Kawaii Yokai

The zashiki-warashi is a household kami or uncanny presence said to dwell in old homes in Tōhoku, especially Iwate. It is often described in a child’s form, but no single appearance defines it. Kunio Yanagita’s Tales of Tōno, Tale 17 records a boy of about twelve or thirteen; in the same tale, an unseen presence makes itself known only by the rustle of paper in the next room and the sound of snuffling. Tale 18 speaks of two young girls, while later local accounts include a child in a red kosode, an old woman, an old man, and beings that show only long, slender hands. The zashiki-warashi is also associated with a household’s prosperity and decline. Tales of Tōno calls it a “kami” and says that a home where it dwells may enjoy wealth and distinction; other stories tell of a household’s fortunes failing after the child has left. This is not a uniform portrait of a capricious being that metes out punishment. It is a folkloric way of linking an inhuman presence felt within a home with that home’s flourishing and decline. The name “zashiki-warashi” seems to have functioned less as the proper name of one being than as an umbrella term for uncanny presences described inside the home. The setting may be a formal room, storehouse, kitchen area, earthen-floored room, or beneath the floor—spaces at the edge of daily life and the house itself. Such a presence may meet a person, or be reported only as a sound, an oppressive sensation, or an unfamiliar shadow. The child figure is an important representative image, not a standard form that erases the range of these accounts. Kizen Sasaki’s collected accounts do not reduce the zashiki-warashi to a simple “child who brings happiness.” They encompass distinct stories associated with formal rooms, storehouses, kitchens, and underfloor spaces, and their names vary from place to place. Some records consider links with the deaths of infants or infanticide, but Sasaki presents these as matters for comparison rather than declaring them the origin of every zashiki-warashi. The term names a broad and varied body of tradition: a sense that someone else is present within the home, carried forward through local memory and stories of a household’s fortunes.

The *Tofu-kozo* (Tofu Boy) is a *yokai* that appears on rainy evenings in the guise of a child wearing a large sedge hat, holding a tray with a block of tofu stamped with a maple leaf design. However, it neither attacks nor bewitches people; it simply stands there holding the tofu. This un-*yokai*-like, goofy charm is its main feature, making it beloved by the people of the late Edo period. What is noteworthy is that its origin does not lie in ancient folklore, but in the publishing culture of Edo itself. During the Anei era (1770s), it suddenly appeared as a character in illustrated entertainment books such as *kibyoshi* and *kusazoshi*. Its first appearance is said to be in the *kibyoshi* *Yokai Shiuchi Hyobanki*. Yokai researchers such as Natsuhiko Kyogoku and Katsumi Tada position the Tofu-kozo as an early example of a 'character yokai' artificially created as a commercial product. In other words, the Tofu-kozo is not a monster that crawled out of the darkness of the countryside, but an Edo-born yokai spawned by the urban industry of publishing.

Amabie is a prophetic yokai said to have appeared in the sea off Higo Province in mid-April 1846. Its only known contemporary source is a single kawaraban held by Kyoto University Library; no parallel account from the period has been confirmed. According to the sheet, something shone in the sea night after night. When an official went to investigate, a creature appeared and announced, 'I am Amabie, a being who lives in the sea.' It foretold six years of abundant harvests across the provinces, together with an epidemic, and instructed people to copy its form and show it to others at once before disappearing beneath the water. The text describes its appearance only as 'like the picture.' In the accompanying image it has long hair, a beak, scales, and three leg- or fin-like appendages.

The Sunekosuri is a small beast-shaped yokai said to appear on night roads in Okayama Prefecture. Its name literally describes its action: "that which rubs the shins." On rainy nights, it clings to the feet of people walking along the road, slipping between their shins and disrupting their stride. There are no tales of severe harm such as biting, kidnapping, or cursing; the core of the terror lies in the sudden sensation of heavy legs on a dark path. In the Yokai Glossary of "Yokai Dangi," it is treated as a name from Oda District, Okayama Prefecture. The "Okayama Yokai Encyclopedia" edited by Hiroshi Kinoshita gathers similar folklore remaining around the Iryodo shrine in Nanokaichi-cho, Ibara City, and the slopes of Ukan-cho. Its appearance is sometimes likened to a dog, or in some regions explained as the work of a tanuki, while its modern round, cat-like form became widely familiar through Shigeru Mizuki's illustrations. Precisely because the harm it causes is mild, the Sunekosuri remains not as a tale of monster-slaying, but as a physical memory of "losing one's footing on a night road." In other words, the Sunekosuri is not a grand monster deep in the mountains, but a "walking anomaly" that appears at the most intimate height—below human knees. It is a yokai formed by the coalescence of dark roads, rain, the presence of beasts, and the anxiety of losing one's footing.

Karakasa-kozou is a pop icon representing Japanese yokai and is synonymous with tsukumogami (object yokai). Its most famous appearance is hopping around on one leg wearing a geta (wooden clog), with one large eye wide open and a long tongue hanging out. However, this iconic imagery did not naturally emerge from folklore; it was artificially shaped by the publishing culture and toys of the early modern Edo period. Umbrella yokai are depicted in the Muromachi period's *Hyakki Yagyo Emaki* (Night Parade of One Hundred Demons Scroll), but there they take the form of humanoid demons wearing closed umbrellas on their heads, differing from the one-legged figure we know today. It was during the late Edo period that the "one-eyed, one-legged" characteristics became fixed through kusazoushi (illustrated storybooks), toy prints, monster playing cards, and kabuki stage props, making it widely loved by the public as a charming and comical monster.

A tsukumogami said to arise when an old straw sandal gains a spirit. In folk belief it serves as a warning not to mistreat footwear. Early-modern images show sandals with arms and legs; in oral lore it is often confused with geta clogs. Yokai handbooks describe it making noises at night or singing, but regional encounter tales are scarce, and the stories tend to be didactic.

Ittan-Momen is a strange, long cotton-like presence associated with the Ōsumi Takayama region, around present-day Takayama in Kimotsuki Town, Kagoshima Prefecture. In 1938, Kunio Yanagita recorded that something in the form of an Ittan-Momen fluttered at night and attacked people. No color, face, limbs, or voice is given; what remains is the vivid sense of something long moving through the dark. A 1942 dialect collection calls “Ittan-Monmen” a kind of monster and describes it as a cotton-like object about one tan in length that attacks people at night. A tan measures a bolt of cloth, but its dimensions have varied by period, place, and textile; it cannot be reduced to one fixed number of meters. The name evokes a length of cloth long enough to cover a body, flickering like a living thing. Later local materials tell of Ittan-Momen flying in at dusk and winding around a person’s head or neck. Interviews conducted in Kimotsuki Town preserve accounts from Ikenosono, Hami, Gongen-yama, and the banks of the Kimotsuki River, while also noting communities where the story was unknown. This was not one uniform tale across all of Kagoshima, but a presence remembered unevenly in particular parts of Ōsumi. The figure now familiar throughout Japan owes much to Shigeru Mizuki. According to an account published by the Agency for Cultural Affairs, Mizuki gave distinctive designs to yokai named in *Yōkai Meii* whose appearances had not been handed down. Ittan-Momen, too, acquired the recognizable body of a long flying cloth and became known nationwide through manga and animation.

A shaggy, seldom-seen yokai sketched by Toriyama Sekien in Konjaku Hyakki Shūi. Sekien glosses its name as “Keu-kemi” (written 希有希見, “rarely seen”), underscoring its elusiveness. He likens its form to a hair-covered “hair-woman,” yet offers little on its nature or habits. Later writers proposed it lurks in damp corners of houses, but Edo-period sources do not confirm this.

A yokai famed as an invisible wall that blocks travelers on night roads. People suddenly find they can’t move forward, their hands meeting a flat, unyielding surface. The spell is said to break if one waits, sidesteps, or taps the ground with a cane. Its form is unfixed—often described as unseen or like a featureless wall. It rarely harms beyond causing confusion, feared mainly as a nuisance that makes people lose their way.

A yokai appearing as a shaven-headed boy with a single large eye in the center of his forehead. More prankster than predator, it startles people by popping up suddenly and is often portrayed with humor. A folk pun led to the belief it dislikes beans, which later shifted into depictions of it favoring tofu. It appears in Edo-period picture scrolls and essays, and is often encountered outdoors or by the roadside.

A page-boy–shaped yokai depicted in the Edo-period picture book Konjaku Gazu Zoku Hyakki. He’s shown wearing a Japanese paper umbrella with its main ribs removed over his head and holding a lantern. The notes liken him to a young attendant serving the rain deity (Ushi/Ame-no-shi), with a punning wordplay behind his name. He also appears in kibyōshi (yellow-backed comic books), often in a menial attendant role. He lacks strong ties to local folk traditions and is largely a literary-artistic invention.

A yokai that washes red beans at streams late at night, echoing with shoki-shoki or zaku-zaku sounds. It appears near human settlements, blending into the sound of running water. Descriptions vary: a small, wizened elder or, at times, a child. Rather than direct attacks, it deceives with its presence, luring people into slipping. It appears in Edo-period strange tales and picture scrolls, with some accounts noting its habit of counting beans with exactness.

Betobeto-san is a night-road yokai that never reveals its form, accompanying people from behind solely through the sound of footsteps. Widely known primarily around Uda District in Nara Prefecture, it is said that while walking down a dark road, one might hear wet, smacking footsteps—"beto-beto" or "peta-peta"—trailing behind them, yet turning around reveals no one. The terror it induces does not stem from a grotesque appearance, but from the fact that the distance of the footsteps never changes. Neither catching up nor falling behind, the footsteps perfectly match the person's stride, forcing the walker to carry an invisible companion on their back. Rather than a yokai that inflicts harm, Betobeto-san is an anomaly of the boundary that can be safely passed by showing courtesy to the unseen. It is said that if one calls out, "Betobeto-san, please go ahead" (Betobeto-san, osaki e okoshi) and yields the path, the footsteps will move to the front and eventually disappear. This etiquette demonstrates the folkloric wisdom of not eliminating fear through force, but acknowledging the other's existence and yielding the right of way. While Shigeru Mizuki's illustrations gave it a round, friendly appearance, the original Betobeto-san is a formless presence born from the sounds of night roads, wet soil, and the emptiness behind one's back. There is a vast distance between this yokai's visualized modern character form and the formless folkloric experience it originated from. Though it gained a small body in pictures, the core of the legend remains the footsteps approaching from behind. Therefore, to truly understand Betobeto-san, rather than looking for its figure, one must imagine the sensation of gaining an extra set of walking sounds on a dark, lonely road.

A legendary lunar beast seen in the dark markings on the full moon, interpreted as a rabbit. Spread through Buddhist paintings and tales, it became an emblem of the moon deity. In Chinese lore it pounds the elixir of immortality; in Japan it is said to pound rice cakes (mochi). Art historical records note its presence from the medieval period, with the mochi-pounding image becoming common by the mid-Edo era.

The Baku is an imaginary creature whose womb was the spirit-beast “mo” (貘) recorded in the Chinese classics, and which grew in Japan into something of its own: a beast that devours bad dreams. From of old it has been drawn as a composite creature pieced together from several animals — the trunk of an elephant, the eyes of a rhinoceros, the tail of an ox, the feet of a tiger, the body of a bear. This formula reaches back to “an elephant’s trunk, a rhino’s eyes, an ox’s tail, a tiger’s feet” in the preface that the Tang poet Bai Juyi attached to a screen, his Eulogy on the Mo Screen. Older still, the Shuowen Jiezi records it as “resembling a bear, yellow-black in color, dwelling in the land of Shu,” while Guo Pu’s commentary on the Erya reports that it “gnaws on copper, iron, and the stalks of bamboo.” This strange habit of eating iron is thought to reflect a real beast of Sichuan — the giant panda — and the Japanese name “baku” for the real animal (the tapir) was given later, because it resembled this legendary baku: a naming run in reverse. In China the mo was originally a beast that warded off evil — repelling plague and noxious influences. To sleep on a bed laid with its pelt was believed to fend off epidemics, and to hang up a picture of its form was to drive off evil. The notion of this spirit-beast reached Japan through the Collected Works of Bai Juyi, beloved reading ever since the Heian court, and by around the Muromachi period it had changed in character into “a beneficial beast that devours bad dreams and purges them away.” In the Edo period, picture-charms of the baku and “baku pillows” inscribed with the character for baku came into wide use, even among the common folk, as lucky charms that guarded peaceful sleep and kept evil at bay. The very opposite of the Western nightmare-demon that brings bad dreams to the sleeper, the baku is an auspicious beast that stands not on the side that steals dreams away, but on the side that eats bad dreams and makes them vanish.

Kodama, often searched in English as “kodamas,” are Japanese tree spirits: presences believed to dwell in old trees, or sometimes in the trees themselves. In older belief, a tree that had lived for many generations could hold a sacred presence, and the delayed voice that returns from a mountain or valley, known as yamabiko, was also understood as a reply from the kodama. The idea reaches back toward Japanese tree divinity: some interpretations connect kodama with Kukunochi, the tree deity named in the Kojiki, while the Heian-period dictionary Wamyo Ruijusho records “Kotama” as a Japanese name for a tree god. Genji monogatari also places kodama among beings that are hard to separate cleanly from oni, kami, or fox spirits, showing that the word already carried an uncanny, yokai-like edge in the Heian imagination. A kodama usually does not look like a separate monster; it may be indistinguishable from an ordinary tree, yet the tree is feared as charged with spirit, and careless felling could bring misfortune. Toriyama Sekien’s Gazu Hyakki Yagyo illustrates this under the title Mokumi, explaining that a god appears in a tree more than a hundred years old and drawing aged human figures beside an ancient trunk. Written as 木霊, 木魂, 木魅, or 谺, kodama sits at the meeting point of tree soul and echo: the forest speaks back, and the tree is imagined as the one answering.

Yuki-warashi is a snow spirit that appears as a child alongside deep snowfall and blizzards. It visits homes through winter, offering quiet companionship, but grows thin as spring nears and eventually fades away. Rather than causing harm, it is usually portrayed as a gentle presence embodying the transience of snow. The name varies locally, such as “Yuki-warashi,” placing it among yokai that personify the fleeting nature of winter.

The kappa is among the most famous of all Japanese yokai, said to dwell wherever there is water—rivers, ponds, and marshes alike. It stands about the height of a four- or five-year-old child, with a water-filled dish (sara) set into the crown of its head, a shell on its back, a beak for a mouth, and webbed hands and feet. Its body is greenish or reddish in hue and is sometimes described as smelling fishy. That dish on its head is the very source of its power: should the water spill or dry out, the kappa is believed to lose its strength at once. From this came the well-known trick of bowing deeply to a kappa so that, returning the courtesy, it tips the water from its dish and can be caught. The kappa has two faces. One is fearsome—dragging people and horses into the water and taking their lives. The other is dutiful—keeping its promises faithfully, delighting in sumo, and sometimes passing on miraculous bone-setting remedies. Found across the whole country, it goes by more than eighty regional names: Garappa, Medochi, Enko, Hyosube, and many more. Among all the yokai of Japan, few are so deeply rooted in local life.

The tanuki is, as an animal, the Japanese raccoon dog, _Nyctereutes procyonoides_, a canid native to Asia that includes Japanese subspecies such as the Honshu and Ezo tanuki. Japan's Ministry of the Environment distribution survey of tanuki, foxes, and badgers from 2022 shows tanuki living across most of Japan except Okinawa Prefecture. As a yokai, the tanuki stands beside the fox as one of Japan's two great animal shapeshifters. The saying "foxes have seven transformations, tanuki have eight" gives the tanuki one more degree of shape-changing power. The earliest textual clue is often traced to the Nihon Shoki entry for 627, which says that a mujina in Mutsu Province changed into a person and sang. In classical usage, however, tanuki, mujina, mami, and related graphs were often confused across regions and texts. The 1924 "tanuki-mujina case" and its not-guilty ruling by Japan's highest court show that the confusion even became a legal issue. Bake-danuki powers include placing a leaf on the head to transform, drumming on the belly under the moon, stretching the famous "eight-mat" scrotum into rooms, nets, umbrellas, or weapons, and the broader repertoire of seven or eight transformations. Edo-period artists such as Utagawa Kuniyoshi and Tsukioka Yoshitoshi made the tanuki a visual icon. Famous tanuki legends cluster in Shikoku, Sado, and Awaji: Awa's great tanuki include Kincho Tanuki, Rokuemon, and Tasaburo; Sado has Danzaburo Tanuki; Awaji has Shibaemon Tanuki. Two frameworks coexist and are often confused: the Three Great Tanuki Legends, Inugami Gyobu, Bunbuku Chagama of Morinji, and the Shojoji tanuki-bayashi tale; and Japan's Three Famous Tanuki, Danzaburo, Tasaburo, and Shibaemon. From the Meiji period onward, Shigaraki ware tanuki became nationally famous after Emperor Showa's 1951 visit and poem, and the 1952 "eight auspicious signs" fixed the modern shop-front figure. In postwar culture, Isao Takahata's Pom Poko from 1994 gathers famous tanuki from around Japan, while Tomihiko Morimi's The Eccentric Family from 2007 imagines Kyoto as a city shared by tanuki and fox families.

A domestic cat that has grown old and gained supernatural powers. Said to take human form, speak, manipulate the dead, cast curses, and more; often confused with the nekomata. Licking lamp oil is viewed as a sign of impending strangeness, and long-tailed cats were believed more likely to transform. As cities expanded, everyday cats took on a mystical aura, and Edo-period books and prints popularized the image.

Cat Maiden is a label given to women who display feline habits or tastes, appearing in early modern eyewitness notes, sideshow bills, and yomihon fiction. It lacks a fixed image as a supernatural being; most references use it as a nickname for eccentric people or performers. It turns up in Edo and Kamigata sideshows, in the odd-woman tale of the yomihon Ehon Sayoshigure, and in anecdotal miscellanies. Rather than a shape-shifting monster, it is best understood as a human eccentric compared to a cat.

“Momongaa” is a specter name found in Edo-period picture books and printed collections. It is said to appear at night from an upstairs room or by a window to startle people. Illustrations show it with bulging eyes and a split, gaping mouth, or as a white lump of flesh with stubby limbs. No fixed origin or rites are recorded. The name echoes a startling cry, and its forms vary across herbals, essays, and picture scrolls.

The yamawaro is a yokai of the mountains of western Japan, often said to be the form a kappa takes when it climbs into the hills in autumn. About the height of a child, it has long legs, a body covered in fine hair, and is said to understand human speech. The *Wakan Sansai Zue* records it with long reddish-brown hair, a round face, pointed ears like a dog's, and a single eye above the nose. It is said to lend a ready hand with mountain work, yet it also loves sumo, plays tricks on cattle and horses, and even climbs into people's homes to soak in the bath. In Kumamoto it is told that the creature dislikes the inked line of a carpenter's ink pot, and that drawing such a line keeps it away.

Tsuchinoko is a mallet-shaped, thick-bodied serpentine monster said to be sighted in mountain paths, fields, and the thickets of riverbanks. Its name is also interpreted as "child of the mallet" (tsuchi no ko), and the core of the lore is not simply seeing a slender snake, but a creature about thirty to eighty centimeters long, with a head protruding from a body thick as a beer bottle. In the folklore compilation of Higashishirakawa Village, various characteristics are enumerated: body colors like dark brown, chocolate brown, and gray; a yellowish underbelly; spots on the back; blinking, snoring, moving by standing vertically, rolling, and even claims that it jumps about two meters. It is situated somewhere between an ordinary snake and a cryptid (Unidentified Mysterious Animal, or UMA). The intrigue of this monster lies in the fact that, unlike classic snake spirits or giant snake (orochi) worship, it has grown as a modern and contemporary folklore centered around "something that has yet to be caught." In early modern encyclopedic classifications, such as Volume 45 of the "Wakan Sansai Zue" establishing the category of "Dragons and Snakes", snakes have been read on the boundary of dragons, spiritual creatures, and venomous insects. Rather than bearing that heavy mythological weight, the Tsuchinoko is spoken of as a small anomaly lurking in the grass of mountain villages—"seen, but leaving no proof." Precisely because of this, eyewitness accounts, capture methods, bounties, and festivals merge into one, occupying a unique position of being a yokai while simultaneously being a cryptid. YOKAI.JP treats the Tsuchinoko not as an object for determining real existence, but as a snake-type yokai of the fields and mountains, and a modern folklore of the search. Higashishirakawa Village has compiled sightings from the Showa to Heisei eras, establishing the village as one of the preeminent outbreak zones while touching upon sightings nationwide. What is important here is not "whether it was found," but that it continues to move regional memory while remaining unfound. The Tsuchinoko is a yokai that sparks curiosity toward the scientifically unnamed, creating a space where the narratives of mountain villages are renewed every year.

The Chochin-obake is one of Japan's most famous Tsukumogami, an old paper lantern that has transformed into a yokai. Its typical appearance features a large mouth torn open in the middle of the lantern, a long tongue sticking out, and one or two eyes. Although it appears frequently in Edo period yokai paintings and kusazōshi (illustrated storybooks), there are surprisingly few specific legends or folktales associated with it. It is primarily depicted as a "visual yokai" existing within artwork and toys, and it has become an iconic symbol of humor and the supernatural. As a Tsukumogami, it belongs to the category of "discarded old tools gaining life," and the origins of the Chochin-obake can be seen in the Hyakki Yagyo (Night Parade of One Hundred Demons) scrolls. However, the familiar design of the "large-eyed lantern sticking out a long tongue" was primarily established in Edo period ukiyo-e and Kabuki props. The "Oiwa-chochin" depicted in Katsushika Hokusai's "One Hundred Ghost Stories" overlaps the vengeful spirit of Oiwa from the "Tokaido Yotsuya Kaidan" with the lantern, portraying the Chochin-obake with a strong image of resentment, but this is an exception combined with a specific ghost story rather than a standard Chochin-obake. The role of the Chochin-obake in yokai culture is that of a small prop connecting the everyday with the otherworld. Lanterns were originally tools to bring light to the darkness and guide humans. The inversion where this light-providing tool itself becomes a yokai to frighten humans is precisely its anomalous nature. However, it is not a terrifying yokai that threatens human life; in most cases, it is depicted as a mischievous prankster with a sense of humor. It can be said to be a character that allows one to feel the relaxed distance between the everyday life of the common people in the Edo period and yokai.

A yokai depicted by Toriyama Sekien in Konjaku Hyakki Shūi. Countless eyes appear across the paper screen doors of a dilapidated house, staring back at intruders. Sekien’s note suggests a go player’s obsession spread from the board to the entire house, framing it as a haunt residing in the shoji itself. Later encyclopedias call it a literary creation, yet it endures as an emblem of the eerie patterns and dim light cast through shoji screens.

A tsukumogami-like figure from Toriyama Sekien’s Hyakki Tsurezure Bukuro: ceramic vessels and utensils gather to form an armored warrior. It plays on the aesthetic contrast between Karatsu ware and Seto ware, depicting utensils as rival factions. The motif is not based on oral lore or local tradition; Sekien’s image and accompanying verse are the principal sources.

Suzuhiko-hime was named and pictured by Toriyama Sekien in the final volume of Hyakki Tsurezure Bukuro, published in 1784. In the 1805 reprint held by the National Diet Library, she leans over a railing and offers an opened fan. Her head is layered with forms resembling small bells and their long cords, blurring the boundary between face and ritual implement. Despite the “hime” in her name, no record identifies her as the ghost of a particular princess, a deity enshrined at a shrine, or a female apparition known in local tradition. She is a yokai introduced in a single illustration by Sekien. Sekien’s caption recalls Ame-no-Uzume performing kagura before the rock cave in an effort to draw out the hidden deity. It is a brief, dreamlike allusion, not an origin tale for Suzuhiko-hime. In the rock-cave episode of the *Kojiki*, Ame-no-Uzume uses bamboo leaves and an overturned tub; kagura bells do not occur in the text. Suzuhiko-hime therefore cannot be identified as Ame-no-Uzume herself, her transformation, or a bell from the myth. Bell-carrying creatures also appear in earlier copies of Hyakki Yagyō Emaki. A mid-Edo manuscript in the National Diet Library depicts a birdlike figure holding a cluster of bells. Hidekazu Imai describes a related image as “a crane in miko dress holding bells”. The figure is not named Suzuhiko-hime, and it cannot be proved to be the same being as Sekien’s; the connection is a shared visual idea joining a miko, a bird, and bells. No primary source gives Suzuhiko-hime a fixed place of appearance, harmful act, benefit, personality, weakness, or method of defeat. Calling her broadly an implement yokai or tsukumogami does not license a personal tale in which a century-old bell changes from resentment. What can be firmly traced is a female figure incorporating the form of bells, an open fan, a caption longing for Ame-no-Uzume’s ancient performance, and an image later quoted by artists.

The Kotofurunushi is a tsukumogami (an artifact that has transformed into a yokai) born from an old koto, depicted in the Edo-period yokai bestiary *Hyakki Tsurezure Bukuro* by the artist Toriyama Sekien. Its visual design is highly striking: sorrowful eyes and a mouth emerge on the surface of an old, broken koto that has been abandoned for years, with countless snapped strings hanging down like the tangled hair of a deranged female demon. This is not merely an anthropomorphized object, but a visualization of the intense grudge of an instrument—a tool whose sole purpose is to produce sound—being forced into silence and left to rot. The deepest charm of this yokai lies in the cruel paradigm shift of Japanese music history hidden within Sekien's commentary accompanying the illustration. Sekien wrote: "Since the blind man Yatsuhashi reformed the melodies, the Tsukushi Koto exists in name only, and those who know its sound are exceedingly rare..." This refers to Yatsuhashi Kengyo, a genius blind musician of the early Edo period. Yatsuhashi Kengyo learned the traditional playing methods of the ancient "Tsukushi Koto," which had previously been played elegantly among aristocrats and monks primarily in northern Kyushu, and dramatically reformed it into a modern style (Sokyoku), gaining immense popularity. However, as the price for Yatsuhashi's new style sweeping the world, the good old "Tsukushi Koto" became completely obsolete, forgotten by history with no one left to play it. In other words, the Kotofurunushi is not just a monster of an old instrument; it is the incarnation of the sorrowful resentment of "loser's art" (the music of an old school)—eliminated by the advent of a genius (Yatsuhashi Kengyo) and left without an audience. It is an extremely cultural and musicological yokai.

A yokai of Buddhist ritual implements depicted by Toriyama Sekien in Hyakki Tsurezurebukuro. It appears as a wooden fish (mokugyō) bearing a bearded face like Bodhidharma (Daruma), seated on a round cushion with eyes wide open. Sekien hints it is akin to the Buddhist-tool spirit Harisumori. Because fish were believed never to sleep or close their eyes, the mokugyō symbolizes sleepless diligence in monastic practice. Linked with the legend of Bodhidharma’s nine years without sleep, it is read as a visualization of the ideal of wakefulness.

Mino-waraji is a tsukumogami—an animated household object—depicted by the Edo-period artist Toriyama Sekien in Hyakki Tsurezure Bukuro. It appears as a composite creature with a straw raincoat (mino) for a torso and straw sandals (waraji) for legs, shouldering a hoe and emerging in a snow-laden bamboo grove. Rooted in the belief that old tools and rain gear can gain spirits over time, the image blends earlier portrayals of mino and waraji yokai found in Hyakki Yagyō picture scrolls and Tsukumogami emaki. Little is recorded about its behavior; it survives mainly as a symbolic figure.

A utensil yokai depicted by Toriyama Sekien in Hyakki Tsurezure Bukuro. It appears as a water jar given eyes, nose, and mouth, praised as a felicitous vessel that never runs dry. The entry is accompanied by celebratory verse and is often read as a coda to the volume. No local folk tradition is known; it is generally considered Sekien’s creation, later interpreted as a tsukumogami.

Mishige is a tsukumogami from Okinawa—an animated rice paddle or ladle (shamoji) that comes to life after being old or discarded. By night it stirs, clatters, and plays tricks, sometimes joining with other utensil spirits like nabige (ladle spirits) to revel together. People tell of eerie sounds—like sanshin and drums—rising from trash heaps, serving as a warning not to mistreat old tools.

Kinrei is the embodiment of the essence of gold, or a spirit symbolizing fortune and virtue, believed to appear as a sign to households that practice good deeds. Edo-period picture scrolls depict it as storehouses brimming with gold and silver—more an allegory of auspicious news than a tangible monster. Kintama, by contrast, is said to arrive as a glowing sphere or strange fire; welcoming it brings prosperity, but harming it invites decline. The two are sometimes conflated, though their characterizations differ slightly.

Shōgorō is a tsukumogami—a haunted ritual gong—depicted by Toriyama Sekien in his Hyakki Tsurezure Bukuro. Sekien plays on the famous Osaka merchant Yodoya Tatsugorō’s tale of the “golden rooster,” punning on gold (kogané), gong (kané), and the name Gorō. The image follows a lineage seen in Muromachi-period Night Parade scrolls, where a temple gong (wani-guchi) sprouts limbs. Concrete anecdotes are scarce; the yokai is chiefly known from artwork.

A spectral creature depicted in Edo-period yokai picture scrolls. It wears garments, spreads its forelegs wide, and has a horse’s face with bulging, upward-thrust eyes and cloven deer-like hooves. Identical images appear in late-18th-century works such as the Hyakumonogatari Kae Emaki, Oda Gyochō’s Night Parade of One Hundred Demons, and Bakemono-zukushi emaki. No period captions explain its behavior or origin. The imagery likely plays on the word baka (“fool”), but its function—harmful or helpful—remains unknown in the sources.

A water-dwelling yokai depicted in the late Edo-period picture scroll “Bakemono-zukushi Emaki.” It appears as a seashell with an eye and a tail-like protrusion, shown leaping about. No caption accompanies the image and the artist is unknown. Counted among eleven creatures unique to this scroll, it bears a written reading of its name, implying it was not widely known. No specific harm or blessing is recorded; it is portrayed simply as an uncanny presence near waterways.