The candle flickers once, then twice.
The bathroom is silent except for the slow drip of water from the faucet. Steam curls lazily toward the ceiling, and your breath makes ripples in the candle flame beside the tub. You sink a little deeper into the warmth, letting it swallow the sound of your heartbeat. Outside the window, the night is still. Inside, something begins to stir.
It starts as a whisper—soft, like the scrape of cloth underwater. You close your eyes, and for a moment, you swear there’s something else in the tub with you. You tell yourself it’s the water. It’s always just the water.
Then you whisper the words you were never supposed to say.
“Daruma-san ga koronda.”
(だるまさんがころんだ)
“The Daruma fell down.”
And that’s when you feel it—something brushing against your back, slow and deliberate. You open your eyes, but it’s too late. The game has already begun.
What Is Daruma-san?
Daruma-san—known online as The Bath Game—is one of Japan’s most chilling urban legends. It’s not a ghost story you listen to around a campfire. It’s a ritual, one that calls something ancient and restless into your world.
The rules are simple: you summon a spirit while bathing, spend the next day being hunted by her, and survive until dawn. The legend warns that if you fail, she will catch you—and what happens then is never clearly said. Only that you won’t be the same afterward.
According to Japanese folklore, the spirit you summon is the ghost of a woman who died in a bathtub. Some versions say she slipped, struck her head, and drowned. Others claim it was something darker—that she was murdered, or that she took her own life after falling under a curse. Either way, her soul lingers, drawn to those reckless enough to repeat her final words: Daruma-san ga koronda—“The Daruma fell down.”
The Daruma and the Game
In Japan, a Daruma doll is a symbol of perseverance and luck. It represents Bodhidharma, the monk who meditated for so long that his limbs atrophied and fell away. But in the Bath Game, the Daruma becomes something else—a reminder that stillness and obsession can lead to madness.
Children in Japan play a game called Daruma-san ga koronda, similar to “Red Light, Green Light.” One child faces away and says the phrase, while the others move closer; when she turns around, everyone must freeze. But in this version, there is no child. No laughter. Just you, alone in the dark, saying the words while a spirit turns to face you.
How the Game Begins
It’s said the ritual must be performed after midnight. You fill the tub with water, light a single candle, and turn off all the lights. No phones. No sounds. You step into the water and close your eyes. The air smells faintly of wax and iron.
Then you wash your hair. Slowly. Carefully. As you do, you must repeat the phrase:
“Daruma-san ga koronda.”
“The Daruma fell down.”
Each time you say it, you imagine a woman slipping in her bath—her head striking the faucet, the water turning red. You keep your eyes closed. You don’t turn around. If you do, you’ll see her—her face split, her one eye open and staring through wet hair. When you sense her presence behind you, you ask one question:
“Why did you fall?”
Then, very slowly, you stand, still keeping your eyes closed, blow out the candle, and leave the bathroom without drying off. You must not look behind you. Not once. When you step outside, whisper, “I’m finished.”
The Game Continues
The next day, she follows you.
According to the legend, the spirit of Daruma-san begins stalking you as soon as you wake. She moves slowly at first, keeping her distance. You might catch a glimpse of movement in a mirror or the faint shadow of someone behind you when no one is there. But as the day goes on, she gets closer.
People describe her as pale, soaked, and broken—her left eye missing, her wet hair clinging to her face. You may hear dripping water where there shouldn’t be any, or feel the air grow cold when she’s near. The legend says you’ll feel a sudden tug at your sleeve or your hair when she’s close enough to touch you. That’s your warning. You have seconds to escape before she reaches you.
The only defense is to whisper, “Tomare!”—stop—and glance over your shoulder to break her momentum. But use this sparingly; each time you do, it becomes harder to stop her again. When night falls, you must end the game before she catches you.
Ending the Game
To end the ritual, you must wait until you’re alone—completely alone—and say the final words:
“Kitta!” (切った) — “I cut you loose.”
Then swing your arm downward as though severing an invisible thread. If you’ve done it correctly, the spirit vanishes. But if you say it too early, or too late… she may not leave at all.
Some versions of the legend say that even if you survive, you’ll never quite be alone again. You’ll see her reflection sometimes—in puddles, windows, or the gleam of bathwater. Watching. Waiting for someone else foolish enough to call her back.
Origins and Cultural Meaning
Like many Japanese urban legends, Daruma-san blends ancient superstition with modern anxiety. The idea of cursed games and rituals is rooted in onryō—vengeful spirits who died violently and linger to seek retribution. In older stories, these ghosts haunt specific places. In newer ones, they follow you home.
The ritual itself likely emerged from Japanese internet forums in the early 2000s, part of the same wave that produced tales like Hitori Kakurenbo (Hide and Seek Alone) and The Elevator Game. Yet Daruma-san feels older, as if it borrows from the structure of traditional purification rituals. Bathing, after all, is sacred in Japan—a cleansing act. To invite death into that space is a profound violation of what the bath represents.
In this way, Daruma-san symbolizes contamination—the intrusion of darkness into a place of purity. It’s a story about obsession, repetition, and the way fear spreads from one person to another like a curse. Each time someone whispers the words, the story grows stronger.
Psychological Interpretations
Some psychologists view the Bath Game as a cautionary tale about isolation and ritual behavior. The player is alone, vulnerable, and immersed in water—a symbol of both birth and death. The repetition of the phrase “Daruma-san ga koronda” becomes a mantra of surrender, an invitation for something unseen to take control.
Others suggest the legend taps into Japan’s cultural emphasis on etiquette and taboo. The act of summoning a spirit in a place meant for cleansing violates both physical and spiritual boundaries. It’s the fear of doing something you can’t undo—of crossing a line you can’t uncross.
But perhaps the most chilling interpretation is the simplest: that the human mind creates its own hauntings. The candle flickers. The water moves. And suddenly, the shadows start to look like eyes.
Similar Legends
Hitori Kakurenbo – Another Japanese ritual game, translated as “Hide and Seek Alone.” In this one, players use a stuffed doll filled with rice to summon a spirit and invite it to play. But once the game begins, the doll moves on its own—and finding it again can be deadly.
Kokkuri-san – A Japanese variation of the Ouija board. Players use a coin and paper instead of a board, calling on a fox or raccoon spirit to answer questions. Many believe that if you forget to properly dismiss the spirit, it lingers near you for life.
The Elevator Game – Originating in Korea and Japan, this ritual involves traveling between floors in a specific sequence to enter another world. Those who claim to have played it report shadow people, distorted voices, and vanishing floors. Like Daruma-san, it’s said to open a door that doesn’t close easily.
Bloody Mary – The Western counterpart to these rituals. Stand before a mirror, chant her name, and watch as your reflection becomes someone—or something—else. It shares the same DNA: curiosity, disbelief, and the dangerous thrill of summoning what should remain silent.
Aka Manto – The Red Cloak Spirit of Japan. Said to appear in public restrooms, he asks victims whether they want red or blue paper. No matter how they answer, both choices lead to death. Aka Manto represents the same idea as Daruma-san—a warning not to engage with the unseen in intimate, private spaces.
Teke Teke – A vengeful spirit of a woman cut in half by a train. She crawls through the streets dragging herself on her elbows, the scraping sound echoing like metal on stone. Legends say she hunts those who pity her or look too long—proof that even sympathy can draw the attention of something hungry.
Kuchisake-onna – The Slit-Mouthed Woman. She hides her mutilated face behind a mask and asks passersby, “Am I pretty?” If you answer wrong—or hesitate—she removes the mask, revealing a mouth sliced from ear to ear. She’s another spirit of curiosity and consequence, one that punishes hesitation and fear, just as Daruma-san punishes curiosity.
Each of these legends reflects a universal truth: when human suffering is left unheard, it takes shape. Sometimes that shape is grief. Sometimes it’s a whisper in the dark. And sometimes it’s a figure waiting behind you, asking a question you should never answer.
Final Thoughts
Legends like Daruma-san endure because they mix ritual with risk. They dare you to step too close, to test whether the story is real. And even if you never say the words, the idea lingers—the thought that maybe, just maybe, something ancient is listening when you speak her name.
So if you ever find yourself alone late at night, the candlelight trembling against the tiled walls, and the thought crosses your mind to whisper those forbidden words—don’t. Some games aren’t meant to be played. Some spirits don’t forgive curiosity.
And if you ever hear water dripping when no one else is home… whatever you do, don’t look behind you.
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