Local folklore

In Tromsdalstinden, the tallest mountain visible from the city of Tromsø, there lives a troll. Since time immemorial has he kept a watchful eye over the area, protecting it from malevolent forces. But one winter day long, long ago, he felt that he could bear the cold and the dark no more. He put on his boots, with which he could cross seven miles in one step, and headed south.

On and on he went, all the way to the south of Europe and beyond. He settled on a tropical island where it was always sunny and warm. For a while, this made him happy, even though he could never go anywhere without a wide-brimmed hat to protect him from the sun’s rays. But soon enough, the heat got to be too much. He found himself missing his cold, dark home in the north.

When the time came for the troll to leave, however, he couldn’t quite let go of the tropical island he had so fallen in love with. He decided to take it with him as a souvenir. He tied a rope around the island and towed it all the way back to the far north where he could watch it from his place on Tromsdalstinden. There, the troll’s beloved island still stands, known now by the name Tromsøya. Not much trace is left of its tropical origin aside from the Tromsø palms that still grow every year.

In the little village of Kaldfjord on Kvaløya west of Tromsø, there are stories of a hulder that lived on the slope above the settlement not so long ago. Just north of the Hansvoll farm, there are still three large, square boulders. A few decades ago, no one was allowed to mow the grass around these rocks, and children were not allowed to climb on them or play around them either, for it was here the hulder lived.

In the summer, the sheep grazed up in the mountains. When fall came, the farmers had to pen in the sheep. If any of the sheep had not come home, the locals knew where to turn for help. At the time, there lived an old woman named Nicoline in Kaldfjord, and she could talk to the hulder. Nicoline would go up to the hulder-stones and knock on them to ask for the hulder’s help in finding the lost sheep. The old lady was always very secretive, and no one was ever allowed to be with her when she went to talk to the hulder. So no one ever found out exactly what she said to the hulder either. But the very next day, all the missing sheep would return from the mountain. The strange thing was that no matter who they belonged to, the sheep always appeared at the barn on Hansvoll farm. This happened year after year and never failed.

A little over a hundred years ago, a mining operation was underway at Svarthammaren in the innermost part of Tromsdalen on the mainland. One of the miners, who went by the name Hans, was perceived as a bit mysterious and strange. He mostly kept to himself; no one knew where he’d come from, and he hardly ever spoke to anyone.

Every night, two men had to stand watch to keep the mine safe from outsiders. Late in the evening on one such dark fall night, Hans came out of his tent, snuck over to the campfire, and with a knife he had carefully hidden, quickly and brutally murdered his two fellow miners. Their bodies he threw into the water right by the mineshaft so that no one would ever find them. Then he took one of the horses and attempted to ride away. But the horse had smelled blood. It panicked and galloped straight off the steep cliff nearby. The last anyone saw of Hans or the horse was as they tumbled off the cliff to the sound of the horse’s death cry.

They say that if you walk the hiking trail in Tromsdalen late on a dark fall night, you might still hear the sound of galloping hooves suddenly interrupted by a chilling scream before silence settles again.

The old Tromstun Junior High School, which opened in 1969, was located directly on top of the remains of Krøkebærsletta, one of the largest concentration camps in Northern Norway during World War II. When the foundation was excavated during the building of the school, a skeleton without a head was uncovered. The skull was never found, despite multiple extensive searches.

Shortly after the old Tromstun School opened, students, teachers, and other employees reported hearing the shuffle of slow, heavy footsteps through the hallways, not unlike the sound of marching boots on the ground. Some students and employees had also seen a male figure in the corridors after the school day was over. The figure was dressed in a slightly worn green uniform from the time of the war and was missing a head.

As the story goes, a German officer was executed by his own soldiers at Krøkebærsletta concentration camp, likely for treason. Many believe that the figure at Tromstun school is precisely this German officer who now haunts the area.

Today, Tromsdalen High School stands where the old Tromstun School once was. The soldier still haunts the empty corridors after school hours, eternally searching for his head.

In the far north of Troms county lies an island known for its rich birdlife called Nordfugløya. But according to folklore, this island hasn’t always stood where it is today.

On the neighboring island of Vannøya, there lived an old Sámi woman named Anna. One night, Anna awoke to a terrible storm. When she went out to watch the storm, she saw a large dark shadow approaching from the open sea. At first, Anna was scared. But curiosity got the better of her. She crept down to the shore to take a better look. From far out on the uneasy sea, two huge troll crones came a-rowing. They had anchored a rope at the bottom of a hill and were now towing a huge mountain after their boat. Suddenly, there was a loud bang: the storm had caused the rope to break! The boat became unsteady on the rocky waves, capsized, and sent both monsters into the depths of the sea.

The day after, when the storm had died down, Anna noticed that a new island had appeared nearby. The mountain that the troll crones had towed with them that night stands there to this day, with even the hole where they had anchored their rope still visible.

Northeast of Tromsø, out in the cold ocean, lies Skjervøy island. For centuries has there been a fishing village on the island, right at the foot of Stussnesfjellet mountain. Some 400 years ago, a rich Danish merchant ruled the island like a king. Christen Mikkelsen Heggelund was his name, but he was commonly known as the king of Skjervøy. Heggelund was a greedy man who burdened the locals with high taxes. He tried in vain to ingratiate himself with the villagers by contributing to the decoration of the local church and donating to a new altarpiece. But a new altarpiece did not feed the masses.

One cold fall morning, a stranger appeared in Skjervøy. People thought he was strange, for he wasn’t there to trade like most others who visited the village. Heggelund suspected the stranger was there to beg and chased him out of the village. But before the stranger left, people saw him spitting on Heggelund’s doorstep and mumbling something unintelligible. The language he spoke, the way he behaved, and the clothes he wore convinced people that he was a Sámi shaman.

The very next day, Heggelund fell ill. Neither the doctor nor the priest could make him better. Come Sunday, he was still bedridden. He sent the servant girl who was taking care of him to church in his stead and told her to pray for him. But the girl was hardly loyal to such an unlikeable master and bragged to the entire parish about how she would get her hands on all of Heggelund’s money as soon as he was no more. The priest thought little of such behavior; he chastised the girl and hurried off to tattle on her to the Skjervøy king.

The priest’s words made Heggelund uneasy: what was to happen to all his wealth if he died? He couldn’t risk anyone getting their hands on it! That night, while everyone slept, he gathered all his riches in a large chest. Then he climbed the steep rock ledge under Stussnesfjellet and buried the chest deep somewhere hidden.

The fall chill, however, settled into his bones while he was out, and the following day, he felt much worse. The servant girl offered to fetch the priest, but this sent Heggelund into a rage and he accused her of only being after his money. Despite the girl’s vehement denials, Heggelund’s rage was unstoppable; with what strength he had left, he rose from the bed and strangled the poor girl.

Both Heggelund and the servant girl were buried at the local graveyard. Shortly after the funeral, people spotted two ravens circling the cliff at Stussnesfjellet. They were larger than ordinary ravens and darker in color, with eyes colder than a starless winter night.

Soon, rumors of the buried treasure also began to spread, and both residents and visitors tried their luck in the precipitous rocks. But no one got very far up the cliff before the ravens started diving toward them, pecking and clawing until they bled. If the legends are to be believed, it is Heggelund and his servant girl who guard the wealth they both claim in raven form. To this day, none have succeeded in finding the Skjervøy king’s treasure.

The island of Håya lies by Kvaløya in Troms. Two hundred years ago, it was lush and fertile, with a bustling birdlife and several permanent residents. One of them was an old Sea Sámi who only had his one son for family.

One sunny spring day, the Sámi was out fishing off the coast of the island when he spotted his young son climbing one of the steep mountain slopes to collect eggs and got scared that something would go wrong. Just as he was about to yell out a warning, the boy lost his footing and tumbled down the mountainside. There, on the slope, he was left lying lifeless.

In his grief, the old father cursed the island: never again would birds nest nor anything grow and flourish here. To this day, Håya stands lifeless out in the open sea, and no birds nest there any longer.

Lavangen is a municipality and former settlement in South Troms. The name comes from combining lauv, an old word for the leaves of deciduous trees that grow in the area, and anger, which in modern Norwegian means regret but is also an old word for fjord. Folklore, however, offers a different explanation.

Back in the 14th century, a plague came to Norway on board a merchant vessel. It spread quickly, especially in the south. News, on the other hand, did not spread quite so quickly. In the little village of Lavangen, which at the time bore a different name, no one knew that the Black Death herself was headed north.

One dark fall day, a returning northerner arrived in Lavangen fjord. Having lived many years in the south, he was afraid that he might have been carrying the disease and so refused to come ashore; he simply shouted to the villagers that a merciless plague was ravaging the country, then sailed on with the message. He never returned and no one ever found out if he even survived.

Fear gripped the entire village. The people decided to build an impenetrable wall around the settlement with only one gate so that they could control who entered. The gate was to be guarded day and night.

Slowly but surely, people from other villages in the area came a-knocking on Lavangen’s door. Those who appeared outwardly healthy would be allowed in by the guards, but any who showed even the slightest sign of illness had to wait outside for a few days to make sure they hadn’t brought the plague with them. One day, a man was asking for shelter in Lavangen, but fell lifeless before an answer could even be given. It was then that the fear of death truly sank in. The gate was closed and bolted; no more strangers would be allowed in the village, not that winter, nor the spring or summer that followed.

It was only in the fall that the villagers dared to open the gate and look out at the fjord. Only the dead awaited on the other side, men, women and children, old and young, people and animals. Their bodies strewn everywhere. Some were recently gone, some were already decomposing. Here and there lay mere bare bones. The fall wind had carried the reddish-yellow leaves from the birch trees and covered the dead with a thin blanket of them, as if they were but asleep.

Some of the dead would have certainly been lost, no matter where they had tried to escape. But some the villagers could have saved, if only they had not been so afraid for themselves and their loved ones. A deep regret overwhelmed the whole village. At once was the gate torn down and burned. From that day on has the place been known as Lavangen: from lauv for the fallen leaves that no one in the village would ever look at the same again, and anger for the regret everyone had to live with afterwards.

The fishing village Fjordgår lies at the foot of a mountain on Senja in Troms. Up in the mountainside, one can see a boulder that looks like the head of a woman with long, wavy hair. The stone has always been known as Huldersteinen, the hulder stone, after a hulder who lived there a long, long time ago.

Back in the day, many people at Fjordgård had sheep that grazed at the bottom of the mountain. One day, they saw a young girl up on the mountainside. No one knew who she was or where she had come from: she was suddenly just there, always sitting in the exact same place, right where the hulder stone is today. Almost every day was she there to watch over the sheep. The villagers were quite pleased with this, actually, for they had no need to worry about their sheep with her around. Things were much worse those few days when the girl wasn’t there: no one looked after the sheep then, and many of them would go much too far up the mountain and get lost. And so it was for many, many years.

But time passed, and the hulder girl began to grow old and tired. The villagers saw less and less of her. Then, one night, the people of Fjordgård were awoken by a terrible noise from the mountain. When they came out the next day to find out what had happened, they could see a large boulder where the hulder girl previously had sat. No sheep ever went any higher than that stone, and the villagers concluded that the hulder girl had placed the stone there to guard the sheep in her stead. Thus the stone was named Huldersteinen: the hulder stone.

Today, the sheep are gone from Fjordgård, but the hulder stone watches over the village still.

On Tjuvholmen between Andørja and Ibestad there is a cave that no one dares enter. It is said that a terrible evil hangs over the place because of a cannibal from the 17th century. His name was Gudbrand Gløtt and he lived in there in that stony den.

He was in his late 30s when he committed his awful crimes. Although he looked completely harmless and almost even pleasant, he was in fact a malicious and ruthless man. Some, including himself, also believed that he had supernatural abilities. He was namely convinced that he would turn immortal if he just consumed eight human hearts. That is why he also moved from the farm where he was raised to a cave with a good view of the sea. He could then see when people rowed past on their way to and from Ibestad, either to trade or visit the church. In bad weather, boats had to pass even closer to land, and that was when Gudbrand had particularly good sights on them.

Every day, Gudbrand watched from his cave and waited for people to row past. When he spotted a boat with only one or two people on board, he prepared his weapon and shot them as soon as they came close enough to his cave. Then he came out, retrieved the bodies, and took them with him to the cave where he carved them up and ate their hearts.

In this way, he managed to get hold of six whole human hearts. It was impossible to get more from his spot in the cave, for the rumors had really started to spread by then, and people refused to row near the shore of Tjuvholmen even if it meant they had to brave the seas instead. So Gudbrand retreated to a small village in Gratangen, where he killed a farm girl and ate her heart. Now he just needed one more.

But eager as he was, Gudbrand became careless. When he attacked another farm girl, there were farmhands around who heard her scream and came to help. They overpowered Gudbrand and held him captive until the authorities arrived. Gudbrand was thus arrested, taken to Ibestad, and sentenced to die.

One last wish did Gudbrand express: to say goodbye to his unwitting wife alone. His wish was granted. But when his wife came in and was about to give him a hug, he chose rather to put both his hands around her neck and start choking her. He had, as it were, no intention of giving up and wanted to take her heart as his last. The wife managed, however, to let out a scream, and the sheriff came rushing in.

What happened after, no one knows for sure. Some say that the sheriff managed to separate the couple and carry out Gudbrand’s death sentence shortly afterward. When the body was dissected after the execution, ⅞ of the heart was found to be covered in long, black hair.

Others say that the sheriff never did get his hands on Gudbrand, for he had disappeared into thin air as soon as his wife started screaming. The entire county of Troms was searched end to end, but it was as if Gudbrand had sunk into the ground. To this day does he walk around South Troms, a shy man in his 30s with worn-out old-fashioned clothes still looking for one last human heart to eat.

At the beginning of the 20th century, there were many in Skibotn who farmed and kept livestock. They took their cows to pasture up in the forest in the mornings and picked them up again in the evenings. So they thought that it would be nice to have a shepherd’s hut there that everyone could use to make some food and coffee or have a rest when they had to bring their animals to and from pasture. The cabin was built by the villagers together and served them all well for many years.

But one evening, something strange happened. The shepherds had made their way up into the forest to bring the cows home. By the cabin, an unexpected sight awaited: the remains of a cow and some blood on the ground. Evidently, a slaughter had taken place. Cows had gone missing before, but they always thought the animals had just gotten lost in the forest. Now they began to suspect that perhaps something more sinister was going on.

When they entered the hut, their suspicions were all but confirmed: someone other than them had been there. There were cups and dishes on the table, and the fireplace was full of ashes. The villagers decided they’d need to investigate further.

The following day, when the cows had been taken home, they set off for the cabin again. They wanted to see what went on out there in the forest at night. It was already midnight by the time they arrived, but everything was still quiet and peaceful in the cabin. They waited for several hours and were just about to call it a night when they suddenly heard a commotion from the hut. The windows were lit up, and voices were ringing inside.

None of the farmers had been inside the cabin, and they had seen no one else in the forest either. Terrified, they looked at each other. They knew they had to go inside the cabin to see what was going on. They gathered and headed through the door all together.

The cabin was completely empty, not a single living soul to be seen. Yet, the cups and dishes were left on the table, and a fire was lit in the stove.

Not many people lived in Lyngenfjord in Troms in the old days. Where the villages of Elvevoll, Steinvik, Kvalvik, and Oksvik now stand, there were once just individual houses a long way apart.

The family that lived in Steinvika only had one child: a daughter who was as beautiful and wise as the day is long. One day, she was out looking after the cattle when a stallow caught sight of her and immediately fell in love. He came to her and demanded that she come home with him. Naturally, the girl wanted nothing less in the world than to marry a gross and ugly stallo, but she knew that she could not say no. So she asked to go home and say goodbye to her parents instead. The stallo only allowed this if he, too, could come.

The girl realized then that the stallo would not give up and that her family was in grave danger if she tried to escape or hide from him. She started to think about the situation differently: was there perchance a way to defeat the stallo? The whole way home, she plotted.

While the stallo was waiting for her outside the door, the girl told her parents the plan: she would tie a thread in the trees along the trail as they walked, and they would have to come after her. When they saw a lit fire, they were to take it as a sign that the stallo was asleep and they could come forward and attack. A man in Lyngsdalen had a sharp spear, so they’d have to bring him along on the hunt to stab the sleeping stallo, preferably also get other men from the area as the stallo was very big and strong.

The parents did just that, and the same very night lay the stallo lifeless in the forest. The men placed a large stone over his body. The stone is there to this day and is known as Stallogedgi: Stallo Stone in Sámi.

Inner Finnmark has several Christmas traditions that go back a long way among both Norwegians and the Sámi. If one failed to follow these traditions, they could just receive an unpleasant visit on Christmas Eve, for it wasn’t Santa Claus with gifts for children that people expected back in the day. Rather, they were worried about a mean little gnome of incredible strength.

People believed that the house had to be kept clean and tidy around Christmas. Even the Sámi, most of whom lived in a tent or lavvo at the time, had to tidy up. On Christmas Eve itself, there could be no twigs, stones, or other imperfections on the ground because that was when the Christmas gnome rode his sled all over Finnmark. The sled was small and pulled by several mice, strapped one after the other; it could easily be damaged by bits and bobs on the floor. That is why the Christmas gnome got furious when the floors weren’t properly cleaned. Then, he would come yelling after the people who hadn’t tidied up for Christmas. He would even suck their brains out when they came looking for the source of the noise.

There had to also be water in all the buckets in the house for the gnome and his mice to drink out of. If they couldn’t find buckets with water, they would resort to sucking blood from the people in the house instead.

Today, it is the kind and friendly Santa Claus that people have to look forward to on Christmas Eve, but they still tidy up their houses and set out porridge to keep him happy.

Half a mile from the center of Kvalsund in West Finnmark, there is a large boulder known as Klæmmenstein down on the shore. A draug lived there some centuries ago. He liked to tinker with the boats docked in the area and was especially fond of moving the oars around.

The son of one of the fishermen in Kvalsund was out one evening and walked past Klæmmestein. Out there on the shoal, he saw a male figure in old, worn leather clothes and a sou’wester on its head. The sight sent chills down his spine, and he rushed home to tell his family what he had seen. His big brother realized quickly that it was a draug who was out and about, causing trouble. They went back to the shoal together, where the draug was still standing and fiddling with the boats. The big brother picked up a big rock, snuck in on the draug, and threw the rock at his back.

The draug spooked, turned around to look at the boys for a brief moment, then retreated out to sea, leaving only a bright streak in the water where he had been as proof of his existence. Since then have the fishing boats been left alone, and no one has been bothered by the draug at Klæmmenstein.

Not far from Alta in Finnmark is a mountain that is in Sámi known as Nášša. One day, two friends, a Sámi named Baniodne and a Norwegian named John Gaup, were out hiking in the area when a beautiful girl suddenly came wandering in their direction. They greeted each other, as people are wont to do out in nature.

Baniodne noticed that the girl could barely look at him, but wanted to be polite and asked her where she lived. When she pointed to a big rock in the area, he started to suspect that she actually was a hulder. The girl said she was home alone, since her family had gone to visit some relatives in Reisavannet. She had been bored under the rock and came out to bathe in the river Baniodne and his friend had walked past a little while before.

The conversation didn’t last long before the girl began to retreat toward the rock. Baniodne watched her go and wondered if he should follow. He was a young man who hadn’t been married yet, and the hulder was, after all, very pretty. As it were, he knew that he could capture her by wrapping her in something made of steel; then, she would have to stay on earth, and he could take her home. In the head, he had not the heart for it. He just looked on as the hulder went into a pit from which she never came out. That was probably for the best, for hulders thrive with their own kind.

In the fjord Øksfjord in West Finnmark, there is a small island that has for a long time been the haunted home of many mysterious and unexplained events.

On cold and stormy fall evening, there is a lady dressed in grey there. She moves across the island and down to the shore. She does not walk, doesn’t use her legs and doesn’t touch the ground; no, she floats over the path. Once she has reached the shoreline, she looks out at the open see for a little while and then disappears into thin air, only to return the following day.

In the 19th century, there lived a small fishing family on this island: a poor couple with their one and only son. One day, the husband and son were out fishing when a heavy snowstorm suddenly hit. Their wooden boat fought for its life within eyesight of the island while the wife could only watch. The great sea won.

Day after day, week after week, year after year, the grey lady walked the shore and looked out to the sea. Never again did she get to see her husband and son, not even their bodies was the sea willing to give back. But she waits still and longs for her loved ones to this very day.

On Kvaløya in Finnmark, there is a rock formation that is known by several different names in both Norwegian and Sámi. One nickname for it has been the Halibut Stone because it has been used as a sacrificial stone to ensure good luck in halibut fishing.

One day, a fisherman from Stallogargo was out on the water with a couple of other fishermen when they passed the Halibut Stone. He had a habit of visiting the Halibut Stone and making offerings to it every Sunday morning, but this specific day he hadn’t made it there before the fishing trip. So as the boat was on its way out of Kvalsund, he turned around and said to the sacrificial stone: “Now you have to make it so that we get some halibut, then you can get the halibut bones and heads.”

That day, they laid the halibut lines. The following day, they came back to pull them and got two large fish out of it. On the way home, the other fishermen reminded the man from Stallogargo that he had promised to make offerings to the Halibut Stone, but he brushed them off, for he thought the sacrificial stone had already had enough from the previous offerings. So nothing was offered to the Halibut Stone that day.

There were no cities or fish markets on Kvaløya, so the fishermen had to go to Hammerfest to sell their catch. Since they didn’t have freezers or other cooling storage at the time, it was important to get there quickly, otherwise the fish would spoil in the warm summer weather. But as soon as they set off for Hammerfest, a strong western wind started blowing and would not let up for several days. The fishermen weren’t able to get very far, no matter how many times they tried, and in the end both of their halibut rotted.

And so it was that the fisherman from Stallogargo learned that the sacrificial stone gives, but the sacrificial stone also takes if one does not keep their promise.

On Sørøya in Finnmark, there is a freshwater lake where many strange things happen. Ofjordvannet is its name. It is easily accessible and located in a popular hiking area. Many come here to fish, camp, and explore. But the lake itself hasn’t always been pleasant.

Back in the old days, children were not allowed to swim in Ofjordvannet, even though there is a fantastically beautiful sandy beach there. They were never given any explanation as to why, only a severe beating if they disobeyed. It could have been the depth of the water that worried the parents: the lake is a full 46 meters at its deepest. Once, some scientists from Tromsø wanted to do research in the lake, but encountered problems reaching the bottom due to the wild vegetation underwater; they observed many plants, even large trees and huge trunks sticking out of the rock. And when even grown men can’t handle the water, it must be much more dangerous for children.

But facts are one thing. Rumours are something else entirely.

People used to live by Ofjordvannet before. Right before the war, however, a landslide killed many people there. It was such a great landslide, and so unexpected too, that people began to suspect supernatural forces. Everyone moved away quite quickly after that.

One day in the 1970’s, three men were on their way to Breivikbotn and stopped at Ofjordvannet. They fished for a while and caught for or five nice char. The sky had started to darken by then, so they decided to pack up and move on. While they were getting ready, they noticed a calm, slow movement in the middle of the water. It looked like a rope with 10-15 round objects tied to it. None of them had seen anything like it before, even though they all had quite some experience in the mountains. One of them fired several shots into the water with the gun he had brought, but the movement remained just as calm and slow as before. It couldn’t, then, have possibly been either birds or animals. But it couldn’t have been just their imagination either, for all three observed the movement for almost a quarter of an hour.

There were others with similar stories: a fisherman who testified to a trout weighing several kilos jumping high into the air, a man who swore he saw a huge sea snake crawling across the lake bottom, a passerby who thought a huge animal was heading for land but was unable to identify it.

Such strange events have led many to suspect that Ofjordvannet is haunted, perhaps even by the devil himself.

South of Hovden in Vesterålen there is a small marshy valley called Kalvdalen. Long, long ago, when goblins and trolls, hulders and gnomes still roamed free, some trolls lived here and thought of the slope as their own.

One fall, it just so happened that the cloudberry harvest was truly exceptional. Even the big scary trolls couldn’t keep away everyone who wanted to help themselves to their cloudberries. The worst thief of all was a goblin who lived out by Ægga. One night the goblin came to steal berries. He was so busy picking them that he forgot to be quiet and careful. So the old troll heard someone was out in the valley and alerted the other trolls, too. Together they all came out to scare away the thief. But it was too late: the goblin was already getting away, his hands full of ripe berries. Following him did not appeal to the trolls. Still, the old troll wanted the last word. He tried to spit on the goblin and just about missed.

Right then the sun rose and turned both the trolls and the goblin to stone. The trolls became the mountain Trollan with its multiple peaks; the goblin became the steep cliff Tusskollen. Even the gob spit became part of the landscape: now it is Draugtjønna, the small depression by the sea that fills with seawater every time there is a storm. There they all stand to this day.

In the 19th century, there was a small village in a cove by Saltstraumen in Nordland. For better or worse, everyone there knew each other.

A young couple lived in the village. Both were beautiful and polite and well-liked. But the girl was a bit wild and unruly: she loved to dance and was present at every party, something the villagers did not miss. One cold winter Friday, tragedy struck out of nowhere: the young man died suddenly and unexpectedly.

A party that the girl had been looking forward to for a long time was to be held the very next day. Everyone thought that she would stay at home grieving, no matter how much she loved dancing. But come Saturday night, the girl was at the party anyway: she didn’t want grief to dictate her life. She waited and waited for someone to ask her for a danse. No one came forward as they all thought it was quite gruesome that she could go to a party to dance when her husband had just died. So the girl sat alone for most of the night.

When the party was in full swing, a stranger snuck into the community center. No one recognized him, for his face was entirely hidden by a dark hood he pulled over his head. He went straight to the girl and asked to dance. They danced and danced all over the floor for a long time. The girl was smiling and beaming with joy all the way through.

Suddenly, the man let go of her and disappeared out the door without so much as a word. The girl followed and got out of the community center right after him. But the man was nowhere to be seen, and neither were his tracks in the snow. The only thing the girl found was a horseshoe on the front steps. That was when everyone in the village realized who the stranger was: the devil himself.

Not long after, the girl fell ill and died. She never danced again after that night.