Section 1
In a hamlet of Musashi Province, resided two timber craftsmen: Mosaku and Minokichi. During the period I am referring to, Mosaku was an elderly man, while Minokichi, his disciple, was an adolescent of eighteen summers. Each day, they ventured jointly into a woodland nestled approximately five miles distant from their settlement. En route to that sylvan expanse, a broad watercourse awaits traversal, beseeching the use of a ferry vessel. Numerous attempts were made to erect a bridge at the very juncture where the ferry plies its trade; alas, each time, the bridge was mercilessly swept away by the deluge. The prevailing currents, swollen with the rising tides, prove insurmountable for any ordinary bridge.
Mosaku and Minokichi were homeward bound, embarking upon a bitterly frigid eve when an imposing blizzard swiftly engulfed them. Upon their arrival at the ferry, they discovered the boatman's absence, abandoning his vessel on the far bank of the river. Swimming across was a perilous proposition on such a day, compelling the woodcutters to seek refuge within the humble abode of the ferryman—a stroke of serendipity to find any haven at all. The meager hut offered no hearth, devoid of any means to kindle a fire. Merely a diminutive dwelling, a two-mat structure, to be precise, with a floor area of approximately six square feet. It possessed but a solitary entrance, bereft of any windows. Mosaku and Minokichi secured the door and reclined for respite, cloaking themselves with their straw raincoats. Initially, the chill did not penetrate deeply, and they entertained the hope that the tempest would soon abate.
The elderly man succumbed to slumber almost instantaneously, while the youth, Minokichi, remained awake for an extended duration, attentively attuned to the formidable howling of the wind and the ceaseless assault of snow upon the door. The river bellowed with its unrestrained might, causing the humble hut to sway and groan akin to a seafaring vessel caught in tempestuous seas. The tempest raged on, its ferocity intensifying with each passing moment, accompanied by an ever-dropping temperature that caused Minokichi to tremble beneath his raincoat. However, despite the piercing cold, he too eventually succumbed to sleep.
Minokichi's slumber was abruptly shattered by an onslaught of snowflakes upon his visage. The door of the humble abode had been pried open, revealing, by the pale glow of the snow, the presence of a spectral figure—a woman garbed entirely in white. She leaned over Mosaku, her countenance inclined, exhaling her breath upon him, which appeared as a luminous white vapor. In a nearly instantaneous motion, she redirected her attention to Minokichi, stooping down beside him. Efforts to utter a cry proved futile, leaving Minokichi bereft of sound. The ethereal woman in white further inclined towards him, drawing nearer and nearer until her countenance nearly brushed against his own. He beheld her exquisite beauty, albeit her eyes instilled within him a profound sense of trepidation. Enveloped in silence, she maintained her gaze upon him for a brief interval, before gracing him with a smile, accompanied by a whispered utterance:
"I had initially intended to bestow upon you the same treatment as the older man. However, I find myself unable to suppress a measure of compassion towards you, due to your tender age... You are a comely youth, Minokichi, and I shall spare you from harm for now. But should you ever divulge, to anyone, even your mother, the events you have witnessed this very night, rest assured that I shall be aware. And in that moment, I shall bring about your demise... Remember my words!"
Having spoken thus, she averted her gaze from him and gracefully traversed the threshold, vanishing from sight. In that instant, Minokichi regained his mobility, leaping to his feet and peering outward. Alas, the woman had vanished without a trace, leaving behind only the relentless onslaught of snow. Determined, Minokichi swiftly closed the door, fortifying it by firmly wedging several logs against it. Perplexed, he contemplated whether the forceful gusts of wind had caused the door to swing ajar. A nagging doubt whispered in his mind, suggesting that it might have all been a mere figment of his dreaming imagination—a case of mistaking the glimmer of snow-laden light in the doorway for the apparition of a spectral woman. Alas, certainty eluded him. With trepidation, he called out to Mosaku, only to be seized by fear as the old man failed to respond. Extending his hand into the darkness, he cautiously touched Mosaku's visage, discovering to his horror that it was as icy cold as death itself. Mosaku lay motionless and lifeless…
