More Short & Shivery

by Robert D. San Souci

  “Hai! Hai!” he shouted. “Come back! Come back!”

  But the stranger would not look back. Realizing that he had been marooned, Hatondas sat down on a fallen log in the shade of some trees.

  Suddenly he heard a whisper. “Boy! Boy!” The sound seemed to come up from the ground at the end of the log. There he noticed a small white spot. Scraping away at the earth, he uncovered a skull. “Lift me into the sun for a moment,” begged the skull. The whisper came from between the jaws, which never moved. “Let me feel its warmth again.”

  With shaking hands, Hatondas lifted the skull up to the sun. “Oh, how good! How I enjoy it! I am glad you found me!” the skull whispered. “Now I must warn you that this island is ruled by an ogre who commands powerful medicine. His son, who brings men across from the shore, only seems to be human. I was once a great medicine man myself. I came willingly to this island, thinking I would be strong enough to slay the sorcerer. But his magic was stronger than mine, and he killed me.

  “He is gone away today, but he will return tomorrow with his son. Both of them eat men. They will gobble you up the way they did me and many others, unless you do as I tell you. If you heed me, you may escape and break the island’s evil spell forever.”

  Frightened but courageous, the boy said, “I will.”

  “Before sunrise tomorrow, run to the beach where you landed and bury yourself in the sand so that only your eye and ear are uncovered. You must look and listen carefully, then tell me what you have learned.”

  The boy agreed to do this. Then he gently set the skull on a small hill, where it could enjoy the sun’s warmth.

  After a sleepless night, Hatondas went down to the shore at first light. He hid just as the skull had instructed him. Soon he heard the sound of singing from across the water. The song grew louder, and the boy, in hiding, guessed that the singer was approaching the island. Recognizing it as a song of power, Hatondas softly hummed it to himself, until he had learned it by heart.

  Then he heard the crunch of the canoe as it touched the sandy beach. The singing stopped, but now Hatondas heard two voices: one, the voice of his young guide from the day before; the other, much older and rougher. The boy saw two ogres with horrible faces, pop eyes, and wide mouths full of sharp, yellow teeth.

  “Well, where is my meal?” roared the taller of the two.

  “I will fetch him,” said the other. Though he no longer looked like the handsome warrior who had rowed Hatondas across to the island, his voice was the same. He vanished into the woods, while the other ogre tramped impatiently up and down the beach—often no more than a pace from where Hatondas lay hidden.

  Finally the ogre son returned and said, “I cannot find him.”

  At this, the father stamped the ground and ordered his son to go and seek another victim. Then, grumbling, the sorcerer stormed through the woods, while his son returned to the canoe and hastened back to the mainland.

  When both were out of sight, Hatondas uncovered himself and returned to tell the skull what he had seen and heard.

  “You have done well. Now listen. First, go to the place where you found me, dig again in that spot, and you will find my medicine bundle. Bring it here.”

  The boy did as he was told, and soon uncovered a decayed medicine pouch. This he brought back to where the skull lay in a patch of sunlight. Then the skull whispered to him, “Make seven dolls from wood, and make a small bow and arrow for each. Cut the pouch into seven strips, and tie one strip around each doll. Then place them in the top of a tree near the beach. Hide yourself in the sand again at first light, and see what will happen.”

  The next morning the ogre son rowed across from the mainland, singing his song of power. When he reached the beach, he set down a bundle from which cries arose. Hatondas guessed that the ogre had stolen a baby. Suddenly, from the tree in which he had put the wooden dolls, came cries of “Ho-yo-ho!” When the ogre looked up to see what had made the sound, the tiny bowmen fired their arrows into the monster. From the way he cried out, Hatondas guessed that the sliverlike arrows had deadly power. Volley after volley flew from the tree. Soon the creature, bristling with arrows, fell in a heap on the sand.

  Hatondas uncovered himself, grabbed the baby, and ran for the trees. When he glanced up at the dolls, he saw they were now only figures of dried wood. A moment later he heard the ogre sorcerer hurrying toward the beach. Clutching the infant, Hatondas hastened to the skull in its circle of sunlight.

  Quickly, the boy told what had happened. “My magic is now finished,” whispered the skull. “You must slay the sorcerer yourself.”

  “How can I do such a thing?” Hatondas asked.

  “At the center of this island is a clearing. Within the clearing is the monster’s wigwam. The creature leaves his heart inside so that he need not fear for his life. Destroy it, and you destroy the ogre.”

  Leaving the baby hidden beneath a bush, Hatondas hurried to find the huge wigwam deep within the woods. He thrust aside the entrance flap and saw, against the far wall, a large, beating heart. In the middle of the tent was a huge pot of boiling water.

  Hatondas grabbed the heart just as the ogre came storming in. The creature snarled as he saw his intended victim holding his heart. Bellowing, the ogre grabbed for the boy, but Hatondas threw the heart into the bubbling water.

  The monster gasped and screeched and then fell over backward. As his heart boiled away, so his very flesh boiled away, leaving only misshapen bones on the floor mats.

  Hatondas took all the robes and blankets from the evil wigwam, and set fire to it, so that nothing was left but ashes. Then he returned to where he had hidden the baby. The skull whispered, “When you destroyed the monster and his lodge, you broke the spell on the island. Go, take the child with you, and leave me here in the sunshine.”

  So Hatondas went back to the beach, took the ogre’s canoe, and, singing the song of power, returned to his grandparents. They wept tears of joy to see him, because they thought he had been slain by a wild animal or drowned. Then they scolded him for going where they had told him not to go. But the boy apologized, and gave them the robes and blankets he had taken from the island, so they forgave his disobedience. Because they could not find out who the baby belonged to, he was raised as a brother to Hatondas. Now that the ogre was dead, they were free to follow any path they chose.

  Three Who Sought Death

  (British Isles—England—from Geoffrey Chaucer)

  There were three reckless fellows in a tavern one day, who chanced to see a funeral procession passing by. They sent the tavern boy to inquire who had died. The lad returned and told them, “It is an old friend of yours, Forndronke, who was slain by the thief named Death.”

  “By heaven!” said the first fellow to his companions, “who is this Death that everyone is so afraid of him? Let us vow, on the spot, to go and find Death and rid the world of him before nightfall.”

  All three shook hands, and agreed to seek out Death and put an end to his work. When they asked the tavernkeeper where Death might be found, the man said, “Not far from here there is a village that has been ravaged by the plague. Men, women, and children, master and servant, have been claimed by Death. I am certain that you will find him there.”

  So off they went to find the unhappy village. But when they had gone only a little way, the three met a poor old man. They made fun of his long gray beard, his wrinkled skin, and the staff that he leaned on for support. They barred his path and would not let him pass.

  “Please let me go my way,” the old man begged. “For Death is following me, and I must outrun him to stay alive.”

  “No, old wretch, we will not let you pass,” the three said, “until you tell us where we can find Death. He has slain our friend, and now we mean to put an end to him!”

  “Good sirs,” said the old man, “if you want to find Death, look under that oak tree yonder.”

  At this, the three fellows let the old man go his way. They hurried to the tree, where they
found not Death, but a chest filled with gold coins. Down they sat to count their newfound treasure, and promptly forgot their vow to seek out Death.

  After a time the first man said, “We must be careful with this gold, or people will say we stole it, and hang us as thieves. Let us draw straws. Whichever of us draws the shortest will go to town and bring us food. The other two shall keep watch over the gold. Then, at night, we will each take away with us an equal part of the treasure, when no man can see us and accuse us of thievery.”

  This they agreed to, and accordingly drew straws. The shortest straw went to the youngest of the three. So they gave him a handful of gold coins, and off he went to town to get food.

  Meanwhile, the two left guarding the remainder of the treasure decided that as soon as their fellow returned, they would kill him, eat the food, and divide up the gold two ways instead of three.

  The youngest, as he walked to town, said to himself, “I could buy poison, and put it in the food, and slay my two companions. Then I would have all the treasure to myself.” So he purchased a strong and violent poison, and put it in the food and drink he bought, and carried these to his fellows.

  But his companions fell upon him and slew him the minute he returned. When they had buried his body, the first wretch said, “Now let us sit and eat and make merry, for we are wealthy men.”

  Then they ate the food their friend had brought, and quickly died from the poison in it.

  So the three men found Death, whom they had been seeking, underneath the oak tree—just as the old man had promised.

  Sister Death and the Healer

  (Mexico/American Southwest)

  There was once a woodcutter, José, who fell asleep in the wood and did not wake until after dark. When he did, he met the skeletal figure of Manita Muerte, Sister Death, driving her wooden cart in which she gathers the souls of the newly departed.

  “Buenas noches, señora,” said the woodcutter respectfully, recognizing the figure who stood before him.

  “Buenas noches, señor,” Death replied. “Will you give me something to eat? The night is long, and I have grown hungry.”

  “Sí, sí!” said the woodcutter. He gave half of his rice and beans to her. “I am honored to share this, for I have long admired you. In a world that too much belongs to the rich and powerful, you play no favorites. All, rich or poor, will be taken into your cart sooner or later.”

  Now, Death was very pleased to hear him speak so. “I will give you any gift you wish for as a reward,” she said.

  “I have only one wish,” the good-hearted man said, “that I might help those who are sick and suffering.”

  “Very well,” said Death, “I will make you a curandero, a healer. All you must do is lay your hand on a sick person’s brow, and he or she will be made well again. But you must never use your gift if you see me standing at the head of a sick person’s bed. I will be there because God has decided to call the suffering one out of life. No one must keep me from gathering that soul into my cart.”

  The woodcutter readily agreed to this. With a quick nod of her head, Death sealed their bargain. Then she drove her cart away to the east, where the morning sun had begun to lighten the sky behind the mountains.

  As José returned home, he wondered if he had had a waking dream. Surely, he told himself, he had not met Manita Muerte in fact.

  Now it chanced that, on his way, he met old Luis, a friend of his. Luis was limping, because a burro had kicked him in the leg.

  “Let me help you,” José offered.

  He started to put his arm around his friend’s shoulder; but at his touch, Luis cried wonderingly, “My leg! You have healed my leg! How have you done this?”

  Then José told the old man the story of his meeting with Death.

  Astounded, Luis insisted on telling everyone they met about José’s great gift. Soon young and old were coming to him, asking for his blessing and begging for his healing touch.

  The new curandero used his powers carefully. Quite by accident, since his only goal was to help the sick and pain-ridden, the healer himself grew wealthy. Still, he remained a generous person, and gave away as much gold as he kept.

  Then one day José fell in love with Dolores, the daughter of old Luis. They longed to spend every moment in each other’s company. Often Dolores would accompany him on his healing visits. There she would comfort an anxious husband or wife, or take a tearful child onto her lap, while José prayed over the ailing person and worked his wonderful cures through the gentle touch of his hands.

  On the day before they were to be married, Dolores fell ill. When he was summoned to her bedside by her grieving father, José was distressed to see that Death was leaning upon one post at the head of the bed.

  For the first and only time, José disobeyed Manita Muerte. He gently laid his hand upon Dolores’s fevered brow and healed the young woman. At that instant, Death vanished from the room.

  But as the curandero walked home late that night, Death’s cart appeared on the road in front of him. When he dared look into the face of Death, he saw only a shadow underneath her cowl. He began to tremble.

  Suddenly the moon and stars vanished. There was a moment of blinding darkness, and then he found himself in a cave filled with uncounted numbers of flickering candles. Death sat in her cart beside him. Slowly she raised a bony finger and pointed to a long and a short candle side by side on a nearby flat stone; the short one had almost guttered out.

  “I warned you never to cure someone if I stood at the head of the bed, but you disobeyed me,” Death said angrily. “Now you must suffer the consequences. Once you were the tall candle with a long life ahead, and the nearly extinguished one was your beloved. Your disobedience has reversed the two. Now your life candle is the short one.”

  “Have pity!” said the man, dropping to his knees and pleading with Death. “I did what I did because I couldn’t live without Dolores, nor she without me.”

  “Then I will grant you one last mercy,” said Manita Muerte. So saying, Sister Death leaned over and snuffed out both candles together.

  In an instant, the dead man’s soul was in the cart as it creaked and crept along the dusty road that leads to a distant, shadowed country. Beside him, in the silence, rode the soul of his beloved, as Death carried them out of the land of the living.

  The Mouse Tower

  (Germany)

  In the middle of the Rhine River, near the city of Bingen, there has stood for hundreds of years a fortified rock topped by a large tower, called the Mauseturm, or mouse tower. Legend has long held that this was the scene of a terrible punishment sent by God upon a bishop who betrayed the faithful in his care.

  In the year 970, Germany suffered from a terrible famine. In desperation, people were reduced to eating dogs and cats, and still countless numbers died of hunger. At this time, Hatto the Second was bishop of the region. Every day the starving poor would crowd around his door, begging for bread. It was widely known that he had plentiful supplies of grain set aside from the good harvest the year before.

  But the bishop refused to part with the mounds of grain locked away in his bulging storehouses. His only thought was to increase his personal fortune.

  From the high window of his palace, he would watch poor people fainting from hunger on the streets and storming the bread market, where they would take the bread by force. The bishop felt no pity at all for these starving people. But he soon grew weary of their cries day and night as they crowded around his palace walls, begging for a crust of bread, a handful of corn.

  At last the bishop decided to quiet the mob. From his window he announced to them, “Let all you poor and needy gather in my great barn outside the city. There I shall feed you.”

  So it was that, from all directions, from near and far, a desperate army of hungry folk flocked to the bishop’s barn. Loudly they sang the bishop’s praises, while his soldiers urged them into the barn.

  When the vast wooden structure could hold no more, the treach
erous bishop ordered his soldiers to seal the doors. Then he had his men set fire to the barn, and burned the unfortunates, young and old, men and women. When the flames were at their highest, and the agonized cries were loudest, Hatto said, “Hear, hear, how the mice squeak! In faith, ‘tis an excellent bonfire. The country is greatly obliged to me for ridding it of such mice who would only consume our precious corn.”

  The shouts and screams for mercy seemed to hang in the air long after the barn was reduced to nothing more than smoking embers.

  Afterward, content with his day’s work, the wicked man returned to his palace. There he sat down merrily to supper, and afterward slept the night like an innocent man.

  But God soon saw to it that Bishop Hatto never slept again.

  The very next morning, the bishop discovered his palace was infested with mice. They scurried down corridors and crawled over his feet while he took his ease or tried to read. They fouled the food in his larder and chewed his books and papers. They bit anyone who tried to drive them away. No efforts on his part could free Bishop Hatto from their torments.

  When he entered his great hall, he discovered that mice had eaten his portrait out of its frame. The rectangle of splintered wood held only a few tatters of canvas. A short time later, a frightened farm servant reported to him that mice had devoured all the corn in his granaries.

  Immediately thereafter, a second terrified messenger arrived and reported that a huge tide of mice was scurrying toward his palace.

  Rushing to his window, the bishop could see the roads and fields dark with the advancing army. The vast horde of mice was chewing remorselessly through both hedge and wall, as the creatures made straight for the palace. The sound of their shrieking and squeaking chilled him to the heart.

  Full of terror, Bishop Hatto escaped through the rear gate and commanded his men to row him out to his tower in the middle of the Rhine River. There he ordered his servants to bar every entrance.