Episode 167 – Fear Itself – Myths Your Teacher Hated

Episode 167 Show Notes

Source: German/Scottish Folklore

This week on MYTH, it’s once again time for my favorite tradition – the annual Halloween special. You’ll see that folklore fathers are the worst, that going in search of fear may not be safe but it can be rewarding, and that you can do a lot with the right tools. Then, in Gods and Monsters, a demonic spirit lurks in the seas off the coast of Scotland. This is the Myths Your Teacher Hated podcast, where I tell the stories of cultures from around the world in all of their original, bloody, uncensored glory. Modern tellings of these stories have become dry and dusty, but I’ll be trying to breathe new life into them. This is Episode 167, “Fear Itself”. As always, this episode is not safe for work.
Spooky season is here once more, so we’re dipping back into the collection of the delightfully macabre Brothers Grimm for a classic horror story. Once upon a time, there was a man who had two sons. The eldest was extremely clever and gifted at learning anything he put his mind to. The younger son, on the other hand, struggled to learn anything at all. Everyone in their little town said that the younger son was worthless and stupid and would be a burden on his father. It was a cruel way to talk about the poor young man. He might not be as academically gifted as his brother, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have his own skills and talents.
Since everyone thought so little of the younger brother, it was his elder brother that was always expected to do anything that needed to be done (which honestly wasn’t fair to either of them). The elder son was always diligent and uncomplaining about this burden (having never known anything else). The only time he ever hesitated to complete a task his father asked of him was when he was asked to fetch something very late – especially if it was after dark and the path led through a graveyard or some other equally spooky place. He would shiver and cower and plead with his father. “I won’t go there father, not in the dark! I’m trembling with terror at the very thought!” Clever he might be, but he was still a child. Besides, given the world of Grimm’s fairy tales, this kid probably had every right to fear the dark.
You know who wasn’t afraid though? The younger son. Whenever people would gather around a fire at night to tell scary stories, everyone else would be gasping and shuddering and occasionally screaming in fright, but this kid (who was by the far the youngest in the room) could not for the life of him see what the fuss was about. He didn’t feel any of the fear the others did and honestly had trouble understanding what exactly was scaring them so badly. He is very much the literal version of that old boast ‘I don’t know the meaning of the word fear.’ This boy literally didn’t – he’d never been scared of anything in his life. Alas, rather than being proud of his courage, the poor kid was so used to being belittled and insulted that he assumed that this too was a skill he just hadn’t been able to master. He was just a slow learner with this, just like he was with everything else. The younger son is giving me some major neurodivergent vibes to be honest, and I’m here for it.
One day, after a particularly exasperating series of failures at learning some skill or other, the boys’ father had had it with his son. “Son, get your ass over here and listen up. You’re getting older now, bigger and stronger, which means I’m not gonna baby you anymore. People aren’t gonna take care of you your whole life, so you need to get off your lazy ass and figure out some way to earn your daily bread. Look at your brother – see how he’s always putting himself out there and getting shit done? He makes a father proud, but you’re honestly pretty hopeless. If you don’t figure it out soon, I’m not sure what to do with you.” I’m guessing this is meant to be tough love, but it really feels a lot more like bullying. This poor kid has absolutely no self confidence because he’s never been told he’s done a single thing right in his life.
The younger son, who was used to being berated like this, took it all in stride. “Well dad, I’ve been thinking about this a lot actually, and there is something I’d like to learn – I want to learn to shudder. Everyone talks about feeling fear, and I just don’t understand it yet but I’d like to try and figure it out.” The oldest brother, who was listening in with a bit of cruel glee as his father gave his brother a tongue lashing, laughed aloud at this. “Jesus, what a stupid sack of shit my brother is,” he thought to himself. “By God, his useless ass will never amount to anything as long as he lives. A crooked sapling doesn’t grow into a tall, straight tree, and a dimwit never becomes a useful member of society.” Hey, I said the older brother was smart, not kind. He’s got an ego the size of a mountain and a real superiority complex.
Their father simply sighed at the younger man’s strange proclamation. “I give up. If you want to learn to shudder, then be my guest. You’ll never be able to earn a living like that, but I know better than to try and teach you that (or literally anything else). You’re hopeless, son.” A few days later, the sexton (a member of the clergy responsible for the upkeep of the church, the grounds, and the graveyard) stopped by their house for a visit. The father complained to this man of God about his troubles and worries, especially about his good-for-nothing youngest son and his asinine quest to learn fear. “I’m at my wit’s end. This kid knows nothing and learns nothing no matter what anyone tries. I mean, I asked him the other day how he plans to earn his keep when he grows up and he said he wants to learn how to shudder! What am I supposed to do with that?”
The sexton wasn’t ready to give up on a little lost lamb just yet. “Is that all? If that’s your biggest concern, then just send your son to me. I’m sure I can teach him what he needs to know and sand off a few of his rougher edges.” The father thought this a fine idea. The sexton was a man of learning and a man of godly patience, so surely he would be able to do what no one else had. Countless people had said it would take a miracle to make anything of his kid, and who better to perform a miracle than a man of the cloth?
Thus it was decided that the younger boy would leave that very night with the sexton. He would live and learn in the church. His first task was to ring the bell in the tall steeple at midnight to mark the end of the old day and the start of the new. He was given a few days to settle in and then sure enough, one night just before midnight, the sexton woke him up. “Alright, head up into the steeple and ring the bell like we talked about.” He left the yawning lad to get dressed and then secretly went over to the church and climbed up into the steeple himself. “You want to learn fear, huh? Fine, I’ll scare the devil out of you!”
The young man climbed the ladder not long after and headed over to the long rope that rang the bell. It was extremely dark up there, the shadows pooling thickly in the night lit only by the moon high overhead. As he turned around to grab the rope, he saw a pale figure gliding eerily out of the darkness, hands lifted towards him. The young man just squinted into the darkness, trying to figure out who this person was. “Who the heck are you?” The figure made no answer except to glide slowly in that eerie way. “Say something or get lost, stranger. You have no business in a church tower in the middle of the night.” The figure still made no answer except a low, haunting moan. “Seriously, what do you want? If you’re an honest man with an honest reason to be up here, answer me. Otherwise, I’m tossing your ass down the stairs.”
The sexton (because of course it was the sexton pretending to be a ghost to try and scare the boy) said nothing. “He’s not seriously going to try and body slam a ghost. I’m sure I can scare him if I just keep up the act a little longer.” A third time, the young man demanded an explanation but received none. With an exasperated sigh, he rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” And without another word, he grabbed the ‘ghost’ and chucked it down the stairs. It fell down to the next story and collapsed there in a stunned heap on the floor. Still shaking his head at this stranger’s nonsense, the young man rang the bell more or less on time, climbed back down the stairs, and went back home to bed. He didn’t bother to check on the silent stranger who had obviously been trespassing and so deserved what he’d gotten.
The sexton’s wife (he’s not a priest but a custodian, so he’s totally allowed to be married) waited up for her husband to return. When he didn’t, she began to get worried. He’d never taken this long before, and she’d clearly heard the church bells ringing so he should have been back by now. Frightened for the sexton’s safety, she burst into the young man’s room and woke him up. “Have you seen my husband? He headed over to the church before you did, but he hasn’t returned.” The young man yawned sleepily. “I haven’t seen him since he woke me up here and sent me to ring the bell. Although come to think of it, there was a weird pale figure in the steeple with me. He didn’t answer me when I asked who he was or what he wanted, he just moaned and raised his arms in a weird way. I figured he was a trespasser, so I tossed him down the stairs and left him there. Maybe that was the sexton, though I can’t understand why he didn’t just identify himself when I asked. I’m sorry if it was.”
The woman was aghast at this and raced over to the church. Sure enough, she found her husband in a crumpled heap on the steeple floor, moaning in agony. His leg was twisted at a very unnatural angle, clearly shattered. She had to support him as they limped home and put the sexton to bed. Wailing in despair and fury, she ran to the boy’s father and woke him up, late hour be damned. “Your waste of space son has been an absolute menace! He threw my husband down the stairs, broke his leg, and then just left him there in agony! Get that good-for-nothing asshole out of our house right this fucking minute!” Alarmed, the father raced over to the sexton’s house. He could hear the poor sexton still moaning in pain, and so dragged his son out the door by his ear, scolding him the whole way home.
“What the fuck, kid? Why on god’s green earth would you attack a kind, honest man like the sexton? Especially when he was doing you a favor? The devil is in you son, make no mistake.” The kid tried to explain his side of what happened. “Dad, I’m innocent, I swear! It was an honest mistake. He was lurking in the shadows of the steeple like a thief and refused to answer me when I asked him who he was and what he was doing there. I asked him three times, and he never said a word, just moaned. How was I supposed to know that he was the sexton and not some evil-doer? I was just protecting the church.” Unfortunately, as was always the case with this family, his father refused to listen to his perfectly reasonable and accurate explanation of what happened. I mean honestly, if your stated intention is to scare someone, maybe don’t do it while standing next to a big hole at the top of a tall tower. “That’s it, I’m done with you. You’ve been nothing but a burden and a disappointment your whole life, but now you’re actively a problem. Get out of my house. I can’t stand to look at you anymore.”
The young man didn’t even try to put up a fight. He knew by now that it was worthless to argue. Everyone (including the bullied young man himself) knew that he was utterly worthless so obviously every failure was entirely his fault. “That’s fair, dad. Give me until morning and then I’ll head out to learn what fear is. Once I do that, I’ll finally have a skill I can support myself with.” Look, I’m on this kid’s side 99% of the way, but I do genuinely wonder how he intends to earn money by understanding fear. I very much doubt he’s going to start writing horror novels or something. “Do whatever you want and learn whatever you want. I don’t care anymore. Here’s 50 talers (small silver coins) to get you started. As much as an utter fucking disappointment as you are, you’re still my son so I still have some obligation to you. Take the money and head out into the world, but whatever you do don’t tell anyone where you come from or who your father is. I’m ashamed to be associated with you. At dawn’s first light, get your ass out of my house.”
The young man simply bowed his head in acquiescence, used to such treatment by now. “Of course, father – I will do as you wish. And if that’s the only thing you want me to do, then at least I can remember it pretty easily.” His father said nothing else, simply turning away and abandoning him. When dawn came, the boy put the 50 talers in his pocket and began to walk down the road, destination unknown. As he went, one thought bounced around his skull on repeat: “if only I could shudder! If only I understood fear!” He hadn’t realized that he’d been saying this thought aloud until a man fell into step beside him. “You want to learn fear, eh? There’s a sight not much farther down the road that ought to do the trick.”
Grateful for the unexpected help and (not having any fear) not worried about anything bad happening to him, the young man followed along. Luckily, the stranger was being truthful here. They soon came to a small hill where a gallows had been built. The man cackled as he pointed at the seven bodies swaying slowly in the breeze. “See there? That’s the tree where seven lads married the rope-maker’s daughter and learned to fly.” He cackled again at his own witticism. “Sit under that and wait for night to come, and I guarantee you’ll be shuddering fit to rattle your teeth!” “That’s amazing – thank you sir! If I can truly learn to understand fear that quickly, I’ll give you my 50 talers. Come back tomorrow, and if you’re right, the money is yours.”
Leaving the confused but optimistic man (who just thought it good fun to scare a child), he went and sat himself under the swinging corpses. He’d already walked for a good portion of the day, but night was still a long time in coming. As it did, the air began to grow cold so the young man built himself a fire. That’s a little counterproductive to learning how to be afraid, but being cold isn’t any fun so I get it. Even so, around midnight a wailing wind whipped up from nowhere. It blew with such ferocity and such a chill bite that even the fire wasn’t enough to stay warm.
Being a very kind-hearted lad who apparently didn’t understand public execution, he glanced up with pity at the seven men hanging in the air above him. It’s pretty clear that he hadn’t understood the stranger’s joke about marrying the rope-maker’s daughter and didn’t realize that they were all very, very dead. “If I’m this cold so close to the fire, then those poor souls must be absolutely freezing! I should help them.” And without another thought, he clambered up onto the gallows, untied them one after another, and settled them in a circle around the fire. That done, he found a nice poking stick and stirred the fire to get it nice and hot again.
He tried to chat with them, but none of them said a word or even so much as stirred. It was pretty fucking rude, actually. The fire was getting quite hot, so the young man shifted away a little but the seven silent strangers didn’t move a muscle, even when their rags began to smoulder. They didn’t so much as yelp when their clothes straight up caught on fire either. “You guys need to be careful, or I’ll have to put you back where I found you.” The men did not respond, silent except for the pop and sizzle of their burning clothes and flesh. The young man had had enough of this bullshit. “Look, I can’t help you if you won’t be even a little bit careful. I don’t want to burn up with you. Nothing to say for yourselves? Fine, I warned you – back up you go!” With an exasperated sigh, the young man put out the seven burning figures and hung them back up on the gallows. Now exhausted but warm, he lay down and went to sleep.
Early the next morning, the man from the day before returned to collect his 50 talers. “How was your night, lad? Pretty scary, right? Did you learn how to shudder?” The boy just shook his head in exasperation. “Where was I supposed to learn it? It was just me and those seven fellows up there, and they never said a word! Even when I brought them down to share my fire, they couldn’t be bothered to speak with me. Hell, they didn’t even say a word when their clothes caught fire! They know even less than me, so I certainly wasn’t going to learn anything from them.” The man was confused at this, but he could clearly see that the bodies were indeed scorched so the young man’s story rang true. It was clear that he wasn’t going to be earning 50 talers today after all. He went away shaking his head in wonderment. “I’ve never met another fellow quite like that. I don’t know if he’s the bravest lad ever or just the daftest!”
And so, no wiser but also no poorer, the young man headed down the road again. As before, he was muttering to himself the whole way “if only I could shudder! If only I understood fear!” In time, a cart driver came up behind the youngest son and heard his monologue. It was certainly a strange litany and the driver was worried about a young, strange man being out in the middle of nowhere all by himself. “Hey there, kid. What’s your name?” Remembering his father’s instructions to reveal nothing about himself lest he bring shame on his family, he just shrugged. “I dunno.” “You don’t know your own name? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here before; where you from, kid?” Another shrug. “I dunno.” “Who’s your father?” A third shrug. “I’m not supposed to say.” “What do you keep muttering to yourself, kid?” “Oh, I’m just wishing that I could understand fear and learn to shudder, but no one’s been able to teach me.” The cart driver eyed the boy with obvious concern. “You don’t know your name or where you’re from and you won’t say who your parents are. I’m worried about you, kid. Stop that weird muttering and come with me. I can get you a place to stay tonight.”
Without any of the very reasonable concern I would have in this situation, the boy agreed and followed this complete stranger to an unknown location. Again. This kid is either very good at reading people or very lucky because again this random stranger didn’t turn out to be a monster or a murderer (despite this being a Grimm Brothers’ story). The cart driver led him a ways down the road to a comfortable-looking inn just as it was starting to get dark. They both headed inside to stay the night. As they walked into the common room, the boy began to mutter again “if only I could shudder! If only I understood fear!” It was the innkeeper who heard his litany of fear this time and laughed at the absurdity of it. This little kid didn’t know fear? He would see about that.
“If you’re looking for a good scare, young sir, you’ve got a real opportunity here.” The innkeeper’s wife smacked him in the arm. “Oh don’t you start that shit again. Too many curious and meddlesome people have lost their lives already. It would be a pity and a shame if that handsome young man’s innocent eyes never saw the light of day again.” Which is a pretty damned ominous way to start a conversation if I do say so myself. The boy, as usual, was unfazed by the obvious danger. “But I want to learn how to shudder! Please, Mr. Innkeeper, tell me about this opportunity. I don’t care how difficult it is, I need to learn fear. That’s the whole reason I left home!”
The innkeeper, chastised by his wife, kept his mouth shut but that was not the end of it. If you’ve spent any time at all around small children, you know how incessantly they can nag if they want something, and our young protagonist was no exception. He begged and pleaded and wheedled for hours until he finally broke the innkeeper’s spirit. “Alright, fine! I’ll tell you but on your head be it! There’s a haunted castle not far from here where a person could very easily learn to shudder. I’d wager that if you kept watch there for three nights, you’d learn fear for sure. Besides, the king has promised that anyone who can stay there for three consecutive nights could marry his daughter. I’ve never seen her, but everyone says she’s the most beautiful young woman under the sun. What’s more, the castle is said to house some fabulous treasures, all guarded by evil spirits and foul ghouls of course. If someone completed the challenge, the curse on the treasures would be lifted. There’s enough there to make even the poorest fellow a very rich man. Of course, like my wife said, many brave men have journeyed into the castle to test their will and none have ever come out again. They’ve all fallen prey to the castle’s curse.”
It was late by then, so the young man bedded down in the small room that the cart driver had obtained for him. His head was so full of exciting visions of learning to shudder in this castle and earning himself a fortune and a bride in the doing that it was hard to sleep. He was up again at first light and headed for the capital city. The king was holding a public audience that day, so the kid got in line and was soon face to face with him. “Your highness, I’d like to try and stay at the haunted castle for three days, if that’s alright.” The king eyed him up and down and decided he liked this kid’s moxie. “Permission granted. And because I like you, I’ll let you ask for three things that you’d like to take into the castle with you. The only rule is that none of them can be alive.” The boy thought for a moment. “Very well. I’d like a fire, a lathe, and a woodcarver’s bench with a knife.” That’s kind of four things, but the king was in a generous mood. Besides, only the fire and the knife actually seemed all that useful, so he didn’t quibble.
The king had his servants gather up the requested items and carry them into the haunted castle. They went in at noon since none of them were willing to chance even the possibility of being inside that accursed place after dark. They all left as quickly as they could, so the castle was empty as the boy headed inside at dusk. He built up a nice bright fire near the woodcarver’s bench with the knife on it, then sat down at the lathe. I don’t know what he intends to do with either of these things since, according to the beginning of this story, he’s been utterly hopeless at learning any trade. Mind you, he’s not actually using the lathe right now, just sitting at it.
The boy looked around his gloomy but still and empty environs. “If only I could shudder! If only I understood fear! But there’s no way I’m gonna learn that in a dusty old abandoned castle either.” He stayed there watching the fire burn down until around midnight. It was getting pretty low by this point, so the young man got up with a stretch and started poking the fire. He was just adding some wood and blowing on it to feed the flames when he heard something from the corner of the room. “Meow, how cold we are!” The young man called back without looking over his shoulder “why be cold when there’s a nice warm fire right here? Seems silly to be cold when you don’t have to be. Come over and warm yourselves; just don’t accidentally set yourselves on fire like the last guys.”
In response, two large black cats leapt gracefully out of the shadows and sauntered over, seating themselves on either side of the boy. Their eyes were wild and savage, or maybe that was just the fire flickering in them. Either way, the boy was, as always, utterly unfazed. After warming themselves for a time, one of the cats looked over at the other. “It is very dull here, comrade. Should we play cards to pass the time?” “Oh yes, that sounds excellent. What about you?” The young man thought about it for a moment. “Okay, I’m in but first, let me see your paws.” With dual feline shrugs, they both stretched out their claws. “That’s what I thought. Your nails are so long and untrimmed. I’ll need to cut them for you before we play.” In a blur, the young man seized a cat with either hand by the scruff of the neck and lifted them off the ground. Using his momentum, he whirled over to the woodcarver’s bench and slammed them down onto it, stunning them long enough to bind their feet in the bench’s vise. “On second thought, after looking at your nails, I’ve lost my desire to play cards.” He slit both of their throats cleanly with the knife, killing them instantly. Once he was sure they were dead, he carried the bodies over to the window and tossed them out into a pond just beyond the walls.
That was unexpectedly brutal from a child who has been all smiles and kindness up until now. I mean, he’s not wrong – he was explicitly warned that this was a haunted castle and it was more than implied that nothing but himself inside these walls was alive in the traditional sense, but still. This is the same kid who, just days ago, didn’t recognize seven goddamned corpses as dead. I wouldn’t have expected him to blink twice at twin talking cats with a love of card games.
Having disposed of these clearly supernatural beasties, the young man went to sit down beside the fire again. Before he could though, dozens of black cats and black dogs leashed to red hot chains exploded from the shadows in every corner of the room. They filled the space, packing in so tightly that the boy could scarcely move. Luckily, the sheer volume of bodies also made it difficult for them to attack him, so he was sort of safe. The fire, on the other hand, was not. Many of the animal spirits were pouncing on the fire, trying to pull it apart and put it out. Instinct told the boy that Very Bad Things would happen if the light died.
He’d been willing to watch them in silence up until that point, but now he’d had enough. “Everyone get the fuck out of my face right now! I tried being polite, but now I’m pissed.” He grabbed the carving knife off the bench and began slashing wildly. With so many spectral beasts packed into such a small space, he couldn’t help but hit some of them. Several died beneath his blade and the rest scattered, leaving the fire flickering but still burning. He built up the fire again and then tossed these new bodies into the pond with the two card-playing cats. Exhausted by the hour and the exertion, he could barely keep his eyes open. Looking around, he spied a plush-looking bed in one corner that looked extremely soft and comfortable. “Perfect. It’ll be nice to get a good night’s sleep in a real bed instead of on the floor.”
He lay down and it was every bit as plush as he’d thought. As his eyes drifted closed however, he felt the entire bed stir and begin to move. Looking around blurily, he saw that the bed was moving quickly out of the room and into the castle proper. Of course this isn’t a normal bed – it’s in a fucking haunted castle! This isn’t one of the three items he brought with him, so naturally it’s got a mind of its own. This seems a lot more in line with the kid who didn’t recognize a dead man hanging from a noose when he saw one than the one who immediately recognized and defused a sneak attack by spirit cats. The sudden movement didn’t scare him though, because of course it didn’t. “Cool – can you go any faster?”
In response, the bed lurched into high gear, moving as though six fast horses were harnessed to it. It raced up and down stairways, along winding hallways, and around the entire castle. As it neared the place where he had set up shop, the bed abruptly lurched and flipped over in slow motion like a Hollywood car crash. The bed landed atop him, knocking the breath out of him with a whoosh. He was able to crawl out with only some minor bruising, tossing the sheets and pillows away in annoyance. “I guess they just let anyone drive these days.” No really, that’s his actual comment (though he’s certainly talking about driving a horse-drawn carriage but still). With the bed out of commission, he resigned himself to sleeping on the ground. He wrapped himself up in the sheets and lay on the pillow he had pulled from the wreckage and went to sleep beside the fire.
In the morning, the king and his courtiers came to the castle to check on the young man. It was important to verify that he had actually stayed in the castle all night, after all. They found him lying on the floor with splashes of blood all over and immediately assumed that the ghosts of this place had killed the poor young man on his first night. “Such a shame,” sighed the king. “He was a promising young man, and quite handsome. Truly a pity to lose him so young.” The man stirred at the voices and sat up with a yawn. “It hasn’t quite come to that, sire.” The king was astonished to see that the young man was in fact very much alive, but he was also impressed. “How did your first night in this accursed place go?” “Not bad. A little trouble but nothing I couldn’t handle. Just two more nights to go.”
The king and his retinue left, and the young man followed them out. He returned to the inn to wash up and have breakfast – the terms of the challenge only require him to spend the nights there, not the days. The innkeeper was even more surprised to see the young man alive and well in his inn. “I guess you wised up and decided not to do the haunted castle challenge after all, huh?” The young man shook his head. “No, I spent last night there.” The innkeeper and his wife gaped at this. “Really? Did you learn to shudder?” The young man shook his head dejectedly. “No, I didn’t. It all seems to be in vain. If only someone could teach me how!”
He ate, washed up, and took a midday nap to prepare for his second night in the castle. As night was approaching, he returned to his vigil. He built up another large fire in the same spot and sat down beside it, once more wishing aloud that he could learn to understand fear. As midnight was approaching, he heard a great commotion from somewhere up above. It was quiet at first, hard to hear, but it grew louder and more violent. Louder and louder it went, a terrible bellowing and thrashing as of something fighting for its life. Everything went deathly still for a moment before a blood-curdling scream rent the night asunder and a man fell down the chimney. It rolled to a stop near his feet and he realized that it was, in fact, only half of a man. The story doesn’t say which half but it was drenched in blood and had been brutally ripped apart.
As always, the young man was nonplussed by this turn of events. He stomped over to the chimney and yelled up at whatever was on the roof. “Hey, another half belongs down here! This is only part of a guy! That’s not enough!” With a terrible roaring and howling, the other half of the gruesome body was hurled down the chimney as well. “Much better, thanks!” He carried the two chunks over to the fire and propped them up because, as we’ve established, he seems to have absolutely no concept of death. “Hey bud, you’re probably cold if you’ve been up on the roof all night. Let me get the fire going a little higher to warm you up.”
By the time he had built the fire up and turned back around, the two halves had mended themselves into a single hideous man who was sitting in the boy’s place. “Hey, that wasn’t part of the offer! The bench is mine!” The hideous man (who had to be some kind of evil spirit or ghoul or zombie or something since he was literally two ravaged pieces mere moments ago) refused to budge. The young man was officially Over This Shit. He’d already fought off weird demon cats and spectral dogs, so he wasn’t about to be bullied by some ugly dude. He tried to force his way onto the bench, but the whatever he was didn’t want to give way, so they got into a fierce shoving match. The undead guy was bigger, but he was also stringy and emaciated, so the boy was quickly able to overpower him and force him off the bench. He slid onto the seat as soon as it was vacant with a triumphant look on his face.
Just as things were starting to look up for our nameless protagonist, another hideous man fell down the chimney and landed with a splat. Then another. Another. Soon, they were a small horde, carrying with them nine bones from dead men and two grinning skulls. The bones, they set up at one end of the room, then marched over to the other side and began to bowl with the skulls. It was a strange, macabre game that seemed very much in line with everything else we’ve seen so far in this fucked up castle.
As always, the boy was utterly unfazed by this bizarre scene. “That looks like fun. You guys mind if I bowl with you?” The undead men leered over at the kid. “If you’ve got money, you can join our game.” As it so happened, he still had the 50 talers that his father had given him. “I’ve got a little scratch. Can’t help but notice that your balls aren’t exactly regulation. They don’t look all that round to me. I can fix that.” Without waiting for a response, he grabbed the two skulls and slotted them into the lathe. He began working the pedal to turn them, carving and sanding until they were smooth spheres. How he’d had the notion to bring a goddamned lathe to a haunted castle is beyond me, but it’s clearly working out for him. Also, how the fuck does he know how to do this – he’s not good at a trade. He held up his work with a big grin. “Much better! They’ll roll nice and straight now. Let’s bowl!”
And so they did. They wagered on the games but, with the balls rolling true now, the undead men didn’t have much of an advantage any more. The kid still lost more than he won, but he only lost a few pennies overall. When the clock struck midnight, the grinning ghouls, the bony pins, and the skeletal bowling balls all vanished into thin air. Yawning, he lay down and went to sleep. I’m gonna be honest, I’m not really sure what the threat was this time. Maybe they would have attacked him if he’d lost all his money? The story offers no explanation at all for this strange scenario, so feel free to come up with your own twisted explanation.
The rest of the night passed without incident and the boy woke with the sunrise the next morning. As before, the king and his retinue came to check on the young man and once more found him sleeping soundly. This time, they didn’t immediately assume he had died and, sure enough, he was whole, hale, and hearty. “How’d your second night go,” asked the king. The boy shrugged. “Not bad, I guess. I bowled for a while, lost a few pennies but I made a good showing.” “Were you frightened? Did you shudder?” “At what? Bowling was fun and all, but it didn’t teach me to shudder. I still don’t understand fear.” Satisfied that the young man had successfully completed his second night in the haunted castle, the king and his courtiers left, followed soon after by the boy. He returned to the inn again to wash up, eat, and nap (though he’d gotten a few hours of sleep this time so he wasn’t nearly as tired as the day before).
He returned shortly before sunset for his third and final nightly vigil. He built himself another fire and sat down on his bench once more to wait for whatever the castle had in store tonight. “This has all been very interesting, but I still wish I knew how to shudder.” Some time later, six burly men entered carrying a coffin. The young man recognized it – it was the one his older cousin had been buried in only a few days before. “Ah,” he said aloud to himself, “that is certainly my cousin, who recently died.” Once again we see that this kid seems to have no real concept of what death means, despite theoretically knowing what it is. He waved at the coffin, still being carried by what are clearly pallbearers, and crooked a finger in beckoning. “Come over here, cousin.”
The six pallbearers laid the coffin on the ground. The story doesn’t mention them again, so I’m presuming that they left. Seeing that his cousin didn’t respond to his invitation (you know, because he’s fucking dead not that that means much in this haunted castle I guess) he went over and opened the lid. Sure enough, there was a corpse inside. The young man reached down to shake his cousin awake, and noticed that his skin was as cold as ice. Like I said – corpse.
The young man was concerned about his cousin’s unhealthy condition. “You’re real cold buddy, but I got just the thing – a big, roaring fire. Let’s get you warmed you up a little.” When the corpse didn’t make any move towards the fire (once again, he’s super dead), the boy went over himself and held out his hands towards it until they were nice and toasty; then he came back and placed his warmed hands on the corpse’s cold face. Naturally that did precisely jack and shit to bring the cold body back to the warmth of the living. Not willing to give up yet, the boy pulled his cousin’s body out of his coffin and into his lap, rubbing its limbs vigorously to try and get the blood stirring. I cannot stress this enough, all of this corpse’s blood has congealed so it’s never flowing again, so of course this did no good either.
When that predictably failed, the young man racked his brain for some better idea. I would have thought moving the cousin over to the fire would be the next logical choice but, to be fair, he did set seven corpses on fire that way. I guess that’s why he instead decided that the bed was the best option available. “People often lie in bed together to warm each other up on a cold night, so maybe that’ll work.” And so he carried his cousin’s rotting corpse over to the bed, laid it under the covers, and then crawled in beside it. And, even more shocking, that somehow worked. The corpse did indeed begin to warm up and stir to life once more.
“How’s it feel being all warm and cozy, cousin? I told you I’d do it.” Despite having been roused from beyond death (or maybe because of it), his cousin’s now undead body was anything but grateful. “I’m gonna fucking strangle you!” The young man was understandably annoyed by this response. “Seriously? That’s the thanks I get? Well then fuck you too, cousin. Get back in your coffin.” The undead corpse didn’t seem overly inclined to obey, instead stiffly trying to carry out its threat of strangulation. With an exasperated sigh, the boy lifted the corpse and dragged it back over to the coffin, tossing it inside and closing the lid. At this, the six pallbearers returned from wherever they’d fucked off to and carried the coffin away again. The boy watched it go with a wistful sigh. “Well that was certainly eventful, but it didn’t teach me to shudder. I guess I’ll never learn. This whole thing has been a complete bust.”
As if in response to this sort-of request, a man entered the haunted castle. He was larger than the others had been, larger even than those six burly pallbearers, but he was very old with a long white beard. The old man leered at the young boy, still seated on his bench with an utter lack of concern. “You want to learn fear, boy? You want to learn to shudder? You’re about to understand intimately because you’re about to die!” The young man shook his head. “Not so fast, old man. To kill me, you first have to catch me.” The monster cocked its head in confusion. “The fuck do you mean, catch you? I’ve already got you. You’re trapped in this room with me with no way out except through me.” “It’s unseemly to brag, dude. Besides, just because we’re in the room together doesn’t mean you’ve got me. I’d wager I’m at least as strong as you are, probably even stronger.”
The monster laughed cruelly at this. “You can’t be serious. I’m a huge hulking beast of a guy and you’re just some scrawny kid. You really think you’re stronger? Then let’s put it to the test. Follow me.” Shrugging, he did. The hulking brute led the child down through the dark, winding passages of the castle to a blacksmith’s forge. Taking up a massive axe hung on a rack on the wall, the giant old man swung it in a vicious arc, driving one of the iron anvils deep into the ground. He sneered at the small boy beside him. “Your turn, shorty.”
The boy shook his head, chuckling. “Is that all? I can top that, easy.” He took the proffered axe and strode over to the other anvil. He stood with his back to the monster, blocking his view. Certain of his victory but suspecting some trickery, the old man sidled around to get a better view. He got up real close to make sure there was no funny business and leaned in close so he wouldn’t miss anything (and maybe to try and psych out his opponent). With a mighty heave, the boy swung his axe, splitting the anvil down the middle. That was impressive enough on its own, but he also angled the blow such that the blade caught the old man’s long beard, wedging it deep into the crack that had formed.
I’m not sure whether that counts as one-upping the giant’s feat of driving it down into the earth, but that wasn’t the point. With his beard trapped, the enormous old man was utterly at the boy’s mercy. “Seems like it’s actually your night to die.” Taking up a heavy iron bar, the boy proceeded to beat the ever-loving shit out of the hulking brute. It didn’t take long for the giant to break down into tears, begging for his life and offering fantastic riches if he were spared. “Your word on it? You swear.” The old man nodded miserably. “I swear.”
As we’ve seen many times before, supernatural creatures are often bound by their word and so the boy was convinced. He removed the axe with another great heave, freeing his captive. Limping slightly from the beating he’d received, the old man led the boy back through the castle to a room in the cellar containing three great chests of gold. “As promised. One is for the poor; one is for the king; and one is for you.” At that moment, the clock struck twelve and the bearded spirit vanished, leaving the boy standing alone in the dark cellar. “Well that’s annoying. I guess I’ll have to find my own way back, huh.” With another long-suffering sigh, he began feeling his way along the wall, navigating the dark corridors until he came back to his room. He curled up next to the fire and went to sleep.
The rest of the night passed uneventfully and, shortly after sunrise, the king and his retinue returned for the third and final time. “You’ve done it, young man – well done! Three nights in the haunted castle: surely you’ve learned to shudder by now.” The young man shook his head miserably. “I have not. Who was I supposed to learn from? My cousin came by to hang out for a while and then this old man stopped by to show me some treasure in the cellar, but neither taught me to shudder. I guess I’ll never learn.”
The king wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he just kind of ignored it. “Well, be that as it may, you have completed the challenge and redeemed this castle. As promised, you shall marry my daughter.” Servants were sent to fetch up the chests of gold and a great royal wedding was held. The young couple were a fantastic match and were soon very much in love. The poor young man whose father had called him a hopeless blight on the family was now fabulously wealthy and deliriously happy. Even so, he couldn’t shake the nagging sense of failure at never having learned to shudder. He’d mutter it to himself often without realizing, which eventually annoyed his new wife.
She plotted with her chambermaid and they hatched a scheme to teach the young man to shudder. The maid went out into the garden to where a small brook meandered through. Dipping a bucket into the water, she caught a whole school of minnows. That night while the young man (who the story calls the new king, so I guess the old one abdicated in favor of his new son-in-law already) was sleeping. The queen yanked the covers off her husband and dumped the bucket of cold water and wriggling minnows on his naked flesh. He woke with a shout, shivering and shuddering from the combination of cold and flopping fish. “Is this what shuddering feels like? Oh my dear wife, you’ve taught me to shudder! I don’t know what exactly you dumped in the bed, but thanks to you, I finally know how to shudder!”
And that’s the end of it. After all of the ghouls and zombies and spirits, it was a simple bucket of cold fish that did the trick. Jump scares might be cheap, but they’re still effective when they’re that unexpected. Plus, he’d apparently just never been cold enough to shiver before. Sometimes the simplest solutions are the best. And with our young couple living happily ever after, it’s time for Gods and Monsters. This is a segment where I get into a little more detail about one of the gods or monsters from this week’s pantheon that was not discussed in the main story. This week’s monster is the nuckelavee.
This particular beastie comes from the Orkney Islands, part of the Northern Isles off the coast of Scotland. This being our Halloween special, I wanted to find something that really felt like a denizen of that bizarre haunted castle from the main tale, and the nuckelavee definitely fits the bill. Only one known first-hand account exists, reported by a man named Tammas, as recorded by W. Traill Dennison in 1891. Its name supposedly means ‘devil of the sea’, and it certainly lives up to its name. It becomes dangerous in the autumn when the Mither of the Sea, a spirit of summer who dwells in the ocean and protects the islands, weakens and loses control of the oceans to Teran, the spirit of winter. It was during the cold, cruel months of Teran’s reign that Tammas had the misfortune to be on the beaches when the nuckelavee came ashore.
He was walking home alone late at night, his path lit only by the moon and stars. It was a clear night as it had to be for this demon to appear – fresh water, including rain, keeps it at bay. As he walked through a narrow section of the path bounded by a lake on one side and the sea on the other, he saw a figure on horseback approaching. A cold shiver ran down his spine (unlike our protagonist from the main tale, Tammas definitely understands fear) though he wasn’t sure why. Unfortunately, the only ways he could go were forward or back the way he came, and Tammas refused to turn his back on whatever this was. He stood his ground, muttering a prayer under his breath as it neared.
The moonlight revealed what looked like a flayed horse with the torso of an equally skinless man grafted to its back. The man’s head was grotesquely huge with an elongated snout like that of a pig. Its arms were likewise eerily distended, long enough for it to reach the ground without bending the human torso on the equine back. The horse’s head was sneering cruelly at Tammas, red eyes gleaming and vile steam bellowing from its mouth. He knew that he was face to face with a nuckelavee. Everyone on the isles knew that this demon breathed a foul poison that could wilt crops and sicken livestock. It was even said to be able to bring drought and plague to the land for all that it usually dwelt in the sea.
The creature’s raw flesh writhed in the moonlight, black blood clearly visible pumping through its veins. Fear rooted the poor villager’s feet to the earth, unable to move as it walked slowly towards him. Both heads were staring at him and he knew that it was going to do something unspeakably hideous to him as soon as he came within reach of those terrifyingly long, twisted, fleshless arms. His mind raced over everything that he knew about the creature, and he knew that there was only one thing that could keep this foul demon at bay: fresh water (a common deterrent to evil spirits). Luckily for Tammas, there was an enormous freshwater lake right beside him. Even as the sickening stench of its breath filled his lungs and those gangrel claws reached for his throat, he leapt desperately into the shallow water.
The nuckelavee let out a thunderous snort as it danced back away from the splash and its claws just missed snagging Tammas as he jumped. He couldn’t stay in the water all night though, and the lake was far too deep and dangerous to try and navigate in the dark. He only had one chance, and he took it. As the spirit backed away from the splashing water, Tammas darted forward, racing desperately along the lakeshore. He knew that there was a small river up ahead that fed into the lake. Much like Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman, if he could get across that running water, he would be safe.
But he wasn’t there yet, and the nuckelavee had exploded into a gallop, hot on his heels. It was much, much faster than he was and only the head start that the creature’s fear of fresh water had given him was keeping him alive. The river neared and he leapt out into the current. Tammas could feel the claws swipe desperately at his back, missing by a matter of inches. As he waded the rest of the way across, he could hear the demonic spirit screeching its fury to the sky. In its claws, Tammas could see his hat, which had fallen off his head as he leapt and had been skewered on those long, grasping claws. So if you ever find yourself in the Northern Isles at All Hallows Eve, take care not to mention the name of the nuckelavee lest you draw its attention and its ire.
That’s it for this episode of Myths Your Teacher Hated. Keep up with new episodes on our Facebook page, on iTunes, on TuneIn, on Vurbl, and on Spotify, or you can follow us on Instagram as MythsYourTeacherHatedPod, on Tumblr as MythsYourTeacherHated, and on Bluesky as MythsPodcast. You can also find news and episodes on our website at myths your teacher hated dot com. If you have any questions, any gods or monsters you’d want to learn about, or any ideas for future stories that you’d like to hear, feel free to drop me a line. I’m trying to pull as much material from as many different cultures as possible, but there are all sorts of stories I’ve never heard, so suggestions are appreciated. The theme music is by Tiny Cheese Puff.
I’ve recently launched a brand-new podcast that I’ve been working on for a while. It’s an actual play table-top role playing game show using a variety of systems to tell short arcs (roughly three to five episodes per story) influenced by some of our favorite classic cartoons. The first story of this new show, Saturday Morning Roleplay, is the Recyclors, a mixture of the Transformers and Captain Planet using the Cartoon Action Hour system. The first two episodes have dropped, so you can find it on Facebook at Saturday Morning RP or your favorite pod-catcher at Saturday Morning Roleplay. New episodes drop the first Saturday of every month. Check it out!
Next time, we’ll head to ancient India for a gender-swapped version of the sleeping beauty story structure. You’ll learn that princesses don’t eat flatbread, that corpses need leg massages, and that you should be careful where you put your magical concoctions. Then, in Gods and Monsters, a lazy barber will seek his fortune but find a dancing demon instead. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.