“Mom, aren’t you surprised?” I asked, and she shook her head. She picked up the plate of margarine and handed it to the tengu, who unfurled their long tongues and began lapping away. I myself had at one time furtively licked the margarine, but I remember it immediately made me feel sick. The tengu, however, seemed unbothered. They licked up quite a good deal of the margarine.

When I put on my backpack, the tengu ran their hands all over the sturdy leather schoolbag.

“They’re touching it,” I said to my mother, and she laughed.

“They must think it’s unusual.”

Both of the tengu nodded at my mother. She nodded back at them. I found it kind of annoying, how well my mother seemed to be getting along with the tengu. After all, it was my room they’d shown up in.

WHEN I GOT TO THE PLACE WHERE MY friends and I would meet up on our way to school, everyone else was already there. Both of the tengu followed behind me. Nobody said anything. It seemed as if the tengu were invisible. I wondered if my friends were just pretending not to notice.

I always walked at the back of the group. I couldn’t seem to help lagging behind. Now that we were outside, the tengu were quiet. They followed very closely as we walked. Something about the way they followed me—so near and so silently—made it feel as though I were being rushed along. But because the tengu were there that day, I couldn’t dawdle as much as I usually did, bringing up the rear.

I WAS SURPRISED WHEN I GOT TO THE classroom. Beside Minami there was a badger; a little old lady was sitting next to Nishida; and I could have sworn that Oda was arm in arm with another creature from folklore, a rokurokubi woman with a very long neck. Before today, there had never been any sign of these creatures—I was sure of that.

I went over to Nishida and quietly ventured a question.

“What’s with the old lady next to you? How long has she been there?”

“She’s been here for a while,” Nishida replied matter-of-factly.

“What?”

“Omachi, it’s only because those people latched on to you that now you can see her too.” As she said “those people,” Nishida nodded her chin ever so slightly in the direction of the two tengu.

“She appeared by my side about a year ago. Oda’s has been around since we started elementary school, and Minami says his has been with him since before he started kindergarten,” Nishida said in a whisper. Even though no one else in the classroom seemed to be paying any attention to our conversation, we spoke to each other quite conspiratorially.

Nishida told me that the old lady who followed her around was known as a sand-throwing hag. I asked if it wasn’t rude to call her a hag, and Nishida replied, “My dad said that’s what they’ve always been called, so it’s okay.” Apparently Nishida’s father could also see the sand-throwing hag. But, Nishida said, her mother could not.