In Slavic mythology, Lugovichok is known as the spirit of the meadows. He is described as a small green man, clothed in grass and vegetation, and is considered one of the children of the field worker, a spirit connected with cultivated land and agricultural labor.
Lugovichok is believed to move swiftly through the meadows, catching birds and bringing them as food to his parent. During haymaking, he may secretly help people, ensuring that the work goes smoothly when it is done properly and at the right time.
However, Lugovichok is easily angered by neglect or improper behavior. When people delay mowing or fail to tend the meadow correctly, he may cause the grass to grow wildly and become tangled, braiding it so tightly that it cannot be cut or torn. In some cases, he is said to dry the grass at the root, ruining the hay altogether. If mowers arrive at the wrong time, Lugovichok can dull their scythes instantly or even break them completely, bringing work to a halt.
The name “Lugovichok” itself is rare and is recorded mainly in northwestern Russia. In other regions, related beliefs appear under different names. Peasants in the Tula province, for example, believed in shaggy meadow beings—alongside the field-goose and well-goose—who lived underground in burrows and emerged only at midday and just before sunset. At these times, such beings were considered dangerous and were thought capable of bringing illness or fever to humans.
Through these beliefs, Lugovichok represents both the helpful and harmful forces of the meadow—rewarding proper care and timing, but punishing neglect, impatience, or disrespect toward the land.
In the folklore of several peoples of Dagestan, Kushkaftar is an evil forest spirit feared for her terrifying appearance and cruelty. She belongs to the realm of lower mythology and is known among the Tabasarans, Lezgins, Rutuls, Tsakhurs, Laks, and others.
Most commonly, Kushkaftar is described as an ugly old woman. She has sharp fangs protruding from her mouth, fiery eyes, and long, tangled hair that hangs unkempt around her body. Her breasts are described as unusually large, further marking her as unnatural and frightening. According to belief, she lives deep in the forest together with her daughter.
At night, Kushkaftar is said to abduct children, carrying them away into the forest where she devours them. Because of this, she is regarded as a particular danger to families and a figure of terror used to explain disappearances and warn against wandering after dark.
Among the Rutuls, Kushkaftar—often called Kashkaftar—is described in a very different but equally frightening form. In these accounts, she appears as a strange, glowing creature, shining like phosphorus. She walks on two legs and possesses a single enormous eye, flat and plate-like, covering her entire face. From her mouth hangs a bright red tongue, and instead of ears she has burning lanterns, which glow in the darkness.
Despite differences in appearance across regions, Kushkaftar remains consistently portrayed as a malevolent forest being, associated with night, fear, and the consumption of children, embodying the dangers believed to lurk beyond the safety of the village.
In the Arkhangelsk region of northern Russia, Efimon is known as a frightening figure used to warn and restrain children on the eve of Great Lent. Parents and elders would invoke his name to signal the end of carefree winter pleasures and the arrival of a strict, joyless time.
Children were told that while sledding and play were still allowed today, tomorrow Lent would arrive—and with it, Efimon. Adults would say that once Efimon began to walk, there would be no more games or fun. In this way, Efimon became a figure associated with restraint, silence, and the loss of festive freedom.
The origin of Efimon lies not in folklore alone, but in Christian ritual. In church tradition, Efimon is the name of an evening service held during Lent, derived from the Hebrew phrase meaning “God is with us.” Over time, this liturgical term entered popular speech and was transformed into a personified image of Lent itself.
Unlike the lively and celebratory Maslenitsa, Lent was seen as dull, strict, and unwelcome. This contrast is reflected in sayings in which people symbolically drive Efimon away, sending him to distant places. In this sense, Efimon represents the oppressive side of fasting—the quiet, discipline, and abstinence that follow carnival excess.
Among many European peoples, the transition from carnival to fasting is marked by ritualized opposition between two characters. Maslenitsa or carnival figures are often defeated, expelled, or destroyed, while Lent always emerges victorious. Similar traditions appear across Europe: among the Czechs, Maslenitsa ends with the burial of Myasopust; among the Serbs, Lent is personified as Baba Korizma; in England, a ragged figure called Jack-o’-Lent was paraded and abused throughout the fasting season. Medieval Europe also preserved stories of symbolic battles between Don Carnal and Doña Cuaresma, representing excess and abstinence.
Within East Slavic folklore, however, such personifications of Lent are rare. Efimon stands as a limited but notable example of this tradition. Earlier records from the Mezen region, dating to 1839, show Efimon in a less frightening role. At that time, boys gathered on the church porch at the end of the Efimon service, tossing their caps into the air and chanting for Efimon to leave, marking the nearing end of fasting. In these early accounts, Efimon is not yet a monster, but a ritual figure tied closely to church practice.
Over time, as the original religious meaning faded, Efimon’s image shifted. His role became simplified and generalized, turning him into a vague but unsettling presence—a figure of warning rather than worship. This transformation, from sacred ritual term to household bogeyman, reflects a common process in folklore, where abstract concepts gradually take on human or monstrous form in popular imagination.
Efimon thus survives not as a detailed creature, but as a name filled with meaning: the arrival of Lent, the end of play, and the quiet authority of discipline looming just beyond the threshold of childhood freedom.
In Russian folklore, Endar is a scarcely described mythical being known primarily for its unusual way of sustaining itself. According to legends recorded in the Vyatka Province, the Endar lives beneath an old oak tree and feeds not on food or flesh, but on air itself.
Marina Vlasova, in her Encyclopedia of Russian Superstitions, notes that little else is known about this creature. Its form is not clearly described, and no detailed accounts of its behavior survive. The Endar remains largely undefined, existing more as a name and a location than as a fully formed figure.
Later retellings, particularly in modern sources, add that the Endar is said to be roughly the size of a boar. Beyond this single detail, however, its appearance remains uncertain.
The Endar thus occupies a quiet place in folklore: a being tied to a specific landscape, sustained by invisible means, and remembered more for its mystery than for any deeds or encounters.
In Slavic folklore, Bomka is a vague and unnamed terror used by adults to frighten disobedient children. It belongs to the broad class of bogeymen—creatures invoked in warnings rather than described in stories.
Parents would threaten naughty children with words such as: “I’ll put you in the golbets, and the Bomka will snatch you from there.” The golbets, a dark storage space beneath the house or stove, was imagined as a place where Bomka could reach its victims.
Bomka has no fixed appearance. No specific shape, size, or features are known. It exists more as an idea than a creature—an unseen presence associated with darkness, hiding places, and punishment for misbehavior.
The power of Bomka lies not in what it is, but in what it represents: an unknown danger waiting in the dark, ready to take children who do not listen.
Gallery
Sources
Bestiary.us contributors. (n.d.). Bomka. In Bestiary.us, from https://www.bestiary.us/Bomka/
In Mordvin and Chuvash folklore, kuygorozh are mythical beings that bring wealth, goods, and prosperity to a household. They serve their owner by secretly delivering grain, money, livestock benefits, and other valuables—often by stealing these things from neighboring households. Because of this, families believed to possess a kuygorozh were often regarded with suspicion and hostility by others in the community.
A kuygorozh is not always acquired by chance. According to Moksha tradition, one way to obtain such a being is through a long and deliberate process. A rooster must be kept for seven years, after which it will lay two small eggs. These eggs are then incubated by the owner—an old man or woman—by keeping them under the arm for three, five, six, or seven weeks, depending on the account. From these eggs hatch kuigorysh, small spirits of enrichment and theft.
Kuigorysh are described as small, cat-sized beings that move unseen. Though invisible to most people, they are physical and active. They walk about stealing grain from other barns and carrying it back to their master. Their cheeks contain natural pouches that expand when filled, each capable of holding a considerable amount of grain or goods. When empty, they are barely noticeable; when full, their cheeks swell like bladders.
Other traditions describe different origins. A kuigorysh may hatch from the egg of a red rooster, the first egg of spring, an owl’s egg stolen from the forest, or the egg of a black hen—producing a black, invisible spirit. In some villages, kuigorozhi are not hatched from eggs at all but are invited. In such cases, the owner must go to a cemetery on the first dark night of spring and call out to the spirits. Small humanoid beings then rise from the ground, surrounding the petitioner and pleading in thin voices to be taken. The chosen ones follow the person home, while the others cry as they fade away.
These cemetery-invited kuigorozhi are often understood as ancestral spirits who continue to help their descendants. They must be fed and treated with care, just as ancestors once were. Kuigorozhi are tireless workers: they demand constant tasks and cannot remain idle. In a single night, they are said to be capable of building houses, barns, plowing and sowing fields, harvesting crops, caring for livestock, and preparing enormous quantities of food.
Although generally helpful, kuigorozhi are demanding. If neglected, treated harshly, or left without work, they may become destructive—spoiling food, mixing grain with manure, scattering sand into meals, or stealing excessively and bringing ruin upon their owner. Driving them away is difficult. One method involves assigning them an impossible task, such as weaving a rope from sand or scooping water from a swamp. If this succeeds, the kuigorozh departs, taking all wealth it brought with it.
It was widely believed that households keeping kuigorozhi could be identified by signs of disorder or by ritual tests. One such belief held that kuigorozhi always consumed festive porridge beneath the crust, leaving the surface intact. Priests were sometimes said to press the crust during visits; if the hand sank in, the household was suspected of keeping such spirits.
Kuigorozhi were believed to have individual personalities—some mischievous, some obedient, some bold, others timid—and even individual physical traits. Legends tell of people attempting to acquire new kuigorozhi only to find that the same ones returned, recognizable by defects such as a missing eye or a limp.
Over time, many Mordvins came to regard kuigorozhi as fairy-tale beings rather than literal spirits. Still, until the twentieth century, widespread belief held that unexplained wealth was often the work of such helpers. Similar figures appear in neighboring traditions under different names, but the kuygorozh remains one of the most detailed and persistent images of a spirit that brings prosperity—at a cost.
According to the tales of Mordvin peasants from the Saratov province, Buka is a strange and unsettling class of werewolf. Unlike creatures that take animal or human form, Buka appears at night in the shape of a haystack, blending almost perfectly into the rural landscape.
Buka is said to roam mainly after dark. It chases passers-by, pursuing them through fields and paths while emitting frightening sounds—described as tones resembling the growl of a harsh electric train. These unnatural noises announce its presence before it is fully perceived, filling those who hear them with sudden fear.
The creature is particularly associated with areas around churches, where it is said to circle repeatedly, lingering within the sacred boundary as if bound to it. Those who encounter Buka rarely attempt to confront it, for it is known to behave unpredictably.
If pursued or nearly caught by people, Buka does not fight back. Instead, it suddenly falls straight into the ground, disappearing entirely—“into Tartarus,” as the tales say—leaving no trace behind. After this, it is as if it never existed at all.
Buka remains a night-bound presence in Mordvin belief: a moving shape where none should move, a sound where silence belongs, and a reminder that even the most ordinary objects—like a haystack—can conceal something unnatural once darkness falls.
In Mordvin folklore, Bobo is a short, furry creature used by mothers and grandmothers to frighten naughty children. When children misbehaved, cried too much, or refused to go to bed, elders would warn them: “Here comes Bobo from the forest! He’ll put naughty children in a sack and carry them away!”
Through these warnings, children imagined Bobo as something small but unsettling—furry, sometimes pictured with a bird-like leg, carrying an old sack. He was meant to be frightening, but never truly terrifying. The children always knew, deep down, that their mothers and grandmothers loved them and that Bobo would not really take them away.
Bobo is said to wear a black fur coat and carry a large sack, though he never actually uses it. He lives either in the forest or in vegetable gardens near homes. Late in the evening, he comes out onto the street, peers into windows, and waits. If he hears children whining, crying, or refusing to climb onto the stove or go to sleep, he begins to make noise—rustling, stomping with his furry paw, and muttering ominously, “Bo-bo-bo!”
His role is limited to scaring children into obedience. He does not kidnap anyone. Once the children quiet down and fall asleep, Bobo returns home. There, he chooses the warmest spot to sleep, and while resting, he is said to suck his paw.
Functionally, Bobo is closely related to the Slavic Babai, serving as a familiar and half-playful figure of discipline rather than a true monster. He exists at the boundary between fear and reassurance—scary enough to enforce bedtime, but gentle enough to remain part of childhood imagination rather than nightmare.
Baga is one of the frightening figures used in children’s horror stories in the Russian countryside. Like many such beings, it belongs to the group of bogeymen invoked to scare children into obedience.
In the folk beliefs of the Nizhny Novgorod province, Baga is described as hunchbacked, a detail that sets it apart from other similar scare-figures such as the bogeyman or vova. Beyond this, little is said about its appearance or actions.
Baga does not appear in long legends or heroic tales. Its role is practical and immediate: a threat spoken aloud to warn children away from misbehavior or dangerous places. The creature’s power lies in fear itself, not in deeds or stories.
Like many rural bogeymen, Baga exists more as a warning than a character—an unseen presence shaped by imagination, meant to keep children cautious and obedient.
Kutys is a spirit that dwells near water, feared by people and animals alike. His name means “the one who seizes,” and when he acts, it is said that he truly grabs hold of his victims.
Kutys lives at springs, at the sources of rivers and streams, and in ravines where water once flowed. Even when a ravine dries in summer, Kutys may still remain there, unseen. Wherever he lives, sickness and terror follow. When he becomes angry, he punishes people and livestock first with sudden, unexplainable fear, and then with illness. Boils, scabs, erysipelas, abscesses, and wasting pains appear without warning. Sometimes Kutys inspires fear by wild, inhuman cries, and sometimes by appearing in dreadful forms, neither fully man nor beast.
Near the village of Omutnitsy, far from the town of Glazov, there is a spring where Kutys is said to live even now. Above the spring lies a marshy ravine covered with tangled growth. Kutys guards a hidden treasure there. On hot summer days, people or horses who approach the upper part of the ravine may be seized. Breath becomes difficult, strength drains away, the stomach tightens inward, fever and trembling begin, and soon the whole body falls into sickness. This suffering can last for days and may end in death unless Kutys is appeased with sacrifice.
Once, men building a bridge over the stream called Yazinets slept beside their work. At midnight they were awakened by a terrible roar. At the head of the stream they saw a gigantic figure advancing toward them, something neither clearly human nor animal. In panic, they fled to the village, leaving their clothes and belongings behind.
To protect themselves, people make offerings to Kutys. Small loaves of bread, egg-filled pies, pancakes, grains of barley tied in cloth, copper coins, or even a live chicken with bound legs are given at springs and streams. Some throw grain mixed with salt, bits of cloth, or small dolls into the water or onto the ground where Kutys dwells. This act of offering is meant to calm him and release those he has seized.
Kutys is closely bound to water itself. Those who curse into water, spit, blow their nose, or behave disrespectfully near springs risk being taken by him. Among the Besermyans, Kutys is believed to be the spirit of those who died unnatural deaths, or of infants who died without being named. Such spirits linger near their burial places and seize anyone who steps upon them.
Thus Kutys remains a presence of sudden fear and sudden illness, a reminder that water is not only life-giving but dangerous, and that unseen hands may still reach up from springs and ravines to seize the careless.
Gallery
Sources
Bestiary.us contributors. (n.d.). Kutys. In Bestiary.us — Mythical Creatures of the World, from https://www.bestiary.us/kutys#
