The Old Man’s Journey

When the old man returned and couldn’t find Suzume, he was heartbroken. After hearing what his wife had done, he decided to search the forest to find his little friend.

After hours of wandering, the old man stumbled upon a small, magical house hidden in the woods. To his surprise, Suzume greeted him at the door, now healed and surrounded by other sparrows.

“Welcome, kind old man,” Suzume chirped. “Come inside and enjoy a feast!”

The sparrows treated the old man to a wonderful meal and a song-and-dance performance. Before he left, Suzume offered him a parting gift: two wicker baskets, one large and one small.

“Take whichever one you like,” Suzume said.

Being modest, the old man chose the small basket and went home. When he opened it, he found it filled with gold, jewels, and other treasures.

The Wife’s Greed

When the old man told his wife about the sparrows and the treasure, her eyes gleamed with greed. “If the small basket had gold, imagine what the large one has!” she exclaimed.

Ignoring her husband’s warnings, she stormed into the forest, shouting, “Suzume! Get out here, you little pest!”

After some searching, she found Suzume’s house. The sparrows greeted her coldly, their sharp eyes following her every move.

“Come in,” Suzume said, her voice dripping with false warmth. The sparrows reluctantly served the same feast, but the food tasted sour to the wife, and the sparrows’ song grated on her nerves.

Finally, Suzume brought out the two baskets. “Take whichever you desire,” she said.

Without hesitation, the wife snatched the larger basket. Suzume’s beady eyes glinted, and the sparrows exchanged knowing looks.

“Safe travels,” Suzume said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

The Wife’s Downfall

The wife couldn’t wait to open the basket. She didn’t even make it home, tearing off the lid right in the middle of the forest. When she opened it at home, it wasn’t treasure that poured out—it was a plague of hungry ghosts. The old woman screamed as the ghosts dragged her into the netherworld.

From a nearby tree, Suzume and her sparrow court watched the spectacle with satisfaction. “You reap what you sow,” Suzume said, her voice softer now.

The old man, now free from her nagging, lived peacefully with Suzume and his newfound fortune. Suzume even took up humming, and they never spoke of the incident again.

The Old Man and the Dance of the Ogres

Not long after his wife was dragged into the netherworld (screaming and possibly regretting her life choices), the old man began to notice something peculiar: a large, throbbing pimple had sprouted right in the middle of his forehead.

At first, he didn’t care much. “What’s one pimple after all I’ve been through?” he muttered to Suzume, the sparrow, who nodded sympathetically while pecking at rice.

But the pimple grew bigger—and angrier-looking. Soon, villagers began calling him Oni-jiji (“Old Demon Grandpa”), pointing and snickering whenever they passed.

Frustrated and self-conscious, the old man sought advice from everyone he could think of. Eventually, his gaze landed on his ill-tempered neighbor, who’d been oddly cheerful and pimple-free as of late.

“Oi, neighbor!” the old man called. “How’d you get rid of that big ugly pimple you used to have?”

The neighbor froze, its eyes narrowing. Unbeknownst to anyone, the ill-tempered neighbor wasn’t human at all but a shapeshifting demon. It hadn’t even realized it used to have a pimple in its disguise. Thinking quickly, it smirked. “Oh, that? Simple. I went dancing with ogres. They’re skincare experts, you know.”

“Dancing… with ogres?” the old man repeated, his brow furrowed.

“Exactly. Just climb into the hollow tree on the hill at midnight. When the ogres come out to dance, join them. They’ll take your pimple as payment for your bravery!”

The old man blinked in disbelief. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” the demon lied smoothly, suppressing a chuckle. “Trust me, it works wonders.”

The Old Man’s Midnight Adventure

That night, clutching a lantern and muttering about miracles, the old man climbed up the hill and found the hollow tree. As the demon had instructed, he crawled inside and waited.

At midnight, the ground began to rumble. The wind howled as an eerie orange glow lit up the forest. Moments later, a pack of hulking ogres emerged, their grotesque faces twisted into giddy grins.

“Let’s dance!” one roared, slamming a massive club into the ground as the others cheered. They formed a circle, their wild laughter echoing through the trees as they began stomping and twirling in a frenzied dance.

The old man, heart pounding, took a deep breath. “Here goes nothing.” He stepped out of the tree and clapped his hands to the beat. “Excuse me, mighty ogres! May I join your dance?”

The ogres stopped mid-step, their glowing eyes fixed on the old man.

“What’s this?” one growled, sniffing the air. “A human? Smells like stale rice and regret.”

“I, uh, heard you take pimples as payment for dancing,” the old man stammered, bowing so deeply his pimple practically grazed the ground.

The ogres stared at him for a moment before bursting into uproarious laughter. “Take your pimple?!” one bellowed, slapping its thigh. “We’ll take a lot more than that, old man!”

Before the old man could react, one of the ogres grabbed a massive spear and impaled him straight through the forehead, pinning him to the hollow tree like a grotesque ornament. Blood dripped down the bark as the ogres cackled, their laughter shaking the earth.

“Best decoration we’ve had in years!” one of them said, twirling the old man’s limp body like a grotesque marionette.

They resumed their wild dance, chanting and stomping around the old man’s corpse until dawn broke.

The Grim Morning After

The next morning, a group of villagers, curious about the strange noises they’d heard in the night, ventured up the hill. They gasped when they saw the old man’s body pinned to the tree, his lifeless face frozen in a mixture of terror and mild surprise.

“Oh no, poor Oni-jiji,” one said, shaking their head. “All he wanted was to get rid of that pimple.”

Another villager squinted at the ghastly sight. “Well, the pimple’s gone, so… mission accomplished?”

The crowd awkwardly shuffled away, deciding this was a matter best left to the gods.

The Demon’s Delight

Back in the village, the demon —still in its ill-tempered neighbor disguise—watched the commotion with a smug grin. “Who knew ogres could be so accommodating?” it muttered to itself, polishing its nails.

From that day on, the demon lived in peace, occasionally snickering when it saw the villagers avoid the hill, now known as Ogre’s Dance Peak. As for the old man, his spirit joined the ogres, forever stuck dancing in the moonlit forest, his ghostly form twirling miserably as the ogres roared with laughter.

And the moral of the story? Sometimes it’s better to live with a pimple than trust a demon with skincare advice.