Traditional Yokai Encyclopedia

This traditional image is based on the band of old tools described in the Kyoto University manuscript of the *Tsukumogami Emaki*, copied in the early modern period. The setting is the capital during the Kōhō era (964–968). During the year-end soot-sweeping, tools that had served households for a long time are thrown into the alleys inside and outside the capital. Cast out without reward into places where they would be trampled by oxen and horses, the implements resent the callousness of humans and begin consulting on how to become monsters (yōbutsu) and exact their revenge. Only one, Ichiren Nyūdō, a prayer bead rosary, objects. Accepting being discarded as karma, he advises them to "repay enmity with grace," but he is beaten so badly by the angry hand-staff Aratarō that his fasteners break, and he retreats with the help of his disciples. Then, Master Kobun brings up the logic of yin and yang. He explains that all things merely manifest temporary forms according to yin and yang; if they cast away their lives on Setsubun—when yin and yang switch places—and entrust themselves to the Creator God, even implements can obtain a different form. On the night of Setsubun, the old tools end their own lives as taught. They then all at once transform into yōbutsu that no longer fit their original purposes—men and women, the elderly and children, various goblins, and beasts. They make their home deep in Nagasaka, behind Mount Funaoka, a place close to the capital where food is easily obtained. They venture into the capital to snatch and devour people and livestock, and upon returning, they pour sake, dance, and compose waka and Chinese poetry. Those who were once "objects" used by humans now re-enact human culture, claiming it as their own. The picture scroll does not depict this transformation as magic that completely erases the original tools. Because faces sprout on the implements discarded by the roadside, and then human, demonic, or bestial bodies are granted to them, the viewer can trace back what became which yōbutsu. The people of the capital cannot see their forms and cannot pursue them by force of arms, so they have no choice but to pray to the gods and Buddhas. Meanwhile, the yōbutsu master Go, Sugoroku, Kemari (kickball), archery, and poetry; they are shaped not merely as a mob, but as a group that excessively mirrors the refinement and pleasures of human society. Before long, the band decides that failing to show respect to the Creator God who gave them their forms would make them no better than heartless trees and stones, so they build a shrine and name it "Henge Daimyōjin" (Apparition Great Deity). They install a head priest, shrine maidens, and ritual musicians, and even prepare a portable shrine. On the dead of night on the 5th day of the 4th month, they form a splendid procession and head east on Ichijō Avenue, only to encounter the retinue of the Chancellor (Kampaku), who is heading west for a provisional appointment ceremony. The attendants fall from their horses, but the Chancellor stares down the yōbutsu from within his carriage. Inside the amulet he wears is a Sonshō Dharani written by a certain high priest; flames erupt from it, scattering the procession. Receiving the report, the Emperor orders divination, offerings to shrines, and prayers at various temples. When the high priest who wrote the Sonshō Dharani performs the great Nyohō Sonshō ritual at the Seiryōden, on the sixth day, seven or eight protective child-deities (Gohō Dōji) wielding swords and jeweled staffs appear in the light. The child-deities fly north and assault the yōbutsu's castle. However, they do not massacre them; they declare that their lives will be spared if they cease harming people and revere the Buddhist law. The defeated old tools do not simply blame their predicament on humans, but recognize it as retribution for taking life, and awaken to the desire for enlightenment. The one they look up to as their master is Ichiren Shōnin, whom they had previously banished. They visit his hermitage deep in the mountains, and Aratarō, in particular, apologizes for the sin of striking him. Ichiren forgives them, saying that it was precisely because of that blow that he himself was able to awaken to the path, and he has them all take the tonsure. The old tools inquire about the depths of various sects, seeking the teaching that leads most swiftly to enlightenment. Ichiren preaches the Shingon esoteric doctrine of "becoming a Buddha in this very body" (Sokushin Jōbutsu), and imparts the path of mudras, mantras, and visualization. There is a play on words embedded here: because many of them were originally "vessels" (ki), they are also "great vessels" (taiki) capable of receiving the teachings. In this scene, the explanation that a divine spirit possesses the vessel from the outside and animates it is also rejected. It is precisely because the implements themselves changed their forms, became aware of their sins, listened to the teachings, and practiced asceticism that they can become the subjects of enlightenment. Citing the legend that Kōbō Daishi manifested the form of Dainichi Nyorai at the imperial court, Ichiren preaches that Shingon teachings are the most superior for swift enlightenment. While the story uses ghost stories of implements as an entry point, it ultimately compares the teachings of various sects, guiding the reader into a religious discourse where the path of Buddha-nature and practice is opened even to those deemed heartless. Ichiren achieves Buddhahood at the age of 108, and the remaining disciples enter separate deep mountains and dark valleys to sever their dependence on one another. Building hermitages among rocks or under pines, after intense practice, they each become different Buddhas. The conclusion of the story does not show raging old tools being tamed by humans to become guardian spirits. It is a drama of "Hijō Jōbutsu," demonstrating that even implements deemed to have no heart can achieve Buddhahood if they repent, receive teachings, and practice asceticism of their own accord. This traditional image does not add the character of a "gentle guardian deity who grants good fortune if cherished"—which is absent from the historical sources—but instead centers on the immense transformation from resentment, to imitation, defeat, religious awakening, and finally enlightenment.

A traditional reading of the Tsurube-bi based on Edo-period ghost tales and Sekien’s imagery. Told across Japan as a tree-born will-o’-wisp, its bluish-white fire-orbs dangle from branch tips and bob up and down like a well bucket’s pulley, misleading travelers. The flame is weaker than it looks and is said not to catch on clothes or vegetation. Early-modern accounts cite fire apparitions around Saiin in Kyoto, and later yokai encyclopedias file it as a will-o’-wisp akin to Tsurube-otoshi or as a separate kind. Sightings are said to peak on moonless or misty nights; when approached it slips away, when left it drifts back. A shadowed face sometimes appears, causing confusion with hitodama, yet it is remembered as a local, earthbound fire spirit.

At dusk on a mountain road, a branch creaks once overhead. You look up, but the canopy has already dissolved into darkness. The moment you begin walking again, laughter rings out and an enormous severed head plunges down with the speed of a well bucket. In this form, Tsurube-otoshi turns the simple act of falling into terror. Two scenes from the traditions of the former Sogabe Village, preserved in *Kuchi Tanba Kōhishū*, are especially important for understanding this image. The presence in the kaya tree at Hōki calls, “Is the night work done? Shall I lower the bucket? Creak, creak,” descending with laughter before climbing back into the tree. From an old pine at Tera, by contrast, a severed head drops and eats people. The detail that it stays away for two or three days after feeding makes it more than a passing illusion. It was imagined as a hungry predator lying in wait along the community's night roads. Placed side by side, the two stories reveal a method of attack. First, a voice or the sound of a branch draws the traveler's attention overhead. Then the thing closes the distance at once from the darkness of the canopy. After the attack, it rises again as though a rope were hauling up a well bucket. The name describes its motion more precisely than its appearance. The everyday movement of a bucket at a familiar well, transferred to an old tree at night, becomes a dreadful question: what is about to fall onto the person below? The giant severed head is not Tsurube-otoshi's only form. Hokuriku traditions also record a being that drops the bucket itself from a tree, one that forces travelers into a riddle-like exchange, and one that carries anyone who touches it into the sky. The head is a forceful image connecting the man-eating traditions of Tanba with modern yokai art, but it cannot stand for every regional account. The form described here brings one strand of the wider tradition into focus: Tsurube-otoshi as a predator hidden in an old tree. Nor can its difference from Tsurube-bi be decided by appearance alone. The early-modern Tsurube-oroshi and Sekien's Tsurube-bi center on uncanny fire descending from a tree. The severed-head form instead centers on voice, sudden descent, and predation. Even so, both inhabit old trees and move up and down like a well bucket. No source shows a flame simply transforming into a face, but the evidence is equally insufficient to call the traditions unrelated. A sounder reading is that a shared older name and motion acquired different bodies in different local narratives. Mizuki Shigeru's 1992 original painting *Tsurube-otoshi* clearly embodies the modern impression of an enormous face appearing in a tree. A giant head communicates danger immediately and makes the instant of descent easy to visualize. It was therefore more readily remembered in manga, encyclopedias, and three-dimensional figures than an invisible voice or an ordinary bucket. Yet returning to the local tales after seeing the face lets us hear what the picture cannot show: a question about finished night work, the creak of a rope, the movement of leaves, and a presence drawing closer from somewhere above. Tsurube-otoshi's true domain is not the giant face alone. It is the instant in which a person cannot help but look up.

An edition based on visual readings of Toriyama Sekien’s Konjaku Hyakki Shūi and related images. Depicted as a human figure in Tang-style robes with a candle set upon a tray or stand on the head. Said to have had the voice destroyed by drugs and the body tattooed, composing poems in tears or fingertip blood in place of speech. Its true nature is not a monster per se but the tragic end of a person enslaved in a foreign land, giving it a strongly narrative character of human ethics and suffering, even while included in yokai catalogs. Details vary by source, yet the figure consistently stands in the night holding a light. Accounts of salvation or death are inconsistent and left unspecified.

A reference version based on images of Ubagabi that appear frequently in Edo-period essays and ghost tales. In Kawachi, an old woman who stole oil from a shrine was said to become a ghostly fire after death, drifting around shrine approaches and village paths on rainy nights. In Tanba, it was tied to water calamities on the Hozu River, feared as lights that swarm over the water. It appears as an orange fireball about one shaku in size, at times bearing the face of an old woman or the shadow of a bird. Contact is an omen of misfortune, though accounts note it can be driven off by calling out or by taboo words. With moral contexts of stolen shrine oil, child abandonment tales, and water disasters behind it, the Ubagabi endured as a ghost-fire embodying regional taboos and faith.

Ubagami is not a mere yōkai, but a divine entity embodying the very structure of Tateyama—a sacred mountain where Hell and the Pure Land coexist. In the Tateyama Mandala, Ubagami is depicted alongside underworld motifs such as Sai-no-Kawara (Children's Limbo), the Sanzu River, and the Blood Pool Hell. She possesses two faces: that of Datsueba, who judges the dead, and that of a savior who sends women off to the Pure Land. From the Middle Ages onward, the Blood Bowl Sutra (Ketsubonkyō) faith propagated the belief that women were destined to fall into the Blood Pool Hell due to the supposed impurity of childbirth. Amidst this profound terror, Ubagami functioned as the sole savior for female believers. It is said that the sixty-six statues lined up in the Ubadō of Ashikuraji reflect the "Sixty-Six Provinces Pilgrimage" (Rokujūrokubu), an ancient practice of dedicating one copy of the Lotus Sutra to each of Japan's sixty-six historical provinces. During the Nunobashi Kanjō-e, the experience of crossing the bridge blindfolded and praying in the darkness is nothing less than a ritualistic death and rebirth—letting one's earthly self die temporarily in order to be reborn anew before Ubagami. The tradition identifying her as the wife of Enma Daio creates a complementary dynamic: while the husband acts as the King of Hell who judges the dead, the wife, Ubagami, serves as the compassionate mother who saves women. This interplay brings a sense of yin-yang balance to the underworld cosmology of Tateyama.

The core of this version is not to view the Ubume as a completed "blood-soaked female yokai," but to trace how the relationship between humans and the supernatural changes the moment the baby is received. In *Konjaku Monogatari Shu*, Scroll 27, Tale 43, Taira no Suetake makes a bet in a test of courage with his fellow retainers of Minamoto no Yorimitsu. On a dark night in late September, fully equipped with armor, helmet, and bow, he heads alone to a river crossing in Mino Province to plant an arrow on the opposite shore as proof. On his way back, he is stopped by a woman's voice in the river. The woman presses him, "Hold this," the baby cries, and a strong, fishy stench of blood reaches the guards on the shore. Suetake receives the child on his sleeve, repels the woman who now chases him demanding it back, and takes it straight back to his mansion. When he opened his sleeve, what remained was neither a baby nor a stone, but a few tree leaves. What this scene shows is not the true identity of the Ubume, but the human attitude in the face of the supernatural. Suetake does not slash the woman, nor does he drive her away with prayers; he accepts her request and holds the child. His companions praise his courage, but the end of the tale merely juxtaposes the theory that the Ubume is a shape-shifting fox with the theory that she is the spirit of a woman who died in childbirth, without settling the matter. The fixed tropes of later eras, such as the blood-stained waistcloth, long black hair, and bird wings, are nowhere in the text. In other words, what is fixed in the oldest class of Ubume tales is the dark river crossing, the woman's voice, the crying baby, the stench of blood, the demand to hold it, and the transformation into leaves—not the yokai's appearance. It is in the early modern period that the physical bodies of women who died in childbirth came to the forefront. *Hyaku Monogatari Hyōban* explains that the lingering attachment of a woman who died "upon giving birth" becomes the Ubume, who cries with her lower body dyed in blood. *Kii Zōdanshū* tells the origin story where a pregnant woman who died was abandoned in a field, the child in her womb was born, and the mother's soul walks at night holding the child; it states that those who accept her request to carry the child on their back will be given wealth. Here, the blood of the Ubume is not merely a cruel depiction, but a sign that explicitly carves the cause of death onto the body. At the same time, the act of the encounterer holding the baby is reinterpreted from a test of courage to an act of temporarily taking on the unfulfilled childbirth and child-rearing of the dead. The transformation of the baby rearranges the conclusion of the story depending on the region. In a recording from Niigata City, the child received on the bridge gradually becomes heavier, and upon looking, it has turned into a stone. In a recording from the Naoiri region of Bungo Province, it is said to become a mallet or a stone. On the other hand, in the "Ubume's Gift" type, those who withstand the weight or do not refuse the request are bestowed with superhuman strength, a great sword, and wealth. The baby becoming heavier is not a uniform attack capability, but also a device to test the one holding it. If they cannot bear it, it becomes a horror story; if they hold it all the way through, it becomes a tale of bestowed fortune. This reversal makes it impossible to classify the Ubume purely as an aggressor or purely as a guardian spirit. The waterside functions as the boundary where the Ubume passes her request to the living. The river crossing in *Konjaku Monogatari Shu*, the bridge in Niigata, and the riverbank illustrations of later eras are all places that connect "this side" and "that side." Manami Yasui's iconographic research points out that the *nagare-kanjō*—a custom of hanging a cloth by a river for a woman who died in childbirth and asking passersby to pour water over it to hold a memorial service—is also depicted in Sekien's drawing. While it cannot be definitively concluded that memorial services by water were the origin of all Ubume tales, the structures of "asking a favor of an unknown passerby" and "the dead and the living making contact at the waterside" resonate strongly. The Ubume's request can be read as a story of handing over not only the baby, but also the duty of the memorial service to the next person. The syncretism with the Kōkakuchō (Guhō bird) added wings and the nature of snatching children to the mother's spirit. The nocturnal roaming woman in *Youyang Zazu* becomes a bird when wearing feathers and a woman when taking them off. Because she has no children, she takes the children of others, and it is a bird monster that warns against leaving children's clothes exposed to the night dew. In contrast, the Japanese Ubume tries to entrust the child she is already holding to someone else. Both share the explanation of being a woman who died in childbirth and an attachment to babies, but the direction of action is "snatching" for one and "entrusting" for the other. As Hayashi Razan applying "Kōkakuchō" to the "Ubume-dori" or Nue in the 1631 *Shinkan Tashikihen* shows, this became a major node that folded two stories with opposite directions into a single name. Painters visualized this folding together. In *Hyakkai Zukan*, the Ubume became a member of the named yokai illustrations, and Toriyama Sekien's *Gazu Hyakki Yagyō* consolidated the blood-stained white cloth, the baby, the rain, and the waterside into a single image. Tsukioka Yoshitoshi's *Wakan Hyaku Monogatari*, "Shume-no-Suke Urabe Suetake," takes the medieval Suetake tale as its subject but gives the woman wings on her back, superimposing the image of the Chinese bird monster. Because the original text has no wings, this is not a faithful illustration, but a reinterpretation that returned the "Ubume" understood by 19th-century audiences to the medieval tale. Looking at the iconography chronologically, we can see that the appearance of the Ubume was not the starting point of the folklore, but was created through the accumulation of reading, publishing, and painting. The "Onmesama" handed down at Daigyōji Temple in Kamakura demonstrates another reversal of the Ubume. According to temple legend, in 1532, Priest Nichitō saved a woman who died in a difficult childbirth by chanting sutras, and he built a pagoda for the Ubume to enshrine her as a guardian deity of safe childbirth. Folklore materials recount that the woman appealed to the priest on the bridge over the Namerigawa River, saying, "I cannot cross the river, and the child is sucking on my breasts, causing me pain," and later she requested a pagoda to save people suffering from difficult childbirth. Here, the Ubume who passes her request to the living on a bridge at night moves to the side of helping childbirth after receiving a memorial service. Terror and safe-childbirth beliefs are not separate attributes, but a continuous story of an unsaved spirit transforming into an enshrined deity. Even compared to the closely related Kosodate Yūrei (child-rearing ghost), they cannot be equated simply because of the theme of the death of a mother and child. The core of the Kosodate Yūrei is the story of a mother coming to buy candy to feed her child in the grave even after death; the nurturing continues from mother to child. The Ubume stops others on night roads and temporarily transfers the role of holding the baby. The former is a story of "the dead raising," while the latter is a story of "entrusting to the living." If we relate them while maintaining this difference, we can read the Ubume neither as a beautiful tale of maternal love nor as a punishment for death in childbirth, but as a supernatural encounter where the fear surrounding death in childbirth, memorial services, gift-giving, and the memory of society intersect.

A version that preserves only the appearance seen in early modern picture scrolls. Key features are a horse-like face, cloven deer-like hooves, upturned eyeballs, clothing, and a stance with both forelegs braced. No behavior or abilities are recorded. The name is understood as a visual pun on the written word for “baka” (fool), and any allegory remains speculative. Later embellishments are avoided here; description is confined to the iconography.

Umi-zatō survives only as a figure in Edo-period picture scrolls and yokai paintings. No accompanying story explains his nature or actions. The composition centers on a zatō standing upright among the waves, with his biwa and walking staff made unmistakable. The impossible posture—feet planted on a surface that will not stay still—is what makes the image so uncanny. Yokai researcher Kenji Murakami calls Umi-zatō a yokai that exists only in paintings and notes that its imagery may overlap with Umibōzu. Beyond that, the sources do not say whether it brings harm or benefit, nor do they preserve any rite or means of driving it away. Only the visual details are secure; what it does, and how anyone should respond, remain unanswered.

Umibōzu is often understood as a yokai born from the fear and unease of people at sea. It has no single fixed form: sometimes it is no more than a black shadow, while in other stories it rises from the water as a colossal monk. One well-known variant has it draw close to a boat and whisper, “Lend me oil.” If the crew complies, it is said to kindle a fire and sink the vessel. Later variants add different details. Some say it has a collector's habit, gathering wrecked boats and fishing nets and piling them on the seabed; others describe it appearing with a glowing bottle or lantern in hand. It frightens those who meet it, yet it also stands for the unfathomable mystery of the sea and is regarded with awe as well as fear.

A Sea Monk told along the coasts of Kyushu and Shikoku. It appears on boats and asks for a ladle, yet it never climbs aboard from the stern, always emerging at the bow. When it clings to the oar, if the crew keeps rowing, the oar bites in like a blade and it cries out “Aitata!” In Uwajima, many tales say it harms people, yet those who see a Sea Monk are also said to live long lives.

A sea monk told across the Chugoku region. In Nagato it appears to snuff out watch fires, while in Okayama’s Bisan Seto it is called “Nurarihyon,” taking a bead-like form to bewilder people. Along the San’in coast it clings to beachgoers and tries to pull them into the sea. The Tottori collection Inaba Kaidan-shu recounts a one-eyed, post-like sea monk that torments people with its slick, slimy body.

This version is grounded in Toriyama Sekien’s illustration and notes, emphasizing its link to the concept of the demon-revealing mirror. Faces of the uncanny appear on the surface, not necessarily reflecting an external yokai but a spirit residing within the mirror itself. In the lineage of tsukumogami tales, it accords with the belief that long-used implements gain numinous life, sometimes changing mood according to how their owner treats them. Relying on early modern woodblock-book imagery, it has few concrete encounter or harm narratives, and is mostly told in general ghost-story frames such as glimpsing a strange visage when peering into a mirror in a dim room at night. Later depictions of raccoon-dog forms or showy powers are traced to films and children’s books and are set apart from the classical image.

A codified image of the classic Ushi-no-koku mairi centered on Edo-period etiquette. Clad in white burial garb with disheveled long hair, the practitioner inverts an iron trivet as a crown with three candles lit, hangs a mirror on the chest, and moves toward the shrine on single-toothed geta to muffle steps. At the sacred tree, a doll bearing the target’s name is pinned and a five-inch nail is hammered in each night. The witching hour is strictly the third quarter of the Ox Hour, with fulfillment said to come on the seventh night. If witnessed, the rite loses its power, so silence and care to leave no tracks are prescribed. In art, a black ox sometimes accompanies the figure; lore holds that straddling it on the final night brings success, while shrinking back means failure. Straw-doll usage became common in the early modern era, with roots in ancient scapegoat effigy piercings and Onmyodo katashiro rites. Folklore often stops short of asserting curses as real, instead telling that breaking taboos or exposure nullifies the act.

Edo-period picture scrolls and modern yokai encyclopedias often give Ushi-oni its best-known form: a sea demon with the head of a bull and the body of a spider. The image joins a primal fear of dark, deep water to the spider's refusal to release anything caught in its web. Cattle were closely bound to farming and water control in older Japanese life, and could be revered as sacred animals, messengers of a water deity, or divine beings in their own right, as in the case of Gozu Tennō. One influential interpretation therefore sees the Ushi-oni lurking in a deep pool as the fallen form of a violent water deity—a power once worshiped and feared that became a yokai as its cult declined. This is no mindless beast. Ushi-oni can supposedly kill a person merely by licking their reflection, and it uses Nure-onna as bait before striking at a vulnerable victim. Such arbitrary, absolute power retains the character of a dangerous deity. Its resentment is strong enough to keep a severed body part moving, leaving an ordinary person almost no hope of resistance. People instead appealed to higher Buddhist powers such as Senju Kannon, or brought Ushi-oni itself into a festival at the head of the mikoshi procession. Properly received as an aramitama—a rough and violent divine spirit—its ferocity could be turned toward defending the town from other evils.

A type shaped by Edo-period print culture, centered on Sekien’s imagery and the psychologized readings in kyoka verse. Rather than a concrete monster, it personifies the feeling of being held back by a tug at one’s trailing hair, dulling decisions through interference from behind. Mizuki Shigeru cites tales from the Tsuyama area that give it a corporeal aspect—ruffling a woman’s hair, breathing hot air—but in all cases it touches from behind and stirs hesitation. It is often grouped with hesitation-inducing yokai such as Okubyogami, Sodehiki-kozō, and Furifuri. Though there are notes of it being enshrined in Ise, specific rites are unknown, and it appears mainly in moral and didactic contexts. Stories survive in both urban and local settings, yet no clear lineage of deity name or object is shown, with wordplay and the concretization of psychology driving its transmission.

A cove in southern Sado preserves the story of an old woman who rises from the sea. She appears at dusk, when the weather is breaking and darkness settles over the water. Her skin is pale, and she holds both hands behind her back as though carrying something, but the original account never says what the burden is. People around Shukunegi said that Usuoi-baba appeared only once every two to five years. Seeing her was not thought to bring illness or immediate shipwreck, and no tale has her lure or devour anyone. Modern yokai encyclopedias often place her beside Iso-onna and Nure-onna, but she is better understood as an apparition associated with poor fishing or a sudden change in weather. The name Usuoi-baba is rarely recorded outside this local body of ghost stories and may have belonged to Shukunegi alone.

A reconstruction based on Edo-period yokai picture scrolls. Depicted with a humanlike face marked by iron-blackened teeth, raising a three-fingered hand, appearing from behind fences or in ruined houses and shouting “uwan.” No early sources clearly state direct harm to people; its main behavior is appearing and intimidating. Because of similar regional names and frequent mansion backdrops, it is sometimes taken as a house-dwelling entity, but this is unproven and the portrayals are spare. Later creative tales—such as being driven off by a retort or killing victims—should be treated separately from the core record.

A reconstruction based on imagery from picture scrolls. It kneels low to the ground, the body slack, skin ashen-brown mottled with pale spots. The face is indistinct, the line between mouth and nose blurred, with a damp sheen. In keeping with rare records that preserve little more than its name, no guiding motive is assigned. Said to be seen as a crouching lump by mountain paths or along thickets, it inspires awe and a sense of distance. If approached, it withdraws before its form can be fixed, making pursuit difficult. No confirmed harm is attributed to it, and encounter tales remain general.

A reference version reconstructed from 18th–19th century yokai picture scrolls that depict the figure without commentary. Only the massive upper body of a beast is shown, bearing large single hooked claws on each forelimb. Color varies by example from dark green to earth tones, with some renderings appearing amphibian. The name is associated with a word meaning fear and is set alongside Otoroshi in works like Hyakkai Zukan and Gazu Hyakki Yagyo. No behavior, ecology, or moral alignment is recorded, presenting it merely as an eerie presence of the mountains. Concrete folk traditions remain unknown, and later embellishments are excluded for lack of sources.

An interpretation grounded in Toriyama Sekien’s depiction. On night roads and at crossroads, a blazing wheel cruises low to the ground, its axle set with a monk-demon mask that fixes passersby with an unblinking stare. Meeting its gaze or succumbing to fear is said to drain one’s vital spirit, leaving the victim stupefied. Its origins trace to Kyoto wheel-ghost tales and likely overlap with the katagiriguruma motif, yet Sekien adopted a nyūdō mask and fixed it as a male figure. The source is uncertain, defying a firm label as vengeful spirit, tsukumogami, or will-o’-the-wisp. Countermeasures include posting a paper charm reading “This is the village of Katsumo” at the doorway, or avoiding eye contact and hiding. Few variants name specific places or people; the core image remains a plain yokai preserved in classical records.

The *Warei* is an entity that embodies the dynamics of *goryo* belief—where a vengeful spirit transforms into an honorable spirit (*goryo*) and then into a guardian deity—within the early modern history of Uwajima. In life, Yamaga Seibee was a retainer who devoted himself to the reform of domain administration. His unnatural death (the Warei Disturbance) and the subsequent chain of lightning strikes and shipwrecks that struck the participants gave people a tangible sense of a curse. The spirit, initially enshrined out of awe and fear, reversed its nature when his innocence was publicly recognized, acquiring the divinity of 'Warei-sama' protecting fishing and industry. The herd of *Ushi-oni* that parades in the Warei Festival at Warei Shrine is a ritual device to comfort and pacify this *goryo*, showing how monsters (*ushi-oni*) and spirits (*warei*) are inextricably linked in Uwajima's festivals.

In this version, we read Watanabe no Tsuna as "the boundary warrior who severed the demon's arm." What etched Tsuna's name most strongly in history is the story of him encountering a demon at Rashomon or Ichijo Modoribashi and cutting off its arm. It is no coincidence that the location is a gate or a bridge. A gate divides the inside and outside of the capital, and a bridge connects this shore and the other shore. The demon appears precisely at that boundary. Tsuna's bravery does not completely erase the demon with a single stroke. He can sever the arm, but the demon itself escapes. The remaining arm is both a trophy and evidence that the anomaly has not yet ended. Here lies the fascination of the demon arm tale. The severed arm enters the mansion as an object and is placed under human management, but the demon returns to the human world to take it back. The revisit by the demon disguised as an old woman reveals Tsuna's weakness. He is excellent in martial force, but he finds it hard to lose courtesy toward an opponent taking the form of a relative. The demon strikes at that point. In yokai subjugation tales, the insight to see through anomalies is just as important as martial power. While Tsuna succeeded in cutting the arm, he cannot completely fend off the disguised demon. This imperfection makes him a human-like hero. As one of Yorimitsu's Four Heavenly Kings, Tsuna also occupies an important position in the Mt. Oe subjugation. In his solitary tale, he slashes the boundary demon; in the group tale, he heads for Shuten-doji under Yorimitsu's command. In other words, Tsuna is the figure who connects individual bravery with team demon subjugation. His blade participates in both one-on-one anomaly events and grand subjugation narratives. This version of Tsuna stands between victory and letting the enemy escape. The scene of cutting the demon arm is vivid, but the development of the demon reclaiming the arm shows that anomalies cannot be simply sealed away. Even if the monster is slashed at the boundary, the monster returns inside the house, into the form of a relative, into memories. Watanabe no Tsuna's story simultaneously tells of the exhilaration of demon subjugation and the tenacity with which demons still infiltrate the human world. The demon arm is an object that has crossed boundaries. The moment it is detached from the demon's body, it remains a part of the otherworld while being kept in a human mansion. Tsuna holds the arm as proof of victory, but that arm also serves as a beacon for the demon to return. The trophy is simultaneously a cursed object. The demon disguised as an old woman attacks Tsuna's humanity. A warrior is strong against demons, but cannot discard courtesy toward relatives. Here the story shifts from a contest of strength to a contest of perception. If he knows it is a demon, he can slash it. But when the demon borrows a family member's face, a person cannot easily swing a blade. This version of Tsuna is not a flawless subjugator, but a hero who wins at the boundary and wavers inside the house. That is exactly why the folklore gains depth. Demon subjugation does not end outside; it starts over once back in daily life because of what was brought back, the person trusted, and the seal that was opened. Tsuna's charm lies in his nature as a warrior that includes this wavering. If he were simply strong, the ghost story would end quickly. But he is strong, and at the same time, deceived. Therefore, the story moves from a single stroke of the sword to a conversation in the mansion, deepening from external demon subjugation to internal suspicion. That lingering resonance keeps Tsuna's martial valor from being just a simple victory tale.

A traditional reading grounded in the side-by-side entries of the Testament Ghost and the Water-Begging Ghost in Ehon Hyaku Monogatari. The spirits of those who died with last words unspoken or burdened by thirst appear at night to plead for water. Individual names and deeds are seldom told; instead they serve as moral parables urging memorial offerings. When monks chant sutras, perform memorial services, feed hungry ghosts, or make alms to the dead, their thirst is said to be soothed with the symbolic “sweet dew” described in scripture. Told in both towns and villages, they appear where people and water meet—by wells, bridges, graves, and roadsides. They stir pity more than terror, and tales warn that rough treatment brings a curse, while respectful rites lay them to rest.