Shownotes Transcript
This week on Myths and Legends, it's Christmas in the Nordic countries. So that means, of course, trolls, zombies, elves, and evil house cats. The creature this time is that nice lady who has a Christmas gift for you. A giant angry dog that never leaves. This is Myths and Legends, episode 398, The Bleak Midwinter. ♪
This is a podcast where we tell stories from mythology and folklore. Some are incredibly popular tales you might think you know, with surprising origins. And others are stories that might be new to you, but are definitely worth a listen. The stories this week are about the holidays in the Nordic countries.
I find them fun because while they have a bunch of Christmas stories, they all have kind of a Nordic flair to them. And they have troll battles and Draugr and monsters. It is nothing like what I think of when I think of Christmas stories, and I love it for that. Anyway, we'll jump into our framing narrative with a man who's stuck in Oslo for Christmas Eve. And how that, apparently, is terrible. The lieutenant's shoulders slumped.
The letter he sent home wouldn't get there until Christmas Day, so even if his father's people left immediately, it would still be the day after Christmas until he was home. So this would be his first Christmas away from them. He'd just got his officer's commission, and his friends left on leave while he was in the hospital. It was nothing. A fever. Sure, he went into a coma and was admitted for a week, but he was fine now. Fine physically, that is. Otherwise, he was completely miserable.
The city was a giant gutter of brown snow and a cacophony of coughs and sniffles. Yesterday, the lieutenant just sat at his window and watched people shuffle in and out of the apothecary, eyes squinting in the cold and red, crusty noses poking out of the scarves. So this is Christmas, he muttered. And he was stuck in this grimy city in a drafty old... There was a sound at his door. Turning, he forced a smile.
"'Hey, didn't hear her there. Mrs.' "'Miss Met,' the woman smiled. "'She was just coming to invite him down for Christmas Eve. "'Old Mother Scow, Scow's nieces, and Met "'were having something warm to drink and telling stories. "'Oh, no thanks,' the lieutenant's hand found his book. "'What, just gonna sit up here in the dark? "'Come on,' she said, clearly not moving from the doorway.'
The lieutenant sighed and rose. You know what? He would love to. The room was already warm and crackling with the fire on the other end while Mother Scowl lit the candles. You look like a corpse and not a particularly well-fed one, the elderly woman told the young officer. He explained that he had been in the hospital for a week. He had just gotten out yesterday and was supposed to be home with his parents. This was the only place he could get in town on such short notice.
Such an endorsement, Mother Scowl laughed. Well, no matter. He would have a wonderful Christmas with them. The lieutenant's smile winced as the woman's nieces poured from the kitchen, carrying the food. Auntie, do you know what Stein says? The youngest girl cried. The lieutenant assumed Stein was someone in the kitchen. Stein says I have to go up in the hayloft tonight and give the brownie his Christmas porridge. Silly C-I-L-L-I said. She's just trying to get rid of you, Mother Scowl laughed.
But don't do that. Brownies were the real deal. You ever hear that one about the brownies from Vaguer and Burr? Miss Mett asked the girl. More nieces found their way in and Mother Scow had to hide a smile when the lieutenant seemed to notice Cousin Lizzie, a young woman about his age.
Mismet started her own tale. Two brownies, two house elves that were fiercely loyal to their families. So loyal that when the neighbors started doing better, the brownie apparently thought it was a zero sum game. So they would start stealing from the neighbors, which prompted retaliatory threats from the other brownie. Soon, one brownie was tromping across the bridge with a load of the other's hay on his back, only to meet the other brownie having done the exact same thing.
Both determined to get their family's hay back, they tore into the piles, sending them and a cloud of dust into the river. The children and the lieutenant chuckled. And the lieutenant turned to Silly, saying he actually knew a story about a brownie,
The one where, in Hallingdale, a girl like you, silly, was tasked with taking the brownie milk porridge in his hayloft on Christmas Eve. Only, well, that porridge looked delicious. Butter on top, all melty. She thought it was a shame that it would go to a brownie, and besides, the brownie probably didn't even exist. She ate the good porridge, butter and all, and plopping some of the plain oatmeal porridge in the pig trough, she poured on some of the previous day's milk.
the one that already went sour, and dropped it off. "'That's good enough for you, Mr. Brownie,' she said, and turned to see the eyes in the darkness. She stepped back as the diminutive man stepped toward her. He thanked her for the meal. "'Would she care for a dance?' She said, "'Oh, no thanks.' He held his hands out. He wasn't moving. She gulped and took his hands."
The lieutenant stood and, holding out his own hands for cousin Lizzie, she stood and, with a smile that said, sure, took them, and they danced around the room, with him singing, and you have eaten the porridge of the brownie, and you shall dance with the little brownie, the delight of the cousins. Laughing, the lieutenant finished his story.
When they found her on Christmas morning, more dead than alive and covered in sweat and rancid milk from the thousands of times she had danced around that hayloft with the brownie, she couldn't stop singing that song. Lizzie laughed. Real nice story. The lieutenant shrugged. Got him a dance. Well, I'm definitely not going up now, Silly shook her head. Just then, the lieutenant felt something brush his ear, and he jumped. Turning, he saw the cat.
Oh, he didn't know what it was and didn't know they had a cat. It took the cousins way too long to stop laughing at him. Mother Scow quieted them down. And as they passed her on the food, said that that reminded her of another Christmas story. One of trolls and death. And cats. There was a knock at the door and Halvor answered. And then slammed it. Oh my gosh, it's a bear. What do you mean it's a bear? Mrs. Halvor asked.
opening up the door and then slamming it on herself. There's a bear out there. Howard said, yeah, that's what it's a bear means. Where's a bear? Their child asked. Then there was knocking. The family looked at one another. Wait, yeah, bears don't knock. They cracked the door to see a man standing next to the bear. Peter Gint, the man stuck out his hand.
When he saw that he wouldn't get a shake if he didn't explain, he pointed, oh yeah, that was his pet bear. Is he safe? Halvor asked. Peter shrugged, sure. Only if Peter didn't tell him not to be. The family thought that worked out in their favor and opened the door. They said they were sorry, but whatever this man needed, they couldn't help. They were heading out. They had to be out before nightfall, actually. On Christmas Eve? Peter asked.
So, the rumors were true. Halvor exhaled sharply, yes. Was he sure he didn't want to come by in a week like the rest of the village to see the destruction? Peter said there would be no destruction. He was here to help. Oh yeah? And how are you going to do that?
Peter wasn't about to give away his tactics. He said that the trolls came every Christmas and stayed a week, eating all their food and messing with their place, right? Well, let Peter stay for a week, eating their food, and they would never see the trolls again. Halvor and family shrugged. Sure, no real change for them. Either the house was trashed and Peter was eaten, alongside all the food like every other year, or Peter Gint got rid of them.
Halvor grimaced toward the horizon, though. It was 3 p.m. in the afternoon. Sun was getting low. He called back to his wife to please make sure they got the cat. She was pregnant this year, and after last Christmas, she might not survive another encounter. The tailless cat hissed at the white bear as Halvor and his family left to go stay with a neighbor, and Peter and the bear entered the house. Peter, the proto-Kevin McAllister that he was, went to work on his traps.
Well, trap. While his bear snoozed in a cozy spot behind the fireplace, Peter got to work on a shoe. Taking out a pigskin he had, he built a giant shoe, laces and all.
Me putting thoughts into Peter's head would imply that I know what he was thinking, and I really don't. Luckily, he finished up right before he heard the troll voices on the night wind. He hid, and the door burst open, and the trolls brought all their bags inside. Guys, vacation has officially started, their dad announced to no small amount of groans from the family.
"'Honey, I caught some frogs in the swamp on the way here. "'If I'm putting those on, the kids are starving,' the mom troll said. "'I'll hop to it,' the dad winked. "'Sorry, had to. Love vacation.' "'And the dad got to work cooking up the frogs, toads, and bacon.'"
"'Hey, hon,' the troll mom said, looking in the center of the room. "'Why is there a giant pigskin shoe?' Then there was another noise at the door. "'Oh, hey, kids, your troll aunt and uncle are here,' the dad called out. "'Ugh, Dad, we're all trolls. You can just say aunt and uncle,' the troll teen said, going to answer the door for the troll aunt and uncle and their family.'
Soon, everyone was eating frogs, toads, and bacon and laughing when the dad pointed out the shoe.
What is the deal with that shoe? You know what we should do? We should all put a foot in it at once and take a picture, the dad clapped. He asked his troll brother, once again, just brother, the uncle said, but yes, he could sketch the family while they were in the hilarious shoe. Hey, does anyone feel this getting tighter? The dad asked the group while they were all in the shoe.
"'Stop moving,' the uncle said. "'That means you,' he pointed to his nephew, "'who was throwing cooked frogs at the cat peeking out from behind the fireplace.' "'The dad laughed. "'Get him, Junior!' "'The troll son was, indeed, pelting the snout peeking out from behind the fireplace "'with slimy cooked frogs. "'Well, the dad was saying that maybe the big shoe idea was a bad one. "'Okay, forget the picture. "'All done.' "'He tried to get out, but they were stuck.'
his eyes followed the laces off to the far end of the room where they were stretched and stuck into the floorboards with a hand spike will you have a sausage pussycat the boy was still pelting the snout with the frogs scratch them pussycat a voice said from the darkness
The bear roared. Peter leapt out with yet another hand spike. Not 100% sure what that is, but I am certain you don't want to be hit with one. And neither Peter nor the bear stopped until the trolls fled screaming back to the mountains. After a week of ale and feasting, Peter and the bear left before Halvor and his family returned. Early next December, Halvor was out gathering sticks when he heard a familiar grumble, one that he recognized from the first year that the trolls came.
An unforgettable night of terror just etched in his mind. Havor froze. "'That pussycat,' the voice asked. "'Do you still have her?' Havor noticed that it was quavering. "'Havor said the cat? "'Yeah, she's at home behind the fireplace. "'And she has several kittens, all bigger and larger than herself.' "'No, no, no, no, no, no!' the troll shrieked "'and ran as fast as he could back to the mountains.'
After that, the trolls were never seen on Halvor's farm again. Miss Met came into the room with more drinks. She thought about it. Was she sure Mother Scow hadn't told that one before? Mother Scow said that she had a group of people that paid to hear her stories, and this was one of those back in, oh, 38 maybe? But this group hadn't heard it.
And by the way, this was on the member feed, but it's part of this story, so I wanted to include it here for the wider audience. And there were some big differences. The lieutenant tossed another log on the fire and took a seat. Oh, wow, next to Lizzie. What a fun coincidence. He actually had a story. Kind of a long one. But they were okay with it. Everyone was settled and warm, and they nodded. Yeah, sure. The lieutenant smiled and said, okay, this one begins with a hug.
We'll start the story of Hans the Karl's son, but that will be right after this. This
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My boys. The farmer drew his sons close. I just want you both to know how much I love you. Then he realized his arms were bigger than usual. He counted the heads. One, two. He recoiled. Three. Hans tumbled back onto the floor. His father and brothers looked at him in revulsion. Hans. Hans said he just wanted a hug from his dad. He was his dad's son too.
Getting sneaky hugs from your dad. I knew you'd stoop low, but why are you doing this? I don't get why you don't like me, and you forbid them from talking to me? Hans gestured to his brothers. Boys, to me, the father cried. I pet these boys in every way, the father glowered at Hans. You shall not have any familiar intercourse with your brothers, the father screamed. Hans said, really, we're not going to address any of this phrasing? Okay, never mind.
The father stomped on the floor like he did to scare the cat away. Get, get, you get out of here. You go sleep on the kitchen floor. As the door swung behind him, Hans heard the father apologizing to his older brothers. I'm sorry you had to see that, that terrible son and brother. Don't let him infect you with his worthlessness. You're my sweet, precious, dandy boys. Tried to go in for another hug, the mom said, wiping her hands on the apron.
Hans nodded. "'I'll get him. He'll come around. No, you won't. It's not you, though. I don't get it either. He just hates you,' the mom said. While Hans crouched low and scratched the cat's chin, the animal purred and laid down at his feet. Hans' life had been like this for as long as he could remember, and for the next few years, things continued apace.'
The only place he was welcome in his own house was in the kitchen, where his mother held court, and his father refused to enter. He slept there, and his only friend was the cat. Then, one day, his father pushed open the door. After a brief look of disgust at the young man resting by the fire, he ordered his wife to prepare provisions and make some new shoes. His boys were leaving home, going to seek fame and honor in the house of the king. A merchant ship was leaving in the morning, and they needed supplies.
Hans shot up. No, the father anticipated the request. Hear me out, Hans said, but his father kept shaking his head. I'm worthless, the young man said. The father stopped scowling. What? Did his youngest finally see how just horrible he was? Had he finally internalized all those terrible things? Look, you hate me, I get that.
and with my brothers gone, it will only be me. Where your disgust was counterbalanced by your love for them, with them gone, you'll just have me. And even if you don't see me, you'll still know that I'm here.
And really, if I go out and try to make my way in the world, I'll just mess it up. I'll be dead in a week, probably painfully. The father stroked his beard, yeah, like a wolf or a troll or something. And he wouldn't be here, okay. Here was the deal. He was to get provisions as well, but he was by no means to travel with his brothers and disgrace them by his company.
Hans said, oh no, not travel with people who have been raised to despise him? That sounded terrible. His father squinted, hey, was that sarcasm? That sounds as terrible as me, Hans grimaced. Approving, the father left the kitchen. You laid it on a bit thick, but good job, the mother said, and began putting together a pack for him as well.
Go, go, go, the father cried out after a hug, and the two older brothers broke off into a run the following morning. Hans hugged his mother and petted the cat. He slung his pack over his back and took his walking stick and found his father standing in front of him. The pack, the man pointed.
Hans handed it to him. Rifling through, he laughed with indignation before turning the pack over and spilling the bread, cakes, and meat out onto the dirt. When Hans dropped to recover them, he stomped on them with his dirty boots and snatched the walking stick, cracking it in half and tossing it into the river. Hans stood. What was he supposed to do? Those were his provisions. Smiling, the father walked over to where he had gutted some fish the previous day.
scooped up the skins, and filled the pack with them. He felt the heft and, approving, handed it back to Hans. Hans made his way into the forest without another word or even a look back. Even though he was in a bad spot, at least he was free. Then he spun at a noise behind him, in the trees, and saw his mother. She said she was sorry about the provisions.
His father was a monster. She couldn't make another walking stick in time, but she had an iron poker from the fire. He took it, not noting that a heavy iron rod might actually make it more difficult to walk. It was nice that someone in this world was thinking of him. She pressed a pouch of coins into Hans' hand so he could afford passage on the ship across the sea.
She embraced her son and then headed back home. The older brothers up ahead kept slowing down because jogging is the worst, but seeing the youngest behind them at every rest, keeping the slow and steady pace, they scrambled and kept going. It's not that Hans was particularly trying to catch up to them. They were just going to the same port. Then, up ahead, he heard a screech. Something in the sky. A dragon.
In the haze, he could only see the wings. He could see something wiggling in his grasp. I think there's something courageous about, when seeing something bad happening, doing something to help, no matter how small. Hans might have thought about how throwing his poker at the dragon would do next to nothing, but for him, it was better than doing nothing. He took aim as best he could, and threw his poker at the dragon.
And it hit. And the dragon fell from the sky. Hans arched his eyebrows. Wow. First try. Who knew it was so easy to slay a dragon? He didn't know what all those old stories were always going on about. Oh, Hans said. And he found the vulture. It was kind of a large vulture, for sure, but it wasn't a dragon. He guessed it was closer than he thought.
But then, he looked to the talons where he had seen the person fighting against the dragons, sorry, vultures, grasp, and saw... Oh, that made sense. It was a mythological dwarf baby. Hans helped to pry it loose from the talons, and when free, it started bawling. Hans picked it up, rocked it, and admired its already luscious beard. He pinched his own peach fuzz in disappointment.
Not long after, he heard a crash in the underbrush and turned to see what he assumed was the baby's father, a dwarf with a beard that stretched down to his feet. Handing off the baby to the father, who wiped his eyes with the beard, the dwarf said he couldn't thank Hans enough. Did Hans have a place to sleep that night? Hans said, not currently unless the ground counted. It doesn't, the dwarf replied.
Then no. The dwarf insisted, and Hans didn't even try to politely say no. It was his first night out of the house, and he was, frankly, terrified of sleeping in the dark forest. They arrived at a boulder, the one Hans had sat against when he ate his fish skin lunch earlier that day. Yeah, that smelled horrible, the dwarf said. He wasn't 100% sure about human diets, but whoever gave that to Hans probably meant it more as an insult than something to actually eat.
The dwarf tapped twice on the boulder, and a doorway formed. Hans was expecting a dank hole, but it was dry and warm, and as soon as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw ornate carvings on the walls and a smooth stone floor. The dwarf bade him sit in the finely crafted stone throne, sitting in front of the table, and Hans had his first meal that day that was not fish skins.
There were other dwarves in the underground fortress, but for Hans' time in the hold, he didn't see anyone but the dwarf that brought him. Even the child disappeared into the depths. Hans heard the sound of cheering and merrymaking and the omnipresent ringing of pickaxes, but figured it would be rude to investigate without permission. In addition to the faint sounds deeper down, there was the sound of his host hammering away at something all night in the room across from his. It didn't keep Hans from sleep, though.
In the morning, he rose to yet another table of food, and the dwarf dad already sitting there. After Hans ate and readied himself to say goodbye, the dwarf didn't rise from the table. He said the life of his son was priceless, and a debt he would never be able to repay. But he would try.
He had three trifling keepsakes for the young man. First, he slid a stone across the table. The young man picked it up and the dwarf smiled. Hans looked at it. It was just a normal rock. Holding out his own hand, the dwarf accepted the stone and the moment it was on his palm, the dwarf vanished. Hans gasped and taking it back, wait, was he invisible too?
The dwarf nodded and then pulled out, essentially, a tiny cocktail sword. Hans looked at it. Um, what was this? A sword for ants? He appreciated the tiny craftsmanship, but frankly, to be useful, it would need to be a lot big. And before he finished the word, the sword had grown to full size in his hand. Oh, okay, got it. How do I get it to shrink? Oh, there we go. That makes sense, Hans said, as he thought about the sword shrinking and it shrank in his hand.
The next item was a tiny ship, and the dwarf said, yeah, it was basically the same thing, but please don't. It would kill them both instantly. Hans nodded, put the ship in his pocket, and desperately tried not to think about full-sized ships. He didn't know how this thing's power worked. After breakfast, Hans said goodbye to the dwarf, and the light out front was blinding.
Stepping away from the rock, Hans didn't even hear the door slide shut, but he turned around and was looking at a boulder, the same boulder he had leaned against while eating lunch the day before. While it was still the same path he traveled before, it seemed to fly by with a full stomach and without a pack full of fish skins. Before afternoon, he was at the port and before evening, he had walked down the coast far enough to an isolated stretch of pebbles and waves that
He pulled the ship from his pocket, dropped it in the water, and while he thought about it being bigger, like the sword, he found he actually had to say, grow, ship, and the ship grew. Its bow widened and its sails unfurled, and Hans climbed aboard. He was wondering how he was going to sail the thing himself when, fingers wrapping around the wheel, the ship readied itself and took off.
No matter the waves or the weather on the way over, the ship sailed as if it were a blustery, sunny day, and he traveled without incident over the sea. Avoiding the port town on the other side, he steered the ship on to another lonely stretch of rocks and said, lesson ship, and realized he should probably do that from the shore next time as he flailed around, found his toy ship, and his feet found the gravel of the king's land.
Donning his cloak, and with his magic stone in his hand when he needed it, he learned about the customs of the king's land. He watched his own brothers asking the king if they could winter with him. The king was polite, and since they had room and it was better to have two young men on your side than not, he allowed them to stay. And so they lived at court. Hans was a bit better received on account of him knowing their customs, and he was allowed to stay too.
Though everyone grew annoyed at him trying to sleep next to his brothers, but them moving away and this happening several times a night. All three brothers, and really every other man in the court, knew the endgame. The king had one daughter of marriageable age.
It didn't get more fairytale, finding your fortune than that. Proving yourself to a king and marrying the princess. You were set for life. So when the king finally announced the terms, every man in the kingdom piled into the longhouse.
The terms were, it seems, Christmas presents. Three things that were the most costly in the world, and the king wanted them. A fine sword inlaid with gold, a gilt bird with golden wings in a glass cage that sang so loud when it was touched that it could be heard from far away, and a chess game made out of the purest gold. All these things were in the house of a troll woman who lived on an island nearby. She kept them on a shelf above her bed.
And she stole them from you? A voice asked from the audience. What? Why do you ask that? The king tried to suss out the voice. Well, if she didn't steal them, if they're just hers, isn't that just straight burglary? The king said he was the king, that he makes the laws and he wanted them.
Yeah, you make the laws, but not morality, not ethics. This is just kind of theft. One of the chief aims of government is protecting individual rights like property rights. And if you're asking us to, oh, I'm being beaten up by berserkers now, the man said through a mouthful of teeth, but not in the normal way that you want. Anyone else take an issue with me getting what I want for Christmas?
At this, the eldest brother stood and said he took the least issue as in no issue. This king was the best king and he would go immediately. He'd defeat the evil troll and get the king his Christmas presents. The king smiled. Perfect. Hans' eldest brother just said he needed a ship. And guys. And weapons.
The king's smile faded. This was less a Christmas present and like when you give a kid ten bucks to go get you a Christmas present, isn't it? Yeah, sure. We'll see the group go after those Christmas presents for the king, but that will, once again, be right after this. Think he's okay? One of the warriors asked the other.
Do I think the son of a peasant who didn't leave his farm until three weeks ago with no combat experience, or to be frank, common sense is okay against a troll? No. No, I do not. Why do you think none of us went with him? Okay, Bjorn, just say no next time, Kettle said, who was just trying to make conversation. Then both men stopped and listened.
Does that sound like he accidentally woke up the bird he was supposed to steal? Kettle furrowed his brow and looked at the troll's cave. Then the troll woman ran out, with the eldest brother strung up by his feet, dangling from her hands. Oh, that's absolutely it. Well, he's clearly dead, Bjorn shook his head. Nothing left for them to do here. Help me! Help me! I'm still alive! They heard from the troll's hand.
Clearly the pained cries of a dying man. Could they, like, put him out of his misery with an arrow or something? Kettle measured the distance in his head. Uh, well, if she was in range, she could clear that distance pretty quickly. Understood, Bjorn said. They were moving out. We'll tell your story! They yelled back to the island as they severed the land cables and sailed away to safety.
Again? With the second brother? Kettle said, standing on the same ship, on the same beach, exactly one day later. Be ready to go, Bjorn said. They were barely going to dock because there it is. The troll woman barreled down from the hill, second brother dangling like a yo-yo from her hand, shouting at the ship. Yeah, no, we're leaving. Totally understand. We get that you're angry. We didn't want to come here anyway, the ship called out to the troll.
While the troll woman was throwing boulders at the ship, and the second brother was soiling himself, someone else waded to the shore on the beach behind the cave. Hans tucked the boat in his pocket and grasped the invisibility stone before slipping into the cave. His eldest brother dangled there in the darkness. Hans took the stone from his palm and appeared and...
It's you, the man said to Hans. Hans said, really? He was here to rescue his brothers, and that's how they were going to treat him?
The man shook his head sorry. It was just ingrained in them since Hans' birth that he was horrible. It would take some time to break. Hans said he understood. Here, he was going to free the old... Ew! Don't touch me! The man said and then cursed himself. Sorry. Sorry. So hard to break old prejudices. Just then, a shadow darkened what little light was coming from the outside and Hans' hand flew to the stone at his side. He slipped to the wall and though the troll didn't see him, she could
could smell him. Pew, pa, stink of men in my cave! She loudly sniffed as she hung the second brother next to the first. I mean, it's probably the two men you already have, right? Hans called out from the darkness. The troll woman said no. This was a distinctly different man smell. They all have their own stench. They're all horrible. Also, where was that voice coming from? Hans said that he was Hans. He was their younger brother.
Ew, the middle brother said before the eldest gave him a stern head shake. Hans was in the shadowy, echoey part of the cave. And though the troll woman could follow his voice, she couldn't see him, probably because he was invisible. Hans stepped forward, put the tiny cocktail sword against the troll woman's throat and whispered one final grow. The dangling brother saw her head roll from the cave in the back.
Hey, I'm sorry we treated you so badly all your life, you miserable piece of... The second brother stopped himself. Sorry, sorry, he would learn to stop. They all breathed in the air of the sea breeze, aboard Hans' vessel, having looted the cave and burned it down. Hans thanked them, and wow, was there any way to get that thing to stop? The older said he would take a look at it.
Ah, there we go. When they made it back to the city, they didn't head immediately for the king's court. These were Christmas presents, so they waited until Christmas Eve to throw open the doors with the singing bird, the golden sword, the golden chess set, and the troll's severed head. Hans was married to the princess, and his brothers were ministers in the kingdom, and they never talked to their father ever again.
And that's how we get the tradition of giving gifts on Christmas, the lieutenant grinned back in the warm boarding house. A severed troll head and a chess set. Nope. Oh, it is not, Mother Scowl smiled politely. Good story. Voices were a little bit much, but you know, okay. Mother Scowl said it was almost time for the cousins to go to bed, but before that, she had one more story. See, Mother Scowl's own mother was friends with an elderly widow named Evanson, Madam Evanson.
When she was a little younger, after she lost her husband, she was an avid churchgoer, and she wanted to go to church on Christmas Day. So she set out some coffee for her servant to make, and the following morning, she would leave without waking anyone else. She gasped awake at, she squinted, what time was it? The clocks had all stopped in the night, every single one. She would have a word with her servants about winding them.
The moon was already hanging low on the horizon. I'm not going to generalize here, but when I got to a certain age, I became physically unable to sleep in.
8 a.m. is pushing it, and most days I'm up at 6.30, no matter what time I went to bed. So when Madame Evanston woke, she knew it must be morning. And if you're wondering why the sun isn't up, well, it's Iceland in December. The sun, apparently, doesn't come up until around 11.30 in the morning. So if she waited for the sun to rise, she would be very late. Everyone must have slept in because the coffee wasn't ready.
Oh well. She threw her cloak over her shoulders, put her mittens on, and went out in the snow. It was a calm morning, a still one. The moon bathed the snowy fields, and the heavy-laden tree branches hung low. The church wasn't far, she could see it as she left her house. The lights were glowing, and she could see the people inside. So she hurried across the snow.
The priest was already speaking when she cracked open the door to the church and slipped in. She found her way to her usual seat, not in the far back that said, I'm always the last to arrive, and not quite in the front few rows, in case the priest wanted to do some crowd work. She settled in and breathed. Made it.
As she sat there, listening to the service, she noticed two things. One, it was delightful. There wasn't the usual coughing or sniffling or sneezing that accompanied so many Christmas services. In fact, everyone was completely silent. Everyone except the priest, which was the second thing she noticed. She didn't recognize this tall, pale man.
The sermon was good, she imagined. She was still a little tired since she woke up unexpectedly not ten minutes ago. She usually didn't come to the morning services, so maybe he was new? Then it was over. They rose to sing and someone sidled close to her and whispered in her ear, Throw your cloak loosely around you and go, a woman whispered.
The widow shook her head. She didn't talk in church, and she certainly wasn't one who ducked out at the last song. That was rude. If you wait until the service is over, you will never leave. It is the dead who are keeping service. The woman, the widow, looked over at the person standing next to her. What was she going on? Oh, she recognized the woman. Hala, her neighbor. She froze. Her neighbor...
who died last winter. Then, she remembered where she had seen the priest. He was the young priest who took ill when she was only a girl. Glancing around, the other faces singing their discordant hymns, they were friends, neighbors, fellow townsfolk. They were all people she knew, and they were all dead. This was the Christmas mass of the dead, between midnight and 1:00 AM every Christmas.
"Go!" the woman next to her whispered. When she made it to the end of the pew, every eye in church was watching her. She smiled nervously, and they all began moving toward her. She walked quickly and then ran, but when she made it to the door, one hand caught her cloak, then another. She struggled as more and more gripped her, pulling her back into the church to join them forever. Then she had an idea. She undid her cloak and the dead flew back into the church.
The woman was free. She ran home without looking and slammed the door behind her. At that moment, the clock struck one. When she rose, shaking, she looked out on the church from her window and it was shut up and dark, as if no one was there at all.
And when the real priest, the living priest, opened up the church the following morning for Mass, he was confused to find shreds of a pink cloak strewn about the sanctuary. The cousins were scared, and even a chill went up the lieutenant's spine.
By comparison, though, the warm drinks and the good food and the pleasant company, all highlighted by the contrast with the story, made the night that much brighter. An hour later, everyone was ready for bed, and as the lieutenant climbed the stairs, a smile on his face, Miss Met found him. She hoped the night was a better one than he would have had sitting alone in a dark room. He said it was. This was actually a really great Christmas. He thanked her.
The company and the stories, they made the night better. As she walked to her room, she smiled. That's what stories do. They will give you hope and happiness when you're feeling low, and they can put your own problems into perspective. Bet this drafty old house doesn't feel nearly as dismal as a church full of the dead.
He said it did not. And also, sorry. She said, for what? This is a 19th century Norwegian house. It is absolutely drafty. The lieutenant's loyal servant arrived and woke him up the next morning, having ridden all Christmas Eve. But the lieutenant said he'd like to stay just one more night and celebrate Christmas with Miss Met and Mother Scowl.
That's where we'll leave it this week. And I have something of a big announcement. We're going to be out next week. Wednesday is Christmas Day. That was planned since last year. We will be back on New Year's Day. But there will be something of a massive change in 2025 because the show, at least for 25 and 26, will move to every other week. We're absolutely not going anywhere. We're going to be back on New Year's Day.
The show will be 10 years old in April. I cannot believe that. And while it stayed fundamentally the same, the amount of work and research that goes into it has grown massively. This will help us to make sure the quality can stay the same, and it will give us the time and space to explore other stories to tell that the weekly schedule has made pretty much impossible. Speaking of other stories, Myths and Legends is off next week, but Fictional will have a Christmas ghost story special.
Apparently, in Victorian England, they told ghost stories on Christmas. And so I found a few, and it was pretty fun. And if you didn't know, Fictional's our other show, where we do basically this, but with works from fiction and not folklore. So yeah, we'll see you here in two weeks' time for our New Year's episode. And next week on Fictional. Happy holidays, everyone. The creature this time is Frau Gauten, from the folklore of northern Germany. What do you do if, during the Christmas season, a giant dog wanders into your house?
Well, if you're like me, you'd freak out a little bit and then try to chase the dog out of your house. Apparently, that is the wrong answer. You see, that dog has been sent by Frau Goden, a woman who loved to hunt so much that she preferred hunting being sent to heaven. So, she hunts. If she really does prefer hunting over eternal bliss, well, it seems like she kind of got exactly what she wanted.
Anyway, she also wants to tear you apart, it seems. But only if you mess with her dog. Her dogs are apparently her daughters who got cursed with her, which, yes, is a way worse curse than getting exactly what you want forever.
If you try to drive the dog away, you're dead. If somehow you manage to kill the dog, no you didn't. Any fatal blow will turn the dog into an immovable stone that will stay there until the following day when, at midnight, it turns back into a living angry dog for you to kill all over again. If you hear one of her dogs howls, you're liable to be cursed. And it's unclear if these curses stack, and this is in addition to having an angry stone dog in your house,
If you're feeling particularly unlucky or cursed, she'll come around one night a year, on Christmas Eve, and offer you her aid, or the ability to take her dog back. That night is not a coincidence. She, apparently, wants to lure people away from the Christian faith by offering her help on Christmas because, drumroll, she might be Odin, or Odin's wife, or like a consort or something? One of Frau Godin's other names is Frau Wode, or
Mrs. Woden, the Germanic version of the Norse deity. A lot of fairy tales and creatures are just a way to keep kids in line. And I'll say it, I see it with this one. The way to keep Mrs. Oden and her stone dogs out of your house is to listen to dads everywhere and close the door, please. What, are we heating the whole neighborhood? Like, in or out? ♪
That's it for this time. Myths and Legends is by Jason and Carissa Weiser. Our theme song is by Brooke for Free, and the Creature of the Week music is by Steve Combs. There are links to even more of the music we used in the show notes. Thank you so much for listening, and we'll see you next time.