Yokai Encyclopedia

At the core of Abura-bō is the guilt of misappropriating oil meant for temple and shrine lamps, manifesting as a spirit flame. Early modern records and local lore place its appearances around the foothills of Mount Hiei and temple precincts across Ōmi, most often from dusk to midnight in late spring through early summer. It takes the form of a small orange to yellow fireball, or the shadow of a monk cradling an oil jar, following a set course over gates, halls, and pond embankments before vanishing. Its voice is uncertain, though some regional tales mention indistinct murmurings. Names vary by area—“Abura-bō,” “Oil Thief,” “Oil Returned”—all carrying a folk warning about taboos surrounding oil and the need for proper rites. Specific individuals or temple names differ across sources, but the strict management of lamp oil in temple society likely fostered these tales. Methods to calm it include sutra chanting, burial of offerings, and restoring lamp offerings, though no fixed formula is known.

Aligned with the clapper-wood anomaly counted among the Seven Wonders of Honjo. Understood less as a corporeal yokai and more as a name for an aural phenomenon. It appears in step with the steady rhythm of night-watch clappers, most notable at corners, near water, and in rain. Visual sightings are scarce, and turning back reveals only a lingering presence. An urban ghost tale tied to local customs of community patrols, paired with the kindred “Okuri Chochin.” The lore resists heavy anthropomorphism, and its hallmark is that sound itself becomes the act of “seeing-off.”

A descriptive version organized from Ainu oral tradition. It wears attushi garments with frayed fibers and frequents human dwellings, especially vacant or old houses. It most often appears around midnight and is felt in bed as pressure on the chest or throat. Its true nature is interpreted as the presence of the dead or a death-tainted impurity, and it is sometimes linked to the general belief that neglecting household cleaning, fire tending, or prayer invites it. Its form is indistinct, spoken of as a shadow or presence, and it is said to withdraw if the light is strengthened or a voice is raised. Its relation to Tohoku’s zashiki-warashi is mentioned only by comparison as a similar “spirit that appears in the sitting room,” without any tales of bringing good fortune.

Based on records from various regions, in places where it shows itself only a pair of red feet jut from the roadside, startling passersby and throwing off their pace. Where it remains unseen, a dry, cottony or cobweb-like touch clings to the shins, shortening strides and increasing fatigue. It is not lethal, yet it is feared for causing falls and leading people off the road. Its relation to the Red-Hand Child is noted in sources but not assumed to be identical. Encounters are told at crossroads, mountain paths, and brush edges in sparsely peopled spots, most often from dusk to midnight. As remedies, some regions pass down practical measures: breathe deeply and steady your steps, sit to retie sandal thongs, brush aside the roadside grass, though details vary locally and remain uncertain.

A compiled standard telling of Akashi-sama from Hodogaya Ward. Its core traces to the late Edo period: a deranged lord craved bloodshed, cut down a hunter’s daughter, and was slain by the hunter. Thereafter the name was feared and spread as an oral warning against going out at night. Details like appearance, clothing, and the hour of manifestation are inconsistent; storytellers stress effects such as “it appears” or “it takes you away.” This is a scare-tale type of uncanny being tied to local norms, functioning practically in household discipline and communal safety. Identifying real persons or places requires caution; it is sometimes paired with the proper name “Akashi Gozen,” but lineage remains unclear.

The traditional image of the akki is a collective notion of “oni” that personify external calamities such as epidemics and natural disasters, spoken of not as individuals but as targets to be subdued. After Buddhism took root, they were systematized as beings set against benevolent deities, often depicted as groveling demon figures trampled by the Four Heavenly Kings or Wisdom Kings to display divine might. Among commoners, practices like Setsubun bean-throwing and displaying foul-smelling or thorny materials expressed a shared intent to guard boundaries and repel misfortune at the threshold of the home. In texts they overlap with terms like akuma and jaki, and over time could also signify inner demons of desire and agitation, yet in daily practice they were treated chiefly as personifications of external threats.

A folkloric image of Atakemaru, the famed shogun’s flagship, remembered as a presence imbued with lingering spiritual power after dismantling and reuse. The ship’s splendor and public reverence fused with the belief that soul can dwell in objects, becoming a warning that rough treatment of its timbers invites strange happenings. Its manifestations are indirect—unsettling noises, revelatory dreams, possession of household members—with details varying by place and storyteller. Because historical service records blend with oral tradition, the tale functions as a symbolic, cautionary yokai story.

A reconstructed image based on medieval to early modern depictions of sandal tsukumogami. Straw sandals were everyday items that wore out quickly and were often discarded, so after a certain number of years they were thought to gain a resident spirit. It reveals itself with noisy nighttime footsteps and aimless hopping, yet causes little harm. The “singing footwear” anecdote found in modern yokai encyclopedias likely conflates a geta folktale and lacks firm evidence as a distinct tradition of the straw-sandal specter. In folklore studies it is understood as a visual emblem of the norm “do not treat tools carelessly,” and is classed as one type within the broader category of tsukumogami.

The visual depiction of Bakotsu in the *Tosa Obake Zoshi* adopts an extremely unique and theatrical narrative composition among Japanese yokai art. In a dimly lit room, separated by a torn and sagging old mosquito net, the bipedal, skeletal "Bakotsu" and a giant toad yokai named "Yadomori" are seated facing each other, as if quietly recounting their respective life stories. Though Bakotsu is a complete skeleton with its ribcage and skull entirely exposed, it wears a crude cloth wrapped around its waist, displaying remarkably human-like gestures. This bizarre confrontation hides deep folkloric roots specific to the Tosa region. "Yadomori" is the regional Shikoku dialect for a toad, which was originally revered as a beneficial creature and a "guardian deity of the house" that ate pests, and thus was strictly forbidden to kill. However, the scroll's explanatory text establishes that this particular toad was cruelly killed by humans and turned into a yokai out of sheer resentment. In other words, both the "Bakotsu" (burned to death in a fire and left on the roadside) and the "Yadomori" (unreasonably murdered by human hands) share a common background: they are "the grudges of animals that lost their lives due to the selfish convenience of humans and were denied proper burial." Their conversing within the boundaries of a mosquito net—a symbol of human daily life—can be deeply interpreted as expressing the tragic solidarity of "beasts" cast aside into the dark corners of human society. Additionally, in the Edo period, there was a custom of extracting fat (bone fat) by boiling horse bones to make extremely cheap, poor-quality candles, which were referred to in slang as "horse bones" . The coincidence between the remains of a horse used as a cheap candle to light the dark, and a yokai born from being burned to death in the disaster of a "fire," is by no means accidental. The practical wisdom of the people at the time and the dark underbelly of a society that thoroughly exploited life are sharply projected onto the visual design of the Bakotsu yokai. Standing up not to curse humans, but simply to assert its existence, its figure is the very embodiment of the anguished cries of voiceless animals.

The name “Baku of the Pillow” comes from this beast having been cherished, above all, as a guardian charm at the bedside. Here, rather than the tale of eating dreams, let us turn to the baku drawn upon the pillow itself. A baku pillow is a pillow on whose box-shaped side a picture of the baku or the character for baku was drawn, or on which a baku was worked in maki-e lacquer; rest your head on it to sleep, it was believed, and through the whole night nothing evil would draw near. According to Yano Ken’ichi’s study of the pillow, the baku pillow was no mere ornament but a practical charm, made to guard the most defenseless stretch of time — the hours of sleep. Trace the baku’s form to its roots and two streams run mingled within it. One is the figure transmitted by the Shuowen Jiezi and the commentary on the Erya: a bear-like body mottled black and white that eats even copper, iron, and bamboo. This derives from a real beast of Sichuan in China (most likely the panda). The other is the figure in the text Bai Juyi attached to a screen painting — “trunk of an elephant, eyes of a rhinoceros, tail of an ox, feet of a tiger.” Japanese painters and encyclopedias drew the baku by joining these two. That familiar figure — a black-and-white mottled bear’s body with a long trunk and short legs — is the result of the two becoming one. The baku was drawn on more than pillows and charm-cards. Carvings of the baku are often found on shrine and temple buildings as well. On the kibana that support the roof and on the kaerumata (the gable-shaped member above the beam), baku were carved, charged with keeping fire and calamity at a distance. As the baku at the bedside guards sleep, the baku on the building guards the house. Both arise from the same idea — placing a baku at the threshold where evil would enter — and so it appears on pillow and on building alike. The baku is often mistaken for another spirit-beast, the baize, and here too I would make the difference plain. The baize is a beast said to understand human speech and to know every yokai in the world — originally a thing apart from the baku. The trigger for the confusion lay in the line Bai Juyi added about the baku, that “in common speech this is called the baize.” Because both were alike in being “beasts that drive off evil,” the mix-up occurred in pictures too, and there is even a known case where an image called the “Baku King” was in fact a baize to begin with. The baku and the baize are best kept apart in thought as separate beasts — alike in office, but different in origin. Seen this way, the Baku of the Pillow is neither a monster that steals dreams nor a yokai that attacks people. It is a sentinel, charm-like, set at the “gaps where evil slips in” — the bedside as one sleeps, the doorway of the house. Together with the way the Wakan Sansai Zue spread the baku’s form and its evil-warding power through the world, people drew the baku on pillows, on charms, and on the beams of shrines and temples, setting it to keep watch over bad dreams and calamity without end. What the name “pillow-beast” reflects is this face of the baku as a quiet keeper of watch.

A standardized image of the battlefield will-o’-the-wisp as seen in Edo-period picture scrolls and ghost tales. Most appear as multiple pale fireballs at midnight, drifting low as if against the wind. They are thought to rise as spirit-fire from the defilement of blood and corpses saturating the ground, each flame regarded as a fragment of the aura of soldiers and horses. Accounts describe repetitive behavior—circling fixed spots, appearing and vanishing, crossing rice-field ridges—rather than chasing people. Witnesses would recite prayers to withdraw, and villages calmed them with memorial services. Sekien used the term “Kosenjō-bi” to group uncanny fires at battle sites, framing many postwar fire tales found in works like Yadonokigusa. Malice is rarely attributed; they were respected as signs of unsettled souls.

Organized around depictions found in kibyoshi and picture-books from the Tenmei to Kansei eras. In Yohkai Chakutōchō it is placed as a grandson of the Mikoshi-nyūdō, with lines stating it bullied a tofu seller to obtain tofu, and its image features an oversized head on a childlike body. A similarly big-headed boy appears in Bakemono Yofuke Omi-se under a different name, and scholars note its word-proximity to the sideshow and street performance “Choroken.” In modern times it is often confused with the Tofu-kozo, but folklorists advise against conflation and favor respecting each source’s naming and design differences. Shigeru Mizuki emphasized its beast-like bare feet and huge head and presented it as distinct from the Tofu-kozo.

An image organized from the account “Kurote-giri” in volume six of Shifugoroku. The Black Hand dwells in household privies, extending only a black, shaggy hand to harry people. Its true form can disguise itself and once, in the guise of a monk, retrieved its severed hand. When it shed the disguise it was said to stand nearly nine shaku tall, possessed great strength, and displayed a strange power that enveloped a person. It combines motifs common in early modern toilet ghost tales—“the hand,” “a smothering presence,” and “a transforming monk.” Though often confused with fox or raccoon-dog tricks, the text explicitly names it “Kurote.” Visual depictions are not fixed, and Mizuki Shigeru’s portrayal is thought to reflect other traditions, so features like three fingers or simian traits should not be generalized.

A整理 of the Mikari-bā (Mikakari-bā) yokai as preserved in folklore. She appears on Koto-yōka (the eighth days of the month) as a one-eyed crone, enforcing restraint on housework and outings. Her act of “borrowing” winnowing baskets and human eyes links to avoidance of mesh-patterned tools and symbols with many eyes, giving rise to countermeasures like placing baskets or sieves at the gate, or fixing a mesh basket to a pole on the roof ridge. In the Kōhoku, Yokohama accounts, her greed extends to gleaning even fallen ears of grain, and depictions of her carrying fire in her mouth serve as a caution against conflagration. In southern Chiba, customs of taboo and house-seclusion called “Mikari” (body-substitution) recast pre-festival liminality as a yokai rule. Despite regional variation, these tales share a framework that transmits norms of household safety, fire prevention, and labor abstinence at seasonal thresholds from winter to spring. Creative embellishments are set aside in favor of points attested in Kanto eyewitness reports and folklore records.

The Bunagaya is a red-haired spirit dwelling in the deep forests and mountain streams of Yanbaru. Appearing as a semi-naked child, it lights fires (Bunagaya fire) in the mountains at night, and people would once test their courage by going to view these flames in a custom known as *arami*. While closely related to the [[yokai:kijimuna]], which resides within ancient trees, the Bunagaya is distinguished by being a master of the forests and rivers themselves, as well as by its ability to manipulate fire. It loves sumo and catching fish, and although it is known to trick humans, it readily curses those who harm its trees. Today, Ogimi Village embraces this red-haired spirit as the symbol of the "Village of the Bunagaya."

This version turns to the local color that Bungo Kawatarō carries within the broad category of the kappa. Across Kyushu the kappa is widely called "kawatarō," and Bungo Kawatarō is one of these. Against the frog- and turtle-like kappa so often pictured on the main island, the kappa of Bungo and the rest of Kyushu are usually described as hairy and monkeylike in build—a vivid reminder of how greatly the kappa’s form varied from region to region. Its nature is true to the kappa: it claims the waterside as its territory and delights in sumo and pranks, yet retains a regard for courtesy. To those who bring offerings and keep their promises, it was said to grant the practical wisdom useful to people who live by the water—how to read the currents, how to manage irrigation, how to sense the turn of the weather. Rather than dwelling too heavily on grisly horrors like pulling out entrails, Bungo Kawatarō was spoken of as a being met with both fear and reliance; that is its distinctive flavor. The eyewitness records in Hita’s Kappa Kikiawase convey that such a kawatarō was no mere fancy but a living presence within the life of the land.

The cat-girl refers to accounts of human oddities in early modern urban sideshows and reportage, describing feline tastes (fondness for fish entrails, chasing rats), movements (traversing walls and rooftops), and mannerisms (likened to a rough, tongue-like texture). In the Horyaku and Meiwa eras, she was occasionally billed in Asakusa and similar venues, but her fame was short-lived, and even amid the An’ei and Tenmei vogue she never became a major headline act. In yomihon and kyoka collections she appears as a curiosity under labels like “cat-girl” or “licking woman,” not as a transforming yokai. Late Edo miscellanies include an anecdote of a girl near Ushigome praised for catching rats, material that reflects community responses to rodent damage, a taste for spectacle, and the gaze cast upon the strange.

A regional catch-all name for ghostly lights about the size of a paper lantern. In some areas it is conflated with kitsune-bi and tanuki-bi, its name stemming from the idea of monsters lighting lanterns. It appears on rainy nights along riverbanks, dikes, and graveyards, drifting at a fixed height. Accounts vary by era and locale: vanishing when approached, splitting when struck, or marching in clusters. In folklore it portends untimely death or a curse and marks taboos along the roadside, anchoring tales that warn against pursuit or striking it. It appears in early modern essays and kaidan, sometimes gaining proper names (such as Koemon-bi) and lodging in local memory. Natural ignition and animal-origin theories coexist, and its true nature remains unsettled.

The Court-Entering Sparrow is often cited as a case where personal grudge takes the form of a small bird that slips in and out of the imperial palace. Its pecking at offerings in the Seiryōden symbolizes trespass into forbidden precincts and the ill omen of defiling sacred food, feared for disrupting court ritual. It was taken as the metamorphosis of Fujiwara no Sanekata’s exile to Mutsu and his unresolved yearning for the capital, and used to explain calamities and blights. A revelatory dream at the Kangakuin and the raising of a Sparrow Mound reflect medieval rites of pacifying vengeful spirits through Buddhist memorials. Real sparrows’ migrations, flocking, and seasonal crop damage underlie the tale, which fused with the idea of visiting birds as vessels for souls. The tradition appears across various records, but details and dates differ, leaving much uncertain.

A depiction of the Dancing Head based on scenes found in classical ghost stories and collections of strange tales. A powerful will from life takes form, with only the head detaching and swelling as it appears. It opens and closes its mouth to moan, laugh, or chatter its teeth, emphasizing an auditory menace. Direct physical harm is not always clear, yet it is said to bring misfortune such as falls from fright or sudden fever. Sightings cluster at old temples, graveyards, crossroads, and at the foot of bridges, places where human presence thins or around the hours of a wake. Lineage or personal names are rarely specified, and the strangeness of the incident itself is what lingers in the telling.

Dansaburō-tanuki is remembered as the grand chieftain of Sado’s raccoon dogs, famed for masterful trickery and deep ties to local society. His illusions create mirages, phantom processions, and sudden walls to confound wayfarers, especially on night roads, mountain passes, and by the sea. Tales of lending money to the needy connect him to the mining town culture of Aikawa, reflecting folk notions of contracts sealed by IOUs. His lair is said to be a burrow in Shimogoe, masked by glamour to appear as a grand residence. Stories of driving out foxes explain local fauna and blend motifs of fox–tanuki contests, the taboo against spectating spirit processions, and battles of wit. Eventually enshrined as Futatsu-iwa Daimyōjin, he is appeased out of fear of wrath while also invoked for protection. Disguising himself as a physician to make clinic visits shows his skill at blending among people and hints at a spirit-beast who can also bear illness. Overall, the lore favors chastening and moral lessons over wanton harm, making practical benefit and illusion the core duality of his legend.

A folkloric type distilled from tales of a dragon maiden who appears to travelers and fishers near waters. She speaks in human form and asks for offerings or vows. If covenants are kept, she wards off floods and draws shoals of fish; if broken, she chastens with turbid torrents and tempests. She stands not in opposition to deities or Buddhism and is often revered as a rain-bringing dragon god. She shifts between human and dragon shape, with clues to her true nature felt in scales or the damp texture of her garments.

A portrait of the Echo-Answering Worm from Edo-period essays and tales. Marked by high fever and a sore like a mouth on the abdomen, its voice echoes the host’s words and at times spews curses. It craves food and drink, and refusal is said to raise the fever. Cures attempted include prayers and decoctions, especially a method of selecting and combining drugs it dislikes, then administering them so the creature weakens and later exits the body. Some accounts describe a lizard-like form with horns, though appearances vary widely. Chinese lore of the echoing parasite merged with Japan’s notion of the human-faced sore, emphasizing a mouth opening in the belly. Attempts to exhibit the illness for profit were recorded, though families often refused for shame. Its origins span materia medica and storytelling, long understood as a disorder set at the boundary of medicine and the uncanny.

Okuri-suzume has been framed as a harbinger and ill omen warning of dangers on mountain roads. Its calls precede, and are said to lead into, appearances of wolves or the escorting wolf, forming a narrative that encourages careful footing and avoiding delays in the wilds. The name “kuzusuzume” aligned with the real bird Black-faced Bunting (Aoji) is recorded, though its supposed nocturnality is debated. Sightings of its form are scarce, leaving its appearance unsettled, and in parts of Nara it is conflated with the night sparrow. Stories place it around Myohosan in Wakayama, and it is said to draw near lantern light. More than a threat itself, the lore centers on its “foreboding call,” giving it a strong character as a sound-based apparition.