Dear Eurydice Stories

Here's our collection of myths and folktales that explore the themes found in Eurydice:

COMPARATIVE MYTHS


Orpheus and Eurydice

Here's the story that started it all. Here's the short version:

 

Here's the long version:

He was the greatest musician the world had ever known. I’m not exaggerating. He was touched by the Gods – or God to be exact – Apollo, the Sun God, the God of music and poetry, had given Orpheus his own golden lyre and had taught him to play. And when he played, some of that Godly golden brilliance filtered down and vibrated through the fingers and the voice of Orpheus. You think Elvis caused a stir? You think the crowds went crazy for the Beatles? They had nothing on Orpheus. Sure women went berserk and fainted, but when Orpheus stroked the lyre, the very trees quivered, the wind caressed and the stones cried.

She was a beautiful wood nymph, but what of it? The woods of ancient Greece were filled with nymphs each one more beautiful than the last. But what Eurydice had was stillness. Where Orpheus was fire and flash and heat, Eurydice was cool and deep and serene. And he loved her for it. With Eurydice, he didn’t need to perform. With Eurydice he could be dull or sad or silent.

And so they were married. And on that sunny day in the midst of the dancing and the feasting, Eurydice slipped into the hush of the woods to catch her breath. She was just going to lie on the  mossy bank for a few moments, but a thin green viper wormed its way into her bed there and gave her its deadly kiss.

And the greatest love the world had ever known ended before it really began. They hadn’t even had their first fight. They hadn’t had to decide whose family they should stay with for the holidays. There was no child to love, no disappointments to overcome, no chance to grow old together. There was only… nothing.

And Orpheus felt… nothing and he sang of… nothing. And touched by his new music the world grew grey. The very trees shriveled, the wind grew shrill and the stones crumbled. The Gods grew alarmed and sent Hermes, the messenger, to show Orpheus the way to the underworld so he could retrieve Eurydice. No mortal had ever tried to brave the underworld before, but Orpheus was no ordinary mortal; his love was no ordinary love.

It was easier than you’d think. He merely had to pluck the lyre and the boatman, suddenly remembering his childhood running in the fields, gladly gave him a ride across the River Styx. He only had to open his mouth and Ceberus, the three headed dog, remembered romping on the beach as a puppy, and let him enter the gates of Hell.

But singing for Hades was a different matter. Hades did not have fond memories of earth. His domain was the Underworld; dark and dank, by his own design. He was not moved by Orpheus’ songs of budding love and flowering spring. But Persephone was. His Queen, Persephone, who ruled the winter months at his side, until then her longing for earth and sky began to grow unbearable. Her deep ache would grow until the earth began to stir and waken; and like the seedling, yawning and stretching, she would emerge from the ground to live with her mother through Spring and Summer.

When Orpheus entered Hades’ throne room, it was like a shaft of light piercing through a dusty gloom. Never had life entered there. When his fingers vibrated the strings of the lyre, it sent out a wave that stirred the soil and threatened to bring old dry bones back to life.  As he sang of the sun, Hades felt a hush fall over the underworld. The Furies lay down their whips, Sisyphus let his stone rest and Tartarus grew silent of its moans. As he sang of new love, tears began to course down Persephone’s face, and although it was mid-Winter, Hades saw the soil above his head begin to stir with life – awakened by his wife’s longing.

Hades could see that Orpheus must be dealt with – quickly, but carefully. To be rid of him, Hades granted his request, but on his own terms. Eurydice could return with Orpheus – if Orpheus walked out of the underworld – walked out right now and never looked back – not a glance, not a peek. He would have to trust that Eurydice was behind him and if he could complete the journey without looking, Eurydice would be his.

Orpheus was overjoyed. Hadn’t he braved the very gates of Hell? Hadn’t he proved love was stronger than death? To complete this last task was the simplest of all. But Orpheus was young and naïve; he did not understand that Hades has invoked a powerful force: doubt.

At first it was easy; Orpheus triumphantly left Hades’ palace, singing his joy! But as he neared the gates, he began to wonder: was Eurydice really behind him? He stopped singing to listen. He could hear no footstep. He listened harder… he could hear no breath. “Eurydice?” There was no answer. That’s okay, he thought, it’s just all part of the test. He bravely marched on – past the three headed dog and down to the river.

As he stepped into the boat, he waited for the boat to sway as Eurydice entered behind him. There was no movement beyond the boat being pushed from shore. Well, maybe she wouldn’t be truly alive until they reached the surface. If she were still spirit, she would be nothing more than air, right? As they sailed across the inky waters, the silence began to press on Orpheus’ ears. He strained for any signs of life beyond his own. He could see the faces of the dead floating just under the surface of the river. Was this what Eurydice looked like? Was she sunken eyes and crawling flesh? Surely this was not what the Gods had in mind when they helped him on this quest.

But with every step he took towards the sunlight, his thoughts grew darker. What if her body was restored, but the shadow of death still lingered on her soul? How could she be part of the underworld and not be changed? Would she still be his Eurydice? He could see the opening now and his quickened his pace; his heart pounding in his ears. He half-dreaded what was coming, but he could stand it no longer. The sun hit his face and blinded him, “Eurydice?!” He turned to squint into the darkness behind him… and there she was… pale and beautiful… then fading back into nothing. The sun had not yet reached her; he had turned too soon.

So death had its way in the end, as it eventually always does. Hades restored disharmony to the underworld and Orpheus would have to wait for his own death to be reunited with Eurydice. We cannot stop the cycles of the seasons; of life and death. But we can remember Orpheus: the boy who dared to sing in the dark.

 

Pare and Hutu

New Zealand

In former days there lived a woman named Pare. She was a ‘puhi’: a girl of noble birth who unlike other girls, was kept carefully guarded and was not permitted to have love affairs. She lived on her own in her house, a beautiful carved building with three fences around it. The reason for her being kept apart was that since she was of such high rank, among her people there was no one of equal standing to take her as his wife.

When food was brought to her it was given to one of her slaves, who gave it to a second slave, who gave it to a third, and this third slave gave the food to Pare. The interior of her house was wonderfully decorated with the most beautiful cloaks: fine white cloaks edged with taniko work (kaitaka), fringed and tasseled cloaks (korowai), and cloaks of black dogskin (topuni). The house was sweetly scented with leaves of the kawakawa, and with all of the other perfumes known to the Maori.

Now there were certain days of the year which were set aside by the people for games and amusements, such as whipping the top, throwing darts, and all the other games of the Maori.

On one of these occasions there came to Pare's village a nobleman named Hutu, who joined her people in their games. He was very skilful both at throwing darts and whipping the top.

The people threw their darts, then Hutu threw his one, and it was Hutu's dart which flew the furthest. All of them marveled at the flight of Hutu's dart, and they shouted their praise of his skill. Hearing the noise, pare came to the door of her house to watch her people and Hutu throwing their darts.

Again the people threw their darts, and again Hutu threw his one. Hutu's dart flew right across, and landed by the doorway where Pare was standing. Then Pare picked up Hutu's dart and took it into her house. Hutu went to fetch it, but Pare would not give it to him. When he asked her to return it, she said, ‘You must come into my house, Hutu, so that I can talk to you, for I like you very much.’

Then Hutu said, ‘I do not want to come into your house. I am alone, and your people are many. I am a stranger in your country. It wouldn't be right for a person of low birth to go into the house of one of such noble birth as yourself. Furthermore, I have a wife and children at home.’

Then Pare said, ‘These arguments mean nothing to me, for I love you. You are the most skilful at the games; your top sounds the loudest, and your dart flies the furthest, and because of this, I love you.’

They argued in this way for some time, Hutu saying that he did not want to go into Pare's house, and Pare saying, ‘It makes no difference; I love you very much.’

When she saw that Hutu still would not agree to go in, Pare took hold of him, pulled him inside the house and shut the door. Hutu insisted on leaving, and he went outside, with Pare following him. Then Hutu turned to Pare and said, ‘You stay here, and in a little while I'll come back again.’

Then he ran off quickly. When Pare saw that Hutu was running away from her, she called after him, ‘Farewell, Hutu! Go to your home!’

Then she went back into the house and told her attendants to set in order her house and all her possessions. When the attendants had done this and Pare was left alone, she hanged herself.

When the people heard of Pare's death they were overwhelmed with grief and said, ‘Hutu must die for this.’ After they had met together to decide on the best way of capturing Hutu, a war party was sent out to find him, then took him to Pare's house, to the place where the body was lying, and told him, ‘We made you prisoner so that your death might pay for the death of Pare.’

‘Very well,’ said Hutu, ‘but do not bury the body. Let me go now, and do not bury the body until I come back. I will be gone for three or four days, then I will return. It is right that I should die in payment for the death of your princess.’

The people agreed to this, and so he left them. When he was a good distance away, he began to chant all of the spells and incantations which the priests recite when they are concerned with matters involving death and the spirit world. After this he went towards the spirit world, and saw Hine-nui-te-po, the Great Lady of the Night. He asked her, ‘Where is the path that leads below?’

Hine pointed to the path by which dogs go to the spirit world, but after Hutu had given her his greenstone mere (a club carved out of stone) she showed him the right path, the one that men use. Hine habitually acted in this deceitful manner, telling the truth only when bribed to do so, and in this way she collected a great deal of property.

Then Hine prepared some food for Hutu. After pounding some fernroot she put it in a basket, saying to him, ‘When you are below, eat sparingly of this food, so that it lasts for a long time; for if you eat the food down there, you can never return to this world.’

Hutu said that he would do as she instructed him, and Hine added, ‘If you bend your head downwards you will find it easy to fly down to the dark world; for when you are nearly there, a wind from below will blow your head upwards again, so that you will be able to land squarely on your feet.’

Hutu flew down to the land below, and when he arrived he began to look for Pare, asking the people, ‘Where is Pare?’ They told him, ‘In the village.’

Having heard that Hutu had come to the spirit world and was asking for her, Pare refused to go outside her house.

Hutu tried to think of some way of seeing Pare. He taught the people in the village to play at darts and whipping the top, the games known in this world. So the people played with Hutu, but Pare did not come out of her house to watch them.

Hutu was very sad at this, and said to the people again, ‘Fetch a tall tree, and let us cut off its branches.’

They brought the tree, trimmed off its branches and cut off the top. Then Hutu said, ‘Let us plait some ropes.’

The people pulled on them until the top of the tree bent down to the ground. Hutu sat right on top of the tree, and told one of the people to get on to his back. When they were ready, Hutu called to the men holding the ropes, ‘Let the top of the tree go up!’

The tree sprang upright again, with Hutu and the man on his back holding on tight. The people shouted with joy when they saw how good the swing was, for they were very pleased with this new game. After they had been playing the game for some time, all the people in the district heard of it. Pare was also told of the new game, and she came to watch it. Hutu was overjoyed to see her.

When Pare saw the game she was delighted, and went up to Hutu and said, ‘Let me also sit on your shoulders and fly up on the swing.’

Hutu was very glad at this, and said, ‘Hold on tight to my neck, Pare.’ Then he told the people to pull the tree right down to the ground, as far as it would go. Then he called out, ‘Let it go!’

When they let the tree spring back, it went up with such force that the ropes attached to it were thrown so high that they were caught in the land above. Then Hutu climbed up the ropes with Pare on his back. He grasped hold of the grass growing at the entrance to the underworld, pulled himself up, and arrived at the upper world, this world of ours.’

Pare and Hutu pulling themselves out of the Underworld by grasping onto roots.

They travelled on to the village where Pare's body was lying, and her spirit went to the side of her body, entered it, and took up its abode there; and Pare was alive again, a living person in this world of ours’.

Pare's people were overjoyed at seeing their princess again, and said that it was the power of Hutu's chants and prayers which had brought her back to life. Pare must marry Hutu, they said. When Hutu asked, ‘What about my children and my other wife?’ they answered, ‘Pare shall be your second wife.’ Hutu agreed to this, and from this time onwards, Pare was known as Pare-Hutu.

This Ngaitahu version of the story of Pare and Hutu is taken from John White's ‘Ancient History of the Maori’, volume II. In this as in many other stories, it is the woman who takes the initiative in courtship. This was often the Maori custom. In this case, Pare's high rank enables her to be especially forthright in her approach. In another version of the story I read, I especially liked that Hutu brought Pare back to life by pushing her soul back into her body through the souls of her feet. This version can be viewed at The National Library of New Zealand at http://teaohou.natlib.govt.nz/journals/teaohou/issue/Mao50TeA/c11.html

RELATED FOLKTALES

The Crane Wife

Japanese Folk Tale

An example of an ill-fated look

There once was a lonely sail maker named Osamu, who lived high above the sea on a hilltop. From his house he would watch the Cranes flying and resting in the green salt marsh below his house. More than anything Osamu wished for a wife so he won't be so lonely, but who would marry a poor sail maker? One autumn night during a storm he heard something hit the house. He ran outside and found a great Crane lying stunned and still. He felt sorry for the Crane and decided to bring it inside his home and nurse it back to health. Once the Crane recovered, it flew away and returned to the other Cranes.

One moonlight night the man heard someone knocking on his door. He opened the door to find a beautiful girl standing there. Her name is Yukiko, and she stayed with him, and over time became his wife. It wasn't long however, before they began to run out of money. On seeing this Yukiko offered to weave Osamu a magic sail, but only on the condition that he will promise not to watch her while she is working. Yukiko wove all night long and in the morning, the sail she gave to Osamu was so light and delicate, and sounded as if it had the wind woven into it. Osamu was able to sell the magic sail for enough gold to live on for half a year.

Then the money began to run out again, so Osamu asked Yukiko to weave another magic sail for him to sell. Yukiko was hestitant and afraid, she told him that it will take all that she has to weave another magic sail. Osamu convinced her to make just one more, but she made him promise again not to watch her while she is weaving. Once again he sold the sail and for enough gold to live on for another six months.

One day a wealthy trader, came to the village. He told Osamu that he had been searching for him. He offered Osamu a lifetime of gold for a magic sail to be made for his ship. Yukiko refused. Osamu pleaded, but Yukiko did not relent. Osamu ordered his wife to make the sail. Yukiko went to her loom and once again made Osamu promise her not to look on her while she is weaving. That night Osamu  listened to the loom in the next room. He brooded over of his wife's reluctance to help him. He decided it was important for him to learn the secret of her weaving so he could continue his lucrative business, so he broke his promise and looked. He saw a great white Crane, the same one he saved all those month ago, weaving her own soft down ito the sail. Yukiko looked up and saw her husband at the door. With sad eyes, she turned and flew out the window. Osamu never saw her again - only from a distance flying with the other Cranes.



Spider Woman Brings Weaving to the People


A Navajo Tale
An example of a spinning Goddess, akin to the Norns or the Moirae.

A long time ago, times were bad for the Navajo. Food was scarce and the people were often cold.

One winter day a Navajo girl was walking through the barren land, shivering through her thin dress. Near her she saw a thin wisp of smoke rising from a small hole in the ground. She knelt down and peered into the hole and there she saw an ancient, old woman. It was spider woman; she who helped create the world and the people in it. Spider Woman looked up and told the girl, “Come down and see what I am doing.”  The girl chanted to the four winds and the hole opened up so that she could crawl through.

For three days, the girl watched Spider Woman pass a wooden stick in and out of threads tied to a loom to make a blanket. She taught the girl how to work the loom and how to make the traditional patterns. Then she told the girl to go home and share this sacred skill with her people. But she also gave the girl a warning: Always leave a hole in the blanket or your weaving thoughts will get caught into the blanket and you will go mad.

The girl did as she was told. Soon everyone in her village was making blankets and soon this new skill traveled to all the other villages. Life was soon better for the Navajo people and they never forget the warning of the Spider Woman. That is why to this day, you can always find a spider’s hole in a Navajo blanket.

The Storytelling Stone

A Seneca Tale

Stone Symbolism

The Seneca people tell of a time, long, long ago, when the world was new; a time when there were no stories. The people had no way to pass the time during the cold winter months and no dreams filled their heads on long winter nights. The people were sometimes cold in their hearts as well; for there was no way to pass on the traditions of the tribe, no way to teach the people how to live or how to treat one another. In one village, there lived a young boy named Crow. Crow’s parents had died and he had no one to care for him. His clothes were often dirty and torn and his hair matted. Some of the people laughed at him, but Crow was a gifted hunter. He could silently steal into the forest and with his bow and arrows and could find much food for the villagers. He would trade the wild game for corn and clothes for himself. 

One especially harsh winter, he had to travel farther and farther into the forest to find food.  Eventually, he came to a clearing that he had never seen before. In the middle of the clearing there was a large flat stone. Crow laid the birds he had shot on the stone and sat down to rest beside them. 

“Shall I tell you a story?” said an old rumbling voice. 

Crow jumped up and looked around. There was no one in the clearing. He sat down again. 

“Shall I tell you a story?” the voice came again. 

This time Crow could tell that the voice came from the ancient rock beneath him. 

“Who are you or what are you?” asked Crow. 

“I am Grandfather Stone. Shall I tell you a story?” 

“What is a story?” asked Crow. 

“Stories tell of all things that happened before this time. Give me one of your birds and I will tell you how the world was made.” 

Crow happily left one of the birds on the stone and the stone began a wonderful story of how the world was made and everything in it. The stone wove wonderful tales until the sun began to set. 

“That is enough for today. Come back tomorrow and I will tell you more.” 

“Thank you Grandfather Stone,” said Crow. 

Crow returned to his village with less food than he had ever had before; the people mocked him and he went to bed hungry. But early the next day, he set out again to find the storytelling stone. He came to the clearing and again lay a bird on the stone. All day he listened to stories of chipmunk and bear and the lessons the people had learned in earlier days. Every day, he came to listen to the stories. Every day he grew a little thinner and the people began to think that he was going mad. They teased him and told him that now; he wasn’t even good for hunting.  

Finally, one day, as Crow lay a bird on the stone, the stone said nothing. 

“Grandfather Stone, why don’t you speak? Won’t you tell me a story?” 

The stone answered, “I have no more stories to tell. It is now your turn to tell the stories. It is time for the stories not to be kept in stones, but in the hearts of the people. Go back to your village and share the stories. The people will bring you gifts for the stories, just as you have brought to me” 

“Thank you Grandfather Stone, I will make sure the stories are not forgotten.” 

Crow was frightened. He didn’t know if the people would listen to him. As he gathered at the edge of the lodge fire that night, he boldly stepped forward into the midst of the people.  They were about to push him back, when he said in a clear, strong voice,

“In the mysterious days of long ago, when Ra-wen-io was fixing the earth so that mankind might have a happy place to live, the trees had tongues and they talked...” 

A hush fell on the room. All other cares were forgotten and there were no thoughts other than the story. When he finished, they made him a place by the fire. They brought him the best food and they asked for another story.

Night after long winter night, Crow was the honored guest at the community fire. He was soon invited to live in the chief’s long house. The people began to treat one another with respect; for they learned about foolish pride from Bear and Chipmunk; they learned about greediness from Turtle. They learned many things and the village became a better place. The people no longer feared the long, cold winter. For it was a time to gather in the long houses and listen to stories.

As Crow grew up, and continued to tell the stories, he made a bag that hung from his waist.  In the bag he would put small objects to help him remember the stories. When he grew into a man, he traveled throughout all of the villages far and near with his story bag and he shared the stories with the people. And until the day he died he was treated with great honor and respect for he had brought story to the hearts of the people.

Wicked John and the Devil

This is one of my very favorite traditional Appalachian tales. 

It's probably one of the most humorous death-evasion tales around.

 

There once was a man so mean that everyone called him Wicked John. He had a blacksmith shop up in the hills and he didn’t like to be bothered by nobody. He swore at the kids that came snooping around his shop, he kicked at stray cats and shouted at the ladies that tried to get him out to church meetings.

One thing about him though, he always did treat a stranger right. I think he did it just to rattle the townfolk, for when a stranger came through town, people would shut up their shutters and doors and whisper and point with suspicion. Well, Wicked John would just call that tattered traveler right into his shop and serve him his best victuals.

And that’s just what happened one day. An old man all shriveled up like a raisin, came hobblin’ along the road hunkered over and using two canes. The town folk were passing him by on the other side of the road and casting backward glances at him. Wicked John just gave a scowl and invited that old man into his shop. He put down his work and went to get him some supper.

Wicked John brought back a big plate loaded up with ham-meat, a mess of greens, corn bread and boiled sweet potato and said, 

“Now here you go old man, just see if there’s something you can chaw on.”

And Wicked John went back to his work. The next time John looked up, the old man had finished his meal and was beginning to stand up. He was looking a might stronger. Away went one cane and then the other and he started to straighten up, taller and taller and taller. And there he stood with a long white robe and a long white beard and he just sort of glowed. And he had a bunch of keys hanging on a chain around his waist. He says,

“John, I reckon you know who I am.”

Well Wicked John hadn’t step foot inside a church all his born days, so he didn’t have a clue.

“I am Saint Peter, John. I guard the pearly gate to heaven. Once a year I come down and roam around to see if I can find any decent folks left on the earth. The first one I come across that treats me with kindness, I give them three wishes. Now I know what a mean man you’ve been your whole life, but you’ve been good to me, so I’m going to give you the three wishes.”

Wicked John just stood there a thinking.

“Go on John,” said St. Peter, “Anything you’ve got a mind to, you can wish for it and hit’ll be that a way.”

John started looking around the room, trying to get an idea of what to wish for. There was a gleam in his eye, for he was thinking mean. John, said

“I know! You see this big hammer here? Those blame boys are always coming in here and messing with it. They like to take it out back and bust up rocks with it and every time I need it, I have to go looking for it and, con-found, if it ain’t been left to rust in the rain, like as not. And I jest wish that anybody that teches my hammer won’t be able let go of it and it would pound on them something fierce till I say stop!”

Well Saint Peter looked pretty sorry, and said,

“Laws, John, that’s a terrible wish, but I’ve got to give it to you. Now, what’s your next wish?”

John was still looking around his shop when his eyes lay on his high backed rocking chair. He got a devilish grin on his face and he said,

“You see that rocking chair over there on my porch? That’s my chair! And there’s nothing I like better after a hard day’s work that to sit out there and rock into the evening, but blast it all, if most nights, someone else is already sitting in it and it just makes me mad! I wish that whoever sits in my chair won’t be able to get out of it and would get rocked so hard it’d about knock his brains out till I say stop."

Saint Peter just shook his head and replied,

“You’ve just one wish left, John, and it seems to me that you might want to be thinking of your immortal soul.”

But John he had already decided on what his last wish should be.

“Come here, Saint Peter,” and John led him out onto the porch, “You see that old thorn bush over there? That there is a fire bush and in the spring that old thorny bush grows the biggest and purtiest red blossoms you ever did see, but con-found if folk don’t some along and break off a switch whenever they got a mind to. And folks driving their buggy to my shop, back over it and tromple all over it until it’s a wonder that it’s still alive. I just wish that anybody who teches my bush, that it will just catch them and hold them down in the middle of the bush where the thorns are the longest and it will just sticker them till I say stop.”

Well, old Saint Peter looked mighty sad, stepped over the threshold and was gone. Wicked John grew older and the older he got, the meaner he got, until finally folks said that he was wickeder than the devil himself. When Old Scratch heard this, he decided it was time to take Wicked John from this world, cause he didn’t want anyone getting a bigger or better reputation than himself. So the devil called one of his sons to him,

“Little Devil, you go on up there get that old man, Wicked John. Tell him it’s time for him to come down here to live.”

Wicked John was working on a wagon tire when he looked up and there in the doorway stood a little baby devil and he said,

“Wicked John, you a vewy, vewy bad man. My daddy says it time fow you to come and live with us now.”

Well, Wicked John didn’t want to go but he said,

“Well, I don’t mind going with you little devil, but I just can’t go until all my work is finished. You see this wagon wheel? I just wouldn’t feel right unless I got this job done. Why don’t you grab that hammer over there and give me a hand?”

Well, all kids like to play with tools, so the little devil went right over to that hammer and picked it up. Lam-bam! Lam-bam! Lam-bam! That hammer was hitting him all over and he couldn’t let go of it either!

“Wicked John, tell this hammer to stop. I want my mommy!”

“If I tell that hammer to stop, are you going to go out that door and down that road and not come back any more?”

“Oh, I AM I AM! Pwease tell this hammer to stop!”

“All right then....stop hammer.”

And that hammer let loose of that little devil and - whippity cut - that devil tore out of there and never came back! Well, Old Scratch didn’t much like that, so he called one of his bigger sons to him, ‘bout teenager size.

“Little Devil, you go up there and tell that old man, Wicked John, to get on down here and no more FOOLISHNESS!”

Wicked John was working on a horseshoe when he looked up and saw a medium sized devil in his doorway.

“Daddy says to come get you, Old Man, and no foolishness!”

“All right,” said Wicked John, “just a few more licks. Reckon you can let me finish this horseshoe. Come on in. I’ll not be a minute or two.”

“Don’t think about asking me to help you, Old Man, you’ll find I’m not as easy to trick as my baby brother.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t think of it. You can just take a load off while you wait if’n you want. There’s a chair over there.”

And he pointed to the rocking chair. The minute that devil sat down, the chair grabbed on to him and wouldn’t let him go. It began rocking back and forth, back and forth. The more the devil tried to get out, the harder that old chair rocked him, until his head was just a going whammity-bang, whammity-bang whammity-bang on the back on that high rocker. And finally he got to beggin and hollering for Wicked John to let him loose. Wicked John said,

“If I tell that chair to stop, are you going to go out that door and down that road and not come back to these parts no more?”

“Oh, I AM I AM, just tell the chair to stop!”

“All right then. Stop chair.”

And that devil tore out there - whippity cut - and was never seen again. Well Old Scratch didn’t like that and decided that he would have to go up and get Wicked John himself. Next thing John knew, there was the Old Boy himself standing in the doorway himself, with his horns, his long tail and his pitchfork and he said,

“Wicked John, now I’ve come to get you. I don’t appreciate how you’ve treated my boys and it’s going to go poorly for you. Get up! You a coming with me and no more of this FOOLISHNESS!”

The Old Devil reached in and grabbed Wicked John by the collar and started dragging him out. Now Wicked John might have been old, but all those years of rotten, mean behavior had made him tough and scrappy and the two old boys went at it, fighting, punching, scratching, beating and biting, till the Devil was foaming-at-the-mouth mad!

“Confound Ye, Old Man! I’m going to lick the hide off you right now, just see if I don’t. Now, where’ll I get a switch?”

The Old Devil looked around and reached for that fire bush and the instant he touched it – whoosh - it sucked him up into the middle of it where the thorns were the thickest. He tried to thrash around, but the more he did, the more he was stuck fast. Finally he just stayed right still with his legs sticking out of the top of the bush and said in a very small voice,

“Mister?”

“What do you want?”

“Please, sir, let me out of here.”

“I’ll let you go on one condition, that you nor none of your boys will ever bother me again, ya hear? You promise me that and I might let you go!”

“I promise! You’ll never see me or any of mine ever again.”

So Wicked John set him loose and such a kicking up dust, you never did see and - whippity cut - the Old Boy left then and there and he wasn’t moseyin’ neither. 

Well, Wicked John just kept getting older and meaner, and eventually, even though no one was comin for him, there was nothing for him to do, but up and die. He went on up to the pearly gates and knocked. Saint Peter opened the gates a crack and said,

“Why Wicked John, what are you doing here?”

“Well, I’ve passed on and need a place to go.”

Saint Peter just shook his head and pulled out his big recording book.

“You see this book, John? This is where we make an accounting of all the deeds a person does in his life. This here page is yours. On this side is where we record all the good deeds you’ve done and if you look closely, there are a few entries written, way up at the top. And this other side, this is where we write all the mean and wicked deeds you’ve done. As you can see, it’s plum full down to the bottom. Why we’ve had to squeeze in more, diagonally and crosswise in the borders. No, John, there hain’t a chance in the world of you getting in this place,”

And Saint Peter shut the gates. So Old John turned around and went down the staircase. Down, down, down. And when he came in sight of the gates of the other place, one of the little devils happened to peek out.

“Daddy, daddy, look a yonder!”

Old Scratch came a running and when he saw who was a coming, he said,

“Bar the gates, boys, bar the gates!”

They slammed them shut and turned the key. When Wicked John got to the gates, the Devil said,

“You’re not welcome in here, Wicked John, you just turn right around there now and put off from here.”

“Yeah,” said the Little Devil, “you’re a baaaad man!” And John replied,

“Well, I thought that was the point of this here place.”

“Old man, you made us a promise to have nothing more to do with you and that’s that way it stands.”

Wicked John felt a little lost,

“Con-found! What in tarnation am I to do now? Saint Peter won’t let me in yonder and you’ve locked me out. What am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go?”

So, the Devil, he looked around for his longest set of tongs and reached way back into his fiery furnace and pulled out a white-hot glowing ember.

“Here you go, Old Man, you jest take this chunk of fire and go on off somewheres and start you a hell all of your own.”

Now sometimes in the night, if you’re out in the swamp, you might see a ball of light moving along the horizon. Some folks call it will-o-the-wisp, other folks say it swamp lightning or swamp gas, but it ain’t that at all. It’s just Wicked John doing his lonely wandering looking for a place to call his own.

In some of the versions, Wicked John carries his bit of light in a hollowed out gourd, which is the beginning of jack-o-lanterns.

Story Source:  I consulted two written versions, When the Lights Go Out, 20 Scary Tales to Tell by Maragaret Read MacDonald, Illustrations by Roxane Murphy, Published by The H. W. Wilson Company; and Grandfather Tales by Richard Chase, Illustrated by Berkeley Williams Jr., Published by Houghton Mifflin Company.

The Mustard Seed


India

The Buddha Shakyamuni was known far and wide as a great teacher and healer. There were even rumors that he could  bring people back from the dead. One day a woman came to him sorrowing over her child who had died. She pleaded with Buddha to restore her child to life. The Buddha listened patiently to her and was touched by her deep despair. He said, “Mother, if you bring me just one mustard seed from a household where no one has died, I can make a potion that will bring your child back to you.”

The woman was so excited. Mustard seeds grew everywhere! It was so common, that every yard had some. She went from door to door in her village, but could not find one family that had not been touched by death.

Undaunted she traveled to other villages, passing fields of mustard seeds; surely she could find a home that had not tasted death. After days of searching, she wearily returned to Buddha. “Master,” she said, “I have tried so hard to do what you have asked and was unable. But in the journey I have come to speak with many people who have been visited by death. I understand now that death is as pervasive as the mustard seed.” The woman returned home sorrowing, but not alone.