Kama-itachi is a name for a wind-borne anomaly found in Edo-period art, essays, and oral lore, referring both to the phenomenon and its alleged agent. It is tied to whirlwinds and chill gusts in northern and mountainous regions, noted for razor-like lacerations when one stumbles on the road, delayed pain or bleeding, and frequent injuries to the legs. Its true nature varies across sources: invisible minor spirits, beasts riding the wind, or acts of deities coexist as explanations. In Shin’etsu it is said to strike those who break calendrical taboos, and in Hida a three-stage action is told. In parts of Chubu and Kinki, the whirlwind itself is called kama-itachi, while Edo essays report beast tracks left after a dust devil. Under regional aliases like Tosa’s “Field Sickle,” funerary tools turned uncanny are blamed for similar wounds. In haiku it settled as a winter season word and a sign of wind-borne calamity. This version limits itself to attested sources, avoids overlinking to specific places or persons, and presents regional types side by side.

A local apparition said to descend with peals of thunder during the seedbed season, feared for ravaging paddies. Rites to drive it off include cracking split bamboo, and folk custom sets bamboo poles in fields to mark a safe return path. It is understood less as a human-harming monster than as a personification of lightning disaster, and those who approach are said to have their vitality sapped and fall stupefied. Its diet and appearance are inconsistent, with traditions likening it to a weasel, a tanuki, or a cat.

A tradition-grounded composite of spider apparitions said to gain occult power through great age, lurking in mountain passes, temple rafters, and caves. Appearances range from an ordinary spider grown enormous, to a hairy arm extending from the ceiling, to an old woman in human guise. Avoiding notice, it moves by night, saps vital energy, and binds victims with silk. In slaying tales it often retreats after its limbs are severed by blades, or reveals its true form and is later found as a corpse. Names and lairs vary; reports surface sporadically in local curiosities and essays. Though terms like yamagumo and tsuchigumo sometimes overlap, here it refers broadly to eldritch old spiders.

In this version, we read the Osaki-gitsune as the "small fox clinging to family lineages." The terror of the Osaki-gitsune is not that it suddenly jumps out on a mountain path. Its terror lies in the fact that by being spoken of as possessing a house for generations—that the family is an "Osaki holder"—it completely alters the reputation of the entire family. The yokai does not appear before the individual; it rides upon the family name. The Osaki-gitsune functioned as an explanation for wealth. In village societies, when only a specific family became wealthy, the reason was sometimes spoken of not merely as effort or luck, but as the invisible power of a fox. This narrative contains both envy and fear. A wealthy family has power, but whether that power is legitimate is doubted. The Osaki-gitsune is an entity that translates economic imbalance into the form of a yokai. As an explanation for illness or possession, the Osaki-gitsune also played a major role. Unexplained ailments, sudden madness, and abnormal appetites were spoken of as fox possession, becoming subjects for prayers and exorcisms. Here, the fox does not just enter the sick person's body; it spreads the suspicion of "Who sent it?" and "Which family has it?" The belief in spirit possession expands bodily issues into issues of the family and the community. The proximity to the Kuda-gitsune enriches the reading of this version. Both are small fox spirits that possess houses and are tied to wealth and disease. However, while the Kuda-gitsune easily takes on the sorcerous image of bamboo tubes or Izuna magic, the Osaki-gitsune functions more strongly as a family's reputation. Whether they actually keep a fox cannot be confirmed. Even so, simply being said to "have it" sways marriage prospects and social interactions. The invisible fox has visible effects socially. The Osaki-gitsune in this version is less a yokai with the appearance of a small animal, and more a suspicion dwelling in a house. While the shape of its tail or the size of its body changes depending on the teller, the feeling that "there is something in that house" never disappears. The outline of the Osaki-gitsune is clearest when we shift our eyes from searching for yokai in the fields and mountains, to looking at family reputations. The power of the Osaki-gitsune lies not in visible possessions, but in the suspicion of invisible possession. Even without evidence of actually keeping a fox, if it is said that "that house has Osaki," the attitudes of those around them change. Before showing its form, the yokai begins to operate as a reputation. In this version, we read the Osaki-gitsune as a memory device of the village. A certain family has been rich since the old days, produces sick people, or is avoided in marriage. Such memories are bundled under the name of the fox. The Osaki-gitsune has the function of transforming individual incidents into the narrative of a single family lineage. Therefore, the cute image of a fox is insufficient for the Osaki-gitsune. Even though it is small, it sways the evaluation and future of a family. Though it is a fox yokai, what it truly bites into are human relationships. The small fox lurking in the house becomes largest in the eyes of the community. Precisely because it is invisible, this fox enters deep into the house. The fewer people who have seen its form, the harder it is to deny. Something no one can verify sways the judgments of marriage and association. The Osaki-gitsune demonstrates very sharply the process by which a yokai becomes a social fact. That slight invisibility is what makes the Osaki-gitsune remain for a long time.

In this version, we read the Kuda-gitsune as the "commanded fox lurking in a bamboo tube." The smallness of the Kuda-gitsune is not just its appearance. Because it is small enough to fit in a tube, it can be carried around. Because it can hide under the floorboards or in the storage room, it becomes a family secret. Because it is out of public sight, the rumors that "it possessed another family," "it called in wealth," or "it sent an illness" can take hold. Being small is precisely its power to slip into the cracks of society. The premise of a commanded fox spirit distances the Kuda-gitsune from the Inari fox. While Inari foxes are often enshrined as divine messengers, the Kuda-gitsune is spoken of as a tool carrying human desire. While moving on its master's orders, it simultaneously affixes the reputation of a "possessed lineage" (tsukimono-suji) to that master's household. The power to bring profit is also the power to invite suspicion. The more the Kuda-gitsune fulfills human wishes, the murkier it makes human relationships. The Kuda-gitsune as an explanation for illness is folklorically significant. When unknown diseases, sudden madness, or abnormal appetites occurred, it was sometimes said that a fox had possessed the person. This is an explanation from an era outside modern medicine, but simultaneously the language expressing tension between households. The questions of "Who sent it?" and "Which family has the fox?" drag not only the sick person but the entire community into the fray. The relationship with Izuna magic strengthens the sorcerous nature of the Kuda-gitsune. In the belief spheres of Izuna Gongen and fox users, the imagination of commanding tiny fox spirits overlapped with mountain asceticism and magical power. Here, the Kuda-gitsune is not a wild fox, but a spiritual familiar placed under a practitioner's management. The container of the bamboo tube symbolizes this dominant relationship. Foxes are confined, carried, and dispatched to wherever necessary. The Kuda-gitsune in this version is not a cute little fox, but a fox serving as a family secret. Though its form is small, its impact is immense. Wealth, illness, marriage, reputation, and prayers revolve around a single fox spirit. Therefore, when reading the Kuda-gitsune, we must look at it not just as an animal yokai, but as a mechanism through which village society named invisible imbalances. The tube of the Kuda-gitsune is a symbol of domination. The imagination of shrinking a spirit, putting it in a container, and taking it out when needed perfectly expresses the human desire to possess invisible power. However, the spirit that was supposed to be possessed eventually turns the household itself into an object of suspicion. The Kuda-gitsune brings profit to its user while eating away at their reputation. In this version, we also read the Kuda-gitsune as the "reverse side of wealth." When there is wealth that cannot be explained by effort or luck, people imagine a secret spirit behind it. Tales of foxes carrying wealth are words mixed with envy and caution. Families possessing them are envied and shunned at the same time. The Kuda-gitsune brings profit and isolation together. Furthermore, the Kuda-gitsune is a spirit at exceptionally close range, even among foxes. It is not encountered in the wild mountains, but resides under the floorboards of the house or inside a tube. It is not in a distant otherworld, but lurking in the storage spaces of daily life. This proximity is the creepiness of the Kuda-gitsune. Because it is small, it is overlooked, and because it is overlooked, it can slip in anywhere. Reading the Kuda-gitsune is also reading what it means to "possess a fox." Holding a spirit might bring profit, but from that moment, the owner is also possessed by the spirit. The Kuda-gitsune shows that the more people desire secret power, the more they are bound by that secret.

A整理 based on the plant-spirit of banana (bashō) as pictured in Toriyama Sekien’s Konjaku Hyakki Shūi. The broad leaves rustle and cast uncanny shadows in wind and rain, thought to summon the strange, with the belief that an aged clump comes to harbor a spirit. It takes the form of a beautiful woman to unsettle both clergy and laity, posing the riddle of whether grasses and trees can attain Buddhahood, and vanishes depending on one’s response. Tales include encounters in Ryukyuan banana groves, an apotropaic rule that those who carry blades are spared, and Shinano stories where striking it leaves the bashō stalk wounded by morning. It is not consistently harmful, more often serving as a warning through shock and confusion. Typical settings are temple gardens, banana plots, and manor yards.

A demoness archetype fixed in Noh, joruri, and kabuki from the Muromachi to Edo periods. She appears under the pretext of autumn leaf viewing as a courtly lady-in-waiting or princess’s attendant, lulling suspicion with music and dance. At the feast she inebriates warriors, but near midnight her nature is exposed by divine protection or a sacred blade, and she reveals her true form in the wilds of Mount Togakushi. Commonly called Momiji, she bears aliases such as Princess Sarashina depending on the work. Her slaying tales extol martial virtue and reflect awe of the mountains, inheriting Togakushi worship and the rhetoric of oni-hunting lore. On stage, the contrast between the elegant disguise of the first act and the ferocious demon visage of the second is emblematic.