What childhood story or superstition>

[sonia rodriguez]

What childhood story, folklore, or superstition sticks in your mind?

My favorite is the story of the Banshee...
"The Bean Sidhe or Banshee makes her appearance when someone in the household is about to die. She haunts only the families of the "high Milesian race" - those whose names have an "O", "Mac" or other prefix. One exception to this rule has been granted by virtue of the Irish poets who have given her to some of the Norman-Irish families - the FitzGerald's for example. In any event, she heralds the demise of only those who are of authentic noble stock and it is with great dread when her piercing "caoine" or keening is heard. In many respects, this mysterious creature resembles traditional Irish keeners or mourners of old; as with her mortal counterparts, those who have seen her describe her as drawing a comb through her hair, similar to tearing the hair out in anguish, which the ancient mourners used to do. Incidentally, or maybe not, while the Banshee is considered benign, she supposedly has a sister force who isn't; this force is called the Lianhan Sidhe and her sole purpose is to seek the love of mortal men. Their desire for her ultimately destroys them."
From http://www.irishcultureandcustoms.com/ACalend/CreepyCreatures.html

[Halloween Spirit]

Cool Banshee tale!
Here is the one story that I was creepily obsessed with as a child.

Once there was a boy who loved to draw in Japan.

He grew up on a farm with lots of brothers and sisters. They all wanted to be farmers, and farmers wives, but not his boy.

He spent all of his time drawing in the dirt, and the only thing he ever drew was.... cats!

Small cats, big cats, thin cats, fat cats. Every kind of cat imaginable.

“
His father told him, “Stop wasting your time drawing cats!, you need to learn to be a farmer"

The boy promised to try and stop but he just couldn't.

Realizing the boy would never become a farmer, his parents decided to send him to the temple to become a priest.

The temple priest gladly took the boy in, promising to teach him to be a wonderful priest.

The priest taught him to read an write with a pen and ink. Of course he always ended up using that pen and ink to draw another cat

Small cats, big cats, thin cats, fat cats.

The priest told him, “you must stop drawing all those cats! How will you ever be a priest?”

The boy once again promised to try and stop drawing cats, but he just couldn't.

He began to draw his cats everywhere, even on the screens of the temple.
The priest gave up and told him to leave.

He was afraid to let his father see him as a failure, so he decided to try another village temple.

He climbed the steps to the temple and knocked. There was no answer. He opened the heavy door. It was all dark inside.

“That’s strange,” said the boy “Why isn’t anyone here?”

He lit a lamp by the door. Then he saw something that made him clap. All around the big room were folding screens with empty rice-paper panels.

He just had to draw cats on those screens.

. Small cats, big cats, thin cats, fat cats.

The screen he drew on last was almost as long as the room. The boy covered it with the biggest and most beautiful cat he had ever drawn.

Now he was tired. He started to lie down, but he didn't lie large spaces and looked around until he found a nice small cozy closet to sleep in. He shut the door and fell asleep.

Suddenly he heard a ferocious sound!

It sounded like a large, fierce animal in the temple! Now he knew why no one was there. He wished he wasn’t there either!

He heard the thing sniff around the big room. It halted right in front of the closet. Then all at once . . .

Yowl!

There was a sound of struggling, and a roar of surprise and pain. Then a huge thud that shook the floor.

Then a soft padding sound. Then silence.

He stayed hidden in the closet in fear.

When daybreak came, he carefully opened the door of the closet.

In the middle of the room lay a huge rat as big as a cow! It lay dead, as if something had killed it.

The boy looked around the room. No one and nothing else was there, just the screens with the cats. Then helooked again at the one gigantic cat.

The cat was in a different pose, from the way he drew it!

It was the cat! said the boy! The cat saved me from that giant rat!

Thank you wonderful cat! I promise that I will never stop drawing cats, no matter who tries to stop me!

When the villagers learned that the boy had killed the monster rat that had terrorized their village, The boy became a hero. He was allowed to stay at the temple as long as he wished.

The boy did not beome a priest or Farmer.
He became an artist. A great artist. An artist who drew just one thing.

Cats!

[Jeanne~WildWoods Art]

What a fun topic! I can remember reading stories about Banshees when I was young. And the tale of the Boy who drew Cats is great! Thanks for sharing!

The story that really sticks in my mind is The Tell Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe. My (much older) sister had to read some Poe for a school report. She read this story to me and it scared the 'you know what' out of me! (I was quite young at the time - I'm sure there was some 'payback' going on). I attribute my love for Poe's writings to that one event.

[sonia rodriguez]

Oh the greatest stories are from Edgar...Memories are fun and a gift no one can take

[Seasons Art ~ Becca]

Great tales! Thanks for sharing! :)

[Sara Elizabeth Edwards]

I grew up in Charleston SC. I was in brownies then girl scouts as a child. The tale that i will never forget is of a young girl on a plantation. We visited this place many times on trips, and i can still remember the mell, the look, the whole thing. It's a real ghost story, and as a kid, it was scarey.

Legend goes that the plantation owner and his wife had two children, a boy 9 and a girl 6. The boy was born with a medical condition and was in a wheelchair. The daughter was perfectly normal. They loved both of their children equally, and gave them the best things money could buy. The little girl was 3 years younger than her brother, but still did all she could for him. They spent many afternoons together outside playing in their playhouse. She wouold push him down to it ever day, and they would play games or play with the many toys in there. The play house was a one room little house lined with shelves, a table in the center, and two toy boxes sitting opposite of each other against the walls. The two highest shelves were filled with dolls, hundreds of dolls, and and the bottom shelves were lined with little toy boats, cars, balls, and soldiers. It sat at the far end of the yard about 40 feet from the family pond and garden. The children spent so much time down there and no one seemed to mind. Every once and while the hired help would walk down and check on them, or call them in for meals or family meetings.
One weekend the father had to go away for the weekend to attend to some business. He kissed his wife goodbye, and told the children to be on their best behavior. The mother was busy inside with her womens group preparing for a church gathering that was happening that sunday after church. Both children went down to the playhouse to spend their time together. They were checked on that morning twice, and called in for luinch. When lunch was finished, they returned to finish their game of checkers. After the game, they grew bored with being inside, and decided to go out and play a game of toss.
Having played for a few minutes already, and not catching much because of his limitations, the little boy grew frustrated. When his sister handed the ball to him again to throw back to her, he threw it as hard as he could. She missed the ball, and it rolled towards the pond. They both watched it as it went down the embankement, and hit the edge of the water. It began to float towards the center. The little girl decided to go and get the ball because she wanted to play it still. As she stepped in to the waters edge, the mud wrapped her ankles. She had a hard time getting her feet out to take further steps in, but she was determined.
At waist high, the ball was just in reach. Every time her fingers touched it, it moved a little further away. She was overwhlemed with the thickness of the mud, and began to give up. As she yelled back to her brother that she was done, he yelled back encouragements to get it. Wanting to please him, she tried again. THe next step she made, was her last. The mud caused her to trip and fall face first into the water. Her hands became trapped now, and she struggled to get out. She drowned in the pond that afternoon, and her brother bound to his wheelchair sat there screaming for help. Help arrived too late to save her.
Her parents forbid their son to return to that playhouse, and locked the door to it forever. It still stands there just the way it was that afternoon. The checkers still sit on the top of the table, and a little doll lies beside a chair. It is said that her ghost has stayed wandering beside that little house, and ventures down to the ponds edge looking for that ball, hoping to please her brother and get it.

[Jeanne~WildWoods Art]

Great story. So sad. I am familiar with that kind of mud, having lived in Louisiana for awhile. It's called Gumbo mud down there. Very, very hard to pull anything out of it.

[Sara Elizabeth Edwards]

we've always called it pluff mud. i lost a great pair of sneakers in it once.

[Halloween Spirit]

Does anyone remember scary stories as a kid. We used to sit out under the street light telling stories until our Mom called us in. I remember one about something in the cellar, and a boy being sent down there to get some canned food, and the boogey man was there. I can't remember it now. Did any of you tell a story like that? Maybe my Sister made it up.

My Sister used to tell us kids to make a nest out of grass, and leave it alone for 10 minutes, then when we would come back, she said a fairy would leave us a prize in the nest. We did it, and came back and found moon pies!! Other times, she would leave us little pieces of her old jewelry or little toys. That was one of the good memories of my older Sister, who used to torment me, and try to scare me all the time. She turned out pretty good though

[sonia rodriguez]

How fun to hear others childhood stories. Like I said before these all memories that no one can take away. Stories change with region and location. Everytime a story is told it magically changes. Like faeries in a grass bed. You never know what you will find when you go to look. The stories take on to be inspirations in Art.

My other favorite is the headless horseman.

[Witch Hollow Primitives]

Sonia, you have a way with words :) I love it.

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow is also my favorite especially at Halloween because I read it to my kids. I also watch the older version of the movie. We also read Ray Bradbury's "The Halloween Tree".

I was obsessed with the story of Baba Yaga as a child and would force my mother to read me the story every night for a few years. I think it is Russian or Slavic folklore like a fairy tale.

In Russian tales, Baba Yaga is portrayed as a hag who flies through the air in a mortar, using the pestle as a rudder and sweeping away the tracks behind her with a broom made out of silver birch. She lives in a hut deep in the forest that moves around on chicken legs, and is surrounded by a palisade with a skull on each pole. The keyhole to her front door is a mouth filled with sharp teeth; the fence outside is made with human bones with skulls on top. She was a fearsome witch with iron teeth herself.

When a visitor enters her hut, Baba Yaga asks them whether they came of their own free will, or whether they were sent. (One answer is the right one!) she appears to have no power over the pure of heart and those of us who are 'blessed' (protected by the power of love, virtue, or a mother's blessing.) Baba Yaga rules over the elements. Her faithful servants are the White Horseman, the Red Horseman and the Black Horseman.

Anyway, the story is very long and I don't want to ruin it for someone who wants to read it (I highly recommend everyone read it at some point) but the fairy tale is of a little girl who stumbles upon Baba Yaga's hut and then is kidnapped by the old crone and wants to escape, she is a good girl pure of heart but has to go to great lengths to see if she can escape, and in the process befriends a mouse and a vicious dog. Its a great story and it has stuck with me all these years!
Heather

[sonia rodriguez]

OMG...I have to read this tale..where to find? Sounds amazing

[Margaret]

On quiet nights when the moon is dim a stooped figure can be seen roaming lawns and street corners near West Shore road and Main Avenue. The figure searches endlessly, never answering calls, nor aknowledging others as it moves about never standing tall, but always stooped so low, that it's face is never seen. This is the land that used to belong to it so very long ago, until that night, in 1676 when John Wickes met a group of raiding Pequots and Mohegans who, in retaliation for the massacre of the Great Swamp Fight, where trying to drive the settlers out.
John Wickes was never seen alive agian. His head, being found stuck on a pike in front of the smoldering remains of his house, was taken to a friends castle and burried alone, because his body had'nt been found yet.
Later when it finally was found, short of it's limbs, it was burried at Wickes home, but his head was not moved.
I know, it doesn't sound like much of a scarey story, but he's my great uncle a dozen times over, which means I'm related to a headless ghost.

How cool is that?