Freida arrived at the well as dawn set in. Each day, she carried a basket of wool and would spin beside the well. She had done this since her father died, leaving her with her stepmother and half-sister Greta.
Freida’s stepmother was a lazy woman, raising her daughter to be the same. The majority of the housework fell to Freida. Each morning, she would head out with basket and pail, before the sun had even risen and would make her way to the well.
The well was not far from their house at the edge of the woods. It was not theirs, the well having been present when the family arrived. It was markedly old, crumbling in places, yet it stood fast year after year. None had ever made mention of it, and so the family continued to use it.
Freida loved the birds that would gather in the trees surrounding the well. She enjoyed this time away from the complaints of her half-sister or the insults of her stepmother. She would complete her spinning for the day seated next to the well, listening to their birdsong. She would then draw from the well, offering a silent apology and her gratitude to whoever had made it.
On the day of her 16th birthday, Freida was enjoying the dawn birdcall, when she scratched her finger on the small spindle. She quickly tried to wash her finger in the well, lest the blood stain the wool, and dropped the spindle into the water.
Freida was beside herself. She knew if she returned home without the spindle she would be beaten. Her panic gave way to fear as the well began to glow. The water swirled, mesmerizing her and she was pulled inward, falling into the cold water.
Despite frantically swimming upwards, Freida was drawn deeper into the well by some unseen force. She kicked and fought with all her might, her head throbbing the deeper she went. She was still sinking when unconsciousness overcame her.
When she came to, she rose, gently holding her still sore head. The soft light of the early morning light a wondrous vista. She stood in the same spot, yet the forest appeared to almost glow and hum so vibrant it was. The flowers were so rich in hue and the animals so peaceful she knew she was nowhere near home.
All at once she remembered the spindle, the well and her descent. Nowhere in the beauty of the surrounding woods could the well be seen. Freida was fearful but found her courage to look for a way out.
She heard crying and stopped in a copse of apple trees to investigate the sound. She was surprised to find a gnome sitting on the ground, howling in despair. She asked the little man what was wrong, and he told her that he had been hungry for days but had been unable to get to the fruit above him. His stomach growled as he spoke, moving Freida’s pity.
Freida climbed one of the trees and reached out to the closest apple. She tugged and tugged but the apple held firm. She moved her leg to get a better grip and found herself slipping. She held onto the apple as hard as she could, dangling from the fruit. The whole branch snapped, taking her and the apples with her.
The little gnome was overjoyed and thanked her, taking the fruit that now broke away easily and eating noisily. As he was leaving, he told her to look for a cottage near the base of the hills, where a witch lived that would always reward good deeds.
Freida decided to find the witch and started off towards the base of the hills. Along the way she was frequently amazed at the sights before her. Never had she been in a forest so teeming with life. She found this did not make her afraid. The forest was inviting, and she felt comfortable.
Further along, the forest gave way to golden fields and the sound of a young girl’s sobs. Freida sought for the source of the sound and found it in a mill. The young girl sat surrounded by baskets of wheat and a small millstone. Freida approached the girl, who looked up with wild eyes full of tears.
“If I do not mill this harvest, I will be beaten. My father gave me until noontide, but I cannot mill so much as one basket!” The girl began crying again, and Freida felt moved to help her. The two of them set to work, the young girl eagerly accepting Freida’s help.
It was quickly apparent that her help would not be enough. Try as they might, the stone would not budge. Freida tried pushing, pulling and dug her heels into the ground. Still the stone did not move. With a final shove her hand slipped along the rod, slicing into her palm. Blood smeared along the handle.
Freida prepared to admit defeat to the girl when the sound of grinding began behind her. Turning around she saw the millstone move steadily, though none touched the handle. She stood stunned for a moment, and then looked at the girl who wore her own look of shock.
“The wheat!” The two girls hurriedly ran through each basket until all was the finest of flour. As noon arrived Freida bid the young girl goodbye. As she was leaving, the girl told her of a witch who lived at the base of the mountains, who would always reward good deeds.
Freida carried on, her stomach reminding her now that she had not eaten today. As she crested the first rise she found the cottage. It was a sturdy log building, with an inviting column of smoke rising from the chimney. The fragrance of well-seasoned meat teased at her and she increased her pace towards that warmth.
The door opened as she made it to the front porch. A withered old woman stepped out to greet her. The old lady smiled brightly and Freida thought she was the kindest looking woman she had ever met. The sun began to set as the woman invited Freida to tea.
She introduced herself as Lady Hollen. She said she was the caretaker of the woods. Freida explained her story, and Lady Hollen invited her to stay the night in exchange for aid with a chore or two. Freida readily accepted.
The old woman took her to the sleeping area and asked her to make the bed. She told Freida that no matter how neat the bed seemed, it could not be properly complete until feathers flew from the pillows and blankets when shaken.
“And I will know.” She winked at Freida, picked up her basket and moved to the next room.
Freida carefully laid the sheets, then picked up the blanket for shaking. She raised it high in the air and not one feather flew from it. She tried again and again, shaking as hard as she could to no avail. She tried shaking lightly in case there was a trick to the blanket. After what felt like hours she had still not seen one feather.
She carried on, growing more and more forceful with the blanket. She began to sway from the shaking and began to hum in a rhythm. Her eyes and her mind began to wander.
Freida felt a cold creep in around her and saw to her delight snow falling around her. She blinked away a flake from her lashes and watched it change into a feather before her. She took a moment to work out what was happening, and then quickly finished making the bed. Lady Hollen arrived and the pair retired to dinner.
The two spoke of many things. Lady Hollen told Freida that she controlled the forest and all in it. She changed the weather and watched over every soul within. She told her how the seasons turned at her will and how her children the huldrafolk hunt. She told her about her mill, deep in the dark woods, and how she would take the soul of a life just ended, and grind it through, preparing it for the next life.
Freida told her of the day’s events, for which Lady Hollen praised her. She told her of her life at home, and how she longed to get away from the tyranny of her stepmother. Lady Hollen listened in silence as Freida spoke. When the tale was told, she said that a good heart shines and that a caring soul such as herself would find they were taken care of.
In the morning, Freida told Lady Hollen that she wished to return. Lady Hollen was surprised that the girl would want to return to that house and asked her if she would like to stay instead.
“I thank you; you’ve been so kind to me. But I must return, if only to answer for the lost spindle.” The old woman embraced Freida and offered to take her to the well. The dawn turned into morning as they walked, with Freida fretting over confessing to her mother. Lady Hollen simply repeated that all would be well.
When the well came into view, Freida embraced Lady Hollen again. The old woman told her to keep her heart good, then said she could find her way back if she jumped in the well. Freida was hesitant, remembering the first time. Lady Hollen smiled.
“The way back you’ll find much easier.” She winked at Freida and turned to head back to the cottage.
Freida took the plunge, surprised to find the water warm and inviting. She found herself sinking again and tried to relax into it. A few moments later she was unconscious.
When Freida awoke, she was surprised to see the forest covered in snow. She was beside the well familiar to her and though it had been morning when she left, she found it was dusk now, rapidly falling into evening.
On the ground beside her lay four curious things. There was an apple sapling, already laden with fruit. There was a small millstone no bigger than her head, which moved on its own. There was a pillow of a similar size to the millstone, which dropped gold pieces when Freida shook it. And finally, there was the spindle she had lost in the well, now pure white. Freda was overjoyed, and ran as fast as she could for home, laboring under the weight.
Freida’s stepmother was furious at first as Freida entered the home, but quickly turned pleasant and the girl shared what she found. For the briefest of moments Freida was welcomed and praised, until the stepmother began to think of her own daughter. Freida was made to tell the story of the land beyond the well several times. She asked Freida question after question, attempting to forge a plan for Greta to obtain the same riches.
After the girls had fallen asleep, the stepmother set to work. She sharpened the end of the spindle to a fine point. In the morning she set out with Greta to the well and instructed the girl to spin wool. Greta sighed and began her work, though with far less skill and enthusiasm than Freida. She became frequently distracted and it did not take her long to prick her finger on the spindle point.
Fed up, Greta tossed the spindle into the well. She was stunned when the water began to glow. Leaning over the edge, Greta panicked as she felt herself drawn in. The water was freezing and sent a chill through her. Lights began to dance in front of her eyes as pain racked her skull. She gratefully slipped into unconsciousness.
When Greta awoke, she was in a dark forest surrounded by half dead trees. She feared she had arrived at the wrong spot, and hurriedly set off for the cottage at the base of the hill.
Shortly she came across the gnome Freida had mentioned in her tale. The little beast clung to her whining about how hungry he was. Greta gave it a shove and yelled at him, telling him to climb or look for food elsewhere as she was busy. The gnome cursed at her and ran away.
Further along, Greta could see the fields ahead as the night seemed to deepen. She thought these could not be the same fields Freida had spoken of, as the crop seemed to be rotting and sparse.
She came across the young girl, who again sat sobbing surrounded by baskets of wheat. She started to plead with Greta, who interrupted her to say she had no time. She needed to find the witch. She hurried away from the fields.
As full night fell, Greta found the cottage. The moon was high when the old woman appeared at the doorway. Greta thought she was the ugliest hag she had ever seen. However, she put forth her best manners, hoping to make her mother happy. She was also thinking of her own pillow of gold.
The old woman invited her in but set her to work straight away. Greta followed the old woman to the sleeping area. As before, the old woman instructed her to shake the blankets until feathers flew. She left Greta alone at her work, collecting her basket and heading outside.
Greta sighed and started flicking the blanket, but no feathers flew. She shook harder and harder but not one feather appeared. She grew frustrated and then had a cunning thought. Greta found a knife and tore a small hole in the corner of the blanket. This time when she shook, all the feathers flew out in a violent flurry. The wind that came forth howled and shook the cottage, swirling the feathers every which way until Greta could not see her own hand before her face.
All at once the feathers stopped and dropped to the ground and the wind ceased to groan. Lady Hollen stood there, furious. She hollered at the girl, screaming that she did not understand what magic she had unleashed. She swatted at Greta and pushed her from the cottage.
Greta spun on her heel and stood face to face with the old woman. She demanded payment, claiming that she had done as was asked and so should receive some reward. Lady Hollen began to laugh.
“Oh, you’ll get it. Head back to the well and find what is yours.” With that Lady Hollen went back into her cottage. Greta had been stubbornly defiant until she heard the old woman lock the door. The moon had set, and it was now full dark. Greta could barely see the way forward and walked cautiously in the far too quiet evening.
The wind rose, increasing her nervousness and small creatures skittered in front of her. As her fear grew she tried to walk faster. Greta began tripping over tree roots and stones. She began to cry just as she spotted a glow in the distance.
Greta made her way hesitantly towards the glow and found herself in front of the well. It looked in even worse shape than normal, with spots of wood rot in the beams and a slime covering the top of the water. She did not want to go into it and tried to turn away.
Vines shot out of the water and wrapped around her wrists. The terrified girl was drawn into the well headfirst. She kicked and reached out her arms as best she could. More vines entangled her legs and then her torso. The water grew colder as she descended. A burning pressure started inside her as the water began to freeze her. Greta was chilled to her bones, and her limbs stiffened. She was wild with fright when the pressure of the deep water made her black out.
Back at home, Freida had fretted over Greta all evening. A violent blizzard had started shortly after she left, cutting Freida and her stepmother from the outside. Her stepmother teased her for her worry, and continuously commented what treasures Greta was sure to receive. The next day, after the blizzard had passed, Freida insisted on at least going to the well, which the stepmother reluctantly agreed to.
Upon reaching the well they found Greta, frozen solid and with bruises covering her body. The spindle they found was broken upon the ground. The stepmother was overcome with grief and cried over the body of her lifeless daughter. She found the spindle point and drove it deep into her chest, dying overtop of her daughter.
Freida was left speechless. She covered them with stones and made her way home. She began to cry, and then realized she was now free of the repression and ill treatment. She smiled as she entered a house that was now her very own.
C.M. Wellsmore 