Yokai of Kantō

A shapeshifting badger blamed for roadside tricks nationwide, though the same name has also meant the tanuki or the civet depending on where and when you ask.

The beast that rides the lightning down — in some tellings tearing apart the tree it lands in.

A grudge that outlives the person who held it, and keeps settling the account.

The cuckoo that crosses the mountain of death and comes back calling — which is why its cry was never just a bird's.

A stone at the edge of the village, given offerings at New Year, standing where the road stops being yours.

A dog with a man's face that outruns cars on the highway and tells people to leave it alone.

Stones fall from the sky with no thrower ever seen, blamed on a tengu.

A child walks past the edge of the village and does not come back, and the search party knows which word to use for it.

The temple tea kettle that sprouted a tanuki's head, tail and legs—and would not stop boiling.

A mountain spirit that appears only on clear days and simply cannot be seen when it rains.

The classic Japanese ghost: white burial robe, black hair unbound, no feet below the knee.

Okiku's ghost rising from the well, counting nine plates and never once reaching ten.

An old woman who blows out the lantern in your hand and leaves you standing in the dark.

A giant, tattered zatō who roams the main roads on stormy nights, always bound for the brothels to play his shamisen.

The ghost monk of a ruined temple, still ringing an evening bell that no one comes to hear.

A clawed thing that peers down through the skylight on the one night you are required to stay awake.

A shrimp-like thing with scissor claws that snips mosquito nets and fishing nets with equal joy.

The idler's yokai: a man who did nothing with his life, reborn as a thing that licks lamp oil and does nothing still.

A shrine bell grown into a dancing woman—the sound of kagura, finally given a face.

A monk who peers up through the privy floor on New Year's Eve—unless you say his name first.

A cart of old love letters, and the woman shaped from the longing that was never sent.

The king of the dust heap — to Sekien, chief of the mountain hags born from piled-up dust.

A stack of retired Noh masks that begins, at night, to work through its whole repertoire.

A water jar with a face that never runs dry—the rare tsukumogami that signals good luck instead of punishing anyone.

An old woman with a great snake wrapped around her body, said to be the wife of Jagoemon of the snake mound.

Smoke that gathers into a human shape—seen, modern retellings say, only by the pure of heart.

A giant woman's laughter rolling down over a fence, and never stopping.

A two-tailed cat wearing a hearth trivet as a crown, puffing the embers back to life.

A century-old mirror that stops reflecting the room and starts showing whatever it pleases.

An old kitchen cloth that has turned into a ragged, dragon-like spirit.

A worn-out futon that has grown eyes, with scraps of cloth for arms and legs.

A woman stretched impossibly tall beside a brothel. Modern writers made her an envious peeper.

A voice that suddenly bellows 'Uwan!' from an empty, dilapidated house—and nothing more.

A forgotten koto that grows a face to show its grudge at being forgotten.

A little general armored in cast-off cups and plates who marshals the household crockery.

An old biwa lute turned spirit, drawn as a blind biwa priest with the lute for a head.

A blue-lit specter that appears when the hundredth ghost story is told by lantern light.

A giant skeleton that modern yokai books say is made from the bones of the unburied dead.

A colossal giant whose footsteps shaped Japan's lakes, hills, and valleys.

A harmless boy yokai who trots through the rain carrying a block of tofu.

A courtesan whose face and body are entirely hidden by cascading hair.

A skeletal woman who, seen as beautiful only by her lover, visits him each night.

A thieving woman whose arms sprout countless bird-eyes as punishment for stealing coins.

A long-tongued yokai that licks ceilings; later books blame it for the dark stains overhead.

A small yokai that creeps into dirty bathhouses at night to lick up the grime.

Whirlwind weasels that slash a traveler's legs with sickle-like claws, leaving painless wounds.

A split-mouthed paper lantern spirit with a lolling tongue.

A one-eyed, one-legged umbrella come to life—an icon of tool-spirits.

A woman with a second, ravenous mouth hidden at the back of her head.

A nine-tailed fox disguised as a beautiful court lady who bewitches an emperor.

A childlike, one-eyed monk yokai that startles people on lonely roads.

A woman whose neck stretches to impossible lengths at night.

Mysterious floating fox-fires that lead travelers astray at night.

A proud mountain spirit with a red face and long nose, master of martial arts.