Category: Fiction

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.

The scarecrow’s first memory was of opening his eyes to see the face of the man who had sung him to life. He was a very simple doll, being of simple build and features. He was dressed in old clothes and stuffed with the remainder of the last harvest. He was no ordinary doll though. A scarecrow’s very existence was tied to the wellbeing of the farm it looked after. The doll looked into the face of the man. It was a serious yet friendly face. 

A second face, that of a woman came into view. She had an equally serious expression and lifted him gently from the chair on which he was seated. Through his embroidered eyes he saw the man rise and move to the center of the room, standing with his arms outstretched. The little scarecrow could not understand the words that were said. Instead, he was filled with a knowing, that this man and woman had summoned him to guard them, and that he very much wanted to. For as long as he remained in the field, it would be safe from attack by forest folk who disliked the humans.

The woman placed him upon a shelf and spoke to him again. The words were a mystery, though he knew he could hear threats clearly, could see for miles in any weather, and most importantly, would be given the gift of walking at the spring full moon.

Over the next month, all the household touched and spoke to him. They used words like “loved”, “important”, “family” and the scarecrow was filled with a knowing of happiness. Each night, when the family ate, they would bring him a stein of the house ale. He felt the devotion and love in the act and grew a deep affection for the humans. He felt a special bond with the small girl, who would bring him her treats to share and spoke to him for hours.

The scarecrow could see the first field from his shelf, through a large sunny window. It seemed to stretch for miles, and he could not wait to be in it. He could see his elder, the scarecrow who currently guarded the fields, perched atop his high seat in the center of the scene. With a slumped back, and a mournful expression, the older guardian watched the workers and would warn them of any incoming dangers. At night he walked the fields, defending the hard work of the humans from the greed and mayhem of the forest folk.

The scarecrow did not understand the elder guardian’s somber mood. He was filled with a knowing that the humans were kind and loving of him as well. Did he not have the same feeling for the humans? The little doll supposed the elder may have more knowing, and he hoped never to know that mood himself.

When the harvest was finished, and the fields had given up what bounty it would for the year, the humans brought the elder one inside. He knew with the fields covered in snow; the humans did not need the guardian to stay outside. The scarecrow watched as the elder was seated at the table, a full meal such as the humans themselves ate placed before him. The expression on the elder’s face never lightened, the younger one noticed with confusion.

At length the humans gathered him up and began using words in what sounded like a tune to the little doll. He watched from his shelf as they placed him atop a large pile of wood. The scarecrow’s knowing of happiness was shattered as the humans set the wood alight. He watched with horror as the humans grew louder with their tune words, too loud for them to hear the screams as the elder scarecrow became dust.

The little doll took up the screaming when the elder’s had died off. He finally understood his mood and was filled with a knowing that he would die the same way. He watched as the humans each smeared the ashes of the dead scarecrow on themselves, before scooping the remaining ashes into a pail. The man and woman walked into the fields with the pail, the remainder of the humans returning to the house to finish feasting.

The cries of the scarecrow ceased as a large shadow filled the window. As it came closer, he saw the shape of a large dog come into view.

“Why do you cry little one? Your wail has moved me, and I would assist you if I could” despite the growl the voice sounded warm and friendly to the little doll.

The scarecrow explained what the humans did, and that he did not wish to die. The dog listened with sympathy to the poor doll’s tale. As his terror waned, he grew suspicious of the newcomer. He demanded to know who he was.

“I am known as a shadow wolf. I guard the edges of the fields. You might say we work together, you guarding the inside of the fields and I keeping the forest out. I have watched year after year as the ungrateful humans burn the ones who keep them safe. But I have a plan.”

The shadow wolf offered to distract the humans, long enough for the scarecrow to run away. The little doll was hesitant, knowing it was a rule of his being that he never left the land he was tied to. But these rules came from the ones who would burn him. The shadow wolf sensed his hesitation.

“They would not be completely defenseless. Remember I roam the edges of the field, and there are others of my kind who watch the humans. We will keep them safe as you seek your freedom.” The doll’s determination was set then. The shadow wolf agreed to return in the spring, when the humans would perform the spring full moon ceremonies and the scarecrow received the ability to walk.

The winter was a trial, and though the scarecrow was given the same love and adoration as before, his days were filled with a fear he would be harmed before the spring ritual, and his love of the humans was smeared with dread. Even the little girl, with her sweet face and happy tones could not soothe his spirit.

The spring full moon finally arrived. The man spoke to the scarecrow, his voice creating a surge of energy within the scarecrow. For the briefest of moments, the connection of love returned as the energy pooled in his legs and he stood for the first time. He looked at the man and woman with wonder, until he saw the cart through the door. He had half a mind to run, but by then the girl had taken hold of his hand. He knew he would not have gotten far at any rate, as he was still very shaky on his legs. The girl led him to the cart and sat with him as they drove to the edge of the field.

When the family arrived, the man lifted the scarecrow, and raising him in the air, began marching him around the fields he was to guard. The family used tones and words of praise and love, and the knowing of protectiveness began to infuse him. Had he not seen the ash on the cart, he might have dwelled in the feeling. But he was reminded of the elder’s fate. He knew one day the family would burn him too. He knew sadness, as he did not want to think of the family as his foe.

The shadow wolf watched from the field’s edge. The scarecrow saw him and was filled with hope again. He had a plan, though the longer the humans used their tune words the less he wanted to leave. He fought against the feeling of family that descended on him. Families do not burn one another. He struggled, telling himself over and over that he need only make it through the evening.

Upon returning home, the family placed him on a chair next to the door and retired for the evening. The shadow wolf appeared in the window and asked if the scarecrow still wanted to proceed with the plan. The little doll, with a heavy feeling, agreed. The shadow wolf advised the scarecrow to be off with the first light, stating he would take care of the rest.

The dawn rose, and the scarecrow along with it. As quietly as he could, he tiptoed to and out through the door. He was surprised not to hear any movements from the farm hands but took advantage of this luck. He ran as fast as his legs would go, fearing all the while the man or the woman would spot him. He only slowed when he realized he was beyond the edge of the field. 

Here he stopped, elated and confused. He had not considered what he would do now. His entire thought had been freedom, not what he would do with it once achieved. He was disoriented, as every fiber of his being wanted him to go back within the field he was tied to. He froze on the spot, and he warred with himself as the need to protect his field became overwhelming.

The wind shifted, bringing with it the smell of the little girl. The scarecrow felt a knowing of regret for her, as well as nervousness. She was too young to be in the fields alone, and he feared she may have come searching for him. Torn between the fear of being caught, and fear of her safety, he went back into the fields, his goal to send her home.

As he walked, the strength of her scent increased, along with another. He did not recognize the metallic tang to the air, but he knew he should have been spotted by a few humans by now, and his knowing of fear grew.

Upon reaching the home yard, the scent became overwhelming. The scarecrow grew frantic, tripping over a log he had not seen. When he looked down, he realized what he thought was a log was a foot. Wild with terror, he spun around, noticing for the first time the human limbs strewn around. He sped to the house.

The scarecrow entered and found a scattered assortment of bodies. He found the little girl’s bracelet. Had he been able to, he would have cried. His shock was still so great he could make no sound as he moved through the house. Stumbling through the carnage, he found the shadow wolf in the main room, still chewing on an arm as he entered. A small gasp escaped him then, and the wolf looked up. When he recognized the scarecrow it let out a low laugh.

“I am known as a shadow wolf. I haunt the edges of the fields. You might say I am your enemy, you guarding the fields to try and keep me out. I have watched year after year as the scarecrow kin keep the forest kind out, waiting for a chance to enter but never being able while the guardians were in the fields. I waited and waited for the right moment, when a new scarecrow would be made and the humans would be careless with timing. I knew if I could get to one before the creation rites were complete, I might persuade them to leave. I did not anticipate your willingness though.”

The scarecrow stood in despair as the shadow wolf picked up the arm in its mouth and left. He watched as the wolf strode out, chuckling to itself. He stood in the gore-soaked house for a long time, his mind racing on what he had done and what to do now. With a soul heavy with knowing he did not want, he took the girl’s bracelet and walked into the fields determined to let none of the forest kind ever enter again.