rajneesh Movement, Nexium and more.

Each episode of cults is full of illuminating details of their improbable origins and sinister intentions. Doomsday predictions, religious beliefs, extraterrestrial orders. Find out what really happens inside a cult. Follow the podcast series Cults Free on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts. New episodes Air Weekly every Tuesday.

He podcast as Alistaire here.

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Now back to the story. I was frozen where I was kneeling in the dirt, I could not believe what Iwao was telling me, that I was playing my bue not in the chambers of a daimio for an audience of nobility, but kneeling at the grave of an Toku Taino, the child emperor whose tragedy I was reciting. It's true that I had not seen who I was playing for or where I was. I am blind after all, but I knew the cemetery well and the sounds and smells of that crowd had felt as real as anything.

The audience had been lively, their voices carried easily on the wind. I could hear their weight shifting as they move from foot to foot. But as I thought about my performance, I felt a strange cold creep into my body. At the time, I thought I had been swept away in a currents of emotion, but perhaps I was actually swept away to an entirely new plane of ghostly reality. When my companion Kiyoshi came to my quarters later that night, I barred his way.

I do not need to be chastised, I told him, Kiyoshi, breathe deeply, and I knew he was trying to keep his nerves in check. He told me, I am not here to chastise you. I am here to warn you. You know, you have been called upon by the spirit of the Heikki Child Emperor by obeying him more than once you have put yourself at the mercy of his ghostly court. If you obey them again. His voice trailed off, and I could feel his body tense as he took a fearful breath.

A wichai, once they are finished with you, they will tear you to pieces. Certain spirits are hungry by nature, they feast on whatever they can find and they would now be able to find me whenever they wished. But the Hagi spirits enjoyed my presence. And if I was lucky, my performances might protect me for a while. But sooner or later, they would tire of me. They would pull out my organs and swallow them whole. My skin would be woven into cloth.

My bones would be crafted into ornaments for their hair. Every part of me would be harvested for their enjoyment. Everyone knew this about the victims of the Heikki spirits, but never had I thought about it. Knowing I would be the one who suffered, I felt myself begin to tremble. Kiyoshi consoled me. I will protect you, Joichi. Come with me. He led me to the shrine and as he lit the incense, he told me to sit and tell him what I had experienced.

I did as he asked and recounted the gruff samurai and the matronly Raho who requested I recite the tragedy of Heikki Monogatari, and I told him of the way the spirits became overwhelmed with emotion at the recounting of the little emperors murder. My voice shook as I spoke, but all the while Kiyoshi sat quietly holding my hand in his. As soon as I finished, he explained his plan. Disrobe quickly and I will cover you in holy texts. The spirits will not be able to touch you whether Hanieh Chinky or Liszt.

I had no choice but to agree. Kyoshi spent hours transcribing the Heart Sutra onto my body, comforting words for my empty emptiness, his form looped across my flesh. And as his brush strokes grazed my skin, I felt my fear melt away and the heat seep into my body. But just as he was finishing painting my head, he was called away to perform another religious service in town that could not be delayed. The family was in dire need.

Kiyoshi begged me to come with him so he might keep an eye on me to use his words. I admit that because I was feeling ashamed, I acted stubbornly. I refused him. You have given me the wards of protection I need. Go do your duties. I will defeat this ghost Kiyoshi Drew close to me. I could feel the sinew of his body tensing as we stood nearly nose to nose. I wondered if he might strike me, but he softened.

His voice shook even as he commanded me. The samurai will call for you, but whatever happens, do not answer and do not move. If you stir or make any noise, you will be torn asunder. Do not think of calling for help. No one could save you. If you do exactly as I tell you, the danger will pass. He paused, then spoke with more tenderness. Promise me, Koichi, promise me you will do as I ask.

Yes, Kiyoshi, I replied. Then he took his leave of me. Later that night I sat on the temple steps and waited. Might be while sitting at my side. I heard the ghostly samurai coming long before he cried out my name when I did not answer. He called me again angry. Oh gee, this won't do. Where is that little lute player? I realized as he muttered to himself that it was not simply that the samurai could not lay a hand on me.

It was that he could not see me at all. Kiyoshi warlords that protected me. I could hear the samurai pacing as he searched. Then he stopped right in front of me. I told myself not to move, not to breathe. For a man like myself, there is nothing quite as frightening as empty stillness. There was no wind to carry smells to my nose. There were no sounds for me to follow. I lingered in a vast nothingness, waiting for something to trigger my senses, to move me to reality.

A sigh of annoyance punctured the quiet and my deepest fears were confirmed, the samurai was practically on top of me, standing an inch away from my face.

I had to fight the urge to move and give myself away. The samurai grumbled, is the beaver. Whatever the beaver player I see only two years. So that explains why he did not answer. There must be nothing left of him but his ears, so I will bring the evidence of his disappearance to my Lord.

Suddenly, I felt a tug on my right ear. Before I could react, I heard a slice and felt a warm liquid spill from the side of my head. Shocked, I did not realize the cartilage of my ear had been shorn off as soon as I did, the Samurai had begun to cut off parts of my other ear to. I managed to swallow my cry as his blades sliced my flesh. I did not ultrasound or move. My only option was to wait there bleeding until he had left.

I told myself I then walk the eight steps to the Gatekeepers room and he would call for help. I just needed an opportunity to sneak away. I did not move, stifling my whimpers until I heard the clink and slide of the samurais armor fade away to nothingness. I finally exhaled, pulled myself up and ran for the gate keepers door. I do not remember when Kyoshi returned, only that he took me in his arms.

My poetry. This is all my fault. I neglected to paint your ears and the summer I took them through the blur of my pain and exhaustion. I heard him wipe away his tears. He continued. I will do everything in my power to heal you. But take heart. You are safe now. You have defeated the ghosts. In spite of my failings, Kiyoshi took me to a good doctor. My wounds healed and my hearing was spared. I felt thankful for if I could no longer play my bue, I surely would have lost myself to despair.

But instead, the story of my adventure spread throughout the lands of the Shogunate and more and more listeners came to Agama Kazuki Temple to hear me play. They called me Joichi the Earless, and paid me handsomely. But I handed all the funds over to Kyoshi and the temple, for I owed them my life. I do not believe Kyoshi when he says my loss is his fault, but I do not believe him either. When he says I am safe from the Emperor's spirits and his court.

This is why I no longer play at night unaccompanied, especially when the air is heavy and hot. Instead, I block the sound out and tell myself to sleep, no matter how many times the samurai bids me to come.

Perhaps the most charitable description of author Lafcadio Hearn is to label him a man of the world, an ambassador for cultures that were devalued by white society published in 1984. His collection of Japanese ghost stories, Kidon includes the story of me Menashe Joichi Wirelesses, most well known work. Hurn published several other collections from different cultures, including the Louisiana Kriol. When he moved to Japan, he continued this trend of interpreting non-white cultures for a white audience. Kaidan is an iconic work in both the English speaking and Japanese worlds, but Hearn's stories are not without fault.

While he disclosed that, he transcribed and translated the legends of his books from oral storytellers and historical texts. Many of them came from his wife of 14 years, Setsuko Koizumi, who receives no mention or credit in the book Kōichi. The Earless is a high profile character in Japanese folklore. Like many other Bue Jocie, the poem Joichi specializes in reciting is The Tale of the Heikki, an epic account of the 12th century clash between the Tirah and Minamo Stockland's that would give rise to the era of the Shogunate.

It's often described as Japan's Iliad. So the story of Joichi could potentially be compared to Homer being tricked into reciting his tale to Achilles himself. But the motif of his disability is complicated. The ghostly samurai, his ability to trick the blind priest, speaks to larger cultural fears about the vulnerability that disability can cause. But Koichi's blindness is not merely a device in a cautionary tale in Japanese culture, blindness is actually tied to sensitivity to the supernatural. For that reason, many blind men in ancient Japan, like Joichi, were trained as Boire Jocie or Ludt priests because they could use their preternatural talents to do things like cleanse the spirit and even prevent plagues.

But more importantly, they were keepers of history like that of the Heikki Monogatari. The reason Ichi has to be blind in order for the tail to work is that otherwise he would have immediately recognized a historic ghost like the child emperor and Toku Taino. However, the only reason he survives his first encounter with the ghosts is because he knew enough of their story to retell it. Which begs the question, how well do you know your history? Thanks again for tuning in to haunted places, ghost stories, we will be back on Thursday with a new episode.

You can find more episodes of Ghost Stories and all of the Spotify originals from podcast for free on Spotify. See you on the other side. Haunted Places, Ghost Stories. This is Spotify original from podcast. It is executive produced by Max Cuddler Sound Design by Russell Nash with production assistance by Ron Shapiro, Carly Madden and Isabel Away. This episode of Haunted Places Ghost Stories was written by little Dorita and Jennifer Rachet with writing assistants by Alex Garland, fact checking by Bennett Logan and research by Adriana Gomez and Mikki Taylor.

I'm Alistaire Murder. Listeners, there's no better time than right now to make a meaningful connection with the Spotify original from podcast Blind Dating every Wednesday. Find out if there's more to love than just looks follow blind dating, free on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts.