Again the site of the Yoshida Goten lapsed to waste land. Through the years stood the yashiki of Aoyama Shūzen, in wall and roof and beam gradually going to rot and ruin. Passing by on nights of storm wayfarers saw most frightful visions—the sports and processions of spectres issuing forth from the old well of the one time inner garden. Their wailing cries and yells were heard. Conspicuous among them was the sight of the unfortunate Kiku, her wan face framed in the long rank disordered hair; the weird beauty frightful in its expression of horror, as with the stumps of fingers she counted—"One, two, three ... four, five, six ... seven, eight, nine." Then came the haunting fearful cry—"Alas! What's to be done? One lacks. Oh! Oh!" Sight, sound, glare went to the hearts of the stoutest witnesses. Soon the ill fortune of those thus favoured with the vision of the Lady of the Plates was rumoured abroad. Wounds, money losses, even death fell on them or on their households. Men no longer were curious. They fled the neighbourhood of this ill omened gap in Earth's surface, unseemly exit for these foul spirits. On nights of rain and storm none passed that way. Even by day the children were rebuked and forbidden to approach the well.

Many are the stories as to the place. To instance one of these: It was Hōei third year (1706)—the approach of winter in this tenth month (November). Then came to Edo town a wandering pilgrim (shugenja) and his wife. Tramping the land all summer to Nippon's varied shrines and sights, now they were on the return to their home in Michinoku (Ōshū). Much had they heard of Edo, capital seat of Nippon's great lord. Every day busied with its sights they returned wearied to their inn in the Shitaya district. This day they had wandered far. Returning from Renkeiji of KawagoÉ they passed the Naitō Shinjuku quarter. Almost as great, if of different kind, was the woman's curiosity at sight of the caged beauties, waiting the summons of those far better supplied with cash than her own spouse. Finally in indignation she dragged away the loiterer; and muttering rebuke followed after the jingle of the rings on his pilgrim's staff. They were passing through the Go Banchō, along the long stretch of yashiki wall. From a postern gate came forth a woman. The light of her lantern fell on the man and his equipment—"Oya! Oya! Good fortune indeed: honoured shugenja, a moment's stay. To-night a memorial service is to be said for the mansion's lord. Condescend to enter and grant service." Willingly husband and wife heard the invitation to rest their wearied bodies. Passing through the garden water was supplied to wash the feet. Then they were seated before an ample feast fit for their kind; of glutinous rice balls coated with the sweet bean paste (botamochi), of macaroni the savour of which tickled the nostrils, sakÉ followed, in generous quantity and of quality to match.

Said the girl—"It is an all night service that is requested. Deign to undertake the watch and prayer. Ample shall be the reward." Prostrate the shugenja spoke his thanks. The Butsuma, or room containing the little shrine, was close at hand. Seating himself, his woman just behind, he bowed and made reverence. "Thanks for the honoured entertainment so generous and excellent. May the honoured spirit find rest, at once entering Nirvana ... and now, the Hannya Shinkyō—Sutra of the divine intelligence."[34] He began the recitation, accompanied by his wife. Both intoned the nembutsu—"Namu Amida Butsu! Namu Amida Butsu! Praise to Amida the Lord Buddha!" Again the recitation of the Sutra was begun. The hours of the night advanced. Man and wife became more and more drowsy; slower and slower came the words of the sacred writing. Then the man nodded off to sleep; as long before had the wife. The hour of the ox struck at Gekkeiji, filling this whole district with its heavy boom. The man woke with a start. What fearful shriek was that? Close by in the next room a woman's voice began counting. But such a voice! "One, two, three...." on it went to "nine.... Ah! Woe is me! One lacks. What's to be done!" Shrill, blood chilling the cry of anguish which followed. Curiosity overcame terror. The man stole to the screens and gently opened the merest slit. Over his shoulder looked the startled wife.

A shudder went through both at the sight. Wan, frail, the beautiful anguished evil face of a girl could be seen through the long tangled hair framing it. Slender to the emaciation of great suffering she knelt before the pile of plates she was counting—"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine...." The wild chilling scream froze man and woman. For at the moment in sprang another female, in whose worn emaciated face and figure was displayed such concentrated evil passion of hatred and jealousy as rarely to be seen on human being. Like the flying hateful god Idaten she sprang upon the girl, grasped her long black hair, and hurled her to this side and that. Helpless the victim held up the bloody stumps of fingers. Now the face was seen to be dyed in blood, the garments dyed red with blood, the girl again agonizing in a pool of blood. With horror the pilgrim and the woman hid their faces. The man's hands trembled as he struck the bell and intoned the holy recital. Thus in a daze, amid the counting, the cries and shouts, the weeping and the wailing, he went on. The cry of the cock was heard. As if by magic all the wild sounds ceased. The wanderers looked around in amazement. The altar was the stone curb of a well. The yashiki and its magnificence stood close by; but the building was roofless and in ruins. Chilled to the bone, half dead and half mad with fright, the two fled—to reach their inn.

At their tale host and those assembled shook their heads. "It is the Sarayashiki of the Banchō, the well that of the old Yoshida Goten, whence ghosts issue; unless by good fortune the vision be a trick of fox or badger. Honoured Sir, have prayers said to avoid ill fortune." But a merry, foul, cynical old fellow—peasant turned townsman—twinkled in his laughter. "Then O'Kiku San has favoured the shugenja and his spouse with feast and gifts?"—"'Twas very strange," naively replied the pilgrim. "Copious and splendid the entertainment. Of the reality there can be no doubt. This Jubei did not feast in a dream on those dainties." The host and other auditors broke into coarse laughter—"Feast! The botamochi was of horse dung, the macaroni was earth-worms, the wine—was urine." All roared in their great joy. The unfortunate pilgrims, much put out, made gesture of discomfiture and fright. Said the peasant-townsman, in sly hit at the host—"Perchance O'Kiku brought the viands from near-by inn or cook shop. Surely these furnish little better." Laughing he left the now angry innkeeper to aid his wretched guests, writhing and retching in all the pains, actual and imagined of such a feast.

Command went forth to the holy man—and from the Shōgun Ke himself. A halt must be brought to these unseemly proceedings so close to the suzerain's dwelling. These priests of the Dendzu-In, in the shadow of whose temple rested so many of the Tokugawa dead, were famed for learning and for piety. The founder of the Hall, Ryōyō Shōnin, had set to his successors this standard as necessary accomplishment, bequeathing to them perhaps the ability to meet the demand of his title of Mikatsuki Shōnin. Between his eyes was a mole in shape like to the crescent moon of the third day. Hence the appellation and its meaning application; for as the moon waxed to its full, so did the Shōnin with advancing years wax great in learning, and throw his increasing light upon mankind. Of this first prior there is a tale. It was the period of the Ashikaga wars, and the Shōnin, for safety and on business of his order, was resident for the nonce at Asonuma in KotsukÉ province. As he prayed and wrought in the night, without rose violent sound of fighting and disturbance. Rising he looked forth. Two bands of men at direst odds displayed the greatest cruelty to each other. But what men! Emaciated to flesh and bone, weird and unhappy of face, the Shōnin saw that these were not of this world. His determination was at once taken. Rosary in hand and intoning the nembutsu he stepped forth. The strife parted before him; its actors were prostrate in his presence. "What means this fierceness of battle?" asked the prelate. "Surely ye are not of the world, thus without mercy to strive to do such pitiless cruelty."—"Not of this world," said one raising his head; "but no more cruel than men in the flesh. In the Gempei wars, fighting we lost our lives. Our bodies tumbled promiscuously into one common ditch, without rites or worship, the grudge still continues through the decades. Deign, honoured priest, the aid of prayers of one so holy, for the rest of all." Gladly the prior grasped the opportunity—"For such surely is the charm of the Sacred Name—the paper with the sacred characters of the Nembutsu, Namu Amida Butsu. Not this ignorant foolish cleric, but the vow of the Nyōrai, Amida, relieves you from the Hell of fighting (Shuradō). Deign to accept the charm and enter Nirvana." Gladly the outstretched hands received it. Then all vanished in a mist. On the following day with discretion and modesty the prior told his experience to his open mouthed and credulous disciples. An ancient man of the place was found to point out where tradition placed the burial and its mound. The bones found on digging were sorted, and with rites found burial. Never after were prior, disciples, or villagers troubled with these visions. But the prior's reputation took an upward bound, to the credit of his sect.

Thus it was with his successor—himself a true Mikatsuki Shōnin in the illumination of his learning—"From his youth he had abandoned the world, and all the scripture had passed under his eyes. At eighteen years he knew all the sutra and the doctrines of Shaka (Sakyamuni), and books whether exoteric or esoteric. Moreover he understood thoroughly astrology and almanacs, the poetry of Morokoshi (China) and Nippon, and instrumental music. Truly once heard he knew ten times, so clever he was." It was to this Saint, in his eighty-second year, that the order came to lay the ghost of O'Kiku, to dispel the disorderly spectres of the well of the Yoshida Goten. "A difficult, nay a severe task; but one well within the power and mercy of the Buddha. To-night we go forth to the attempt. Let all exert themselves." His subject clerics bowed low—"Respectfully heard and obeyed." They liked it not. The nights were cold; the place noted for bad company, and bad weather. But the order of their head was not to be disobeyed.

With the first watches of the stormy night the Shōnin and some thirty priests were assembled about the well curb. Earnestly the Shōnin read the sacred writing. Vigorously his followers made the responses. Louder the voices and greater their confidence as the night progressed without sign of visions. Then said the Shōnin—"Surely great is the efficacy of the sutra. Namu Amida Butsu! Namu Amida Butsu! All evil visions and spectres vanish; to seek the peace and oblivion of Nirvana. Let the event prove the efficacy of the charm."—"Namu Amida Butsu! Namu Amida Butsu!" Loud the voices of the priests, but now in terror. The bell of Gekkeiji was striking the hour of the ox (1 a.m.). Crouching and shivering they saw the spectral lighting up of the well. The blue glittering points began to dot its mouth. Then swarms of spectres began to pour forth, obscene and horrible. Among them appeared the ghost of O'Kiku. Stricken with fear the priests stopped all reading of the holy writ. Flat on their faces, their buttocks elevated high for great concealment, they crouched in a huddled mass. "Namu Amida Butsu! Namu Amida Butsu! Spare us, good ghosts—thus disturbed most rudely in your nightly haunt and revels. Ha! Ah! One's very marrow turns to ice. No more! No more! Away!" But the Shōnin held firm. Surrounded by the jibing menacing mass of spirits, steadily and without fear he hung on to his scroll, read the sutra, intoned the nembutsu. One by one his company stole away; as did the spectres with approaching dawn.

He did not reproach his flock. Said the prior to the shamed assembly—by daylight: "Surely this is a very difficult undertaking. This curse of the dead is no ordinary one. It is a soul without light, of some highly debauched sinner, of some woman vowed to eternal hate. Deep the malignancy; but deeper yet the efficacy of Mida's vow. Seven nights will do it. Let all make every effort." He looked around, with trace of gentle rebuke—"We are men who have left the world (shukkÉ). Why then fear the dead; when ye are part and parcel of them? Perhaps greater company is needed." He sought it from his fellow priors. From Shiba to Asakusa they swarmed. With fifty, with seventy, with a hundred and seventy priests, all reciting the Sutra, intoning the nembutsu, the noise and confusion rose high above the sound of storm and spectre. Sleep was banished far and wide thereabouts. But this could not last. "One, two, three, four...." with the counting of the plates the chilling heart rending shriek, the wail of the unhappy girl, the stoutest volunteers quailed and with their hands shut out the spectral vision. These volunteers disappeared with the second week of recitation entered on by the Shōnin. Even his own band began to fail him. They sent substitutes, in the shape of the temple servants, the lowest grade, the ShokÉ Sama. When a third week was announced, as sure to accomplish the exorcism, there was open rebellion. It was with sadness and admiration that the Shōnin saw his band thus reduced to a few faithful men, the oldest of his flock, almost as old as himself—and these deaf, blind, and almost dumb. "Ah! It is a tremendous affair. Deep the malignancy of this curse. This foolish priest has overrated his reputation with the Buddha. Great the discredit to the sect and temple at the wide heralded failure." He felt as ill and out of sorts away from the presence of the vision, as did his disciples in its presence. He was old and foolish and over-confident.

The prior slept on his cushion, his robes still wet with the storm and rain of the previous night. Then came a woman, dressed in sombre garb. Approaching the sleeping priest she wrote upon his sleeve the character ki 機, bowed reverently, and disappeared. He awoke seeming to hear her footsteps. How clear was this dream! The character ki, what did it portend? The Buddha would not fail his priest. Taking himself to the altar he prostrated himself before the seated figure. Then he prayed. And as he prayed—perhaps resumed his nap—wonderful to say again the character 機 appeared, this time on the Buddha's sleeve. The Shōnin rubbed his eyes. Was he awake or dreaming? He did not know. "Ki," the chance, the opportunity that the successful man in every undertaking grasps, where others fail. He must apply it to his own calling and the crisis. They exercised their brains; he was reputed to be well furnished. This next night was the last of the third seven days. Failing favourable issue he would take up his staff and depart to other place, never to reappear in the beloved precincts of his hall. Thus inspired he thought and thought. The grave, kindly, piercing eyes became brighter and brighter. Then his monks came running in surprise and alarm. The reverend prior was laughing—not in merriment, but with the joy of him who has found the successful issue to be so plain and easy.

This last and critical night in storm and riot proved to be the worst of all. Said the Shōnin with grave kindness—"This night the Shōnin goes; others need not accompany." All rejoiced—until they saw his preparation to face the rain and cold. Then they weakened, and all plead to accompany him. Splendid the train assembled around the well curb. Again the reading of the sutra began, the intonation of the nembutsu. Again the clerics cursed their ill timed enthusiasm, which brought them out in the storm and to such unseemly company. Again the ghosts issued forth from the old well in their obscene riot. Jeering, menacing they swarmed around the frightened priestly band. Immoveable the prior. Natural and supernatural seemed to hang on the issue between priest and spectres. The figure of O'Kiku, wan, sad, malignant appeared. She counted—"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine...."—"Ten!" shouted the Shōnin, extending the Junen. "Ara! What joy! None lack. Ah! By the Shōnin's virtue this Kiku secures Nirvana. Gratitude and obeisance are due." With the words the figure faded, the spectres disappeared, the storm rumbled and passed off rapidly to the distance, and the stars shone out on the cold clear sky of a perfect fall night with its studded firmament.

Thus did the Shōnin find the secret in the ten repetition of the sacred formula—the ju nen. On her finger stumps O'Kiku counted—counted as does the successful man in the business of life. But O'Kiku was maimed. The thumb was lacking. Hence the tale went but to nine. The missing factor once supplied her count found completion. Long had been accomplished her vow of indignant vengeance, but still the plates remained to count for her own release, and this she could not effect. Great was the reputation thus acquired to priest and temple. Probably it was this feat which has confused him with his greater predecessor, the founder of the temple; transferred most anachronistically to this latter the tradition of the actual laying of the ghost.

There is an old book[35] in which the matter is discussed—"It was in the old well that Kikujō was drowned, says tradition in Shōhō 3rd year (1646). By the ability, merit, and power of Mikatsuki Shōnin her soul was saved, and at once she became a Buddha. Though such be the story, by the temple register the founder of the Dendzu-In, Ryōyō Shōnin, entered the Hall in Ōei 22nd year 9th month 27th day (29th October 1415). One smiles. Ho! The Shōnin lived two hundred and fifty-six years before, and dates do not amalgamate. How many generations had the Shōnin seen when Kikujō became a Buddha! The Mikatsuki Shōnin becomes a bubble Shōnin. The learning of this Mikatsuki Shōnin was notorious, and it has been banded down to people of later generations in matters concerning Ryōyō Shōnin. Deign to take a glance at facts here indicated. The 'Edo Bukkaku Ryakuden' (Epitomised Record of Buddhist teaching in Edo) says under the heading 'Muryōzan Jukyōji Dendzu-in'—

'Koishikawa Ji-in: 600 koku (income). The founder was Yurensha Ryōyō Shōnin, early in the Meitoku period (1390-1393). This Shōnin had between his eyebrows the figure of the moon on the third day. Later people called him Mikatsuki Shōnin. Native of Jōshū he was the son of the castle lord of IwasÉ in Kujigōri, Shirayoshi Shima no Kami Yoshimitsu. Through prayer at the IwasÉ Myōjin his mother became pregnant. He was born Riaku-Ō 4th year 1st month 24th day (11th February 1311). Later his father was killed in battle, and the mother took him to the Jōfukuji, at Sōjiyama. Putting him in charge of Shōjitsu Shōnin his head was shaved. At eight years old he was received at the Mikkyō (Shingon) Hōdon-In Yuzon. Taishū (secret cult) was learned through the teaching of Shingen Hōshi. The Zenshū was taught by the aged Tajima no Temmei and Gwatsuryū. Shintō by Jibu no Tayu MorosukÉ. In the poetry of Nippon he followed Tona, for ancient and modern example. He wrote ten books of importance. Noted for learning, in Eiwa 4th year (1378) he was transferred to Taitei-san Ōshō-in Nan-ryūbō in ShimotsukÉ no Kuni. Here he taught the seed of the Law. The son of Chiba SadatanÉ, Toku Sendai Maru, had a younger brother. It was he who founded the Zōjōji and became Yūyō Shōnin. Ryōyō Mikatsuki Shōnin died in Ōei 27th year 9th month 27th day (3rd November 1420). The San-en-zan Kwō-dō-in Zōjōji had to fief 10540 koku. It is the chief seat of the Jōdō sect in the Kwantō, and its schools swarm with students.'