Lord Kuchinā

Original author: “Scary Story Submission – HorrorTeller,” by Kaisei (2010/09/30 19:57)

Grandpa, who still lives out in the country, is missing the first knuckle bone of his left pinky.
If you pinch it, the tip squashes flat and bends freely in any direction.
When I was little I thought it was amazing. “Eww, Grandpa, that’s so cool! Why? Why?” I’d squeal.
He’d just grin and joke, “Well now—my cute grandkid’s got Grandpa weak in the bones!”
But when I reached primary school he finally told me the real reason.

Below is Grandpa (Masao)’s own account.

See that old shrine on the hill above our village?
It’s what they call a goryō shrine*1—one that enshrines the spirit of a real person who was executed on suspicion of treason or some other crime (Dazaifu Tenmangū is another).
The faith behind goryō shrines is basically onryō worship*2: you build the shrine to pacify the soul so it won’t become a vengeful god.

The deity honored here is named ○○—I’ve forgotten the exact reading, something-maro?
Among the elders, though, we simply call him Lord Kuchinā.

They say Lord Kuchinā sometimes disguises himself as a snake or a woman and comes down into the village.
That’s why snakes are revered here as his incarnations—killing one is strictly forbidden.
He is also venerated as a god who rules over bones: pregnant women or parents with little children visit the shrine so their youngsters will grow up strong.

Trouble is, Lord Kuchinā has a fearsome temper.

Long ago, a notorious wastrel in the village took offense when a certain girl treated him coldly.
For revenge he skewered live snakes on branches and planted them like stakes in her family’s field.
The girl’s family turned pale. “Such blasphemy…” they whispered as they gathered the snakes, now dead in a sea of blood, and buried them with care in the garden.

A few days later divine punishment struck.

The boy’s bones began to creak and burn with pain. For three days and nights he writhed in bed, screaming,
“Pain—pain! My bones are on fire!” His parents nursed him frantically.
Indeed, his entire skeleton seemed to melt: arms, head—the boy could lift nothing on his own.
The doctor said, “I’ve never seen an illness like this. It may truly be a curse.”

On the fourth day the boy vanished. He couldn’t possibly have stood up, yet he was gone.
His parents searched the nearby hills—and found something in that same field.
A grotesque shape in the outline of their son, limbs bending the wrong way, writhing like it was dancing.
As they crept closer they saw his face: eyes, nose, mouth sagging downward, skin slack with no bone to hold it—an expression that looked like weeping.

The sight drove his parents mad.

(This resembles the famous internet legend “Kune-kune,” but Grandpa isn’t sure if it’s the same.
In his region the phenomenon is called “snake-turning” (jange) or, in slang, “scarecrow.”
It’s feared as Lord Kuchinā’s curse—something you must never look at.)

*1 Goryō shrine – A Shintō shrine built to appease the angry spirit of a wronged historical figure.
*2 Onryō worship – The ancient belief that vengeful ghosts must be placated through ritual or deification, lest they bring calamity.

…So yes, Lord Kuchinā is terrifying—but believe it or not, I actually met him.

I was about your age when it happened.

That day my friend Kanji and I climbed the mountain in search of shed snakeskins. Around here they’re prized for good luck; hand one to an adult and you might get food in return.

We got so absorbed that we didn’t notice we’d wandered all the way to the shrine’s torii gate—the place we’d been warned, “Never go near there without an adult.”

Masao: “Kanji—we’ve reached the gate. Best not go any farther.”
Kanji: “Aye, we should head back.”

Just then a woman appeared on the path ahead.

Instead of the work clothes village women wear, she was dressed in a pale, yukata-like kimono.

I whispered, afraid we’d be scolded for trespassing.

Masao: “This is bad. Do we apologize? Or run?”
Kanji: “…Huh? What are you on about? Who’s there?”

Kanji peered around, squinting into the distance—the woman was visible only to me.

She drew close enough for her face to come into focus.

That’s when I realized she wasn’t human.

Most striking were her eyes: they were a snake’s eyes.

Small, set wide apart, with those reptile slits—vertical pupils like knife cuts.

Her nose was narrow, her mouth tiny; her whole frame was slender.

I froze like a frog under a serpent’s gaze.

Kanji: “Hey, what’s wrong? Let’s go home.”

His voice sounded strangely far away.

The woman’s snake-eyes blinked—and suddenly her long limbs bent in impossible directions.
Like a marionette with cut strings, or a rubber doll, she folded joint after joint at absurd angles.
The worst part: she tilted her head to the side…and just kept tilting until it hung completely upside-down in front of her chest, all while the rest of her body stayed upright.

My blood drained away; I shook so hard I couldn’t breathe.

She watched my reaction and grinned. With that upside-down face now level with mine, she peered in and asked,

“You can see me, can’t you?”

Stupid kid that I was, I shook my head like mad and squeaked, “I can’t see you!!”

Her smile widened.
“Oh, but you can see me. Cheeky brat.”

My legs buckled; tears blurred everything; Kanji was saying something beside me, but I couldn’t hear a word. I just squeezed my eyes shut and whimpered, “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

The woman shuddered from head to toe—bones cracking back into place—until she looked almost human again. Still grinning, she stroked my left hand and said,

“I’ll come for you tonight. Wait for me.”

Then she turned with a wavering motion and drifted back toward the torii.

I bawled the whole way down the mountain, dragging Kanji, and told my family—who were working the fields—what had happened. Father and Mother went pale while I was still talking, and they immediately summoned the shrine’s priest to our house.

The priest listened to every detail of what I’d seen. His face turned grim.

“Let me see your left hand,” he said, almost scolding.

I held out the hand the woman had stroked. He pinched and tugged each finger, inspecting them carefully.

“ …Your little finger—its tip is gone.”

Still frowning, he let go.

I blinked, shocked. When I touched the finger myself, the first joint was indeed soft and boneless—something I hadn’t noticed until then.

“The boy definitely saw Lord Kuchinā,” the priest said.
“For more than ten years no one has claimed to see him; we let our guard down. It seems the deity has … taken a liking to this child.”

Even at that age I felt uneasy about the phrase “taken a liking,” and Father voiced it for me.

“What do you mean, taken a liking? If Kuchinā-sama is angry, won’t he turn the boy into a scarecrow*1?”

The priest answered, calm but resonant.

“No—because a part of the child has already been taken. He won’t be made into a scarecrow. But it’s still troublesome. Lord Kuchinā pulled the bone from the pinky to leave a mark. Most likely he intends to come for the boy tonight.”

Father’s hoarse voice cut in. “Come for him? What will happen to my son?”

The priest hesitated, then spoke.

“In short … the child will become a part of Lord Kuchinā. Plainly put—he will be eaten. Those who can see the deity possess matching power and resonance. Kuchinā-sama means to absorb that power and grow stronger.”

The image of that snake-eyed woman crunching me to bits flashed through my mind; I burst into tears.

“Still, it’s too early to lose hope,” the priest said. “I’ll speak to Lord Kuchinā directly. In the meantime, you must follow my instructions exactly.”

I lay sobbing on Mother’s lap while the priest wrapped my left pinky in hemp twine and a tiny ofuda*2, then took his leave.

*1 Scarecrow (kakashi) — local name for victims twisted into boneless, writhing shapes, akin to the urban-legend creature “Kune-kune.”
*2 Ofuda — a small inscribed charm or talisman used in Shintō to ward off evil spirits.

By evening a crowd gathered at our house—mostly kids my age and their parents. Kanji was there too.
One by one, Father and Mother wrapped each child’s left pinky with the same hemp cord and ofuda that were on mine.

The priest had said it was “to fool Lord Kuchinā’s eyes.”

After tying the cord, my parents bowed and spoke quietly with each family before sending them home.

Later I asked, “What were you talking about?”

Mother replied, “We asked them to help keep you from being found too quickly. Kuchinā-sama is supposed to visit every house tonight, but it seems most people can’t see him.”

I sniffled, terrified. “Will everybody get eaten?”

“No,” she said softly. “Children who still have the bone in their pinky are safe. And with the hemp cord on, Kuchinā-sama can’t tell who does or doesn’t. So we begged them not to take the cord off until morning. If he realizes we’re hiding you on purpose… he’ll be furious.”

She told me everything to calm me, yet it only made me more anxious.
What if someone slips the cord off? Will they turn into a scarecrow? What if my own cord comes loose by mistake…?

Night fell.

No one knew when, where, or in what form Lord Kuchinā might appear.
Every tiny sound pulled my nerves taut, then slack again. I could hardly eat dinner.

Afterward I went to bathe with Father.

The moment he slid the bath door open my heart turned to ice.

A woman was in the tub.

Her back faced us as she soaked, long hair drifting in the water like seaweed.
She was still wearing that pale yukata from the afternoon.

There was no doubt—Lord Kuchinā stood right before me.

I slammed the door shut and shook uncontrollably.
Father understood at once.

“Run and he’ll know,” he whispered. “Whatever happens, don’t meet her eyes—don’t let her realize you see her. I’ll protect you. Act normal.”

He lifted me in his arms and we stepped inside.

When the door slid open again, the woman’s face was right in front of mine—literally nose-to-nose. She’d risen from the water.
Drenched, reptilian eyes locked onto me.

Her voice hissed at my ear:

“You can see me, can’t you?”

Unlike before, she wasn’t smiling; she seemed irritated, maybe after visiting several houses already.

I pretended not to hear and looked at Father.
Rarely a man to smile, he beamed exaggeratedly and boomed, “Hey now—need to pee so bad you’d run out naked? Do it right here if you must!”

Trying not to cry, I forced a grin and nodded.
(Truth is, I lost control right there in his arms.)

I washed and soaked as normally as I could, while the woman kept pushing that uncanny face close:

“Hey… you can see me, can’t you? You can really see me, right?”

At the end she slowly stroked my left hand—
(I wet myself again)—clicked her tongue in frustration, “Tch…,” and vanished.

I was a mess of sweat, tears, and snot, but thankfully the bathwater hid it all.
Even after she disappeared I shook nonstop; the whole night Father and Mother took turns holding me.

The next morning everyone who’d helped out—parents and kids alike—climbed the mountain to the shrine.
No one but me had actually seen Lord Kuchinā.

The priest looked exhausted, but managed a smile.
“It’s over. Kuchinā-sama has lost interest in the boy. You may remove the cords and ofuda.”

He said incidents like this surface every few decades, and the village always survives the same way; yet sometimes the “decoy” children pull their cords off, or Kuchinā-sama realizes which child can see him, and that one is spirited away.*1
When the god does consume someone, he appears as a giant serpent and swallows the victim whole—there’s even an old picture scroll of it in the shrine.

The villagers cheered. Kanji burst into tears, laughing, “Great—just great!”
(We still got a good thumping later for going near the shrine unsupervised.)

“Fifty years have passed,” Grandpa finished.
“My left pinky stayed floppy even after I grew up. Lord Kuchinā never showed himself to me again. Doctors only scratch their heads—but it doesn’t really hinder me.”

Then he leaned toward my wide-eyed younger self, put on a scary face, and warned:
“So never go near that shrine without adults, understand?”

The hemp cord and ofuda from that night still rest in a little amulet pouch, kept safe to this day.

Grandpa’s still spry; whenever he goes to the seniors’ club he flashes his boneless pinky at new lady members and jokes,
“Oh dear—looks like you’ve got me boneless!”
According to him, it’s a guaranteed laugh every time.

*1 Spirited away (kamikakushi) — disappearance attributed to supernatural abduction in Japanese folklore.