Sam's Story Time: The Changeling Child
Many long years ago, in a cottage amidst the forest there lived a woodcutter and his wife. They had been married for twelve years and during that time the woman had done her best to be a good wife to her husband. Sadly, the cradle that had been a gift for them on their wedding day had ne’er been filled. The woman blamed herself, for all she ever wanted in this world was the chance to have a babe in her arms, to call her own, love and care for, but the gods saw it fit to ne’er grant her, her deepest wish.
But, gathering her resolve one day, she decided no more and with her last shred of hope nearly gone the woman bade her husband goodbye one day, telling him she was making the trip to see the local witch to try and find a way to get them a child. Her husband was concerned, but knew better than to stop her, and so, with a purse full of a month of wages, the woman made the trip to see the witch who lived even deeper in the forest.
It took her a day to reach the witch’s cottage, which was even deeper in the forest than her own home was, tucked away and hidden in a clearing, with a gnarled twisted oak stretching up behind the little cottage, the branches of the tree curled out like grasping fingers trying to grip the wind that breathed over the forest canopy.
The cottage of the witch was small, quaint almost. From the outside it looked rather cosy, regardless of the menacing, warped tree that rose up behind the wooden thatched home. There was a single dirt road leading up to the house, winding and twisting, weaving through trees like a stream, only a few flecks of stone sticking out of the dirt and how the grass receded away gave any indication there was a path at all.
It was down this path the woman walked, she would not allow nerves to get the best of her…not this time. She had to have her solution to the problem of her childlessness. So with this courage in her heart, the woman knocked thrice on the door and when she had knocked the third and final time, the oaken door slowly creaked open to reveal a blackened single roomed cottage. The only light in there was the flickering of a candle on the far table right across the other side of the room from the doorway.
Despite the fear she felt, her determination for the child was far greater and so she stepped inside. Once she had entered the home, the door closed behind her, slowly, creaking as it did. This didn’t even seem to discourage the woman, her attention went to the sudden squeak of a rocking chair in the far corner. Trying to peer through the gloom, the woman cleared her throat. “H-hello?” She called out, hoping someone would answer.
“What do you come for?” A voice whispered through the dark, sounding old, rasping. The squeaking of a rocking chair still continued through the gloom, it would have almost eclipsed the sound of the voice if it was not what the woman had so desperately been hoping to hear. Steeling her nerves, the woman responded. “I come seeking a way to gift myself with a child.” She replied. “Ne’er the cradle has been filled in twelve long years and ache for a babe. It is my heart’s desire.” She explained to the voice in the darkness.
“My magic cannot help you child.” The voice answered, causing the woman’s heart to sink to the pit of her stomach and sorrow to well up in her eyes. “But do not lament.” It continued suddenly. “For on the night of the full moon, you should go to the Faery Glen, there you will find them, amongst the standing stones they will be dancing. You must approach, with the offering of blood and honey, request your heart’s desire of them and they shall grant it to you.” The rasping voice told the woman.
This caused light to fill the woman once more, joy flooding her. See the faeries! Why had she not thought of such a thing? Her mother had always told her stories of how the faeries could do great and wondrous things with their magic. She was so overjoyed with this news she completely missed the warning of the rasping witch. “Be clear with your desire for they will only make promises in the truest manner.”
The woman merely thanked the witch and hurried out of there and for home.
It was a week later, on the night of a full moon that the woman approached the standing stones of the Faery Glen, and like the witch had said she brought blood and honey, she had slaughtered a chicken and drained the blood into a jar and had also bought a jar of honey from the market place.
When she reached the standing stones, it was a little before night fall, so she placed the two jars in the centre of the stone circle and then settled under the shelter of one of the stones, waiting for whatever was about to happen.
Now, the woman found she must have dosed off, for she awoke to the sound of merry music playing and a thousand dancing lights floating about the air. In amazement she realised that the faeries must have come, and when she saw the empty jars she noted they had taken her offering.
Rising to her feet, she called out to the faeries. “Faeries! Please, I came to you tonight to ask of you one request.” She pleaded over the music, which didn’t stop, even as the faeries replied, twittering in excitable voices, and all speaking to her at once. “Do tell us thou who would be a mother, tell us your one request!”
This encouraged the woman and she spoke up once more. “All I ask is you gift me with a babe, to call my own and care for.” She told the faeries.
“And what would thou gift us in return?” The faeries asked.
The woman thought about that, she had not thought that she would have to give the faeries something in return, or what the faeries would possibly find useful. “I have gold if that is what you wish for?” She asked them.
“Nay sweet mother, we do not need for gold.” The faeries replied, giggling as they did. “Maybe we should take her eyes? Or her back teeth? Or her youthful features? Perhaps maybe even we should take her hair?” The faeries twittered their suggestions.
Now the woman’s hair was long, the colour of rich gold spun over her shoulders, all had told her how beautiful her hair was, but she would much rather have her hair taken from her over her eyes, or her teeth or her youth. So she spoke up once more and held her hair from where it would reach her shoulders. “Take this.” She told the faeries.
There was a snick and the faeries had her long chunk of her hair, leaving it short, just reaching her shoulders.
After this the woman was given a bundle of swaddling cloth, with a baby sleeping peacefully. The woman thanked the faeries before leaving the standing stones, rushing as quick as she could back to her home with the baby tucked beneath her shawl.
The woman and her husband were overjoyed with the baby they had, and many days passed in such content and happiness as they cared for the young babe. The child was rather quiet, crying only occasionally and if he ever did, then the woman would just rock him gently in the crib and he would soon stop crying.
However, the years rolled by and the woman and husband found one problem only. The child would not grow, all the years that passed them by, even though her husband and she aged, the babe did not change. Much to the dawning horror of the woman as she realised just what the faeries had done. They had promised her a babe and it was a babe that she would get.
The woman made the resolve to go back to the standing stones and try to speak to the faeries, so once more on the night of a full moon, she took the offering of blood and honey once more and arrived just before nightfall. But this time, the stones were dark and no music sounded for the faeries to dance to, nor was there the flickering lights of the faeries as they flitted about. Her cries to the faeries went unanswered and she left with a heavy heart realising the deep mistake she had made and what she would now pay as the price for her foolishness.
For fifty long years she rocked that babe.
It is said, deep in the forest there is a small wooden house where a woodcutter and his wife used to live. If you go into the house, late at night, when the moon is high in the sky you might hear the sound of a cradle rocking back and forth. But watch your footing, step lightly across the floorboards because the one who would be mother is still rocking her baby and woe betide any who wake her sleeping child.
Happy Halloween.