What a coincidence. Yokai in my hand, yokai on the TV.

I flip through the pages. No English; just strange, beautiful paintings on every page. A red-skinned demon with horns holds a burning man, like a cigar. A baby with one eye gets a bath. A person made of ceramics looks ready for war. And then there’s the kappa teaching a classroom of demonic creatures. My favourite picture so far. One other comes a close second: a creature on all fours with an elephant’s trunk and tusks, leopard spots, long hair, and it looks like it’s on fire. The kanji is unfamiliar, but I can read the furigana next to it. “Baku.” That sounds so familiar. I crawl back to my purse to get my phone. According to the Imiwa? app, it’s a Doctor of Philosophy or “a mythological creature that devours bad dreams.”

Wait. Baku-gaijin. That’s what that old woman had called me. But that makes no sense. I’m no dream-eating yokai. Unless she meant “baka”-gaijin. Maybe I misheard her. Then again, after almost seven years here, I’m not in the habit of mishearing Japanese. Written another way, the app says it can also mean a burst of laughter. “Well, that certainly helps,” I groan.

I stretch the book over my head and stare at the picture, hard. “Baku-gaijin.” She must have meant “stupid foreigner.” Nothing else makes sense. It’s like the time I had to carry a ton of groceries home and this old guy at the station yelled “Akachan wa fukuro ga ippai!” at me. Manager and I got into the longest argument later about whether the guy was calling me a “baby with a ton of bags” or not. In the end, I couldn’t convince him otherwise, but I was so sure … still am.

The floor rumbles. Somewhere in the distance, a garbage truck is driving down the street. It’s way too late for garbage trucks to be driving around. And it sounds like it’s driving awfully fast, heading straight for my building. Shutting my eyes, I find myself bracing for impact. The floor shudders with a ripple, the truck sound fades, and all is silent again.

My eyes fly open. An earthquake, maybe? No. Everything in the apartment is fine. No swinging light fixture, everything still on the shelves. Even the tall stack of boxes in the corner hasn’t budged. A real earthquake would have done something. Oh, well. I’m fine; that’s what’s important. There’s no way I can sleep now, though. Too shaken up. Might as well watch this movie and see where it goes.