Hello lovely people! It’s been a while, but with autumn approaching, posts about the unearthly songs that witches, ghosts, devils and other beings sing in the stillness of the night will resume.
Before that, there’s something I would like to share with you all. It’s no secret that witches and their darkly enchanting ways often occupy my thoughts, so it’s probably no surprise that I felt compelled to write a tiny non-fiction book about the figures who so often haunt my mind.
The witch conjures a storm by stirring a bucket of seawater with a twig. She steals horses, rides them through woods at night and adorns animals with flowers. She shapeshifts into a cat, a hare, a crow or a snake and lurks behind trees waiting for some unfortunate soul to cross her path.
This collection of essays examines the eerie and enchanting world of the witches who can be found in Flanders’ folklore. It explores why these shapeshifting queens of the night were shunned, feared and revered. It takes a closer look at the objects they hid from prying eyes and visits the witches who sang unearthly songs while they danced on hilltops. This tiny non-fiction book can be read with or without Flemish Folktales Retold.
I’m very grateful to Cate Zeederberg whose owl graces the cover of this book and to Rachel Deering who has edited these pages. There’s more information about The Witches of Flemish Folklore here and links to where it’s big sister, Flemish Folktales Retold, is available here.
What follows is a short excerpt from one of the stories discussed in the book. Brew yourself a witchy cup of tea, and enjoy! :-)
The Witch’s Forest
A distressed and weeping woman ran out of her house. Breathless, she leant against an apple tree and let out a cry of anguish that terrified everyone who heard it.
A golden bird was resting in the tree and asked the woman what was wrong. Incoherently, she told him what had happened and through the gasps for breath and the tears that rolled down her cheeks, the bird finally understood that her son had disappeared. The golden bird told her to calm down. He was the king of birds and would gather all the birds in the forest and order them to look for the woman’s son.
The sparrow was to search all the hollow trees since the sparrow often made its nest there and perhaps the woman’s son was playing hide and seek. The lark’s order was to search for a sign of the boy from high above the treetops since the bird often flew high in the sky. The swallow had to look on the ground since swallows often searched for their food there. The magpie was known to be the smartest of all birds and the only thing the golden bird said to the magpie was: 'well … you know what to do'. The magpie somehow manages to fly against a window, as this is something that the smartest of all the birds does every now and then. Once the stars that circle around the magpie’s head have vanished, he sees the boy sitting in an armchair inside a house that could only be described as gloomy. He flies to the king of the birds and tells him that the woman’s son has been found.
The woman was sick with worry. This wasn’t just any old house. It was the house of a witch. Only the devil knows what the witch planned to do with her son, and the devil rarely had anyone’s best interests at heart. What distressed the woman even more was that nobody in the village dared to go near this ungodly house. Everyone was terrified of the lone, shadowy figure that inhabited it. How would she get her son back?
The boy’s mother walked to the market square and screamed. Once she had everyone’s attention, she explained what had happened. The villagers all agreed that the witch had gone too far this time. They mustered what little courage they had, and perhaps discovered that more bravery dwelt in their hearts than they gave themselves credit for, and set off to the witch’s cottage with their pitchforks and sticks.
They surrounded the witch’s devilish abode and commanded her to come outside. The witch explained that the boy had knocked on her door last night and that she had only given him a place to sleep. The villagers didn’t believe her and they all agreed that the witch should be burned for this foul deed.
She was dragged to the market square. A pyre was made and they cheered when it was lit and the witch burned. But when the f lames had consumed the witch and the pyre was burnt out, the witch suddenly arose from the ashes. Only the rope that they had bound around her hands and feet was burned. The witch was not harmed at all. She looked at them with the most evil eye she could muster and walked back to her cottage.
From that day on, the forest became known as The Witch’s Forest. She had the entire forest for herself as no living soul dared to enter this now forbidden territory. The witch lived happily ever after.