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※WARNING※ There have been reports of people feeling unwell after reading about the Kotori‑bako.
Please proceed at your own risk.
Kotori-bako
Note: kotori = 子取り = child‑snatching
I’m the kind of guy who reads thread aggregators when I’ve got free time.
I’ve never been sensitive to the supernatural or anything, so I figured I’d never post something here. But last month, something pretty intense happened, and I thought I’d share it.
I’ve got the okay from the person involved, so it’s cool to post this.
I feel like people here might actually believe me.
Might get a bit long. (I’m not good with words, and I’ve never really written a long post before, so sorry if it’s hard to read.)
Like I said up top, I don’t have a shred of spiritual sensitivity.
So honestly, I can’t say for sure if this story really involves ghosts or whatever.
That’s why I want you all to judge it for yourselves.
I’m just writing out what I remember from the conversations, so the writing might be kinda messy.
Anyway, here’s the story.
This story’s about a friend of mine who’s got really strong spiritual senses.
We’ve known each other since middle school, and now that we’re both almost thirty, we still hang out or go drinking pretty often.
His family has been Shinto priests for generations, working at one of the bigger shrines in our area.
By day, he works a regular job, but when New Year’s comes around, or there’s a ritual, or a wedding ceremony or something, he puts on the full priest outfit and performs the rites.
Not sure if you’d call that his side job or his main one.
They live in a house near the shrine.
Anyway, that day we’d planned to go out drinking, and decided to meet up at my place first.
He and his girlfriend got there first, and we were playing some games while waiting on another girl to show up.
For the sake of the story, I’ll call the shrine guy M, the girl who was late S, myself A, and M’s girlfriend K.
So, we were killing time with the game, when my phone rang — it was S-chan calling.
S-chan said something like:
"Sorry, I’m gonna be a little late! We found something super cool in the storage shed, and my whole family got caught up looking at it~
Hey A, you’re good at quizzes and puzzles, right? I’m bringing something interesting!
Just hang on a bit longer~~!"
That was basically the message.
About 40 minutes later, S-chan showed up.
And the moment she did — no, more like the moment her car pulled into the driveway — M suddenly said:
"Shit. This is bad. Real bad... crap… what do I do… Dad’s not home today."
I was like,
"Huh? What’s up, M? You seeing something again?"
K said,
"You okay!? Is it happening again?"
M just muttered,
"This might be beyond ‘seeing something’… haha…
A, this is seriously bad. S-chan… no way, man."
M usually doesn’t talk much about his spiritual stuff—like seeing ghosts or working at the shrine.
But every now and then, he gets seriously freaked out like this.
Me, S, and K all know about it, but since M clearly hates diving into those topics, we normally don’t bring them up.
S-chan came up to my room.
M looked totally pale, like all the blood had drained from his face.
M: “S-chan… what’d you bring with you? Take it out...”
S: “Huh? Wait, wait—did I bring something bad…? Like, really bad?”
M: “Yeah…”
S: “Well… we’re tearing down our old shed next week, and while we were cleaning it out, this thing turned up.”
And with that, S-chan pulled out a wooden box.
It was a wooden box, about 20 centimeters on each side.
That must’ve been what she meant on the phone when she said it was a “puzzle.”
It looked like a bunch of little wooden blocks—kind of like Tetris pieces—fitted together to form a box.
M: “Don’t touch it any more! Just don’t!!”
Right then, M bolted for the bathroom.
"Uuueeeghh… bleeugh—UEEEHHHH"
We could hear the sound of him throwing up.
K followed after him and rubbed his back while he was hunched over.
(She’s seriously a good girlfriend… lol)
Once M was done puking, he came back into the room.
He pulled out his phone and started making a call.
M: “Dad… it’s a Kotori‑bako…
My friend brought a Kotori‑bako over.
I’m scared. I’m not like Grandpa… I can’t handle this like he could…”
M was crying.
A 29-year-old man, crying on the phone to his dad…
That’s how terrifying this was.
Honestly, I was about to cry too.
M: “Yeah, it’s not attached. I can only see the box.
There are traces, but maybe nothing’s still inside.
Yeah, there’s a little bit—on my friend’s stomach.
I think it’s a Shippo pattern… right? That circular design? With a triangle inside.
Shippo.
I’m pretty sure. I mean, I don’t know for sure! I’m not him!!”
(He was saying all kinds of technical stuff, but the two words he kept repeating were Kotori‑bako and Shippo.)
[1] circular ‘Seven Treasures’ motif, used on shrine talismans
M: “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll try.
If I mess up, please cleanse me.
I’m counting on you, Dad.”
And with that, M hung up the phone.
Then he broke down crying for a good two minutes—sobbing hard, gasping for breath—before suddenly sitting up straight in seiza position and slapping his knees with a loud smack.
He wasn’t crying anymore.
It felt like he’d made up his mind.
M: “A… lend me a box cutter or a kitchen knife.”
("Gose" is a local dialect around here—it just means “give me” or “let me have.”)
Me: “Wh-what are you gonna do!?”
M: “I’m not gonna hurt anyone.
I need to perform a cleansing on S-chan.
S-chan, maybe it’s impossible not to be scared when you look at me, but don’t be afraid!
K, A—don’t you be scared either! Whatever happens, don’t let fear take over! Don’t be scared!!
We’re not gonna lose to this! We’re not gonna lose!!
I’m here! I’m right here! Don’t be scared! Don’t be scared!
Don’t underestimate me! I can do this too! Just like Grandpa did!
Watch me, damn it!
You piece of shit—SHIIIIIT!!”
M let out a roar, like he was trying to scream the fear out of his body.
S-chan was on the verge of tears… she was clearly terrified.
Me and K—we were about to cry too.
No joke, I nearly pissed myself.
S: “Okay… okay… I’ll try my best.”
Even though we didn’t really understand what was happening, all of us—me, S, and K—just kept nodding and saying “okay, okay.”
M: “A, bring me a knife or a box cutter. Now.”
Me: “Y-yeah…”
I handed him a kitchen knife.
M: “A, grab my inner thigh and pinch it. As hard as you can! Do it hard!”
At that point, I had no idea what was going on anymore, but I just followed his lead.
M: “GAAAAAAHHH—GHHHHUUUAAAARGHHH…!!”
I pinched the hell out of his inner thigh.
While I was doing that, M took the knife and sliced into his own fingertips and palm.
I guess… he had me do that to distract from the pain.
M: “S-chan! Open your mouth!”
And then he shoved his blood-soaked fingers into S-chan’s mouth.
M: “Drink it. Even if it tastes awful, just swallow it.”
S: “Agh—kl;:;ff’oa—”
S-chan was bawling. She couldn’t even speak.
M: “◎△＊ no tenjō… Norio? Shinmei Iwato… Akemashita, Kashikomi Kashikomi Momōsu…”
He chanted something—maybe a blessing, maybe a spell—I couldn’t tell.
He repeated it five or six times.
It didn’t sound like a spell exactly… more like some kind of ritual chant or traditional singing.
The moment M pulled his fingers out of her mouth, S-chan threw up violently—
mixed with his blood.
S: “UwaaaaEEEGHHH—BleeegghhhEEEAAARRGGHH!!”
M: “It’s out! It’s out! Hell yeah!!
She’s fine! S-chan’s gonna be fine!!
Next…!
Grandpa, watch me now!!”
Then, M slammed his bloody hand down on top of the wooden box S-chan had brought.
M: “Kotori‑bako… Kotori‑bako… ◎△＊…?? Й…”
Then he whispered,
“No… no, I should’ve done that part earlier…”
He looked like he was about to cry again.
M: “A! Call my dad. Please, call him.”
So I did what he said—I used M’s phone and called his dad, then held it up to M’s ear.
M: “Dad… sorry. I forgot. Chant it with me… please, chant it with me…”
He held the phone to his ear, placed his right hand gently on the box, and began chanting again.
It still sounded more like a melody than a spoken spell—almost like a song.
M: “It’s done. It’s done… it’s… done…
UuuuUEEEEEEHHHHHHH—!”
M collapsed, sobbing.
A full-grown man, completely breaking down in tears.
K comforted him, stroking his head, while he cried his heart out for twenty minutes straight.
Me, S, and K were bawling too.
All four of us were just wailing together.
Even while he was sobbing, I don’t think M ever let go of the box.
(Though honestly, I was crying too hard to be sure… lol)
After he calmed down a bit, he asked if we had something—like a towel or whatever—that could tie his hand and the box together.
So I grabbed a thin bath towel and wrapped it around his hand and the wooden box, tying them tightly together.
M: “Alright, so… where we drinking tonight?”
Everyone: “What?”
M: “Just kidding, lol.
No way I’m going out after that.
A, mind giving us a ride?”
(What kind of nerves does this guy have… Seriously, he’s tough as hell.)
S, M, and K were totally drained by then, so I ended up driving everyone home.
(We’d planned to drink anyway, so I hadn’t touched any alcohol. I swear, I was the designated driver! For real, lol)
So after that, M apparently took about eight days off work.
I met up with him yesterday, and asked him about what had happened.
M: “Ah, well… how do I put this…
S-chan’s place is, uh, in one of those… mountain villages, you know?
Not to sound rude, but places like that…
They’ve got stuff like that lying around sometimes.
Once Dad got back, we properly enshrined it.
But honestly…
You’re better off not knowing too much.”
He clearly didn’t want to talk about it.
No matter how much I asked, he wouldn’t say anything more.
＿|￣|○
But before we parted, M said one last thing.
M: “What’s inside that box… it’s pure malice.
The real thing.
What’s physically in there is…
well, a bunch of severed fingertips—mostly index fingers—and umbilical cords.
That’s why discrimination is something we can never allow.
Resentment like that… it’s terrifying.
It’s what drives people to make stuff like that.”
M: “Whenever one of those things showed up, my grandpa used to take care of it.
I figured he’d pretty much dealt with all of them in his time…
Never thought I’d have to be the one to handle one myself.
I’ve always just kinda drifted through life and never really got involved in the family stuff,
so yeah… I was freaking out, man. Totally panicked, lol.
Guess I’ll try to learn a bit now…
Not that I’ve got the talent for it, apparently, lol.
And hey—about that stuff I said earlier, about those mountain villages—
don’t go turning that into some kind of discrimination crap, alright?
Keep treating S-chan just like always.
We’re past that kind of nonsense now, man.
It’s dumb as hell.”
Me: “Of course I will, duh. lol
But hey, can I tell people this wild-ass story?”
M: “You really love this stuff, huh?
Even though you can’t see ghosts or anything. lol”
Me: “That’s exactly why I like it.”
M: “Sure, whatever.
It’s not like talking about it’ll make something come after you.
No one’s gonna believe you anyway.
They’ll just say you’re full of shit.
I’ll deny everything, obviously. lol”
And that’s why I decided to post it here.
No worries about the long post—this was a wild ride.
Pretty sure M never imagined his story would reach this many people.
Guy’s hopeless with computers anyway, lol.
And hey… one last thing.
You know, this box…
It reminded me of a story I saw on a thread aggregator.
Something about a wooden box that, when opened, had fingernails and hair inside—
and there was even a slip of paper mentioning Emperor Shōwa or something.
That one.
When M mentioned what was inside his box, that memory came flooding back.
Got me wondering…
Maybe there’s a whole method or tradition behind making those kinds of cursed objects?
Anyway…
I spent all morning putting this whole thing together, and now I’m completely wiped. ＿|￣|○
Also, to whoever >>915 was—
Nope, not Yamaguchi.
Close, but not quite.
It’s a region where October is still called Kami‑ari‑zuki[2].
[2] lit. “the month when the gods gather” (regional name for October in Izumo)
Thanks for waiting.
Wow… this really blew up, huh? Didn’t think it’d get its own thread and everything.
I live way out in the sticks, and honestly, if people start showing up here out of curiosity or whatever…
Yeah, that’d scare the crap out of me.
So please don’t dig too hard into the exact location.
People say discrimination against those communities has faded, but I think it’s just become harder to see.
What worries me more is how that kind of hidden bias could create new forms of discrimination all over again.
That said, yeah—you guys were right. It’s in Shimane Prefecture.
(Was it that obvious? lol)
(Kinda regretting how chatty I’ve been…
but hey, I wanted more info too.
And this place seemed like the best shot at getting it.)
Anyway, things were getting a bit out of hand, so I just called M and S and told them what was going on.
M said, “Even if they figure out where we are, they won’t know anything specific. Chill out, you coward.”
So… yeah. Reassuring, in his own way.
While I had him on the line, I took the chance to ask something I forgot to bring up yesterday.
So I asked him three things:
- Are the people who were there but didn’t directly touch the box—like me and K—gonna be okay?
- What about S’s family, who were apparently messing with the box before bringing it over?
- Seriously, what the hell was that thing!?
I’ve been thinking about it non-stop—can’t even sleep more than six hours a night!
Here’s what M told me:
Answers to 1 & 2:
That thing only affects children and women who can still have children.
So, S’s dad and younger brother? Totally irrelevant.
As for her mom—probably safe too, since she’s likely post-menopausal.
Same goes for her grandma.
And you—A (me)—you’re definitely fine.
He said he was a little worried about K at first,
but since she only touched the box for a short time, it shouldn’t be a problem.
And if anything does happen, his dad will take care of it.
(That day, apparently his dad was out traveling with M’s mom.)
3. As for what that thing actually is…
Turns out, M doesn’t really know the full details himself.
He told me it’s called a Kotori‑bako because it’s a “Child-Taking Box.”
*Whether that’s true or not, I honestly have no idea.
He might’ve just said that to throw me off…
But based on the way he talked yesterday,
I don’t believe for a second that he doesn’t know.
More likely, it’s something he’s deliberately hiding—
which just makes it even scarier… and harder not to wonder about.
Also, someone in the solo thread (>>31) mentioned the term “狐酉” (fox + bird),
but I hadn’t seen that yet when I called, so I didn’t ask.
Still not sure what that part means.
Next—about my conversation with S-chan.
To summarize:
After that day, some workers came by to tear down the old shed.
But apparently there was a bit of a scene with the old man next door.
S said she wants to tell the three of us—M, me, and K—what happened during that whole thing.
She feels like, even though it was terrifying, her curiosity is stronger than her fear.
As someone who was directly involved, she said she just wants to understand what happened—
What that thing really was.
(Gotta say… respect to S-chan for that.)
So I ran it by M, and he said it was okay.
Though… he did stop and think about it for a moment first.
Tomorrow, we’re planning a four-person meeting: M, S, K, and me.
(Though we’re not sure if K will be able to make it.)
Ideally, we’d talk directly with M’s dad, but since M himself is hesitant,
it doesn’t feel right to go over his head and approach his father directly.
Still, if the opportunity arises, I’d like to ask him a few questions.
At this point, I really want to know everything.
Posting here turned out to be a good idea—though I was pretty nervous about it at first, lol.
That said, I don’t want to do anything that would jeopardize my friendships.
So if M, S, or K ever ask me to stop posting, I’ll respect that and stop immediately.
Right now, my curiosity is overriding everything else,
but I do feel a bit guilty about it.
I’m going to write about what happened yesterday.
Fair warning—it’s ridiculously long.
I seriously debated whether or not to post it,
but after the four of us talked it over,
each of us had our own thoughts about it… and in the end, we decided to share it here.
One last thing—I have a small request.
This story turned out to be really long, and putting it all together took time.
On top of that, I was told something pretty shocking by complete chance,
and I’m still kind of shaken up and trying to process it.
Also, the four of us talked for almost five hours straight,
so a lot of the dialogue here is reconstructed from memory—
I’ve done my best to make it sound like natural conversation.
I’ve only included the key points—there’s a lot I’ve left out on purpose.
(For what it’s worth, M and S looked over everything and we made a few edits before posting.)
The writing might be all over the place, but I hope you’ll bear with me.
*Just a quick note:
In this post, I use terms like “village” or “settlement,”
but those aren’t the actual words that were used in the original conversation.
It’s just a convenient way to refer to things here.
Some of those terms can carry heavy or offensive connotations,
so please think of them as redacted or placeholder words.
As of the night of the 6th, the plan was for the four of us involved to meet at my place and hear S’s story.
But S said she wanted her family to be there too—
and also the old man from next door, who had apparently caused a bit of a scene during the shed demolition.
So, instead, we decided to head over to S’s house.
The people present were:
M, S, K, and me (A).
S’s father will be “S-Dad,” her mother “S-Mom,”
her grandmother “S-Gran,” and grandfather “S-Grandpa.”
The elderly man from next door will be “J.”
(S’s younger brother wasn’t there—he was at work.)
Typing out full names is a pain, so I’ll stick with that.
Also, I’ll try to avoid using dialect in this part.
Honestly, most of what J and S-Gran said felt like a completely different language anyway, lol.
So here’s what happened:
S started telling us about what went down when the shed demolition crew showed up.
This was two days after the incident at my house.
On May 23rd, the demolition crew S’s family had hired showed up.
They brought in their equipment and were just about to start work.
That’s when the neighbor—J—walked over and started talking to S-Dad.
When S-Dad told him they were going to tear down the shed,
J began to protest.
Their voices got heated, and S overheard them from inside the house.
She started thinking,
“Maybe… maybe he knows something about that box.”
So she went outside to talk to J.
At that point, she still hadn’t told her family what had happened two days earlier.
When J shouted,
“You can’t tear down that shed!”
S responded with questions like:
“Is this about the box?”
“Do you know what that thing was?”
Hearing that, J looked absolutely stunned.
Like, seriously shaken.
He immediately asked:
“You found the box?”
“What happened to it?”
“Are you okay?”
S explained what had happened at my place,
and J started apologizing over and over, saying:
“It’s my fault… this is my fault…”
Then J said:
“This happened because I didn’t tell you.
Because I kept quiet… this is what it’s come to.
I need to talk to your family sometime soon.”
And with that, he left.
S, still stunned, finally told her dad about what had happened with the box.
She had been planning to talk to the rest of us after hearing J’s side of the story.
But when J didn’t follow up or show any signs of coming to explain things,
she started getting frustrated.
That’s when I happened to call her last night.
And apparently, after that call, she talked to M—
and they both agreed: “If we’re going to do this, it has to be tomorrow.”
So today, she and her dad went to speak with J and convinced him to finally come and share what he knew.
Next, M spoke up.
When S-Dad asked J if he could share what he knew,
J seemed unsure—probably because me and K were in the room.
(Fair enough—we’re outsiders, after all.)
That’s when M said:
“Mind if I speak first?”
And then he began:
“Mr. J…
That box—wasn’t it originally supposed to be in your house?
These days, when people hear the word ‘curse,’ they usually think it’s just some spooky story.
But this box is different.
My grandfather and father told me about it many times.
I even saw them handle it firsthand a few times.
And every time they talked about it,
they were deadly serious.
There’s a proper registry for it, too.
And if I’m not mistaken…
there was a death here once—
because of that box.
An accident, maybe, but still.”
“Since I got involved with the box this time,
and since my dad started feeling something was off,
we went back last night and checked the registry together.
According to the record, the current location for that Shippo pattern box
was listed under your household, Mr. J.
That didn’t add up.
When he saw it, my dad just said, ‘I knew it.’
Normally, our side is under strict orders never to make contact.
That’s the agreement.
But this time…
this is different.
My dad offered to come himself.
But since I was the one who performed the cleansing,
I decided I needed to be the one here today.”
J—and everyone else in the room—just sat in silence, listening.
It was clear this was something only M and J truly understood.
“So here’s the thing, Mr. J.
If the box was indeed at your house,
then it makes sense that S’s father didn’t know anything about it.
I can accept that.
S’s grandfather passed away shortly after receiving the box from the T family, right?
(From what I’ve heard, he’d already passed away by the time we met S in middle school.)
According to the registry, the transfer went:
T family → S’s family → your household—
all within a single year.
That suggests S’s grandfather probably didn’t have time to explain everything to his son.
That, I can understand.
And given the timing laid out in the agreement,
it’s unlikely S’s father would’ve ever had to take on that role anyway.
It was probably supposed to end with either you or the T family.
But here’s the strange part—
the box turned up in S’s house.
That doesn’t add up, does it?”
“To be honest, I’ve never really looked closely at the registry before—
I was never that involved in the family stuff.
But when I sat down with my dad and went over it last night, I was honestly shocked.
Until I heard what S said earlier,
I was still willing to believe maybe this was all just a mistake—
that maybe you didn’t know about the box either.
But… you did know, didn’t you?
You knew, and you didn’t take it when it was passed on to you.
You knew it was still sitting at S’s house, and you said nothing.
Honestly, after the cleansing went okay,
I figured… maybe that would be the end of it.
Even if people asked questions, I could just play dumb.
I thought maybe S’s whole family just didn’t know—
that it was all just some kind of clerical error.
And yeah, I freaked out… I was scared out of my mind.
And even today—
if I hadn’t seen that registry last night with my dad,
I probably wouldn’t have come here at all.
By the original agreement, we’re not supposed to come over to your side of things.
It’s strictly off-limits.
So please…
I’d like you to keep quiet about the fact that I even showed up here today.
But… I guess we’ve reached the point where that’s no longer an option.”
“Yeah… I’m angry.
My dad is too.
But I also get it.
It’s a hell of a thing to be told you have to uphold some promise made by ancestors you’ve never even met.
It’s cruel, in a way.
Wanting to run away—
I understand that too.
I felt the same.
That day, just seeing the box…
I wanted to bolt.
It was only for a few minutes, but I seriously thought about leaving.
Imagine having to store something like that for ten… maybe even dozens of years.
How terrifying that must be.
But if this kind of thing is happening across the whole region,
then we’re going to have serious problems when it comes to dealing with the remaining boxes.
S… she only survived because, by pure coincidence, she didn’t get too close to the box.
And also by chance—
she happened to meet me that day.
If any of that had gone differently… she might’ve died.
And who knows?
Maybe someone else out there is already suffering because of one of the other boxes.
So please—
can you tell us why this happened?
What led to all of this?
Also… this one here—her,”
(gesturing to K)
“She was there.
She’s a woman, and yes—she’s able to have children.
She’s not an outsider.
She’s a victim.
And as for this guy—”
(pointing to me)
“Maybe he’s an outsider.
Maybe not.
His name is ◎○.
That’s not exactly a common name around here, is it?
◎○.”
I had no idea what he meant.
But J looked over at me and said:
“…Ah. I see now…”
Sorry for the wall of text—there’s still about half the story left to go.
Next, I’ll get into what J had to say.
(Some parts were translated for us by S’s parents.)
J: “I suppose I should start by explaining the box.
The Chippō—”
(Side note: we’d been calling it Shippō, but apparently it’s pronounced Chippō.)
That box has been managed jointly by three households:
S’s family, my family, and the T family, which used to live diagonally across from us.
It’s one of the boxes assigned to our group of three houses.
The way it works is this:
The box is passed from house to house in a set rotation.
Each time the current head of the household dies,
the next house in line takes over.
After the funeral, the heir of the next household receives the box
from the heir of the previous keeper.
That heir then holds onto the box until their own death—
and then it’s passed again.
Over and over.
The box’s new keeper is expected to tell their heir about it.
If they don’t have an heir yet,
they’re supposed to wait until they do and then pass the knowledge on.
If they never end up having one…
the box is handed off early to the next house in the rotation.
This is the same for other groups too.
Some rotate between three families, some among four.”
J:
And one more rule—
we’re not supposed to talk about the other groups’ boxes.
Ever.
Each group keeps to its own.”
“The reason the box is rotated between houses
is to gradually weaken what’s inside.
To dilute it, you could say.
Once a family receives the box,
they must never let women or children near it.
The households not currently holding the box
are expected to keep watch over the one that is.
And we’re also supposed to get ofuda—sacred talismans—from M’s family,
and replace the old ones on the box with the new ones.
Once the agreed number of years has passed
and the contents have been sufficiently weakened,
we’re to bring the box to M’s family’s shrine
so it can be properly dealt with.
(That’s part of an old agreement we made with the M Shrine—let’s call it that.)”
M:
“So yeah… my family has been fulfilling that old agreement—
handling the boxes that get brought in…
and performing the rites to lay them to rest.
We also keep a record of every single box
and who’s currently responsible for each one.”
J:
“That’s right.
Originally, I should have taken the box
when S’s grandfather passed away.
But… I was honestly terrified.
I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.
T’s father died—he was the one before S’s family took over.
And then S’s grandfather, who inherited it,
also died soon after.
Even though I knew the box didn’t affect men…
I couldn’t shake the fear.
Every day, I was on edge, wondering when S’s father would come with the box.
But time passed,
and he never came—not after the funeral, not after anything.
That’s when I talked to T—the heir of the T family.
We thought…
maybe S’s dad had never been told.
Maybe this was our chance to escape the cycle.
So first, I tried casually asking S’s father about the box,
just to confirm.
And it was true—
he had no idea.”
J:
“So we kept watching the shed—kept monitoring it—
but left the box in S’s house.
Then T—the one who’d done the ofuda replacement—
moved away shortly after.
To Matsue, I believe.
That way, the other groups might think,
‘Oh, that house finished their turn,’ and not look too closely.
We decided that I—who should’ve inherited the box—
would continue to keep an eye on S’s family.
Then, when the agreed number of years passed,
I’d take the box from the shed
and bring it to the M Shrine.
And… I’m truly, deeply sorry—
But T and I also agreed on one more thing…
Even if, before then,
S or her mother happened to get too close to the box…
and they died—
We figured it wouldn’t be discovered.
Because S’s family didn’t even know about the box.
And everyone is forbidden from speaking about boxes from other groups.
So we thought… no one would ever know.
I’m so sorry.
I really am.
I don’t know anything about what might be happening with the other groups’ boxes.
I want to believe this sort of thing hasn’t happened elsewhere.
I’m so, so sorry…”
J dropped to his knees and bowed deeply—
apologizing over and over again.
S-Dad said that S’s grandfather had warned him not to go near the shed.
And apparently, it always had an eerie feeling to it,
so he just… never did.
Same for S herself.
That’s why they eventually decided to tear it down—
figuring there was no harm in getting rid of it.
While cleaning it out beforehand,
that’s when S stumbled across the box.
S-Dad, S-Mom, and S-Gran were all just… in shock.
Like they couldn’t believe what they were hearing.
But S-Gran—
she seemed different.
Almost like something clicked for her.
She quietly said:
“So that’s why they never let me near that shed…”
M:
“I see…
So that’s how it was.
Even though you didn’t officially take over the box,
you still had to keep watch over it.
In the end, you couldn’t escape it after all.
You suffered too, huh?
If I remember right,
there were still about 19 years left in the cycle, weren’t there?
…Guess even if everything had gone according to plan,
I would’ve been the one to deal with the box anyway, huh?
Funny how that works.” (He gave a wry smile.)
“S-Dad, S-Mom, S-Gran, and S…
I know all of this feels totally unreal right now.
Like something out of a movie.
But it’s real.
As ridiculous as it might seem in this day and age—
it’s all real.
Still…
Please don’t be too hard on Mr. J.
For those who know what that box really is,
it’s something you’d do anything to run away from.
You’d want to escape it at all costs.
Anyway, the box is gone now.
You’re safe.
So please—
try to think of it as just…
a strange story you happened to hear.
And please—
forgive Mr. J.
Forgive him.”
J sat there with his head hung low,
completely silent—
and honestly, it was painful to watch.
Then M spoke again:
“I’m guessing…
everyone here probably wants to know what’s inside that box.
Now that we’ve come this far,
I think it’s only right that you hear the rest.
I don’t know everything—
but I’ll tell you what I do know.
This box is already dealt with,
so I don’t think it’s a problem to talk about it now.
And honestly…
there are only two boxes left.
Chances are, I’ll be the one who has to deal with those too.
So this is part of me accepting that.”
M:
“Also… S-Dad—
you really should’ve known this part.
And A…
if I don’t tell you now,
you’re just gonna keep bugging me about it, huh?
Yeah, I figured.” (He gave a faint smile, but his eyes stayed serious.)
“That box…
It’s called a Kotori‑bako—a ‘child-taking box.’
It was used to store the remains of children
who’d been culled from the population.
It was made sometime between the late 1860s and early 1880s.
Back then, this particular community—
(We don’t actually use the word ‘buraku,’
but I’ll use it here just to explain—though I know it’s a loaded term)—
this was one of the most heavily persecuted and discriminated areas around.
And because of how intense that oppression was,
they ended up resorting to culling children.
It happened pretty often, actually.
This place was under the jurisdiction of △▼ (name of the region),
and…”
M:
“Apparently, the worst of the persecution came directly from △▼.
They wanted more hands to work, so people kept having kids.
But with no proper wages and no way to make ends meet,
they were forced to cull those children.
…In a twisted way, you can almost understand the logic, right?
Now—
around the late 1860s,
you know about the uprising on Oki Island, yeah?
It was put down in about a year,
but one of the rebels—someone involved in the uprising—
ended up fleeing here.
To this community.
He was what they called an ‘island returnee.’
You might’ve learned a little about that in school—
how Oki used to be a pretty wealthy island, right?
Anyway, that guy who came back from the island—
his name was… ◎○.
(Yeah.
Same surname as mine.
I had no idea what to make of that.)”
Let’s call him “AA” from here on.
M:
“So apparently, after the uprising was crushed,
AA was being transported—
but managed to escape at some point.
And he fled all the way here.
To this village.
The people here…
they were afraid.
They figured if they harbored a fugitive,
they’d only bring more persecution on themselves.
So they planned to kill him.
But AA said something like—
‘If you spare me,
I’ll give you a weapon.’
That weapon…
was a small box.
He taught them how to make it.
When the villagers heard what kind of ‘weapon’ it was,
they talked it over,
and in the end…
they agreed to his terms.”
M:
“AA had one more condition.
He said he’d teach them how to make the weapon—the box—
but only if they agreed to let him keep the first one they made.
If they could accept that, he’d teach them.
If not—
then they were free to kill him.
And… they accepted.
He taught them the method.
He also said,
‘Even if you change your mind after hearing how it’s made,
you can stop.
You can even kill me then if you want.’
That’s how cursed these little boxes are.
Even AA must’ve had serious doubts about them.
But he also said something else:
‘Once it’s done… I’ll end my life.
But I still have something I must finish before then.’”
M:
“Now, the method…
I won’t go into all the details—
honestly, it might be better that way.
But first, they had to make an intricately crafted wooden box.
You saw it, right?
That puzzle-like construction?
That was the point—
to make it nearly impossible to open easily.
Apparently, building that box was the hardest part.
Once the box was done,
they filled it with the blood of a female animal—
completely soaked it.
Then they let it sit for a week.
Just before the blood dried up entirely,
they sealed the box shut.
Next comes the part that gives it the name ‘child-taking box.’
You can probably guess.
They placed parts of culled infants inside.
Usually, newborns.
They’d take the umbilical cord…
and the tip of the index finger—just past the first joint.
Then…
they squeezed blood out from the guts…”
M:
“If the child was under seven years old,
they used the tip of the index finger
and squeezed blood from the intestines.
If the child was up to ten,
they just took the tip of the index finger.
Then, the box was sealed.
The number of children—
or rather, their ages—determined the name of the box.
One child made an Ippō.
Two for a Nihō.
Three—Sanpō.
Four—Shippō.
Five—Gohō.
Six—Roppō.
Seven—Chippō.
AA warned them:
‘Never, ever go beyond that.
Seven is the absolute limit.’
Each box was also marked—
a triangle for Ippō,
a square for Nihō, and so on—
to show what it contained.
But for the one he was taking himself—
he asked for eight children.
All under seven.
That box would be called Hakkai—the Eight-Openings.
And in addition to the Hakkai,
he asked for one woman and one more child.
He made them promise—
‘Never make another Hakkai.
Only one. Ever.’
I mean, normally—
hearing something like that…
who would go through with it?
Some shady guy,
telling you to do something that horrific?”
M:
“No matter how poor you are,
just the thought of having to kill your own child…
it’s unbearable.
And on top of that—
to do that to their remains?
But they did it.
Our ancestors here…
they went through with it.
I can’t pretend to understand what they were thinking.
But the persecution must’ve been that severe.
So severe…
that even if it meant sacrificing their own children,
they felt they needed a weapon.
And so they made it.
The first Kotori-bako.
Each household had to talk—
again and again—
about which child to kill.
Can you imagine that?
That kind of conversation?
And eventually…
they did it.
And the Hakkai was born.”
M:
“AA explained what the box could do—
how powerful it was,
and what its effect would be.
He used the woman and child he’d asked for
to demonstrate it.
Their names were… □■ and ＄＊.
(I’m not going to say them here.)
And the eight children sacrificed to create the box…
_________.
(Yeah, you’ve probably heard those names before.
We know them too.
But… I’m sorry.
I can’t say them.)
As for the effect—
it’s what I told A earlier.
The box kills women and children.
Slowly.
And with unbearable suffering.”
M:
“For some reason…
their internal organs would start tearing apart—bit by bit.
You didn’t even have to touch the box.
Just being near it was enough.
And after the villagers witnessed what it could do,
they decided to make another.
The first box they made for themselves
was a Chippō.
That’s the one I ended up purifying.
Seven children…
turned into a box.
And in less than two weeks,
fifteen children and one woman were dead.
Unbelievable, right?
It’s hard to even imagine in today’s world.
It’s… just cruel.
They took that finished box
and offered it up to the village headman of △▼.
As a ‘token of goodwill’—a gesture of appreciation.
What happened to his family…
it was horrific.
The women and children…
vomiting blood, suffering in agony, dying slow, painful deaths.
And then,
the villagers sent word to the higher-ups in △▼,
and even to the neighboring regions:
‘We will never forgive what you’ve done to us.
But if you leave us alone—
we’ll do nothing.
Let us be,
and we won’t ever set foot in your lands again.
Even those working in △▼ will never return.’”
M:
“They also said this:
If you ever try to retaliate—
we’ll unleash this curse again.
Return the box we gave your headman.
Immediately.
Don’t ask why we want to be left alone.
Don’t try to spread rumors.
Just… leave us be.
And from that point forward,
we’ll continue to make these boxes.
They claimed there were already seven.
…I’m guessing that was just a bluff.
At least, I want to believe it was.
I mean—
back then, most people in the village couldn’t even read or write.
No offense, but there’s no way they came up with all this on their own.
This had to be AA’s doing.
His planning.
Anyway, △▼ and the surrounding areas…
they agreed to all the terms.
And after that,
word must’ve spread—
at least as a rumor.
Because overnight,
all interference with the village completely stopped.
But even then…
the adults in the village kept going.
They kept making the boxes.
AA was gone by then.
But he left behind instructions on how to manage them.
The biggest one:
Never let women or children near the box.”
M:
“The boxes had to be kept
in dark, damp places.
Always.
And the curse inside them—
it would weaken, gradually, over the years.
If a box was no longer needed,
or if it became too dangerous to keep,
there was only one place to turn:
They had to be taken to a shrine that worshipped ○.
Not a temple.
It had to be a shrine—
and one that specifically enshrined ○.
That was the only way to dispose of them.
The villagers kept making boxes
for thirteen years.
But aside from the first one,
they only made a new box
when they absolutely had to cull a child.
When they did,
they kept the body parts and blood
and placed them into pre-made boxes,
set aside for that purpose.
And when they killed the children…
They told them—
‘Curse △▼.
Hate △▼.’
That was how they coped.
Redirecting the guilt,
trying to make it someone else’s fault.
By the thirteenth year…
they’d completed sixteen boxes.
Six Ippō,
two Nihō,
five Gohō,
three Chippō.
That’s fifty-six children, at least.
And that’s just counting the finished ones.
There were failures, too.
So the true number…
was probably even higher.”
M:
“And then—
in the thirteenth year—
it happened.
An incident.
At the time,
all of the boxes were being kept in a single location.
They even had people assigned to watch over them.
But still, it happened.
An eleven-year-old boy
managed to slip past the guards
and took one of the boxes.
And the worst part?
It was a Chippō.
The strength of the curse increases
with the number of children inside.
Ippō is the weakest.
The more, the worse it gets.
And this one…
had just been completed.
You’ve seen what they look like, right?
The way S played with it like a puzzle—
that’s the danger.
The box was made
to draw a child’s curiosity.
It looked like a fun toy.
So the boy brought it home.
That same day,
he died.
And so did all the children and women in that house.
It was the first time
the villagers truly felt the horror of what they’d created.
They realized—
these weapons,
if mishandled,
could turn on them too.”
M:
“And once it turns on you—
once it bares its fangs—
you won’t have time to react.
People die.
No question.
So the villagers, terrified beyond belief,
decided to get rid of the boxes.
I’m sure you can guess what happened next.
Five representatives came to my family’s shrine.
They begged my ancestor to take the boxes
and dispose of them.
But my ancestor—
realizing how powerful they were—
proposed a method to dilute the curse.
The same one J mentioned earlier.
Each box would be kept for a certain number of years
before being handed off.
And they were never to be brought to the shrine
before their designated time.
Likewise,
the shrine was never to make contact with the village.
When a box’s caretaker died,
the next family had to report it.
The number of years required per box
was likely decided by my ancestor.
A rough estimate based on its strength.
For example—
an Ippō might need 110 years.
A Chippō? 140, maybe more.
The point was to make sure
no one could just run away from their responsibility.
So the villagers split into groups.
Each group had one representative.
That representative took a specific box to their group,
and informed the shrine which box went where.
Then…
the representative was killed.
That way,
no one could trace who had which box,
or for how long they were supposed to keep it.
And from then on,
talking about the boxes outside your own group
was absolutely forbidden.
Why didn’t they manage them collectively?
Well…
my grandpa once told me this.”
M:
“Maybe the idea was—
instead of spreading the responsibility thin across everyone,
they’d burden a few with so much
they couldn’t escape it.
And so, once each box passed its required years,
it would finally be brought to the shrine and purified.
My grandfather…
He just had bad luck.
The timing.
Most of the boxes reached their year mark
during his generation and my great-grandfather’s.
So they had to deal with almost all of them.
Except the Chippō.
That one had an unusually long term.
And it fell on me.
I always thought it was far off—
so I never really prepared for it.
But I guess now…
I have to start taking it seriously.
That’s it.
Everything I know about the boxes.
All of it.
And the one I exorcised—
that Chippō…
It was the first one ever made.”
And one more thing—
M told me this over the phone earlier:
“I don’t know how the number of years for each box was decided.
Maybe my ancestor knew something more about the boxes.
Or maybe AA—the man who taught them all this—
asked for it to be that way.
I really don’t know.”
—And that’s everything that happened last night.
Honestly,
this all sounds like something ripped straight out of a pulp horror novel.
Even I—having witnessed it with my own eyes—
can’t make sense of it all.
It’s too much.
I seriously debated whether or not to post this.
This is clearly taboo.
If any of the people involved in this village’s history saw it here,
I know it would be a huge problem.
They’d want this buried, not shared.
But… M said it himself:
only two boxes remain—both Chippō.
He promised he’d take care of them.
Still, even after everything we heard, there are just too many questions left unanswered.
So—
this is the request I mentioned at the beginning.
If you’ve read this far, and you know anything that might relate to this story,
please let me know.
I know I can’t give details.
I can’t name names.
And I’m sorry for that.
But this is personal now.
We just want to understand.
Even M and his dad—despite everything they know—have gaps in what they were told.
S, her family, K… all of us feel the same.
We want to know the truth.
Maybe—just maybe—
someone out there can help us fill in the blanks.
I know it all sounds ridiculously far-fetched.
Like some creepy internet hoax.
But it’s real to us.”
Honestly,
if I hadn’t seen that box with my own eyes,
I probably wouldn’t believe any of this either. lol
There’s still so much I don’t understand.
Who exactly was this AA guy?
Where did he come from in the first place?
How did he even learn how to make those boxes?
Why was he in Oki to begin with?
And what happened to that first box—the one they called “Hakkai”?
Where did it go?
What did AA do with it?
What became of him?
I remember learning in school that Oki was where political prisoners from the Kyoto area were exiled.
So… is this box-making technique something that originated around Kyoto?
To be honest, part of me just wants to know for personal reasons.
I’m curious if any of this connects to my own roots.
Back when my parents were alive,
they told me that my dad’s side of the family came from Oki,
but I never learned much more than that.
My sisters don’t know anything about it either,
and my grandma on my mom’s side wouldn’t have a clue.
So… yeah.
There’s a chance I might be connected to AA somehow.
I don’t know for sure.
But I’d like to find out.”
If anyone out there knows local history or folklore—
have you ever come across the word “Hakkai”?
Any mention of something like it in old regional tales or historical records?
We don’t even know where the names of these boxes came from.
But just my guess...
Maybe “Ippō” and “Nihō” came from words like “one-seal,” “two-seal.”
And “Hakkai” might mean “eight-openings” or “eight-unsealings”? I’m not sure.
I know I’m asking a lot here—
I can’t even reveal our real names, or our location, or other key details.
I understand how unfair that is.
But if you know anything, any little clue or connection—please, let us know.
I plan to start looking into this myself.
I’ll check the local libraries, dig into old books on regional history.
And if I find anything worth sharing, I’ll come back here and post it.
Thanks for reading all this.
And really... thank you in advance if you have any information at all.
One last thing—
About that final part, the story M told at the end.
To be honest, I may have slipped in some of my own thoughts or reactions,
mixed in with M’s words as I wrote it down.
M even said to me, “I don’t talk like that! It sounds way too cool!”
And yeah, he’s probably right.
But it was just… that powerful.
The whole thing hit me so hard, I couldn’t just repeat it word for word and move on.
It stuck with me, deep. I had to try and express that.
Maybe that’s selfish. Maybe I overstepped.
But I hope you’ll forgive me for that.
Anyway—thank you.
Thank you for sticking with this long story and reading it through to the end.
