Japanese Mythology

Hitogataimo

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Tradition / Region: Japanese Mythology
Alternate Names: Ningyoimo, Doll Potato
Category: Plant

The Myth

Among the foods said to nourish those who walk the path of immortality, there is a mysterious root known as the Hitogataimo, the Doll Potato. It was counted among the natural foods favored by hermits and ascetics who lived in the mountains and sought long life beyond the ordinary span of humans.

These seekers of immortality gathered their sustenance from the wilderness — nuts, herbs, mushrooms, and roots — believing that untouched natural foods carried the pure strength of heaven and earth. Among these, some were said to take on strange and meaningful shapes. One such wonder was the Doll Potato.

The root was said to resemble a tiny human figure, as though the earth itself had shaped it in the likeness of a person. Because of this form, it was thought to hold unusual vitality. Those who found it treated it with care, believing that it was not an ordinary food but something touched by the same mysterious forces that grant long life to immortals.

Stories say that hermits who discovered such a root would dry it, preserve it, or consume it in ritual fashion. Eating it was believed to strengthen the body, purify the spirit, and bring one closer to the hidden state of transcendence sought in the mountains.

Thus the Hitogataimo remained known as one of the secret foods of the immortals — a root shaped like a person, growing unseen in the earth, waiting for the one destined to find it.

Sources

Tyz-Yokai Blog. (n.d.). Hitogataimo. Retrieved March 1, 2026, from https://tyz-yokai.blog.jp/archives/1074589195.html

Money Tree

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Tradition / Region: Japanese Mythology
Alternate Names: Kane-ki
Category: Plant

The Myth

People spoke of a wondrous tree known as the Money Tree, a plant said to bring wealth instead of fruit. In pictures and tales, its branches did not bear leaves or blossoms, but coins of gold and silver that glittered in place of flowers.

Some images showed the tree standing tall while the gods Ebisu and Daikoku, bringers of fortune, watched over it. Its trunk and branches were sometimes inscribed with words about careful living — warnings against carelessness and praise for good planning — as though the tree itself taught the secrets of prosperity.

One tale tells of a lecturer who gathered a crowd before a large pot marked with the words “abundance is here.” He explained that although people believed money trees did not exist in the world, this was not true. The seeds of such trees, he said, were already in every household.

Yet those seeds rarely sprouted. People neglected their duties, forgot their work, and allowed the soil of their livelihood to dry and weaken. When the ground of effort was barren, no tree could grow, no matter how good the seed.

The lecturer said that great wealth may belong to heaven, but smaller fortunes grow from human labor. Merchants, craftsmen, farmers, and even warriors all possess their own money trees, shaped by the tools of their trade. If they care for their work as one tends a plant, the tree will surely grow.

Hearing this, the listeners realized that the money tree was not something distant or magical, but something already within their reach. And they agreed among themselves that the tree of wealth stands not in some hidden land, but in their own homes, waiting to be tended.

Sources

Tyz-Yokai Blog. (n.d.). Money Tree. Retrieved March 1, 2026, from https://tyz-yokai.blog.jp/archives/1074477691.html

Corn Spirit

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Tradition / Region: Japanese Mythology
Alternate Names: Nanban Millet, Korean Millet, Chinese Millet
Category: Plant, Corn

The Myth

Corn was brought to Japan long ago by ships arriving from the southern seas. First planted in Kyushu, it gradually spread across the country. Because of its foreign origin, people called it Nanban millet, linking it to distant lands beyond the horizon.

As it became more common, strange stories began to gather around the plant. Some fields were said to grow ears with kernels so large they seemed unnatural, as though the crop had taken on a life of its own. In one tale, a lotus flower bloomed from a cornfield in memory of a girl whose devotion had outlived her death, and the field was said to hold her spirit. In another story, a stalk of corn bent and twisted until it resembled a farmer’s beloved chicken, as if the plant were trying to imitate the living creature it had watched each day.

Because of such occurrences, people in some regions grew wary of planting corn near their homes. Certain families believed the crop brought misfortune, and in a few places it was said that only particular households — or those bearing certain surnames — must never grow it at all.

Artists and storytellers also imagined the crop taking on more visible forms. In popular illustrated tales and games, corn sometimes appeared as a yōkai. One well-known depiction shows a ghost shaped from corn rising from a riverbank, confronting a murderer as though the plant itself had taken the role of an avenging spirit.

So corn, though an ordinary food, came to be remembered in story and image as a plant touched by the uncanny — a foreign grain that could grow strangely, take on forms of memory and emotion, and even appear as a spirit among the living.

Sources

Tyz-Yokai Blog. (n.d.). Corn Spirit. Retrieved March 1, 2026, from https://tyz-yokai.blog.jp/archives/1067224019.html

Matsutake-bakemono

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Tradition / Region: Japanese Mythology
Alternate Names: Matsutake Monster
Category: Plant, Mushroom

The Myth

Long ago, on a distant place known as Dwarf Island, there lived tiny creatures skilled in transformation. Yet they grew bored of practicing their tricks in a land where nothing seemed new. Wanting to improve their powers, they decided to travel to Japan, where many famous spirits and monsters were said to live.

They hid themselves inside a hollow in the mast of a great ship and at last reached Osaka. When they stepped ashore, they were stunned by what they saw. Everything was enormous — the houses, the streets, and above all the people. Still, they did not abandon their plan.

They journeyed to Mount Yoshino, hoping to learn from well-known monsters there. They sought out Imohoribo of Mount Imoyama and Semushibo of Mount Seyama, but the two only laughed at them. Mocking their small size, they joked that the little creatures should crawl into their ears and clean out the dirt. Ashamed and discouraged, the travelers left.

They went on to visit other famous beings, including a monster of Saga and the mighty Fuji Daitahoshi. Yet everywhere they went, their size made them seem insignificant, and they could only flee from the towering figures they met.

At last they reached Miho no Matsubara. There, from the forest floor, appeared a strange being — a Matsutake-bakemono, a monster in the form of a matsutake mushroom. It called out, “Who am I? I am only a small thing.”

Hearing this, the tiny travelers explained their journey. The matsutake monster welcomed them kindly and told them that being small could be an advantage, since people would not easily fear them. It gave them careful directions toward Mount Hakone and urged them to continue their training.

But when they arrived in Hakone, the monster there refused to take them as students. Instead, it warned them that their fate in Japan was uncertain and advised them to return home while they still could.

Before leaving, the little creatures went down to Edo, hoping at least to frighten the townspeople and prove their abilities. Yet their plan failed. Their bodies were so small that people treated them like toys, picking them up and playing with them. After being handled and tossed about, they were finally captured.

In the end, the tiny monsters saw a painted crane by the artist Sesshū and, believing it to be real, were so startled that they vanished completely, disappearing without a trace. Thus their journey ended, remembered only as a curious tale of wandering spirits and the small mushroom monster who alone had treated them with kindness.

Sources

Tyz-Yokai Blog. (n.d.). Matsutake-bakemono. Retrieved March 1, 2026, from https://tyz-yokai.blog.jp/archives/1013072024.html

Ghost Shimeji

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Tradition / Region: Japanese Mythology
Alternate Names: Transforming Shimeji, Phantom Shimeji
Category: Plant, Mushroom

The Myth

In the mountains near Shiroishi, there once stood a small, poor temple where a priest lived alone. The forest around it was deep and silent, and few people ever came that way.

One night, after the priest lay down to sleep, he noticed movement in his room. A group of figures had appeared, all dressed in white kimonos and white hats. They walked in a slow circle around his bed, again and again, without speaking. Terrified, the priest pulled his futon over himself and watched through a small gap, hardly daring to breathe.

Only one of the figures made a sound. As the group circled, that person repeated in a low voice, “Salt and miso, how frightening… salt and miso, how frightening…”

The same thing happened the next night. And the night after that as well. Each time the silent procession returned, circling his bed while the same voice muttered its strange warning.

At last, the priest resolved to discover who they were. Before sleeping, he prepared a needle threaded with string and kept it hidden beside him. When the figures appeared again, he quietly reached out and stitched the thread into the hem of the robe of the one who spoke of salt and miso.

Soon after, the figures left as always.

The next morning, the priest gathered the thread and began to follow it. It led him out of the temple, through the forest, and into a grove of towering cedars. There, behind the temple grounds, stood an enormous old stump. All around it grew countless clusters of shimeji mushrooms, packed so thickly they seemed to cover the wood like a living carpet.

The priest understood then that the white-clad visitors had been these mushrooms in disguise. They had come each night hoping he would eat them, for it was said that if salt or miso were sprinkled on shimeji mushrooms, they would stop growing.

And so the priest left the forest undisturbed, knowing that the silent guests of the night were not spirits of the dead, but mushrooms seeking a place at his table.

Sources

Tyz-Yokai Blog. (n.d.). Ghost Shimeji. Retrieved March 1, 2026, from https://tyz-yokai.blog.jp/archives/1013072022.html

Ninmenju

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Tradition / Region: Japanese Mythology
Alternate Names: Jinmenju
Category: Plant

The Myth

In remote mountain valleys there grows a strange and unsettling tree known as the Ninmenju, the Human-Face Tree. At first glance it appears ordinary, its trunk and branches no different from any other woodland tree. But when it blossoms, its true nature is revealed.

Instead of normal flowers, the Ninmenju produces heads shaped like human faces. These faces cannot speak, yet they are alive in their own way. They smile constantly, their expressions gentle and curious, and sometimes they even laugh softly among themselves as they sway in the wind.

When autumn comes, the tree bears fruit shaped like these same human faces. Travelers who dared taste them said the fruit was sweet and sour, pleasant despite its eerie form.

The tree reacts to those who pass beneath it. If a traveler laughs at the strange sight of the smiling heads, the flowers will laugh in return. Their laughter echoes back from the branches, as though the tree itself is mocking the person below. But if the laughter grows too loud or too harsh, the delicate heads begin to wither. One by one they wilt, loosen, and fall from the tree to the ground.

Stories say that this tree did not originate in Japan. It was said to have come from distant lands far to the west, beyond deserts and foreign kingdoms, in territories known only from travelers’ tales. From there, its legend journeyed across countries and centuries until it became known in the mountains of Japan, where the smiling faces still bloom in hidden valleys.

Sources

Wikipedia contributors. (n.d.). Jinmenju. In Wikipedia. Retrieved March 1, 2026, from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jinmenju

Daigo Hakurō

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Tradition / Region: Japanese Mythology
Alternate Names: —
Category: Wolf

The Myth

In the mountains of Daigo in Yamashiro Province, many wolves were said to roam, troubling travelers and woodcutters who entered the forests.

One day a young boy went into the mountains to gather firewood. As he worked, a wolf suddenly appeared, seized him, and carried him deep into the wilderness. When the wolf reached a grassy place, it set the boy down. Realizing he could not escape by force, the boy pretended to be dead.

The wolf clawed open the earth and dug a large pit. It pushed the boy into the hole and buried him beneath the soil. Yet each time the boy tried to move, the wolf returned to sniff the ground, guarding its hidden prey. At last, when the wolf seemed satisfied and went away, the boy dug himself free and climbed a tall tree nearby, hiding among the leaves to watch.

After some time, the wolf returned — this time accompanied by a great white wolf, far larger than the first. Together they dug open the pit, only to find it empty. The first wolf ran about in agitation, howling in anger, never suspecting the boy above them. At length it lowered its ears, bowed its head, and crouched before the great white wolf as if in shame.

The white wolf stood still for a time. Then it rose and struck the other wolf upon the head with its paw.

The punished wolf remained crouched and motionless. Evening fell, and the boy stayed in the tree through the night. By morning, passing woodcutters came near, and the boy cried out to them, asking for rescue and warning that a wolf sat below.

The men rushed forward with axes and blades, but the wolf did not move. When they approached, they found it already dead. Its skull had been crushed, and its head lay broken open.

When the boy told what he had witnessed, everyone was astonished. They praised his quick thinking and spoke of the strange justice of wolves, recalling the old saying that even tigers and wolves possess a sense of duty.

Thus the tale was told as proof that even among beasts, there can be order, judgment, and punishment.

Sources

Tyz-Yokai Blog. (n.d.). Daigo Hakurō. Retrieved March 1, 2026, from https://tyz-yokai.blog.jp/archives/1074589299.html

Shōben-no

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Tradition / Region: Japanese Mythology
Alternate Names: —
Category: Wolf

The Myth

In Kotonan Town of Kagawa Prefecture, charcoal burners working deep in the mountains lived in simple huts far from villages. At night they relieved themselves in buckets kept as makeshift toilets beside the huts.

Yet many mornings the buckets were found strangely empty.

People said that in the dark hours a creature known as the Shōben-no- came creeping out of the forest. Silent and unseen, it approached the huts and drank the urine left in the containers. No one ever clearly saw it, but its presence was taken for certain, for the buckets never remained full overnight.

Some believed the being was not a yokai at all, but a wolf in disguise. Wolves, it was said, craved salt, and the taste of urine drew them from the mountains. Across the region stories spread of wolves licking urine barrels or creeping near homes in search of the salty liquid.

To keep the creature away, some people moved their toilets indoors or placed them in courtyards. Others left salt outside in hopes of satisfying the animal before it came closer to the house.

In some places it was said that wolves which drank urine became dangerous and might attack people. In others, they were believed to do so only when sick, seeking the liquid as a cure. One tale tells that when a wolf repeatedly came to drink from a household’s bucket, the family prayed to the deity Gion-san, and after the prayers the visits ceased.

Thus the Shōben-no- remained a shadow of the mountains — perhaps a yokai, perhaps a wolf — known only by the emptied buckets it left behind.

Sources

Tyz-Yokai Blog. (n.d.). Shoben-no. Retrieved March 1, 2026, from https://tyz-yokai.blog.jp/archives/1010654291.html

Kintakakō

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Tradition / Region: Japanese Mythology
Alternate Names: —
Category: Dog

The Myth

In the Saigo region of Miyazaki Prefecture, people once believed that certain invisible spirits could possess human beings. Among these were snake gods, Inari spirits, dog spirits, and a more powerful presence known as the Kintakakō.

Dog spirits in the region were thought to be unseen by ordinary eyes. Some said they appeared like rats, snakes, or dogs with forked tails. These spirits could be sent against a person out of jealousy, hatred, or rivalry. Those who were weak in body or spirit — the elderly, the sick, or pregnant women — were especially vulnerable.

When such a spirit entered someone, the person might suddenly lose their senses while walking along the road. They would shout strange words, speak wildly, or collapse before recovering as if nothing had happened. Others suffered joint pain, fever, or lingering illness. People believed these afflictions were the work of dog spirits directed by hostile families.

The Kintakakō were said to be similar to these dog spirits but of higher rank and greater power. They were feared because they were said to bite their victims. A person possessed by one was called a kazemochi. The condition was believed to run in families, passed down through bloodlines. Children under the influence of a Kintakakō were said to speak boldly and strangely, uttering words no child should know.

In nearby districts, certain priests known as Hijirigami were believed able to drive these spirits away. Some people described the possessing being as a small animal the size of a kitten. A household that secretly kept such a creature might prosper, for it was believed to harm enemies and steal fortune from others on behalf of its master.

Thus the Kintakakō was feared both as a curse and as a dangerous blessing — an unseen dog spirit whose bite could bring madness, illness, or hidden wealth, depending on whose command it obeyed.

Sources

Tyz-Yokai Blog. (n.d.). Kintakakou. Retrieved March 1, 2026, from https://tyz-yokai.blog.jp/archives/1085598002.html

Inugami Myōjin

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Tradition / Region: Japanese Mythology
Alternate Names: Inugami, Inuzuka, Loyal Dog
Category: Dog

The Myth

Across Japan there are many stories of loyal dogs who sacrifice themselves to save their masters, and in some places these dogs are worshipped as gods under the name Inugami Myōjin.

One ancient tale tells of a hunter who lived by the Shirajiya River. He hunted constantly in the mountains, killing deer and wolves without prayer or remorse. His only companion was a faithful hunting dog named Koshiromaru.

One day, the hunter entered the forest with his dog and was caught far from home when night fell. Uneasy, he took shelter beneath a rotten tree and prepared to sleep. As darkness deepened, Koshiromaru suddenly began barking wildly at him, leaping and circling in agitation. The hunter tried to quiet him, but the dog would not stop. Angered and thinking the dog had gone mad, the hunter drew his sword and cut off its head.

In that instant the severed head leapt into the hollow of the tree and clamped its jaws onto a giant snake that had been hiding there, ready to swallow the hunter whole. The head continued biting until the serpent died.

Realizing that his dog had tried to save him, the hunter was overcome with grief and remorse. To honor Koshiromaru’s loyalty, he built a shrine on that very spot and began worshipping the dog’s spirit as a deity. The shrine came to be known as Inugami Myōjin, and the region itself took its name from the dog’s sacrifice.

Another old story tells of a hunter in Mutsu who kept many dogs and often slept in the mountains with them. One night a single dog woke and barked fiercely, leaping at its master. Thinking it had turned savage, the man tried to strike it down. But when he stepped aside, the dog sprang into the hollow tree where the man had planned to sleep and attacked a massive snake hidden within. The hunter then understood the dog’s warning and killed the serpent. This time the dog survived, and the man returned home deeply grateful for its devotion.

In some darker versions, the master kills the dog in suspicion, only to be slain by the snake afterward. In others, the regretful master is reborn as a bird, forever crying out the dog’s name.

Because of these tales, loyal dogs who died protecting their masters came to be honored throughout Japan. Shrines, mounds, and place names commemorate them, and their spirits are believed to guard the living. Thus the faithful dog, once a humble companion, is remembered as Inugami Myōjin — a protector whose loyalty transcends death.

Sources

Tyz-Yokai Blog. (n.d.). Inugami Myōjin. Retrieved March 1, 2026, from https://tyz-yokai.blog.jp/archives/1069534939.html