Fairy tales are often considered children’s tales (though I feel like my fellow Tor.com readers are generally well aware that they were not always intended this way). There are many tales of trial and tribulation, overcoming the odds, and happily ever afters. After all, as G.K. Chesterson put it: “Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed.”
But more than that, the best stories allow us to grapple with our fears and with death itself, and teach us that the most difficult things can be overcome, and that healing is possible even after the darkest of times. That’s why so many of us revel in the Halloween season, embracing the darkness and remembering that it is also part of life. Staring out the window at a gloomy, rainy day doesn’t have to be a somber experience; you can join Morticia Addams in gazing upon the bleakest weather with joy if you know that rain is as necessary as sunshine.
Some tales are particularly grim (or Grimm, of course!), and some of the darkest are considerably more obscure than the well-known romantic tales highlighted by large media corporations over the years. (Somehow I can’t imagine Disney animating “Bluebeard“—but if they did, I’d watch it…) To celebrate the spooky season, I want to highlight some particularly gruesome fairy tales, and I’ve paired them with modern retellings that cast them in the light of our modern sensibilities.
We grapple with our mortality continually, and the best, darkest stories (modern or folkloric) give us a window through which to peer into the abyss, to confront our own mortality as well as that of those we love. The best horror tales address our darkest fears and remind us that what matters is fleeting, so we must do our best to treasure our relationships while they last and do justice to the difficulty of our worldly trials. So pour yourself the pumpkin-y drink of your choice, curl up with your fuzziest blanket, light a few candles and prepare yourself for some folkloric horror…
“Fearnot, or Story of the Youth Who Went Forth to Learn What Fear Was”
We all have that one friend who claims that no scary movie or situation can frighten them. Or maybe we are that person. Fearnot is the story for anyone who is always looking for the next scariest movie, the one that will actually send them shivering to hide under the blankets.
A more obscure Grimm tale, this is the story of a foolish boy who doesn’t feel fear. Perhaps he might have been heroic, but he is also lazy, and his parents despair of their son ever making anything of himself. After his fearlessness gets him into trouble (and results in a broken leg for the local sexton who tries to scare him by appearing as a ghost), the boy sets out into the world to try to discover what makes people shiver in terror. Eventually he comes to a city with a haunted castle. The king has promised his daughter and half his kingdom to anyone who can clear the castle of its ghosts by spending three nights there. (Arthurian scholars might recognize that a similar task was undertaken by Lancelot.)
The boy fearlessly agrees to the task—plus he thinks the princess is fabulous. He spends the three nights in the castle, beset each night by demons in the forms of cats and dogs, a possessed bed, skeletons, and partial corpses that he seems to recognize as people he knew before he left home. The boy plays cards and bowls with some of them, and others he merely ignores, all the while remaining unflinchingly bold. When he beats a devil in the shape of an old man, the devil cries mercy and shows him the castle’s treasures, and the lad returns to the king for his reward and marries the princess.
Still, he still feels perplexed over his lack of fear, and the fact that he’s never experienced even a momentary shudder of terror. His new wife, probably rolling her eyes at this, douses him with freezing water one night as he sleeps, and he wakes trembling with cold and grateful that she’s finally taught him the knack of shuddering. (In some versions, however, the realization that he could lose his beloved princess is what finally sets him to shivering; for while we might face our own mortality with relative aplomb, the idea of losing of a loved one can be the most frightening thing imaginable.)
“Fraulein Fearnot” by Markus Heitz (from Fearie Tales: Stories of the Grimm and Gruesome, edited by Stephen Jones)
Asa is a young woman with a job she loves…working at a haunted house (or rather, a natural cave that’s been converted into a haunted attraction). She finds it absolutely satisfying because she is never afraid of anything. When a couple of her fellow employees set out to scare her, things go terribly wrong, and she hits the road rather than stick around and get entangled in the aftermath following the unintended death of one of her coworkers. Her path leads her to ever more horrifying circumstances, crossing into different slices of urban legend folklore along the way, but Asa remains so chill through it all that she attracts the attention of a supernatural being who wants to put her fearlessness to a real test. Whether she’ll actually be frightened, though, as the horror elements move from special effects to the truly supernatural, remains to be seen.
“The Singing Bone”
Alternative titles such as “The Bone Harp” or “The Bone Flute” abound, but at the center of every version of this story is a musical instrument made from human bone(s). This is the tale of two sisters (or sometimes brothers), one of whom is endlessly jealous of the other and tricks her sister into falling to her death in the swift-flowing river (or pushes her, depending on who you ask). When a traveling musician finds the bones, he crafts them into an instrument and gains widespread recognition for the eerily beautiful melodies the flute (or harp) produces. Eventually this renown leads him to be invited to play at the wedding of a local lord’s daughter, the surviving sister, who has gone to lead her life out of the shadow of her dead sister. She’s taken her sister’s place as the favorite, is marrying the young lord that her sister was promised to, and has enjoyed a life of riches and ease. Once in her presence, though, the bone instrument begins playing, all on its own, a song accusing the bride-to-be of murder and driving her to madness; she takes her own life rather than listen to her sister’s endless melody.
“The Harp that Sang” by Gregory Frost (from Swan Sister: Fairy Tales Retold, edited by Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling)
A fairly straightforward but lovely retelling; in his endnotes, Frost explains that he was inspired first by the ballad “The Cruel Sister” as performed by the British folk rock band Pentangle , which of course shares the same folkloric roots. Karla betrays her sister Beatrice, but allays her father’s suspicions by making a show of mourning her sister. When harpist Antonio finds Beatrice’s bones, tangled with her hair, he creates a harp from the bones and ties the golden hair around each string to make them glitter in the sunlight. Soon word of the hauntingly (ahem) beautiful harp music catches the attention of the local lord, who invites the harpist to play for his daughter’s wedding, and as soon as Karla starts her walk down the aisle, the harp begins playing on its own, and Karla’s sister (and fate) finds her.
“The Robber Bridegroom”
A variant on “Bluebeard,” this tale is about a young woman engaged to a rich suitor, who soon complains that she hasn’t come to visit his estate. He tells her to follow a trail of ashes to his home, and she takes a cue from her folkloric kin Hansel and Gretel and leaves her own trail of lentils and peas to mark the way, not fully trusting her intended’s…intentions. A bird warns her that she’s walking into danger, and when she arrives, an old woman tells her that she’ll be killed and eaten, but hides her before the residents return. A band of robbers arrives with another young woman, whom they kill and eat while the terrified girl watches from her hiding place. When the robbers try to cut a ring off their victim’s finger, both ring and finger fall into the bride-to-be’s lap.
The old woman drugs the robbers and when they fall asleep, the two living women flee. The ash trail has blown away but the peas and lentils have sprouted (take note, H & G!) and they arrive safely at the young woman’s home. On the day of the wedding, the young bride tells the tale of her visit to her bridegroom’s home as though it was a prophetic dream. When the groom assures her that it was only a dream, she produces the finger and the ring, and the rest of the wedding guests put the band of robbers to death.
“By the Weeping Gate,” by Angela Slatter (from Fearie Tales: Stories of the Grimm and Gruesome, edited by Stephen Jones)
It’s hard to say if this is a prequel, or perhaps a sequel, but it’s certainly influenced by “The Robber Bride” (and other “Bluebeard” variants). A brothel of sisters, run by their mother, attract the attention of the town’s new Viceroy, who has been cleaning up the city’s illegal businesses; when their mother promises the cherished and “reserved” Asha to him in marriage, it seems he’ll overlook their trade. Plain sister Nel, relegated to the kitchen and housekeeping, discovers the Viceroy is not as pleasant and respectable as he seems, and determines to save her sister…or if not save her, avenge her. Atmospheric and intricate, this dark telling is worth reading and rereading (and I found myself wishing I could carry on with Nel’s journey beyond the last pages of this short story).
“Godfather Death”
A father of twelve children suddenly has to find a godparent for his thirteenth child, newly born. He runs into the street and encounters God, who agrees to be the child’s godparent, but the man rejects God (rather blithely) because God allows poverty to exist. He then encounters the Devil, who is also down to godparent, but the father rejects the Devil because he generally deceives mankind (seems like a good call). Then the man runs into Death, who he feels is a fair arbiter over rich and poor, and treats everyone the same, and asks Death to be his new son’s godparent.
Death agrees, and eventually provides the boy with a trade, encouraging him to become a doctor with a special ability—if he can see Death at the head of the patient’s bed, he knows the patient will recover with the help of a special herb Death gives the young man. But if Death is standing instead at the foot of the patient’s bed, it is too late to save them. The young man gains renown as a doctor and when the king becomes ill, he sends for this miraculous physician. When the young physician arrives, he sees Death at the foot of the bed, but he feels bad for the king so he orders the king’s servants to turn the bed around so that Death stands at the head of the bed. He administers the special herbs, and the king recovers.
Death isn’t too pleased about this, but he lets it slide with only a warning not to do it again. However, the king’s daughter becomes ill, and when the physician arrives, he sees Death standing at the foot of her bed. He’s so captivated by her fragile beauty (shoutout to my Seventh House Necromancers!) that he ignores Death’s warning and tries the trick again. As the princess begins to recover, Death whisks the physician away to a deep cavern lit by thousands of candles, all burning at different lengths. Death explains that each candle corresponds to someone’s life, and when it burns out, the person dies. Death shows the physician his own candle, which has burned perilously low, and the physician begs Death to move his flame to a new candle so that he can live a full life with the princess. Death explains that a new candle can only be lit after one goes out, and then Death extinguishes the physician’s candle (well, he did warn him). The physician falls down dead.
“Godmother Death” by Jane Yolen (from Black Swan, White Raven, edited by Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling)
Beautifully retold in Yolen’s clear, sharp prose, this is the story as seen through the lens of Death herself, as she guides her young godson Haden—whom she accepted on a whim—through his career as a physician. Haden is successful and well known, and when he hears that the King has promised his kingdom and his daughter to anyone who can cure the princess of her illness, Haden rides for the castle immediately. He performs his bed-turning trick and Death is not well pleased, but she might have let him live even so. The king, however, is not so lenient on a peasant, even one who has become a successful physician, and one life is swapped for another after all.
“The Girl Without Hands”/”The Armless Maiden”
“The Armless Maiden” has been discussed here before, in Mari Ness’ wonderful essay, “Fairy Tales for Survivors,” a review of a collection edited by Terri Windling. “The Armless Maiden” is one of the most shockingly gruesome fairy tales that I am aware of, and if you aren’t familiar with it you might be forgiven for thinking that fairy tales are generally light and fluffy—even those included above seem mild after reading this one.
The Devil becomes obsessed with a miller’s beautiful young daughter, so he dries up the river that is the miller’s livelihood. Soon the miller and his family are at the brink of poverty, and the Devil approaches the miller when he’s off in the woods hunting for food. The Devil tells him that he will grant him riches beyond imagining if he can have what’s behind the miller’s house. The miller thinks he means the apple tree and agrees, but (of course) it turns out that his daughter was in the apple tree. When the man returns home he realizes that he’s been tricked, but the house is full of gold so he has no choice but to carry out the bargain. However, it turns out that his daughter is too clean for the Devil to touch, so he orders the miller to stop her from bathing. The girl weeps on her hands, though, cleansing them, and again the Devil cannot touch her. He orders the miller to cut her hands off so that he can have her, and the miller goes to his daughter and explains that it’s the only way for the family to survive. She allows him to cut her hands off, but she’s so pure of heart that the Devil still cannot touch her. Thwarted, he threatens to return in his own time, and leaves the family.
The daughter, quite understandably, doesn’t feel at home at the mill anymore, and leaves her family to try to make her own way in the world. She wanders for months, eating what scraps she can scrounge from the forest floor. Eventually she sees a beautiful garden, surrounded by a rushing river, full of ripe pears. She tries to cross the water but the current is too swift, but an angel appears and helps her cross, and bids her to eat her fill of fruit. The prince sees her in the garden and thinks she is herself an angel, and goes down to find her. When he realizes she is a human woman, he falls in love with her, bids her to eat whatever she wishes, and asks her to marry him. She agrees and he makes her a pair of silver hands.
When the prince is called away to war, he asks his mother to look after his wife, and to write to him when their child is born. Things take their course and the prince’s mother writes to tell him that his wife bore a beautiful son. The Devil, however, takes the opportunity to swap out the letter for one that says that his wife bore him a demon child, half bear and half boar. The prince is grieved to read this, but writes back ordering that mother and child are to be cared for until his return. The Devil swaps that letter, too, for one that says that mother and child are to be killed. The prince’s mother shows the letter to her son’s wife and bids her leave instead. She ties the baby to the young mother’s back and sends them to make their way in the world again, and once again the angel intervenes, taking them to an island where they have enough food to survive. The prince returns home to find the damage the Devil has done, but when his mother sees his genuine grief, she admits to the deception and the prince sets out to find his lost love.
After seven years of searching, he finds his wife and son. (The reveal varies greatly from one telling to another, sometimes involving angelic intervention and sometimes the young son’s fury at his father, but the point is that he finds them.) The prince’s tears of joy restore his wife’s hands (although I’m skeptical of magical cures, I do find this metaphorically lovely), and they all live happily ever after.
The Girl Without Hands, directed, written, edited, and animated by Sébastien Laudenbach
This captivating French film was released in 2016 and retells the story in a fairly straightforward manner. The animation is unique and minimalistic, with only essential lines and dialogue, cutting to the heart of this story of trial and redemption. Laudenbach leaves out the more religious aspects of the story (although the Devil is still around), replacing the angel with a loving and lovely river goddess. The prince’s trusted ally is a gardener, and the rest of the servants and staff are shown only through their movements, evoking an echo of the invisible servants in “Beauty and the Beast” in a way that highlights the young woman’s lost hands and sense of helplessness. Gorgeous and evocative, the simple visuals only serve to emphasize the viscerally horrifying moments and to heighten the emotional impact of the betrayals, trials, and reunions of this dark and complex fairy tale.
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That’s the list, though there are plenty of other tales to talk about! Which fairy tales, legends, and dark retellings speak to you, as if beckoning from the beyond during this spooky season?
Rachel Ayers lives in Alaska, where she writes cabaret shows, daydreams, and looks at mountains a lot. She has a degree in Library and Information Science which comes in handy at odd hours, and she shares speculative poetry and flash fiction (and cat pictures) at patreon.com/richlayers.
