In the Mill Chamber

It was autumn, the wind whistled in the corners, and outside it was pitch dark and eerie. In short, weather for ghosts, trolls, and such mischief, but not for a Christian creature. Inside the mill chamber of the old mill by Krockbäcken. A mill so old and dilapidated, with its moss-covered leaning walls and its crooked, broken roof, that one could almost believe it stood only because it didn't know which way it should fall. Inside, some old men sat by the large open hearth, on which an almost burnt-out log fire glowed, now and then sending some flames upwards, which, however, could not chase away the shadows from the corners where they each time fled like wandering, restless spirits. No one said anything; nothing was heard but the monotonous hum of the millstones and the whistling of the wind, interrupted by the groaning of the mill wheel. A mystical atmosphere seemed to hang in the air, yet the stories would not begin. Lars Ersa, who usually was full of stories, now sat staring thoughtfully into the fire. Just as if he expected to see some little spirit emerge hopping from the fading flames. Per Andersson, generally called Mesen, had been sitting looking secretive. But no one had gotten around to asking. Why? Now he couldn't hold it in any longer. He cleared his throat for a while, sent a brown stream of saliva into the fire, and began. "Have you heard that it’s supposed to be haunted in Erk Ersa's new building?" Now the old men came to life; they all sat staring at him. No, no one had heard that. “Yes, but it is, nonetheless.” He sat enjoying their wondering expressions. This was his big opportunity; he usually didn't have much to say and was not a storyteller who could claim to be heard. But he also dared not put their patience to too high a test, so he twisted for a while on the fir log he sat on and continued. “As you know, Erkeren built a new building, but not in the same place as the old one, but moved it a bit to the east. No one would have found out that it was haunted there if a man hadn't come who absolutely wanted to stay there one evening. They probably had no desire to let him 'borrow the house', but it was late in the evening, and dark and rainy, so they thought it would be bad luck not to, so he got to stay there for the night. After he had eaten, he got a lamp and went up to the attic and lay down. He suspected nothing but put out the lamp and thought he would get to sleep, but he hadn't been lying there long before it started to creep and walk, first up the stairs and then across the floor. At first, it was quiet, but then it started to make more and more noise; it screamed and shouted, and children cried, and there was a commotion just as if the old woman had been loose. Finally, it seemed to be under the bed, and then the bedclothes were pulled away, and then it was quiet for a while. Then he managed to get hold of his matchstick and light the lamp, and then the blanket was crumpled up by the door, and everything that was loose was on the floor. Everything except a psalm book that lay on the table; it had been allowed to remain in peace; it was God's word, and the mischief didn't affect it, of course. Now he was so scared that he dared not lie in the dark but had to have the lamp lit all night, but he still heard the clamor outside the door and how their young ones screamed just as if they had been without food. So, he dared not sleep at all that night. When he came down in the morning, he looked like a dead man, so wretched he seemed, when Erkersn asked what was wrong, but then he told how he hadn't had a single wink of sleep all night just because of the mischief that had been carrying on and living so terribly. Now he found out that Erkersn knew it, but he had thought that someone who had nothing to do with it shouldn't need to hear anything. Well, you see, it was like this: when Erkersn was digging for the building, they saw a hole that led straight down into the earth, just as they stood watching it. Then Erik Nir's mother came by, and she told him that he should be careful not to destroy that hole because it was probably some kind of entrance that the earth dwellers had made. But he just laughed at her then, but now he probably believes she was right.”

During this time, while Mesen told his story with many clearings of his throat and spitting, and the listeners sat on tenterhooks, the miller had come in and sat down on the bench by the door. He looked almost as dilapidated in his patched woollen jacket as his mill. Though both had probably seen better days. After Mesen finished, everyone sat silently. No one had noticed the miller come in, and as no one seemed to want to say anything, he began to speak in his slow way. "You shouldn't believe, old men, that these little folk are here to trouble people, but quite the opposite. If we don't trouble them, they do their best to help and benefit us. If, however, they are provoked, they can be quite difficult to deal with. You've surely heard that one should be careful when pouring out hot water so as not to burn the little folk or their children. I had an aunt who poured hot lye into a ditch, and at the same moment, she thought it sounded like someone groaned, but she didn't pay further attention to it then. The next day, her hands hurt so much that she couldn't move a finger without groaning in pain. So, some time passed without it getting better. Then she was advised to go to a so-called wise woman. This woman now said that she had troubled some of the little folk in some way, so that she had 'run into trouble', as they say. Now she remembered the groaning she had heard when she poured the scalding hot lye into the ditch. She then got something they call 'stone water' to anoint her hands with, and in a couple of days, she was well and healthy again. I don't quite remember how it should be prepared, but I think it's like this: you should take a stone from under the earth, one from above, and one from water; then you should heat the stones until they are red-hot; then you should place them in a vessel with water. This is what is called stone water. If all of that should be done in new or waning moon, I don't know.”

“As I just said, the little folk can be useful to us and help many times, even though we often don't know it. If you want to listen, I will tell you about an incident I myself experienced. It was about ten years ago it happened. I had been working strictly and sleeping little for several days, so I was quite tired. So one evening, after checking on the mill, I came in here and sat down for a short while, as I thought. It was warm in here, so I probably hadn't been sitting long before tiredness got the upper hand, and I dozed off. I don't know how long I had slept when I woke up to someone nudging me in the side, and I heard a voice say, 'It's burning down in the mill!' I instantly became wide awake and saw a small gnome with a long beard and a pointed cap sitting climbed up on the fir log next to me, with all signs of worry and goodwill in his wrinkled face. I rushed out and down into the mill and then saw that a beam, completely soaked with oil, was burning briskly. The fire had started due to overheating in a bearing, which I saw afterward. In a hurry, I grabbed some sacks with which I smothered the fire, but had I delayed a few moments so that the fire had spread to the dust that lay an inch thick everywhere, both the mill and I would have burned up. That this did not happen, I have no one but the little gnome to thank for. When I came back in here, there was no trace of my little rescuer, but I have often since felt that they were near me, even though I cannot see them, and I believe that these beings, good or evil, take a lively part in our doings and omissions.”

After the miller finished, he went out to check on the mill. But now it seemed that the right mood had finally come; one story followed another in an unbroken sequence. One had kept company with vitterfolk (forest spirits) who walked beside him on the road without leaving any trace in the snow. Another had witnessed the evil one himself raising a hay-pole against a window on the upper floor where there was a small hole in one pane, and then, in the form of a snake, coiling up and with a hissing sound crawling in through the same hole. Once inside, he had transformed into a cat, only to reappear a moment later in his true form with hooves and horns and all that the evil one is believed to be equipped with. As he grew in size, his anger also seemed to have increased, for now sparks of fire flew from his shaggy hair; thereupon, he began to throw furniture, clothes, and other household items helter-skelter across the floor, only to finally disappear with a terrifying hiss through the same hole by which he had come. Yet another had a mother-in-law who had assisted a vitterkäring (a female forest spirit) at the birth of a vitter-child. One evening, just before Christmas, an unknown man had come and asked her to accompany him and help his wife, who was in labor. Then she understood that it was a vitter-child that was to be born, so when she had brought some clothes to put on the little one, she told the stranger that she could follow him. Then he went ahead and showed the way. When they had reached beyond the corner of the cottage, she saw a door that led down to the underworld, which he opened with a key he had in his pocket. When she saw this, she became frightened. But the man had said that she had nothing to fear, only that she followed him and did not look back. Now he led her through a long, dark passage that wound sometimes to the right, sometimes to the left. Until they finally stopped in front of a door through whose cracks a faint light shone. The stranger opened the door and let her in, after which he closed it again and disappeared. The room she was in was rather small and dimly lit by a small silver oil lamp that stood on a rock ledge on one long wall; on the other stood a bed with crocheted curtains of white silk, and in a corner, a spring gurgled directly from the rock down into a large silver basin, only to then flow over the edges of the basin and disappear through an opening in the rock. The walls appeared to be of some kind of whitish-grey stone that sparkled and shone in the lamplight. She had not gotten further in her observations when a soft whimpering was heard from the bed; she went forward and drew back the curtain; on the white pillows rested a young, quite beautiful woman with a newborn baby boy beside her. The mother seemed to have dozed off, but the little one whimpered softly. She then took the little one and bathed him in the clear silver water that came from the rock. After she had dressed him in the clothes she had brought, she laid him next to his mother, who was still sleeping. When she had done this, the man who had brought her there opened the door and pointed with a meaningful gesture into the darkness; then he led her again through dark labyrinths; she thought they were slowly going upwards until he finally stopped, gave her four shining riksdaler, and said, “Never try to find out where I took you.” Before she could answer, she stood by the corner of the house, just where she had seen the door. Now she stood there with four shining coins in her hand, the only proof she had that she hadn't dreamt it all. Lars Ersa also seemed to have been disturbed in his thoughts by all the stories, or had he not found what he was looking for in the fire, which was now almost burnt out; it now only glowed faintly under the ashes. In any case, he now sat listening with rapt interest. When the others finished, he began to speak. “It was about ten years ago. I entered service with a farmer 'down in the land'. He was newly married; his parents had recently died, and he had taken over the farm after them. Now, the thing was that he couldn't keep any servants. It was said in the district that a peddler who had stayed there one night had been murdered and robbed by the parents of my then-master, and now his spirit was said to haunt the place. This was told among people. But no one knew anything for sure. I was not at all afraid of ghosts and was not deterred; on the contrary, I wished to make the acquaintance of a real ghost someday. Nor did I put much faith in what was told, but as I said, I took service with the farmer in question. A few weeks passed without me noticing anything unusual. Until one night. They had baked during the day and spread the bread on the floor to dry. I was, namely, up in the attic. Only a thin board wall separated the room where I lay from the room where the bread was spread out. I had just fallen asleep when I woke up to a terrible noise in the room next door. Through a hole in the wall, I peered into the room, but could not discover the reason for being woken. Thinking it was rats, I knocked on the wall, and now the noise ceased. I lay down again and slept until morning without being disturbed further. The following evening, when I went up to lie down, I took the cat with me and locked it in the room next door, and now I thought I would get to sleep in peace. But around midnight, I woke up to the cat whimpering as if it were sick. I was now forced to get up and let her out. When I opened the door, the cat came dancing out like a shuttlecock towards me and looked absolutely crazy with fright. It crouched at my feet, just as if it wanted to beg me for protection against someone or something I could not see. I lay down again but could not sleep. I felt one cold shiver after another run up and down my back. The cat crouched beside me in bed and whimpered pitifully. It was not many minutes before the same noise as the previous night began. I could not lie still any longer; it was as if some invisible power had driven me to get up and look into the room. What I now saw made my courage sink several degrees. At the far end of the room, where a board was missing from the floor, I saw something that looked like a whitish-grey shapeless mass rising up, while the loaves of bread were thrown to the sides. I don't know what gave me the courage to speak, but it was probably because I had the wall between me and the ghost. I stood there almost stiff with horror and watched what seemed to me like an imagination or a nightmare. But I shivered from the cold, so I must have been awake. Eventually, the ghost seemed to take on another form, more like a human. But at the same time became more hollow and misty. I remember it struck me that I could distinguish every detail, even though it was completely dark. As I said, I don't know what made me speak at this moment when it looked as if the ghost wanted to approach the place where I stood. Then I said in a voice I didn't recognize myself, 'What do you want here?' Then the ghost answered with a voice that was dull and hollow, yet strong, so that I felt it went through my entire being. 'I was murdered in this room 30 years ago, and my bones rest under this floor, right where you see a board missing. If these bones are brought to consecrated ground, I will find peace; otherwise, I must appear here every night.' When the figure had said this, it dissolved more and more and disappeared. I don't know how I got back into bed and fell asleep. I woke up when it was broad daylight. My head was heavy as lead. While dressing, I reviewed the night's events in my mind. But I was still not quite sure that I hadn't dreamt it all, which is why I looked into the room. The bread I had seen thrown to the sides now lay again as I had seen it the day before. But still, the thought of what the ghost had said about the bones resting under the floor would not leave me. Curiosity probably also drove me to put the bread aside and go to the opening and stick my hands down. And sure enough, I found a skull and a pile of bones—that is, all that was left of what was once a human being. When I came downstairs, my master and mistress were inside. I told them what had happened. Then they looked at each other and paled, but no one said anything. I don't know now if they got rid of the bones or not. I moved away from there the same day. I had had enough of ghosts and had no desire to experience another night like this.”

The clock began to approach midnight; the old men had listened so attentively to the last story that they had completely forgotten the time. The miller had stopped the mill and come in; he too had heard Lars Ersa's story. When he finished, they all got up and went their separate ways. Outside, it had cleared up, and the full moon cast its clear silver light over the district. A broad strip of moonlight played on the floor in the mill chamber and cast a dim light that made all objects inside take on a ghostly appearance; everything was quiet and still. Only a faint murmur from the water penetrated inside. As the clock struck twelve, the door opened slowly and carefully, and in came little gnomes in pointed caps and knee-breeches; others came out from the corners. They all went to the large hearth; some sat on its edge, and the others took their places on the fir logs. Perched on the largest was one who seemed to be the oldest. He was no bigger than the others but had a long white beard that reached his knees. They sat as if gathered for a council and spoke a language that no mortal can understand. A large cloud obscured the moon; it was dark in the mill chamber.