Category: Legends

伝説

  • Namahage: The Masked Gods Who Knock on Doors in Akita on New Year’s Eve (and the 999 Steps the Oni Built)

    Namahage: The Masked Gods Who Knock on Doors in Akita on New Year’s Eve (and the 999 Steps the Oni Built)

    It is the last night of the year on the Oga Peninsula, a thumb of land pushing out into the Sea of Japan from Akita, in Japan’s snowy north. Inside, the family has the food laid out and the sake ready. Outside, something is coming up the path through the snow.

    Illustration: three masked Namahage figures in shaggy straw capes walking through falling snow at night toward the lantern-lit doorway of a thatched farmhouse
    AI-generated illustration

    You hear it before you see it. Heavy straw boots stamping. Then a roar at the door:

    “Naku ko wa inee gaa! Oya no iu koto kigane ko wa inee gaa!”

    Any crying kids here? Any kids who don’t listen to their parents?

    The door slides open and in they come: huge, wild-eyed faces with bared teeth, bodies wrapped in shaggy capes of straw, a big knife in one hand. Small children scream and hide behind their fathers. The grown-ups know exactly who has come to visit.

    These are the Namahage. In English they are usually called demons or ogres. The people of Oga would tell you something else. They are gods.

    Masked Namahage in straw capes gathered at night during the Namahage Sedo Festival in Oga, Akita
    Photo: KQuhen / Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA 4.0

    Not demons, but visiting gods

    According to Oga City, the Namahage are raiho-shin, “visiting deities” who arrive at the turning of the year. They come to scold laziness, and they bring good health, good harvests from the fields, and the riches of the mountains and the sea.

    So the household does not lock the door. It welcomes them. Families receive the Namahage with food and sake, prepared according to etiquette handed down for generations. The shouting, the stamping and the tears are all part of a blessing.

    The figures behind the masks are the young men of each community, who dress up and go from house to house. The custom used to be held at Koshogatsu, the “Little New Year” in mid-January, and today takes place on December 31. On New Year’s Eve 2025, it was held in 71 communities across Oga.

    In 1978 the custom was designated an Important Intangible Folk Cultural Property of Japan. On November 29, 2018, UNESCO inscribed it on its list of Intangible Cultural Heritage as one of ten similar events from eight prefectures, grouped together as Raiho-shin: ritual visits of deities in masks and costumes.

    What the name means

    The name hides a small, very human joke about winter.

    If you sit too long by the irori, the sunken hearth of an old farmhouse, red heat blotches form on your hands and legs. In the Oga dialect these are called namomi. Peeling them off, namomi-hagi, became “Namahage.” The visiting gods come to strip the marks of laziness from people who have spent the winter hugging the fire.

    Oga City adds that peeling off the namomi was also a blessing for the new year, aimed especially at the newest members of the household: children, and young brides who had just married into the family. That is why some Namahage also shout at the door to ask whether the new bride is getting up early.

    How a Namahage dresses

    Everything a Namahage wears tells you where it came from. According to Oga City:

    • The mask. Masks differ from district to district. They have been made from tree bark, carved wood, paper pasted over a basket, and papier-mâché. Today many are plastic, and many are carved by local woodcarvers.
    • The kede. A straw cape worn like a raincoat. Together with the mask, it is the costume that turns a young man into a god.
    • The habaki. Woven straw shin guards. Wearing them means you have come from somewhere else.
    • The straw boots. For walking a long way through the snow.
    • The knife or the staff. A big kitchen knife, for peeling off the namomi. In some districts they carry a staff topped with gohei, the zigzag paper streamers that mark something sacred.

    The mountain gods, in other words, have walked a long way through the snow to get to your door.

    Legend says: the oni and the 999 steps

    Oga has its own story about where the Namahage came from. It is a legend, told at Akagami Shrine and in the local museum, and it goes like this.

    Long ago, Emperor Wu of the Han dynasty in China came to Oga looking for the herb of eternal life. He brought five bats with him, and the bats turned into five oni who worked for him. Once a year, on the fifteenth day of the first month, the emperor gave them a day off. The oni went down to the villages and ran wild, stealing crops and livestock and even carrying off the village girls.

    The desperate villagers made a bet. If the oni could build a stairway of a thousand stone steps, from the shore up to the Goshado halls of Akagami Shrine, in one night before the first rooster crowed, the village would give them a girl every year. If they failed, they must never come down to the village again.

    The villagers thought it was impossible. But the oni piled the stones higher and higher. When they had laid 999 steps, with just one to go, a cry rang out in the dark: kokekokko! A rooster crowing.

    It was not a rooster. In one version a clever villager made the sound. In another it was an amanojaku, a contrary little spirit who always does the opposite of what is wanted. The oni were shocked and furious. They tore up a thousand-year-old cedar, drove it upside down into the ground, and went back into the mountains, never to return.

    How does that become a New Year’s custom? Here the stories split. One local version says the villagers, oddly, began to miss the oni, and started dressing up like them and walking through the village on the fifteenth of the first month. Another, told by the Namahage Museum, says the villagers worried the oni might come back for revenge, and to keep them calm they began inviting local young people dressed as oni to a feast each year. Both are folk explanations, and both end at the same door.

    What history and scholars say

    Outside the legend, Oga City lists three main theories. One says the Namahage grew out of the yamabushi, mountain ascetics training on Oga’s sacred peaks, Mt. Shinzan and Mt. Honzan, who sometimes came down to the villages in their fearsome robes to pray at each house. Another says the peninsula looks like a mountain floating in the sea when seen from offshore, and the Namahage are messengers of the mountain god who watches over the villagers’ lives. A third says they began as foreign sailors shipwrecked on the Oga coast, whose looks and language seemed like those of oni to the people who found them.

    The oldest written record comes from the Edo-period traveler Sugae Masumi (1754–1829). He visited the Namahage of Miyazawa, in Oga, on the fifteenth day of the first month in 1811, and left both a detailed description and a drawing. Later, the custom drew some of Japan’s best-known thinkers: the folklorists Yanagita Kunio and Orikuchi Shinobu, and the artist Okamoto Taro.

    How to meet the Namahage

    The real New Year’s Eve visits are a private ritual inside people’s homes, so travelers cannot simply join in. Please don’t go knocking on doors in Oga on December 31. The good news is that Oga has honest, welcoming ways to meet them on any day of the year.

    • Namahage Museum (Namahage-kan). More than 150 masks that were actually used in Oga’s communities stand together in one room, and the effect is overwhelming. There is also a film about the New Year’s Eve ritual, and a corner where you can try on a real Namahage costume. Open every day, 8:30 to 17:00. Admission is ¥660 for adults and ¥330 for school students, according to Oga City (checked October 6, 2026).
    • Oga Shinzan Folklore Museum (Oga Shinzan Denshokan). Next door, in a traditional L-shaped farmhouse, a session of about 20 minutes explains the New Year’s Eve visit of the Kitaura-Shinzan district and then faithfully re-creates it. This is the closest you can get to the real night. Sessions run daily, 13 times a day from April to December and 6 times a day from January to March. A combined ticket with the Namahage Museum is ¥1,100 for adults and ¥660 for school students.
    • Shinzan Shrine. About five minutes’ walk from the museum. Here, on the second Friday, Saturday and Sunday of February, the Namahage Sedo Festival combines a Shinto fire ritual with the Namahage. Bonfires burn in the shrine grounds, and the Namahage come down from the mountain.
    • The 999 steps to Akagami Shrine Goshado. If you want to walk the oni’s stairway, the climb from the Monzen parking area takes about 25 minutes, according to Oga’s tourism site. The steps are rough and uneven, which seems fair for a stairway said to have been built by oni in a single night, so leave the heels and sandals behind. Walking sticks are provided near the parking area. By local bus, take the Oga Minami line from JR Oga Station to the Monzen parking stop. The local tourism site also says the five oni are enshrined at the Goshado as a family of parents and three children, and that the upside-down cedar is said to be kept at the shrine office.

    Opening hours, sessions and bus times change, so check the official sites before you go.

    A frightening face at the door

    It is easy to look at a Namahage mask and see only a monster. But think about what actually happens on that night. A fearsome figure walks out of the snowy mountains, roars at the door, makes the children promise to behave, eats and drinks with the family, and leaves the house blessed for another year.

    Japan has a long habit of putting its most frightening faces to work as protectors. Look up at the roof of an old temple in Kyoto and you will often find another one: the onigawara, a demon-faced tile at the end of the ridge, glaring out at the world so that misfortune stays away from the people underneath. The Namahage do the same job, only they come down off the mountain and knock.

    When the shouting stops and the straw boots crunch away down the path, the house is quiet again. Somewhere a child is still sniffling. And the year can begin.

    Sources & Further Reading


    Shape your own oni face in Kyoto

    If the Namahage have you looking at fierce faces in a new way, you can meet the roof-top kind in Kyoto. In Higashiyama, near Gojo Ohashi bridge, Kawarakoubou YOU-ya is a kawara (roof tile) workshop and gallery where you can shape your own demon-faced onigawara tile from clay.

  • Shachihoko: The Fire-Guarding Sea Creatures on Japan’s Castle Roofs (and the Secret in Nagoya’s Golden Scales)

    Shachihoko: The Fire-Guarding Sea Creatures on Japan’s Castle Roofs (and the Secret in Nagoya’s Golden Scales)

    Stand in front of almost any old castle keep in Japan and your eyes go where the builders wanted them to go: up the white walls, past the curving eaves, all the way to the ridge. And there, at both ends of the highest beam, something is doing a handstand.

    Illustration: a pair of golden tiger-headed shachihoko fish with tails raised, perched on a roof ridge amid swirling ink clouds, rain and stylized waves
    AI-generated illustration

    It has the head of a tiger, or maybe a dragon. Its body is a fish, covered in scales. Its tail is flung straight at the sky, as if it dove off the roof and froze halfway down. Some are gilded. Most are the soft grey of fired clay.

    This is a shachihoko, often just called shachi. If you watched any of the Asian Games in Aichi and Nagoya, which closed on October 4, 2026, you have already met a friendly version of it: the official mascot, Honohon, was designed after the shachihoko. The real thing is older, stranger, and much more serious about its job.

    The golden shachihoko (kinshachi) at both ends of the top ridge of Nagoya Castle's green-roofed keep
    Photo: Alpsdake / Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA 4.0

    A fish that swallows the sea

    In Japanese folklore, the shachihoko is a sea creature from the cold northern ocean. Its fins and tail always point toward heaven, and its back bristles with sharp spines. Most importantly, it can swallow huge amounts of water, hold it in its belly, call up clouds, and bring rain.

    That last power explains why it lives on a roof instead of in the sea.

    Old Japanese buildings were made of wood. Temples, gates, palaces and castle keeps could survive centuries of earthquakes and typhoons and then vanish in a single night of fire. So builders placed a creature of water at the very top of the building. According to the legend, if fire ever broke out, the shachihoko would release the water it carried and put the flames out.

    It is a charm, not a sprinkler system. But stand under one and you can feel the logic: this is the highest point, the place a spark from a neighboring fire would land, and here sits a beast that belongs to the ocean.

    Where the shachihoko came from

    The idea did not start in Japan. Long before shachihoko, Chinese roofs carried ridge-end ornaments meant to protect buildings from fire, and that tradition made its way to Japan. The Japanese shachihoko grew out of it.

    It took a while to settle on a name. Old Japanese writings call these ornaments by Chinese-style names, and the word shachihoko only became the usual name from the middle of the Edo period. The creature itself appears earlier: a picture scroll from around 1295 already shows one sitting on a roof.

    For a long time, shachihoko decorated temples and shrines. Then the warlords took notice. Oda Nobunaga is said to have used them on the keep of his Azuchi Castle, and from there they spread to castle roofs across the country. Under Nobunaga and his successor Toyotomi Hideyoshi, some shachihoko had gold leaf on their faces and fins. The fire charm had become a sign of power, and whoever lived under the gold was telling everyone how much they owned.

    Why they come in pairs

    Look closely and you will usually find two shachihoko on one ridge, one at each end. Very often they are a male and a female. The male has its mouth open and the female has its mouth closed, like the pairs of guardian lion-dogs (komainu) at a shrine entrance. One mouth makes the first sound, “a,” and the other the last sound, “un.” Together they cover everything from beginning to end.

    There are exceptions. At Himeji Castle, only a single old model survived to copy, so the keep’s shachihoko were all rebuilt in the same form, and whether that model was male or female is still uncertain.

    Clay, gold and copper

    Most shachihoko on castle keeps and gates are fired clay, made as special roof tiles. Clay shachihoko are hollow, which makes them fragile. They are fixed onto a vertical rod rising out of the ridge. Others are carved from wood and covered in copper sheet, and a few are cast in bronze.

    Then there are the famous golden ones.

    The golden shachi of Nagoya Castle

    When Nagoya Castle’s enormous keep was finished in 1612, a pair of golden shachihoko went on top. They showed off the power of Tokugawa Ieyasu and the Owari branch of the Tokugawa family. An old song from the Edo period claimed they shone so brightly that fish would not come near the shore at nearby Atsuta. Travelers on the Tokaido road sang about them too.

    Gold is tempting, though. Whenever the Owari domain ran short of money, it looked at its shachi, and before the Meiji era the gold was recast three times.

    The originals guarded the castle for 333 years. In May 1945, an air raid burned the keep, and the golden shachi with it. The people of Nagoya rebuilt them from detailed survey drawings, and the second-generation pair now sits on top of the reconstructed keep.

    By the official castle figures, the pair is clad in 18-karat gold plates just 0.15 mm thick:

    • North (male): 2.621 m tall, 1,272 kg, 112 scales, 44.69 kg of 18k gold
    • South (female): 2.579 m tall, 1,215 kg, 126 scales, 43.39 kg of 18k gold

    The male is bigger, but the female has more scales.

    The secret in the scales

    Some scales from the original shachi survived the 1945 fire, and they are still carefully kept today. For years, though, they posed a small mystery. Some look almost pure gold to the eye, yet earlier X-ray analysis did not find especially high gold levels in them.

    In August 2026, a team from Japan’s High Energy Accelerator Research Organization (KEK), the Nagoya Castle Research Center, the National Museum of Nature and Science and others published an answer. Using a beam of negative muons at the J-PARC research facility, they analyzed seven surviving scales without damaging them, measuring the metal at different depths below the surface.

    In five of the seven, gold became more concentrated toward the surface, within about 10 micrometers of it, reaching roughly 65 to 90 percent gold depending on the scale. A patch that seems to be a later repair showed almost no change with depth, unlike the original metal. The researchers say this points to a deliberate historical surface treatment that concentrated gold at the very skin of each scale, which would explain the deep golden shine.

    In other words, the brilliance that kept the fish away from Atsuta beach may have been engineered, one scale at a time.

    How to see shachihoko on your trip

    • Nagoya Castle is the classic place to see them, and an easy day trip if you are based in Kyoto. The reconstructed keep is currently closed to visitors, according to the castle’s official website (checked October 2026), but the golden shachi can be seen from the castle grounds. Bring a zoom lens or binoculars.
    • Look at every castle you visit. Keeps, turrets and gatehouses often carry clay shachihoko. Compare the tails: some fan out like a fan, others split in two.
    • Check the mouths. Find the pair and see which one is open.
    • Look at temple roofs too. Ridge ends are where Japanese builders put their protectors: shachihoko on some roofs, demon-faced onigawara tiles on others. Once you start looking up, Japanese skylines stop being background.

    A beast that stands on its head

    In Japanese, the word shachihoko-baru, to stand stiffly like a shachihoko, describes someone who is tense and overly formal. It is a funny image for a creature that spends its whole life upside down on a rooftop.

    But maybe that stiffness is the point. For centuries these fish have held the same pose through storms, sieges, recastings and fire, keeping the ocean in their bellies and waiting for the night they are needed. Next time you walk under a Japanese roof, look up and say hello. One of them may be looking back with its mouth open, and the other with its mouth firmly shut.

    Sources & Further Reading


    See Japanese roof-tile craft up close in Kyoto

    If this story has you looking up at rooftops, you can see the tile-maker’s craft at eye level in Kyoto’s Higashiyama, near Gojo Ohashi bridge. Kawarakoubou YOU-ya is a kawara (roof tile) workshop and gallery where you can also shape your own demon-faced onigawara tile from clay.