Hasshaku-sama

[yokonaga]

908 Name: 1/9 Posted: 2008/08/26(Tue) 09:45:56 ID:VFtYjtRn0

My dad’s hometown is a little less than a two-hour drive from my place.
It’s a farming village, and I love the atmosphere.
Once I got a motorcycle in high school, I’d ride over alone every summer or winter break.
Grandpa and Grandma were always happy—“Thanks for coming!”
But the last time I went was right before senior year—more than ten years ago now.
I didn’t **choose** to stay away; I **couldn’t** go back. Here’s why.

During spring break—clear blue sky—I rode the bike to Grandpa’s.
It was still cold, but the wide verandah was warm in the sun, so I lounged there awhile. Then I heard it:

“Popo, popoppo, po, pop…”

A strange sound, not mechanical—more like someone’s voice, blurring between voiced and half-voiced consonants.
Looking around, I spotted a hat gliding above the hedge in the yard.
It wasn’t sitting on the hedge; it moved sideways.
When it reached a gap, I saw her—a woman in a pale dress, wearing that hat.

The hedge is about two meters tall. For her head to clear it—how tall **was** she…
Stunned, I watched her glide out of sight; the hat vanished too.
And the “popopo” sound faded with her.

909 Name: 2/9 Posted: 2008/08/26(Tue) 09:46:59 ID:VFtYjtRn0
I figured it was either a very tall woman in insane platforms or a tall guy cross-dressed.

Later, over tea, I told Grandpa and Grandma.
“I saw this huge woman—maybe a guy in drag.”
They only said, “Oh?”
But when I added, “She was taller than the hedge, wearing a hat, making a ‘popopo’ sound,”
they froze—literally stopped moving.

Grandpa’s face hardened.
“When did you see her? Where? Exactly how much taller than the hedge?”
After grilling me he fell silent, went to the hall phone and called someone.
The sliding door was shut; I couldn’t hear the talk.
Grandma seemed to be trembling.

When Grandpa came back he said, “You’re staying the night. No— you **can’t** go home today.”
Had I done something terrible? I racked my brain—nothing came.
I hadn’t sought her out; she appeared on her own.

“Grandma, take care of things. I’m going to fetch Ksan,” he said, and drove off in the mini-truck.

910 Name: 3/9 Posted: 2008/08/26(Tue) 09:48:03 ID:VFtYjtRn0
I asked Grandma, and she whispered,
“It seems you’ve caught the eye of **Hasshaku-sama**. Grandpa will handle it—don’t worry.”

While we waited, she spoke in fragments:

In this area there’s something troublesome called **Hasshaku-sama**—an enormous woman, eight *shaku* (over 2.4 m) tall.
She laughs in a deep voice, “bobo-bobo.”
People see her differently: a young woman in mourning black, an old lady in formal kimono, a farmwife in work clothes—
but always an unnaturally tall female, something atop her head, and that eerie laugh.
Legend says a wandering spirit brought her here long ago.
She’s sealed inside our district by **Jizō** statues and never leaves.

*Jizō statues — Buddhist guardian figures believed to protect travelers and children.*

If Hasshaku-sama fancies you, she kills you within days.
The last victim was about fifteen years ago.

Later I learned: four boundary roads lead out of the district.
Village elders placed Jizō statues at each exit to block her path—four seals.
Why keep such a horror instead of expelling it?
Old villages traded concessions—water rights, etc.—figuring a once-in-years death was worth the bargain.

911 Name: 4/9 Posted: 2008/08/26(Tue) 09:49:15 ID:VFtYjtRn0
None of it felt real—until Grandpa returned with an elderly woman.

“A terrible fix, boy. Keep this on you,” said **Ksan**, handing me a talisman.
She and Grandpa went upstairs to do something.
Grandma stayed glued to me—even followed me to the toilet, refusing to let the door fully close.
Only then did I realize how bad it was.

Soon they brought me upstairs into a room.
Every window was papered over with newspaper and talismans; the four corners held cones of **Morishio**.

*Morishio is a traditional Japanese practice: small salt mounds set to purify and ward off evil.*

A small wooden box—hardly a proper altar—held a tiny Buddha statue.
They’d even fetched two chamber pots: evidently my toilet for the night.

“Sun sets soon,” Grandpa said. “Until seven a.m. don’t leave this room.
Grandma and I will neither call you nor speak to you.
At seven sharp you come out. I’ve notified your folks.”

Ksan added, “Keep the talisman on you. If anything happens, pray before the Buddha.”

912 Name: 5/9 Posted: 2008/08/26(Tue) 09:50:22 ID:VFtYjtRn0
They said TV was fine, but I couldn’t focus.
Grandma had left rice balls and snacks, yet I huddled in the futon, shaking.

I must have dozed off. When I woke a late-night show was on; my watch read 1 a.m.

Then—tap tap—something knocked on the window.
Like fingers, not pebbles. Wind? Someone? I forced myself to believe it was wind.
I cranked the TV volume.

Grandpa’s voice called: “Hey, you okay? If you’re scared you can come out.”
I neared the door—then remembered his warning.
Again: “Come on out if you like.”

It sounded exactly like Grandpa—but it **wasn’t** Grandpa.
Goose-bumps erupted. A glance at the Morishio: its tops had turned black.

913 Name: 6/9 Posted: 2008/08/26(Tue) 09:51:23 ID:VFtYjtRn0
I knelt before the Buddha, clutched the talisman, and prayed: “Please help me!”

Then—

“Popoppo, po, popo…”

That voice. The glass went *ton ton*, *ton ton*.
I pictured those long arms stretching up to rap the pane.

All I could do was pray.

The night felt endless, but morning came.
The TV was on the news; 7:13 flashed in the corner.
The tapping, the voice—gone.
I must have blacked out. The salt mounds were pitch black.

I cracked the door: Grandma and Ksan waited in worry.
Grandma wept, “Thank goodness!”

Downstairs, Dad had arrived.
Grandpa poked his head in—“Get in the truck!”
In the yard waited a nine-seat van and several men.

914 Name: 7/9 Posted: 2008/08/26(Tue) 09:52:24 ID:VFtYjtRn0
They sat me in the middle seat; Ksan took shotgun; the men filled every other seat—nine in all, surrounding me.

“Listen,” a gray-haired man on my right said.
“Keep your eyes closed and head down. We can’t see it, but **you** might.
Don’t open your eyes until we say.”

The convoy rolled out: Grandpa’s truck first, our van, Dad’s car behind—barely twenty km/h.

Ksan murmured, “Here comes the hard part,” and began a chant.

“Popopo, po, pop, popopo…”

The voice again.
Clutching the talisman, I shut my eyes—yet peeked.

Outside the window: a pale dress matching our speed.
Long strides keeping pace.
The head bent, trying to peer inside.

I squeaked, “Hii!”
“Don’t look!” the man barked.

915 Name: 8/9 Posted: 2008/08/26(Tue) 09:53:50 ID:VFtYjtRn0
*Tap tap tap*—knuckles on glass.

Even those who couldn’t see it let out short gasps.
Ksan’s chant grew louder.

At last the sound and voice ceased.
“We’re through,” Ksan sighed. The men exhaled in relief.

The vehicles stopped at a wide spot; Dad moved me to his car.
Ksan inspected my talisman—it had turned almost black. She gave me a fresh one.

We headed home. Grandpa later delivered my bike.
Dad knew of Hasshaku-sama; a childhood friend had died after being marked.
Others had moved away to escape.

The van riders were distant relatives—blood kin to confuse Hasshaku-sama’s focus.
If worst came, Grandpa or Dad meant to act as decoys.

916 Name: 9/9 Posted: 2008/08/26(Tue) 09:54:54 ID:VFtYjtRn0
Gathering seven men on such short notice was hard, so I spent that sealed night.
I was warned never to visit again.

Later I asked Grandpa by phone if he’d called to me that night—he swore he hadn’t.
A chill ran down my spine.

Hasshaku-sama targets mostly children and teens.
A frightened kid hears a loved one’s voice and lets down their guard.

Ten years passed, memories fading—until Grandma phoned:
“Someone smashed one of the Jizō statues sealing Hasshaku-sama—the one on the road to your house.”

(Grandpa had died two years earlier; bedridden, he’d insisted I mustn’t come.)

I tell myself it’s superstition, yet part of me still fears hearing that “popopo…”

outro

Explaining the name “Hasshaku-sama” (八尺様)

Hachi (八) means “eight.”
Shaku (尺) is an old Japanese unit of length, rarely used today.
• 1 shaku ≈ 30.3 cm (about 1 ft).
• Eight shaku ≈ 2.4 m (about 7 ft 10 in).

So the name literally describes a woman roughly 2 meters 40 centimeters tall—far taller than any normal human, which heightens the creature’s uncanny, monstrous image.

Questions? Drop them in the comments.