Children Stories - The Horned Women

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The Horned Women

from Celtic Folk And Fairy Tales

A rich woman sat up late one night carding and preparing wool, while
all the family and servants were asleep. Suddenly a knock was given at
the door, and a voice called, "Open! open!"

"Who is there?" said the woman of the house.

"I am the Witch of one Horn," was answered.

The mistress, supposing that one of her neighbours had called and
required assistance, opened the door, and a woman entered, having in
her hand a pair of wool-carders, and bearing a horn on her forehead,
as if growing there. She sat down by the fire in silence, and began to
card the wool with violent haste. Suddenly she paused, and said aloud:
"Where are the women? they delay too long."

Then a second knock came to the door, and a voice called as before,
"Open! open!"

The mistress felt herself obliged to rise and open to the call, and
immediately a second witch entered, having two horns on her forehead,
and in her hand a wheel for spinning wool.

"Give me place," she said; "I am the Witch of the two Horns," and she
began to spin as quick as lightning.

And so the knocks went on, and the call was heard, and the witches
entered, until at last twelve women sat round the fire--the first with
one horn, the last with twelve horns.

And they carded the thread, and turned their spinning-wheels, and
wound and wove, all singing together an ancient rhyme, but no word did
they speak to the mistress of the house. Strange to hear, and
frightful to look upon, were these twelve women, with their horns and
their wheels; and the mistress felt near to death, and she tried to
rise that she might call for help, but she could not move, nor could
she utter a word or a cry, for the spell of the witches was upon her.

Then one of them called to her in Irish, and said, "Rise, woman, and
make us a cake."

Then the mistress searched for a vessel to bring water from the well
that she might mix the meal and make the cake, but she could find
none.

And they said to her, "Take a sieve and bring water in it."

And she took the sieve and went to the well; but the water poured
from it, and she could fetch none for the cake, and she sat down by
the well and wept.

Then a voice came by her and said, "Take yellow clay and moss, and
bind them together, and plaster the sieve so that it will hold."

This she did, and the sieve held the water for the cake; and the voice
said again:

"Return, and when thou comest to the north angle of the house, cry
aloud three times and say, 'The mountain of the Fenian women and the
sky over it is all on fire.'"

And she did so.

When the witches inside heard the call, a great and terrible cry broke
from their lips, and they rushed forth with wild lamentations and
shrieks, and fled away to Slievenamon, where was their chief abode.
But the Spirit of the Well bade the mistress of the house to enter and
prepare her home against the enchantments of the witches if they
returned again.

And first, to break their spells, she sprinkled the water in which she
had washed her child's feet, the feet-water, outside the door on the
threshold; secondly, she took the cake which in her absence the
witches had made of meal mixed with the blood drawn from the sleeping
family, and she broke the cake in bits, and placed a bit in the mouth
of each sleeper, and they were restored; and she took the cloth they
had woven, and placed it half in and half out of the chest with the
padlock; and lastly, she secured the door with a great crossbeam
fastened in the jambs, so that the witches could not enter, and
having done these things she waited.

Not long were the witches in coming back, and they raged and called
for vengeance.

"Open! open!" they screamed; "open, feet-water!"

"I cannot," said the feet-water; "I am scattered on the ground, and my
path is down to the Lough."

"Open, open, wood and trees and beam!" they cried to the door.

"I cannot," said the door, "for the beam is fixed in the jambs and I
have no power to move."

"Open, open, cake that we have made and mingled with blood!" they
cried again.

"I cannot," said the cake, "for I am broken and bruised, and my blood
is on the lips of the sleeping children."

Then the witches rushed through the air with great cries, and fled
back to Slievenamon, uttering strange curses on the Spirit of the
Well, who had wished their ruin; but the woman and the house were left
in peace, and a mantle dropped by one of the witches in her flight was
kept hung up by the mistress in memory of that night; and this mantle
was kept by the same family from generation to generation for five
hundred years after.

Next: Conall Yellowclaw
Previous: The Field Of Boliauns

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