The Blue Barn

Flemish Folktales Retold

Hello everyone, I’m so pleased to share that the Kickstarter project with my illustrator Cate Zeederberg and editor Kerria Seabrooke is now 50% funded! Thank you so much to everyone who has backed Flemish Folktales Retold! This short story collection reimaging forgotten Flemish folktales means the world to us and we appreciate anything you can do to help turn this project into a witchy reality so much!

Today we are publishing The Blue Barn which is one of the thirty-six tales that will be in the collection! Consider supporting this project on Kickstarter! We have a number of different rewards including an exclusive hardback edition and even a Flemish magic box. The folktales of Flanders are so precious and dear to me and anything you can do to help means so much.

The Blue Barn

“I need another barn, and the devil may build it for all I care. I must have another barn,” Joost said as he stared at the bundles of sheaves piled so high they were doomed to rot. The farmhand had stacked them in front of the timber barn Joost’s grandfather had built, the old fool never thought that maybe one summer there would be enough sunshine for a good harvest. The upcoming weeks were bound to bring rainfall and Joost would have to watch how all the grain he had harvested became soaked. He could already see weevils, mice, and rats thriving on his misfortune.

As Joost took a swig from the jenever bottle he kept hidden inside his useless barn, he spotted a tall man approaching from the gates. The stranger wore a dinner jacket and top hat as he traveled up the gravel path that brought customers to the farmhouse. The man’s ornately carved carriage pulled by four magnificent black horses stood waiting by the gates.  

“What do you want?” asked Joost as he snuck a look around him. He was relieved to see his wife wasn’t anywhere near, as she would frequently scold him for the brusque manner he used on customers, but he was a farmer, not an accordion player entertaining the masses.        

“Eggs,” said the man.         

“Eggs?” Joost asked, scratching his head. Why would a man who looked as if he was searching for his private opera box in La Monnaie want eggs?

The stranger nodded and pointed at the towering piles of sheaves. 'I see there is no room left in your barn.'        

“We’ve got plenty stored, Monsieur, the majority will be sold on the markets, but if your household needs grain we’re happy to help out. We also sell milk and apples from our orchard, and…”                                                                                                           

“And what will you do with those sheaves? Throw them all away?”

“Look, Monsieur, how many eggs did you say you want?”                                        

“What if I help you?” asked the man, rubbing his hands together, “What if I told you that I can build you a new barn in a single night?”                                                   

“With all due respect, Monsieur, what if I told you I can walk on walls and pluck the moon out of the sky?”                                                                                   

“I won’t be needing the moon.” laughed the man. “All I need in exchange is your soul.”

“Ha! If there’s a barn here tomorrow, then my soul is yours.” 

“It will be finished before the rooster crows,” said the stranger as he strolled back to his carriage. Fool, Joost thought, even forgot his eggs. He poured some jenever into a glass as a lackey opened the carriage door for the stranger. The glass tumbled out of his hands, leaving splashes of jenever and tiny glass shards embedded in his mucky shoes when Joost saw that the carriage didn’t ride away but flew off the ground and vanished into thin air. He realized he had just made a pact with the devil. He wanted to scream and beg the evil stranger to return and undo the cursed deal he had just made, but he knew it was too late. 

Joost fed the chickens with the stale bread his wife had soaked in a cup of water, drove the cattle into a different paddock, and took one last look at the sheaves, this time wishing that vermin would claim it as their own. He entered the farmhouse and climbed the stairs to the bedroom where he could already hear his wife snoring.

He staggered to the window, brooding over the fate of his poor soul. Through the panes of glass, he watched in horror as the devil erected four huge walls with the same ease as Joost had placed sugar cubes on top of each other this morning while he waited for the kettle to boil. The devil opened a can of paint and with his evil hands began to paint the barn blue. As he painted, the devil’s long legs danced to a silent tune, but all Joost could hear was the roar of the devil’s laughter.   

“Wake up,” Joost shook his wife’s arm and she opened her eyes. Despite her habitual snoring she was a light sleeper.                                                                                              

“Whatever’s the matter?” she asked.

Joost’s hands were shaking as he told her about the devil. His wife tried to interrupt him several times as he monologued about how he would soon no longer have a soul. But he did not want to hear her comforting words. What was he going to do without a soul? The spirit that made him a living, breathing man? Would the dedication he had shown for his farm now go to spreading evil? Torturing sinners? Drowning children? The thought was unbearable and he buried his head under the pillows.          

“You, idiot!” Joost’s wife shouted at him as she stormed to the window.

Joost followed his wife and peeked through the glass. His heart sank when he saw that the devil had almost finished the roof. His wife sighed, then clapped her hands loudly once, twice, three times, and finally a fourth. Suddenly Joost heard the familiar sound that woke him up every morning though it was nowhere near the time when sunlight touched the earth yet.

COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!                                                                                               

The devil’s eyes narrowed, his face turned bright red, and steam shot out of his ears.                       

“There will be no soul-snatching today,” Joost’s wife shouted at the devil, “The rooster is awake and you haven’t yet finished the barn!”                                                   

The devil shouted violently as he slammed his fist into the ground. The barn flew apart like a house of cards. All that was left was a deep gaping hole from which the sound of tortured screams could be heard. The void was so vast, that no matter how hard they tried, it was impossible to fill. Soon the farmer and his wife found themselves out on the streets. Their beloved farm was no longer their home but was now the permanent haunt of unearthly creatures who screeched and wailed in the night.

The Blue Barn from Flemish Folktales Retold by Signe Maene, edited by Kerria Seabrooke, illustrations by Cate Zeederberg.

Thank you for reading!

Update: when I uploaded this story here yesterday evening we were 50% funded and when I woke up this morning I thought I was still dreaming because we are now 70% funded! I can’t even find the words to express how much that means to me. Thank you so much to everyone who has already backed our project and to everyone who has shared Flemish Folktales Retold! Your support means the world to us!