Two years ago, the Starbucks nearest to my house hosted a demon on their drive-through shelf.
As most bad pennies do, he turned up again on Wednesday last week after a snowstorm. I mean, sheesh...evil soul-swallowing snow monsters and their regeneration, right? How exhausting.
The Desolate One, Thwarted
Sadly, Samael (The Desolate One) was no match for the mighty powers of uneven melting and physics. Thus he's likely joined his first incarnation's demise. Until next year...
The poor Barista (is a male barista a baristo?) tried three times to stand the little dude back up on his melty not-feet, but alas Samael was just too tired.
Not all myths are heroic journeys or great love stories. Sometimes, a simple scene houses a battle of wits. And sometimes, the small battles have long consequences. I found this while looking up a town in Wales because of a Netflix show. I do adore wise woman tales.
A thousand years ago, the Devil decided to visit Wales, because in all his time on Earth and in Hell he'd never visited that corner of the world. Rumor had it, the country was beautiful, and the Devil was intrigued. So he wandered the green countryside and found he agreed with all he'd heard about the gorgeous land, and thought he might stay a while. He came upon an old woman standing on the edge of a river, hunched and dejected. "Why, madam, what vexes you so," the Devil asked. "My cow," she said, pointing at the animal calmly grazing on the other side of the water. "She got away and managed to get across the river, and I have no idea how to get her back." The Devil, never one to allow such an opportunity pass by, presented his most charming and polite smile. "Why, I can help you get her back," he said. "I'll make you a deal. I'll build a bridge tonight so you can get her back in the barn before milking time in the morning. You go home and rest." He held out his hands in offering. "Oh, you'll just build a whole bridge overnight, then? Are you a wizard, sir?" The Devil laughed and bowed. "And what boon will you ask in payment for such an amazing feat," the old woman asked, for she was no fool. "I'll take the first living thing to cross the bridge in payment," the Devil replied with a smile. The old woman was convinced now that the man was full of bluster and lies, so she agreed and walked slowly home for the evening, still thinking of ways to get her cow back. The next morning, she dressed for the cool Welsh bluster and considered what might happen if the magician HAD built a bridge. So, for caution's sake, she took bread from the table and called her dog to walk with her to the river. And there the Devil stood, shiny and bright next to a brand new sturdy bridge spanning the water. On the other side stood her cow, quietly eating as though bridges just appeared overnight regularly in her world. The Devil didn't say anything, just gestured to the river with an open hand, inviting the old woman to cross. Instead, she threw the loaf of bread with all her strength. And her faithful dog ran after it, becoming the first living creature to cross the bridge. The Devil gnashed his teeth and screamed, "NOOOOO! I don't want your smelly, hairy farm dog's soul!" and disappeared. The old woman gathered her cow and dog, and went home. The Devil never appeared in Wales again, too embarrassed to show his face after being outwitted by an old lady. But high in the mountains near Aberystwyth, a bridge with three levels crosses the gorge over the river. The bottom bridge is said to have been built by the Devil himself, over Devil's Falls.
Amazon Prime recommended this one to me (how Amazon manages to recommend anything to me given the weird and random things I buy is really beyond my algorithmic abilities), and for once the interwebs read me correctly.
Harmony Black by Craig Schaefer was completely worth the time. I loved this book enough to read it in a night, losing sleep to find out what happened.
If you know anything about me at all, that's just about the highest praise I can give a story: I am excessively protective of my sleep. The premise alone was enough to hook my interest: FBI agent recruited somewhat against her will into a secret black project government branch that investigates and eliminates paranormal threats, because she's a Witch.
I like paranormal fiction. I like well written, fast paced, fleshed-out paranormal fiction that has a surprise or two...and oh, the characterization of Harmony's personal demons, along with the rest of her team's quirks, kept me entertained for the whole story. Since this is the beginning of a new spinoff series by Schaefer, the story surrounds the initial case bringing Harmony's new Scooby team together. The timeline skips from her recruitment, in which she specifies she works alone, thanks, to her long-needed vacation after bagging some major case monster in Vegas. But we've all watched enough cop shows to know vacation is NEVER uninterrupted, and she's ordered to break her "lone-wolf" rule by joining some elite super-secret monster hunting squad: to catch and kill the Boogeyman.
I appreciate that this book is truly a monster-hunting story. The ethical conflicts between expediency of removing a (literally) monstrous threat to the public versus following procedure seems boring when written in a sentence, but as a conflict for the main characters it's what brings a measure of reality into a universe where demonic bounty hunters from Hell are competing with the FBI to catch a creature stealing babies.
Yup, I just wrote that sentence.
And, because I not only wrote that sentence but thoroughly enjoyed the book that drove me to write it, I'll be reading the sequel(s) as they come out.
This should be filed under "yup, she's disturbed and thinks weird dark things" and you're welcome to ignore this post if horror isn't your gig. Or horror humor. Or really fucked up thought processes resulting in inappropriate innuendo.
Yes, yes, I know it's early to be thinking about Poe and Lovecraft...it's still August, after all. But this week it's been cold enough at night to actually sleep under the covers AND Renaissance Festival started, so I'm in autumn mood.
Anyway.
I saw some horror art today that was Lovecraftian in nature: black tentacles reaching out of a center point, surrounded by human skulls-and-spines like some disturbing pinwheel of death. It was creepily beautiful, if you can wrap your mind around those two words working together.
I got to thinking...humans are ever so full of ourselves as a species, even in horror.
Let's imagine for one second that the Old Ones, Cthulhu and the rest, existed and are indeed just waiting out there in deep space for Hellboy or some foolish person to open a portal so they can come back. Let's imagine Leviathan (Biblical) or Jormungandr (Norse) have been hanging out in the depths of the ocean, encompassing the world, for millennia.
Imagine what immortality might be like: where anything with a short life span matters less over time because, well, you can always get another one. Seriously, why would they give a hoot about humans at all?
Humans, for example, live an average of 75 - 100 years. Dogs live an average of 10. Ants live an average of 45 - 60 DAYS. Do we care when a valued pet dies? I certainly hope so. Do we care when an ant dies? Um, speaking for myself here I have to say no, I really don't.
Do I NOTICE when I have ants? Sure do: and I go about exterminating them so my house is clean. Do I make a point of saving ant skeletons (or exoskeletons, in their case) with which I terrify them and torture their existence? Indeed I don't give their psyches that much thought at all. I suppose were I Buddhist that would make me a bad one...and to be fair I don't mess with anthills outside (I figure that's their space, as long as they aren't fire ants in my yard).
I have a point.
Given our size, our life span, and our penchant for colonizing every inch of space on this planet, how could humans not be considered the equivalent to ants to The Old Ones?
Why would Cthulhu bother terrorizing ants, creating a pit of despair lined with bony dead human trophies? Even ant serial killers (not serial killers who ARE ants: that's just silly. I'm thinking the creeps who like to use magnifying glasses and sun to burn the little dudes to death in some disturbing version of a Greek Death Ray) don't stack up the dead anty bits in warning to other ants.
The pinwheel of death art was neat, but it's a little ridiculous: only a human would create something like that to psychologically affect another human. The need to be FEARED implies a need to be recognized and valued (positively or negatively) by those who fear you: the terrorizer's value of the terrorized's opinion. Incitement of fear response is a defense against something which could potentially harm or kill: a wolf doesn't fear a rabbit and so doesn't make a point of threatening a rabbit. A wolf can (not always, but there is capability) fear a human, and so bristles and growls, attempting through incitement of fear to get the human to back the fuck off.
Of course, it can be argued that they are kill trophies. Like a serial killer, or an interstellar Predator hunter. You know, like deer heads on the wall for decoration? Yeah, I don't get that either, but some people like it. Trophy decoration implies an opinion of the animal involved. Hanging a deer head on the wall is an advertisement that the hunter overcame something difficult to hunt, right, at least theoretically? Please let me be clear: I DON'T LIKE trophy hunting. Never have. I don't get it: eating the deer meat should be enough in my mind, but whatever. The POINT is that there's some psychological reason for displaying hunting trophies which implies the creature's importance to the hunter on some level...and that I've never seen an ant head or squirrel on anyone's man-cave wall.
I'm not saying that, if the Old Ones saw humanity as ants, they couldn't or wouldn't exterminate. I mean, for all I know they ARE Daleks. I'm saying it's ridiculous to think they'd bother with psychological warfare, being both immortal and presumably all powerful (or, at least, so much more powerful we are essentially unable to conceive of the limits).
And so, the idea that an ancient evil god imprisoned in space for a bazillion years, such as Cthulhu, has a collection of human bits either as kill trophies OR as instruments of terror seems...well it just seems somewhat unlikely.
Now I'm seriously wondering if ants have Lovecraftian style horror stories about humans. "Boots On The Ground, and Other Terrifying Tales" to be read in short story form, because hello: 60 day life span.
Also, animals with longer life spans than us, which would potentially be more of a pet to Cthulhu than we are: Galapagos Tortoise (190 years). Bowhead Whale (200 - 245 years), Greenland Sharks (190 years), Koi (200 years), Ocean Quahog Clam (400 - 550 years). Obviously, I make no comment on the intellectual capacity of any of them...what does a clam think about for 500 years?
I've been remiss on my mythology lately, and I have no legitimate excuse. Things have been a little... upheavalous*...for me lately, and blogging sort of fell out of the back of a bouncing wagon of SHIT I HAVE TO DO. Oops.
*No, of course "upheavalous" isn't a word, but the sentiment fits.
In honor of tonight's Kobold extravaganza, I thought I'd see what an interwebz search vomited out, since they are a long-standing feature of various video and RP games. Oh Google, I'm both unsurprised and slightly horrified.
It appears some of you searchers out there have confused Kobolds with dingoes.
Also, spellchecker wants to change "kobolds" to "cuckolds" and I have to say that's fairly judgmental, Blogger. I've found no evidence of kobolds cuckolding, nor would it be likely to catch them doing so since they are purportedly quite sneaky and wily.
Moving on.
Kobolds are most easily described as the Germanic relative of the British Brownie or Norwegian Nisse. They are usually invisible but can appear as child-sized people. Interestingly, their dress seems to be defined by the work they do.
There are three main delineations of Kobold: the house-elf variety (think Dobby from Harry Potter) who are generally seen in peasant clothing; seafaring Kobolds who stow away on ships and of course dress like a sailor (presumably they also swear like a sailor, and would cause a sailor to swear profusely when seen, I imagine); and mining Kobolds who appear hunched over, cranky as hell, and dressed in filthy mining clothes.
The house Kobold, similar to a Brownie, can be quite helpful. Unfortunately, while the Brownies have a reputation for being easygoing and cheerful as long as they're given regular gifts of food and honey, Kobolds are rather capricious. Even bribed, they're as likely to cause mischief and messes as they are to sweep or clean, and it appears they're fairly ambivalent of mood when it comes to interactions with people. It's often considered lucky to have a house Kobold, and interestingly the creature is attached to the dwelling itself (not the family who lives there). A house with a happy Kobold will be prosperous and lucky.
On the other hand, those who sail seem to be quite helpful to sailors (once everyone gets over that initial Kobold-is-not-invisible meeting). They were considered good luck to have aboard for the most part, and (as is a theme here) the sailors gave regular offerings to their ship's Kobold. I do wonder if they're subject to sailors' maladies, though: do fairies get scurvy, for example? What about syphilis? Do they keep a girly Kobold in every port? Would a Kobold girl in a bar be of the house or sailor variety (and as such, what would she wear)?
Those who mine appear to be something of a cross between a goblin and a dwarf or gnome. As Germanic mythology is often closely related to Norse (Wodan/Odin) I'd guess they originated as dwarf-like characters who both protect and work the mines. They are described as being dirty or even black from mining filth, hunched, and dressed like a child miner. Miners left all sorts of offerings to placate the Kobolds, and some of their tales morphed with creatures like the Cornish "knockers" (not the boob kind...the Tommyknocker kind).
Kobolds, much like other Fairy and spirit creatures, are horrendously dangerous when pissed off. They must never be mocked or laughed at, fed daily (beer seems to be often on the menu, which I suppose fits since it's a German creature and beer generally surpassed wine in popularity and availability in that area of Europe), and generally treated with respect.
Consider the wrath of an invisible creature who enjoys literally playing with fire, tripping people at the worst possible time, shoving someone overboard, or collapsing a mine shaft. Hodekin, a Kobold of disturbing renown (likely because he lived in a bishop's house), strangled a servant boy who'd angered him, tore the poor boy's limbs off, and tossed his head into the stew pot. Yeah. Best to keep on their benevolent side.
Should you find yourself with a Kobold resident, good luck my friend. Feed them their favorite meal daily and try not to get too irritated when they hide your shit or mess with your things (even nice Kobolds are full of mischief). If you offend them, for the love of Pete say you're sorry and change whatever is offending them IMMEDIATELY and maybe you'll get back in their good graces.
I will say, however, that I truly did not find any evidence in books, Wikipedia, or anywhere else on the interwebz of Kobolds eating my baby (or anyone else's), other than Hodekin, but to be completely fair the boy wasn't a baby...and I didn't find a version where the Kobold ate him OR the stew.
Seriously, that was the Dingoes.
Also, I'm not kidding Blogger, a dangerous sprite is NOT a cuckold. Wow.
I haven't Mythic Monday'd in a while...but post-Samhain we move into the traditional storytelling season. It seems appropriate to begin with tonight's Scandinavian myth, since the Norse were serious about their stories during the long, dark winter nights (not unlike the great-grandmas who can't see you tonight because their STORIES are on T.V.).
Disclaimer: you stopped here because you're searching for the gun manufacturer, sorry to disappoint but BOY have you landed in the wrong space. You've probably already figured out I'm not discussing the virtues and drawbacks of a gas-piston rifle and wandered off to HuldraArms.com. If you're still here, feel free to hang out and discover your gun is named for a hot female...who occasionally becomes a (literal) man-eating monster.
Image: Wikipedia
Also, while researching today's creature I found this: Huldra And Victim creation app. It's horrifyingly wonderful.
It's possible I wasted some time playing with online doll versions of pretty woodland people-ish entities...who eat their victims (presumably after the sex part, like a Norse Preying Mantis without the extra limbs). I sort of wish I could get a couple made for the family members who have a doll-phobia, but that's another story.
The Huldra (or Hulder: I'll use them interchangeably here because the terms aren't linguistically different in meaning) is a fascinating figure in Scandinavian mythology whose story and attributes changed as Christianity spread throughout the area. She is both beautiful and monstrous, naked and clothed, helpful and vengeful, compliant and deadly: all depending on how she's treated.
In the Pagan era myths, she is consistently described as a beautiful wild woman of the forest, who has an animal tail. In Norway the tail is always a cow's: in southern Sweden it could be a cow's or fox's. The further north you are, the more likely she has either a hollow back or a back covered in tree bark. Regardless, there is always something just a bit animal or forest about her.
In the earliest myths, the Hulder was often a seductive woodland fairy nymph, and was usually recognizable as something other than a human woman only because of the tail. Dealing with the Hulder is somewhat similar to the Irish Celtic ideals of dealing with Fairies: politeness is paramount, satisfaction is rewarded. It's also interesting to point out the Hulder myths don't have a lot of mortal women involved (in general, the Hulder appear to be a temptation to men alone, much like a Succubus, only without the demonic aspects).
There is a male version, the Huldercarl, who acts in a similar manner as the Hulder only toward women: the gender specificity implies both the Hulder and Huldercarl are examples of man and woman dealing with the dangers and bounty of the wild.
Legend has it, a man (or woman) who is kind, polite, and sexually satisfying is rewarded by the Hulder/Huldercarl. However, every power comes with a price. The old myths of Hulder include her ability and willingness to kill, and even eat, those who didn't satisfy her. The implication in the tales is definitely sexual satisfaction, but it's important to note that rude or inhospitable behavior could just as easily offend. The Huldercarls' myths don't include the sexual implications of satisfy-or-I-kill-you, which perhaps reflects ancient Norse views on sex to a certain extent: it's possible to infer a supposition that females are harder to please, and therefore only those skilled enough could win her favor. At the same time, it's possible the Huldercarls' satisfaction was assumed simply out of an idea that males are less difficult to please, and also possibly that women weren't expected to "work" as hard at sex. MANY fairy myths involving sex imply that it takes great skill to satisfy a woman: this could also just be another area of prowess for the Hero cycle of a story.
In the earlier myths it appears the reward was protection by a superhuman entity. Imagine what Scandinavia was like before roads and effective land-clearing techniques: the forests were so thick and inhospitable they literally made isolated "islands" of arable land and could cut off huge swaths of area between towns. The Vikings weren't seafaring folk just out of convenience, but out of shipping and communication necessity. Dark things lived in those forests, from trolls to bandits to bears, and a Hulder whose favor you've gained could potentially protect you and your family from ALL of them. That's nothing to scoff at, and was actually so highly regarded even as Christiantiy took over the area the luck of befriending a Hulder was incorporated as acceptable practice.
Christianity spread over the Norse slower than the rest of Europe (indeed, partly due to the isolation of the land), but eventually it did effect the details of the Hulder/Huldercarl. One Christianized tale says the Hulder were once mortal children who weren't washed by their mother: the "unclean" children became Hulder. This isn't terribly different from the Christian myth of the Fae, who were God's angels who didn't take sides in the war in Heaven, and so fell but only to Earth, not to Hell with Lucifer and his band.
As time went on, the Huldra became pretty milkmaids who looked completely human and innocent except for the tail, but if a farmer could win her heart and convert her to the faith the tail would fall away (as she loses her fairy immortality and becomes mortal and "saved"). Hulder and Huldercarl lost their danger AND their protective abilities, and were relegated to rather benign figures in pastoral life: simple cattle herders who brought luck and prosperity if you were able to convert and marry one, but the threat had been nullified. Domesticated.
Of course, who knows if they were ever truly domesticated...
Norway, by the way, produces some wonderful movies about Norse mythology, including one about the Huldra. I saw it recently on Netflix, and recommend it if you're interested: Thale.
Is your clan name O'Grady, O'Neill, Caomhanachs, , O'Conchobhair, or O'Briain?
What about O'Grady, O'Neill, Kavanaugh, O'Connor, or O'Brien?
Then you may have a Banshee. Do not be alarmed: they're not the screaming monster portrayed on World of Warcraft. I'll explain the clan names in just a bit.
In Gaelic, she'd be called Bean Sidhe, Bean Sith, Bean Nighe, Bean Shidhe, Bean Shithe, or Bean Si. Perhaps now is a good time to point out that "si" in Gaelic is the "sh" sound. There are a few different takes on the Banshee and her duties, but ultimately they all deal with death.
The Banshee is a Faery woman associated most often with The Morrigan, Goddess of battle, war, and death (as well as many other things, including fertility, sovereignty, horses, and so on.). The Morrigan is a deity particularly close to my heart, and deserves a full post of her own. As an occasional messenger for The Morrigan, Banshees are often associated with ravens or owls. Modern mythologists speculate the Banshee's wail is actually the cry of an owl, which is also considered a warning that Death is coming for someone.
Banshees are known mostly for two acts: wailing to warn of an impending death (or wailing immediately after the death occurs), and appearing in a vision to the doomed-to-die. Interestingly, in the older tales banshees also served a purpose similar to the Valkyrie in Norse myth: guides to the afterlife for those who died on the battlefield. I'd imagine that's a large and stressful job, considering the number of souls on a post-war battlefield who wander about.
The most-told version of the Banshee's appearance to a warrior is as The Washer at the Ford: a woman washing the bloody clothes of he who is about to die. IN this guise she's called the Bean Nighe, the washerwoman. This is a direct link back to The Morrigan, who performed the same warning for Cu Chulainn in her myth cycle. Perhaps Cu Chulainn was such a hero his portend of death could only be delivered by a Goddess, not "just" a Banshee. In some tales, the Banshee work directly for The Morrigan, in others they're just fulfilling their ancient function, as sensing and warning of death is their only purpose.
As the Banshee who wails to warn of an impending death, she's often described as a sad, grey woman in grey or white clothes, nearly colorless in pallor. Sometimes she wears a red or green cloak. Sometimes she's combing her pale hair. She could be gorgeous or ghoul, depending on the story (and as this IS a culture famous for storytelling, I expect her terrible or wondrous appearance directly coincides with the time of year, the audience, and the person for whom she wails).
As the Washer at the Ford, she's sometimes a smelly, disgusting hag in tattered filthy clothes, sometimes a beautiful woman. In some areas the superstition lives, still, that should you find a comb on the road, leave it be: it's likely a Banshee's, and you do NOT want to catch her attention. She may or may not actively bring Death, but she certainly has Death's ear, after all.
I've often wondered if she's content with her purpose in this universe, constantly dealing with death and sorrow even when Death is a welcome visitor (as, occasionally, Death may become).
So where do the names come into play?
In Celtic funerary tradition, when a person dies a woman with a lovely voice would sing the lament: a song for the dead, a song of sorrow for those left behind who'll miss the deceased's presence in their lives. A tearful, wailing, keen of sadness. My personal favorite example is Morag's Lament, from Rob Roy. This
It was believed that royal or lord's families received their lamentations from Fairy women due to their importance. Of course, that could have been a way to inflate their own legend, but you just never know. Tradition says there were five clans who had a permanent banshee attached to their family (some lists expand to seven through intermarriage of clans)...indeed, those I listed. King James I of Scotland is reported to have heard the Banshee's wail before he died in 1437.
The most recent reporting of a Banshee's service? 1948.
My husband is of Irish descent...his family name is in that list.
I have to say, I chuckle a bit to myself every time I hear this name. Lorelai/Loralie/Lorelay...doesn't it sound beautiful? It rolls of the tongue like a melody.
I suppose that's fitting, considering the Lorelie is a Germanic Siren.
The Siren: supernaturally gorgeous women with voices impossible to ignore, who lure men to their deaths, generally by drowning. If you recall your middle school reading of The Odyssey, you'll remember that during his decade-long journey to return to Ithaca, Odysseus passed the Sirens' island. Odysseus was a famously (notoriously) clever man...we'll get to him in a future post, as he's one of the most fascinating characters in ancient history. Anyway, he'd heard the stories, and there was no way he'd get caught up like all the rest. Sirens enjoyed the havoc and death they wreaked by luring sailors with their honeyed voices and overwhelming beauty...they enjoyed luring the sailors close a rocky shore that sank ships and killed men.
Sirens were a beautiful, irresistible death.
So, the Lorelie.
Germanic myth says Lorelie was a young woman who, upon discovering her lover was faithless and broke her heart, threw herself into the Rhine. Her anger and despair were so great she turned into a siren: a monster (in some renditions a mermaid) who can be heard singing from a specific rock along the Rhine. Her song lures sailors on the river and men on the bank to the water, where they're drowned. In some versions, she mirrors the Waterhorse by dragging her victims to the depths of the swirling river, taking her vengeance out on rather hapless victims. In others, she just happens to be there singing her laments and the rough waters at the specific area of the river take care of the victims for her.
Personally, I find the Siren and Lorelie's powers just as creepy as Dracula's powers to subvert Mina's will with his gaze. The horror of the Lorelie isn't the drowning death: it's the concept that a man's will can be so totally subsumed with her power that he is literally incapable of preventing his own death, regardless of his love or loyalties. Marvel, incidentally, loves the Lorelie. In the Marvel universe, Lorelei is an Aasgardian with (unsurprisingly) the disturbing power to convince men to subvert their will to hers...using her voice. She and Sif (powerful warrior who eventually marries Thor) have an ongoing argument in Marvelspace.
In addition, the Lorelie is a tragic character in myth: unlike the Greek Sirens, Lorelie doesn't seem to take any pleasure in her victims' deaths. Instead, it seems an unpleasant result of her suicide, or at the very least a dark misery that didn't die when she killed herself. There's no real punishment aspect to Lorelie's fate: it's more tragic sadness than puritan anti-suicide warning.
If you want a hauntingly beautiful Lorelie poem (translated from German to English by Mark Twain, because OF COURSE it is), go here. It's wonderful. And terribly sad.
If you want to see some lovely Lorelie art, look here.
In any case, the Lorelie is associated with a particular "echoing" rock near Sankt Goarhousen (St. Goar), Germany. It's a rocky cliff where (presumably) quite a few ships have gone down and sailors lost. As such, of course, Lorelie is a name that's associated with deadly, dangerous allure.
Not exactly a name I'd give my kid, but hey...femme fatale isn't a bad reputation to have. I definitely wouldn't give that name to a German restaurant...but someone did. In Green Bay, Wisconsin, you MN and WI peeps of mine. If you ever check it out, give me a review!
Last week I talked about the tragic love stories embedded in Selkie mythology. In keeping with my current water creature theme, let's explore the dark side, shall we?
I'm a fan of "monsters" in myth, particularly those whose natures reflect the darker aspects of nature. One of my favorites is the Kelpie. Sometimes called the Waterhorse.
There are two pretty distinct version of kelpie myths: the benign version is what you'd recognize in current pop culture, as the most famous waterhorse is found in the deep Loch of Scotland. Yes, that'd be Loch Ness. If you're going the Nessie route, the waterhorse looks exactly...well...like Nessie: horse-like head, long neck, flippers, whale-like tail. A waterhorse compares pretty closely to the Greco-Roman Hippocamp, for those of you looking for a Greek myth reference, and (as you'd expect) tends to live in the Lochs or in the deep ocean off the coast. Is this version of the waterhorse a throwback of prehistoric man who encountered whales, or even a plesiosaur? I suppose it could be. After all, we all know that off any sailors' map there be monsters. What I can say is that most of the Nessie-type waterhorse myths depict her as a shy, reticent creature that has absolutely no interest in messing about with people.
I suppose that's exactly why I prefer the more volatile, older kelpie myths. These are the horse-like creatures which inhabit both the deep pools and the rushing, violent waterfalls. These are the creatures which are generally not big fans of humanity.
Well, except as snacks.
In the worst versions, kelpies appear on land as gorgeous, powerful black horses and lure the unsuspecting (particularly children) onto their backs for a ride. And once the rider is on, they're magically trapped for the duration of the ride, unable to jump off the waterhorse's back as the he gallops directly to the depths of his nearby pool.
It's said the only parts a kelpie doesn't eat is the heart and liver of it's drowned prey.
Their power to change shape resides in the magic bridle, which looks like a silver necklace. A kelpie in equine form is stronger and faster than ten horses: worth the trouble to attempt to catch them. Enslaving a kelpie requires stealing the bridle, but unlike hiding the selkie's skin, controlling a kelpie's bridle controls the kelpie itself. Perhaps the kelpies' general dislike of humans as anything but prey is because humans only saw them as a useful tool?
Interestingly, there's a Welsh version of the myth that diverges from the scary-child-eating-monster. In it, a lonely kelpie boy decides he loves a local girl, and changes from his natural shape into a hot young man. Unfortunately for him, she discovers he's a kelpie by removing his silver necklace (bridle) while he sleeps (well, hello thief), and forces him into serving her father as a beast of burden on the farm for a year (remember, he who holds the bridle holds power over the kelpie). But when the year is done, a local wiseman tells her she should give the bridle back. She does, and when the horse turns into a man again she asks him which he'd rather be: a kelpie or a man? He chooses man and marries her, giving up his lonely former existence for human companionship. I take this story, one of the latest written, post-Christian conversion ideas of the kelpie folk tale, to be a signal that the kelpie of the Celtic past had completed it's transformation from demonic eater-of-people to human-dominated-mythological critter.
I don't have a good conclusion to this post, because I think it's quite sad that humanity has lost this particular monster. If you look up kelpie or waterhorse you'll mostly get the Nessie story, not the older cautionary tales. The kelpie has been defanged by technology, by the idea that boats and life jackets can protect us from the raging rivers and deep lakes, by humanity thinking we have power over nature.
Maybe they just need to figure out how to change into sleek black sports cars?
I have nothing else to say about this except even if you're one of those people who have rats as pets, being overrun by ten bazillion small creatures of any type is pretty horrifying to imagine. Particularly since, being a Medieval and Ancient history nut like I am, I KNOW what rats were used for (and what they brought along on ships...well, hello there Black Death).
I declare today Monster Monday in honor of the Ghost Rat Ship.
I adore monster and paranormal horror (slasher movies like Texas Chainsaw, Freddy and Jason, etc bore the shit out of me. The "let's see how much blood/guts we can spray on film" and "all victims do the SAME STUPID SHIT" stuff is really old.
I saw Tremors when I was 9, only I didn't see the WHOLE movie. Meaning, I didn't see the monsters die at the end (um, spoiler alert for anyone who hasn't seen a 25 year old giant people-eating-desert-worm monster movie). I MUST see the creature die at the end, otherwise there are nightmares. I lived on a 40 acre farm in Northern Minnesota...no worms in sight. But I still ran my ass off from the house to the barn every time I went outside for a good month that summer (OBVIOUSLY the cement floor in the barn would protect me from any giant tentacle-mouthed-worm-monsters!).
I also still freak out in over-my-head water (oceans or lakes) because I have NO IDEA what might be eyeing up my plump, pasty legs as a potential snack. Sharks, crocs, giant eels, Cthulhu, Megaladon...they don't keep me out of the water, but I definitely have moments of "oh shit I'm too far from shore and could NEVER out-swim a shark!" panic. Because I'm silly.
I was informed this afternoon that the 'lady occultist' in the Duluth Skywalk NOW offers "paranormal investigation" along with "soul retrieval."
I am thoroughly intrigued.
How exactly does one retrieve a soul?
Perhaps more importantly, how exactly does one LOSE* a soul? Is it like doing the laundry and the washer/dryer eats a sock? "Oops, I misplaced my soul. Crap, I don't remember which drawer it's in."
Does she have a soul-sniffer-outer of some sort?
A magnet-tipped extendo-soul-catching-rod (thanks Michael, for that one...excellent imagery).
Perhaps a specially trained dog (like the drug/bomb sniffing dogs, only for souls)?
Golden SOUL Retriever
Good lord, how does one TRAIN a soul-sniffer to sniff out lost souls? What sort of treats (Soul Biscuits) are required to get a dog to recognize a misplaced soul versus an intact soul? (This is Thor, my soul-sniffing-superdog!)
What if the soul is in pieces? Do you need a soul-divining-rod, like dowsing for water? What sort of material is required for accurate soul dowsing and retrieval? Is it something like metal detector-ing (in which case, do will I be wandering the Earth with a supply of batteries and earmuffs, swinging a soul detector over everything)?
How do I know the retrieved soul is mine? I don't want someone ELSE'S lost soul. What if the missing pieces aren't very nice, after all? I'll stick with my own bits, thanks.
Could it show up in a random un-returned library book or box of junk you intended to donate to Goodwill but forgot?
Can I request changing to Eric Northman from True Blood instead? He's way more fun and less broody.
I'm not even going to go the Evil Dead "I'll swallow your soul" route, because that's just creepy.
Perhaps the biggest question: is there a cosmic dryer somewhere with a secret stash of souls??
UPDATE: Per a commentor on Facebook, "every new freckle is someone's trapped soul."
What the FUCK, people? Seriously, I can't even tell you just how disturbing that concept is, and now every time I acquire a new random freckle I'll wonder if the Soul Retriever can remove it...and give it back to the original owner, of course. *Disclaimer: while I find my own silliness entertaining I feel some responsibility to put some non-snarky info out there. So, here's what I found locally on the concept of Soul Retrieval, which I must admit is also intriguing. I'm not intrigued enough to pay for someone to find pieces of my soul, but hey, to each his/her own. Don't yell at me.
The past few days have been a rollercoaster. Did you know I'm horridly susceptible to motion sickness? I wonder if I can get a prescription for an emotional-Dramamine-patch...
So, the highs and lows in my fucked up universe in a 72 hour period:
Had enough frequent flier miles to visit one of my most favoritest people on the planet, EVER SO CONVENIENTLY located in one of my most favoritest areas of the planet. And so I'm running away for a weekend in March to Seattle. "woohoo" does not cover the furiously excited tickle in my belly while I anticipate.
A friend I haven't spoken with (due to miss-meshing schedules, not any nefarious doings) somehow butt-dialed me and left a 3 minute long "message," in which I listened to spirited conversation between her and her 3 year old daughter. I am monumentally entertained.
Spent many tear-filled (my fucking eyeballs HURT, and I need a goddamned icepack) hours in emotional-stickymess-laden Arguments of Unusual Size. That was just...fucking FABULOUS. Really. Particularly the remnants that linger today. Sigh. There are times I think shaving my head and joining a remote mountain monastery would be a boon to my sanity.
Oh, and said hair (which would be shaved off by now had I not just spent more than I normally would on myself to have a lovely friend attempt to tame it) tried to CHOKE me to death this morning. A pre-sneeze gasp resulted in the hair attempting to wreak revenge (presumably for the abuse I paid for on Saturday morning when my fabulous stylist fixed the caterpillars above my swollen eyeballs AND chemicalized the unruly mop on my head). Near-death gagging accomplished by snaking its way, all Medusa-like, down my throat.
Since it's apparently difficult to sneeze AND choke to death, my sinuses gave up. So, the cure for the impending allergy season is Medusa hair? Hmm...I'm sure there are a multitude of spit-or-swallow jokes to be made there, but frankly I'm still busy coughing.
My time in the hospital inappropriately jump-started a new diet plan (hey, I lost 12 pounds in that first two weeks and it's stayed off...might as well get SOMETHING good out of this shit!). I find the following Groupon really annoying, now that I'm making a conscious effort to eat better and do some sort of sweating activity.
Groupon hates my weight loss!
Screw you Groupon, I'm not eating your damn cake and I'm pretty sick of the Zumba coupons. So there. Poor marketing! Bring back the Conceal and Carry discount. Or martial arts. Or even aerial yoga, which I'm DYING to try when I've lost enough weight that I won't bring the ceiling down...and it arrives in MN (generally we're years behind the coasts in any trend) if you MUST give me something I'd classify as girly.
In the meantime, I've been wasting time today on www.etsy.com today, because buying from small artisans is like buying from local businesses: I've found it's often far better. Not always, but often.
I found THIS FABULOUSNESS today, and am planning to scare the bejesus out of the neighborhood kids with my lawn as soon as possible. Go forth, zombie lovers, and make YOUR lawn disturbing. Just in time for Halloween!
Of course, that brought me to other Halloween-type etsy crafts, which brought me to the Poe/Raven Print that I utterly covet for my office. It's finally getting chilly and dark in the evenings, and it smells like dying leaves and impending winter. Time for my annual Lovecraft and Poe reading marathon...modern horror just can't compete.
PS: Spellchecker doesn't recognize "bejesus" or "girly" (never mind Groupon or etsy, which are made up words anyway). I'm amused.
UPDATED: Thanks to The Bloggess I also now MUST have the Weeping Angel from Amazon. Except I'll have to buy two. And make them face each other.
What is it about snakes that scare the bejesus out of most people? There some deep-seated horror in the subconscious that spawns horror movies like Anaconda. Every few months an email goes around the internet with those pictures of a man's legs and lower torso sticking out of the burst belly of a giant snake. Rumors and urban legends about people-swallowing snakes are so popular even the new Discovery channel show Monsterquest covered it, sending investigative teams to the Everglades and the Amazon to look for uber-snakes.
For me, the idea of being swallowed whole is even more horrifying than the idea of being killed by a wild animal. I think it's because ignorance is bliss: I don't have a big sentimental attachment to my body after I die. Donate it to science, bury it, burn it, leave it for the wild animals as nourishment: I won't be using it anymore, and one way or another Nature will take care of recycling it for something else's use. However, I do NOT relish the idea of somebody or something else making use of MY body before I'm done with it. Add to that the speed with which constrictors eat their prey, the "eww" factor of saliva and presumed crushed bones, and the prospect of being swallowed alive and whole is just not a good way to go.
So, is this some throwback to our cave-man memories in the lizard part of our brain, some deep subconscious memory of the fear our ancestors felt while walking the jungles and grasslands? Is it memory from even before Homo-Erectus...maybe a fear from the evolutionary brain dating back to our primate days? Or, is it because we HAVE had to contend with monster snakes that could swallow a human being, a cow, a horse, with no difficulty?
This article just serves as a reminder to skeptics out there: just because we don't see evidence of a monster in plain sight doesn't mean it never existed. The world was about 10 degrees warmer year round when this snake lived. Now THAT's enough to make a girl worry about global warming...
