NOPPERABŌ

のっぺらぼう

ALSO KNOWN AS "MUJINA"

Name: Maria DelGrande

Place/Book/Story of Origin: Kwaidan by Lafcadio Hearn (the story titled "Mujina")

THE FOLKTALE

"Mujina" by Lafcadio Hearn (Koizumi Yakumo)

from Kwaidan (1904)

On the Akasaka Road, in Tôkyô, there is a slope called Kii-no-kuni-zaka, — which means the Slope of the Province of Kii. I do not know why it is called the Slope of the province of Kii. On one side of this slope you see an ancient moat, deep and very wide, with high green banks rising up to some place of gardens; — and on the other side of the road extend the long and lofty walls of an imperial palace. Before the era of street-lamps and jinrikishas, this neighborhood was very lonesome after dark; and belated pedestrians would go miles out of their way rather than mount the Kii-no-kuni-zaka, alone, after sunset.

All because of a Mujina that used to walk there.

The last man who saw the Mujina was an old merchant of the Kyôbashi quarter, who died about thirty years ago. This is the story, as he told it :—

One night, at a late hour, he was hurrying up the Kii-no-kuni-zaka, when he perceived a woman crouching by the moat, all alone, and weeping bitterly. Fearing that she intended to drown herself, he stopped to offer her any assistance or consolation in his power. She appeared to be a slight and graceful person, handsomely dressed; and her hair was arranged like that of a young girl of good family. "O-jochû," he exclaimed, approaching her,— "O-jochû, do not cry like that!... Tell me what the trouble is; and if there be any way to help you, I shall be glad to help you." (He really meant what he said; for he was a very kind man.) But she continued to weep,— hiding her face from him with one of her long sleeves. "O-jochû," he said again, as gently as he could,— "please, please listen to me! ... This is no place for a young lady at night! Do not cry, I implore you!— only tell me how I may be of some help to you!"

O-jochû: ("honorable damsel"),— a polite form of address used in speaking to a young lady whom one does not know.

Slowly she rose up, but turned her back to him, and continued to moan and sob behind her sleeve. He laid his hand lightly upon her shoulder, and pleaded:— "O-jochû!— O-jochû!— O-jochû!... Listen to me, just for one little moment!... O-jochû!— O-jochû!"

...Then that O-jochû turned round, and dropped her sleeve, and stroked her face with her hand;— and the man saw that she had no eyes or nose or mouth,— and he screamed and ran away.

Up Kii-no-kuni-zaka he ran and ran; and all was black and empty before him. On and on he ran, never daring to look back; and at last he saw a lantern, so far away that it looked like the gleam of a firefly; and he made for it. It proved to be only the lantern of an itinerant soba-seller, who had set down his stand by the road-side; but any light and any human companionship was good after that experience; and he flung himself down at the feet of the old soba-seller, crying out, "Aa!— aa!!— aa!!!"...

"Kore! Kore!" roughly exclaimed the soba-man. "Here! what is the matter with you? Anybody hurt you?"

"No— nobody hurt me," panted the other,— "only... Aa!— aa!"...

"— Only scared you?" queried the peddler, unsympathetically. "Robbers?"

"Not robbers,— not robbers," gasped the terrified man... "I saw... I saw a woman— by the moat;— and she showed me... Aa! I cannot tell you what she showed me!"...

"He! Was it anything like THIS that she showed you?" cried the soba-man, stroking his own face— which therewith became like unto an Egg... And, simultaneously, the light went out.

WHAT IS A NOPPERABŌ?

This is the tale of the nopperabō. It is one of many supernatural folktales told in Japan about yōkai (a Japanese creature or force of supernatural origin). This yōkai looks every bit like a human, except that it is featureless. Its face is described as blank with no protrusions – “a face as smooth as an egg” (The Book of Yōkai 208).

Many different versions of the nopperabō tale occur across Japan. One way in which the stories differ is with the human identities of the two nopperabō. The crying woman could be an old woman or someone singing in the mountains, and the second nopperabō could be a villager, a soba seller, or even someone the protagonist knows. Nonetheless, the traveler will always run into two nopperabō, and they will always appear human and scare the traveler using their “normal,” vulnerable appearances. Similarly, the identity and motivations of the protagonist can change, as well as the locations they visit on their travels. However, they will always be traveling through nature, usually through a forest or over a mountain, and it will always be dark out. Sometimes the lantern goes out, sometimes the traveler faints, and in a few of the more macabre retellings, the traveler dies shortly after their nopperabō encounter.

Mujina by Matthew Meyer

The name of the yōkai also varies somewhat depending on the folktale’s geographical location of origin, although they all remain relatively similar. In Aomori Prefecture, for instance, the yōkai is called a zunberabō. In Kumamoto Prefecture, it is called nopperabōn (The Book of Yōkai 209). The important takeaway here is that, although the details of the story may differ, tales of nopperabō all follow the same plot structure. Therefore folklorists can conclude that these stories are all about nopperabō, despite the varying names ascribed to the yōkai.

The most famous version of the nopperabō tale was recorded by the Japanese folklore scholar, Lafcadio Hearn, in his book, Kwaidan (transl. Spooky Tales). The name of this version is titled “Mujina,” and the story refers to the yōkai that the traveler encounters as “mujina,” not nopperabō. And yet, this is one of the first, as well as the most famous, recording of the nopperabō tale. So why is this tale titled “Mujina”, not “Nopperabō”? To understand, we need to understand the meaning of mujina and how the term relates to nopperabō.

WHAT IS A MUJINA?

a Japanese badger (Meles anakuma)

Lafcadio Hearn’s tale uses the term mujina instead of nopperabō. To understand the relationship between these terms, we must first understand their translation and meaning. The Japanese language has two words for “badger”: anaguma and mujina. The term anaguma is the word for a physical badger that you would find in a zoo (the scientific classification for Japanese badger is Meles anakuma). The term mujina, however, is used primarily in Japanese folklore to refer to a badger yōkai known for shape-shifting into humanoids (The Book of Yōkai 193).

Stories of the mujina began very early in Japanese history. The earliest record of a tale involving a mujina assuming the shape of a man occurred in the Nihon Shoki (transl. The Chronicles of Japan), circa 627 AD (Akutagawa 359-362). It tells the story of a girl living in Michinoku, who regularly meets up with her lover, at night and in secret. On nights when she cannot sneak out, her lover sings sadly outside her house. One night, her mother asks her who is singing, and the girl, not wanting to be caught, invents a tale that it is a badger singing. Gossip of this tale spreads throughout the town, to the point where the lovers are forgotten and everyone is telling stories about how they have seen or heard this singing badger, instead. The story culminates in an actual badger seen singing by the river. This story is about the strength of imagination, and how the human mind has the ability to bring the supernatural to life. Not wanting to get in trouble, the girl invents a small lie, and that small lie grows bigger with every person who tells it, turning the lie into a true supernatural singing badger.

According to folklore scholar Michael Dylan Foster, another early recorded use of the term mujina was in the Shokoku Hyaku-monogatari (100 Tales of the Various Provinces), written in 1677 (Pandemonium and Parade 53-54). In this collection of one hundred supernatural stories, the tale of the mujina concerned a mirage-like badger shapeshifting into a samurai’s dead wife in the night. Although the badger-wife makes no move to hurt him, the samurai is suspicious and stabs the creature. In the morning, he finds a dead badger buried in the yard.

The famous writer, Ryūnosuke Akutagawa, explains that in folklore, a belief in the supernatural can be as strong as the supernatural actually existing: “It was not that the badger came to bewitch people, but, you might say, my friends, that it was believed to bewitch. Yet—between bewitchment and belief in bewitchment there is not much distinction” (362). The badger is an example of how people created the supernatural to make sense of unexplained phenomena, which then becomes real to them, and therefore becomes real to the world. Because if everyone believes mujina exist, who is to say they do not?

MUJINA AND TANUKI

Culturally, the term mujina is closely connected to the term tanuki, a Japanese raccoon dog, which is both an animal and a well-known shape-shifting yōkai. Mujina is an old Japanese word that is usually understood to mean “badger”, but depending on the local dialect, it is also used interchangeably for “raccoon dog” (The Book of Yōkai 187). Some local dialects use tanuki to refer to raccoon dogs, and others use mujina. Japanese badgers and raccoon dogs look very similar, although it is notable that mujina can be substituted for “raccoon dog" in circumstances where anaguma cannot. This is most likely due to the fact that the yōkai associated with these animals act alike in both methodology and motivation, and the line between them is blurred.

a Japanese raccoon dog (tanuki)

Above, it is mentioned that the first recorded appearance of the term mujina is in the Nihon Shoki, in the story about the events in Michinoku. It is agreed by scholars that the first documented appearance of tanuki is in this same story in the Nihon Shoki, where they are referred to as mujina (The Book of Yōkai 187). “Whether referring to a badger or a tanuki, legends about mujina tend to resemble legends about tanuki; in some cases the two creatures are interchangeable” (The Book of Yōkai 193). Mujina and tanuki are often used to refer to the same yōkai: a trickster who shape-shifts to mess with humans for its own benefit, either for self-preservation or humorous mischief.

As humanity learned the reasons behind unexplained natural phenomena, it traded its belief in the supernatural for an understanding of science and rational thought. Nowadays, yōkai have lost their strength and mystery. The mujina is no longer a powerful spirit to be feared; instead, it causes chaos for fun. However, not all stories of mujina/tanuki are friendly ones. Early in Japanese history, when people believed in the power of the supernatural world, mujina were dangerous. If you disturbed nature by venturing into the territory of a mujina, you risked your well-being and sometimes your life. Oftentimes, the “mischief” created by this yōkai involved harmful mirages that lead humans to the edge of cliffs or into the current of rivers. In a couple of tales, the mujina/tanuki actively kills one or more people to play its prank (The Book of Yōkai 188). They have been metaphorically declawed to adapt to modern day values, but they still serve their original function as entertainment, even if some of the original meaning has been lost.

An illustration of a shape-shifted tanuki, by Toriyama Sekien

A BADGER AND A BRIDGE

A tanuki from the Gazu hyakkiyagyō, by Toriyama Sekien

Understanding the motivations of this shape-shifting yōkai is paramount to revealing the true nature of the nopperabō. The key characteristic that the mujina and the nopperabō share is that they both function as a bridge between the ordinary world and the supernatural world. Both nopperabō and mujina are found along footpaths through the woods and mountains, on the bank of rivers, on or around bridges, and on the edge of villages (Pandemonium and Parade 57-59). They exist as two things at once: an animal and a supernatural force, their true face and their shape-shifted form, the logical and the extraordinary. They are found along the liminal borders that separate the human and supernatural worlds, as well as being liminal themselves. Both yōkai are known for appearing quite normal at first glance (as a badger or a human) before revealing their supernatural tendencies (singing, shape-shifting, creating mirages, having no face).

Stories of these yōkai play on the fear of darkness and the unknown, occurring during the uncertain hours when the sun is either setting or has already been extinguished. They also use sources of light as false representations of safety: the mujina shape-shifts into lights that guide unsuspecting humans into perilous situations, and the second yōkai in the nopperabō tale usually has a source of light that goes out at the end.

Furthermore, the motivations of both yōkai for scaring humans can be interpreted as alike. Encounters with both yōkai occur when humans venture into their territory. Mujina have been known to kill, and the odd tale of the nopperabō ends with the death of the protagonist, but generally humans are unharmed in encounters with these yōkai. Mujina and tanuki scare humans for one of two reasons: one, because they enjoy playing tricks on witless humans and two, because they must defend their home against humans. Though there is no explicit mention of it in their tales, nopperabō often read as gleeful. The yōkai’s enjoyment and penchant for flair is particularly evident in the second nopperabō’s famous last words, “Was it anything like this that she showed you?” in reference to his featureless face at the end of Hearn’s “Mujina.” At the heart of the nopperabō folktale is its fear factor. It’s structured to be shocking, misleading, and terrifying. Again, although there is no explicit evidence of it, this encounter works as a defensive tactic. If they kill the traveler, there is no more traveler. If the nopperabō leave the traveler alive, not only will the fear keep the protagonist far away from the yōkai’s home in the future, but gossip would spread of the encounter, effectively keeping future humans out of nopperabō territory. In this case, both the nopperabō and mujina function as scary stories that warn against traveling alone through the wilderness.

When connecting mujina (and tanuki) with nopperabō, the most telling clue of all is that the most famous story associated with nopperabō is titled, “Mujina.” The only reason the nopperabō story would be called “Mujina” is if, when Lafcadio Hearn recorded the story, whoever he heard it from used mujina to refer to the yōkai because they thought of it as interchangeable with nopperabō.

With all of this evidence, it can be confidently argued that the nopperabō is actually a subset of the shape-shifting mujina/tanuki yōkai disguising itself as a faceless human. Nopperabō only exist as a yōkai within Japanese folklore of this folktale structure. They do not exist as faceless humanoids all the time. In actuality, nopperabō are mujina/tanuki taking the form of a faceless humanoid to scare people. All nopperabō are shape-shifting mujina, but not all mujina are nopperabō.

GHIBLI FILMS AND NOPPERABŌ

Pom Poko

Though the nopperabō is not the most famous of yōkai, it appears in significant roles in popular culture. The clearest example of this is in the Studio Ghibli film, Pom Poko. The film is about tanuki protecting their forest from humans. The tanuki fight back the way they know best: by shape-shifting into an outlandish assortment of yōkai. One tanuki thoroughly startles a policeman by appearing as a crying, faceless woman on a bridge. The policeman runs for help – straight into a convenience store full of nopperabō, reenacting the full folktale. Ultimately, the tanuki of the modern day do not have enough supernatural power left to save their home, and they lose the fight against urbanization. In the end, all the tanuki can do is request that humans please take care not to destroy nature and the traditions of the past.

Spirited Away

Hayao Miyazaki, co-founder of Studio Ghibli, has created numerous original well-loved and fantastic creatures. In a guest lecture, folklorist Michael Dylan Foster explained that though many kids today think of Miyazaki’s magical creatures as actual yōkai, the majority of them are not based on any historical yōkai. Even so, people have supposed that the character of Kaonashi (transl. “No Face”) from Miyazaki’s film, Spirited Away, has a connection with nopperabō. Miyazaki has not confirmed or denied this, but the theory persists nonetheless, due to the fact that No Face does truly share some compelling aspects with nopperabō folktale.

No Face gains arms and legs after swallowing a frog man and grows in size from eating meal after meal.

No Face’s true face is never revealed; they wear their white mask throughout the movie. The first time we encounter them, No Face is standing on a bridge, a connection between worlds. This parallels the nopperabō in Pom Poko and popular depictions of tanuki on bridges (Pandemonium and Parade 59). No Face also possesses shape-shifting abilities. They do not have the power to turn into anything they want, unlike mujina, but when No Face eats someone, they assume their appearance and personality.

Overall, No Face reacts negatively to “human” society and urbanization. They are let into the bathhouse from an outside garden, a metaphor for nature, and try to fit in by adapting to the bathhouse’s values, a stand-in for the modernized world. Like tanuki and mujina, society distorts No Face into something barely resembling themselves. Both tanuki and mujina lost their supernatural strength to survive adaptation into modern culture, and tanuki in particular found their new power as a symbol of wealth and financial luck. To gain the favor of the bathhouse staff, No Face attempts to survive their new environment by adapting to unfamiliar values such as wealth, food, and worldly possessions. These things poison No Face’s mind and body, and it is only when the protagonist, Chihiro, takes them to live in the forest, a place where they can readapt to traditional values, that No Face finds true peace and happiness.

ANIMAL CROSSING

The Nintendo franchise Animal Crossing is a cute video game where you are the lone human living in a village among talking bipedal animals. This game includes a character named Blanca (Ayashii Neko in Japan, transl. “Mysterious Cat”), a white cat who has no face. The characters in Animal Crossing are mostly villagers that settle down to live in your town, but Blanca never does. Instead, she is one of a handful of special characters that occur under special circumstances, and she is one of the most transient of the bunch. Unlike all other animals, you only encounter her on train rides, in the forest of your town, during visits to other towns, and on April Fool’s Day. Except for April Fool’s Day, all of her appearances are randomly decided by the game. Sometimes Blanca shows up dressed as another villager, and if you identify her, she gives you a prize. Even her gender varies. Internationally, Blanca goes by female pronouns, but in Japan, she is referred to by male pronouns. Her dialogue includes the phrase, “Let’s cause some mischief!” Very occasionally, other characters will gossip about Blanca. They describe her as “pretty creepy” and “likely to stir up trouble.” Finally, the absolutely best part about Blanca is that when you encounter her, she will ask you to give her a face, and then you actually get to draw her face for her in the game. Blanca is a great example of how the nopperabō has been integrated into modern society: She is a friendly, entertaining, and harmless character in a cute video game, while still retaining a smidge of her mysterious yōkai origin.

A HAWAIIAN FOLKTALE

Fascinatingly, the nopperabō tale is found outside of Japan. Immigration in the 19^th and 20^th centuries brought an abundance of Japanese culture to the Hawaiian Islands, and with it came Japanese folktales. In his 1959 article, “In One Ear,” Bob Krauss documents an encounter with a Hawaiian nopperabō. Two different sources claim that a girl at the Waialae Drive-In Theater was washing her hands in the women’s restroom when she looked up and saw the figure of a faceless woman standing in the mirror behind her. When she turned around to look, the woman was gone, and the girl fainted and was taken to the hospital. According to a follow-up article in 1991, “A-Haunting,” the faceless woman is said to have been seen in many other places around Honolulu after the Drive-In closed. Krauss goes on to write about the connection between the faceless drive-in ghost and the Japanese nopperabō: “…a story collected by Lafcadio Hearn 100 years ago resurfaces in Hawaii in the 1950s.…I think the lineage is clear. Hearn called this ghost a ‘mujina.’” It seems that the nopperabō immigrated to Japan alongside humans and has recently learned how to target movie-goers with its pranks.

INTERNATIONAL SENSATION OR MERE COINCIDENCE?

There is little evidence that this final connection is in any way influenced by the Japanese nopperabō, but the similarities between the two stories are too compelling to omit. In popular culture, there is a kind of folklore that originates online, called “creepypasta.” Creepypasta is a portmanteau of the words “creepy” and “copypasta,” a popular story that is widely shared by copying and pasting it to other parts of the internet so many times that often the original author is unknown. Creepypasta are understood by readers to be fictional, but they are nonetheless effectively terrifying.

This particular creepypasta was posted on the subreddit, “No Sleep,” and won acclaim in 2015 for its originality. The author, reddit user “searchandrescuewoods,” writes fictional posts about creepy encounters while on duty as a search and rescue officer. The story involves rescuing a hiker that never came back from his climbing trip. The author finds the lost hiker trapped in a crevasse with a broken leg. The author recounts the man’s story. The man tells EMTs that when he had reached the top of his hike, he had encountered a man with no climbing gear. “The man had no face. It was just blank.” While trying to flee, the hiker fell into the crevasse, and “he could hear the guy all night, climbing down the mountain and letting out these horrible muffled screams.”

This creepypasta does not follow all of the plot points of the nopperabō story, but it has surprisingly similar motifs. It concerns a human climbing a mountain, which is classic nopperabō territory. He meets what appears to be a human who is revealed to have no facial features. The hiker is incapacitated, but survives to tell the tale. Though the entity does not speak to the hiker, it does scream and cry throughout the night, despite having no mouth. The entity thoroughly terrifies the hiker but does not actually hurt him, and it does not give chase. It is possible that the author of this creepypasta read a version of the nopperabō folktale, but if the two are not connected, then it is further evidence that faceless creatures are universally terrifying.

Click here to read the creepypasta yourself!

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