A man named Anbjørn lived on a farm in the south end of the parish of Varhaug. Every Christmas Eve he was taken into a troll that lived in some large mounds tight on the eastern border of the farm. He came home every Christmas Day, but he never told anyone where he had been, and no one ever saw him taken or knew what had become of him.

One Christmas Eve they decided that they would not let the man out, and they followed him about as closely as if he were a prisoner. As the evening drew on, they heard a knock at the door, and when they went to look, the troll stood outside. They understood it wanted to get hold of Anbjørn.

“Isn’t Anbjørn at home?” asked the troll.

Yes, he was at home, they said.

“If I knew no better, then I would say that tonight was the Cherished King’s Eve,” said the troll.¹

They feigned not to know anything about it; Christmas Eve must be on another night, they claimed.

“Well, then it must be those blinking rascals in the sky that have magicked us,” said the troll. And with that, it left.

That Christmas Eve, Anbjørn was allowed to stay at home.²

In my latest post, on the forthcoming volume of legends of the undead draug, I write: "I am still meditating on how to include in a paperback the information behind the links." These links give useful background information on the geography of this part of the world, folkloric figures generally unfamiliar to readers of English, and more or less obscure heroes of Norse literature. Additionally, some links point directly at the source literature in Old Norse or Danish translation. To include all this kind of material on paper would require an annotation apparatus that risks overshadowing the texts themselves, which would be quite unfortunate.

So how do I deal with this matter? Do I publish in ebook format only? Or do I cut down the amount of information included in the printed book? Or do I move the notes to a place in the book where they may be overlooked while the texts are being read? I am leaning towards the latter solution – writing brief introductions to each text or group of texts, in which I can address potential difficulties a reader of English might face. Of course, a bibliography will have to serve in lieu of links to the original literature.

One of the consequences of this solution is that the contents of the ebook and physical edition will diverge to a degree, with the ebook having direct links to independent information and the paper version containing my own ruminations. But still, isn't it about time we employed the many possibilities that hypertext affords us in serious non-fiction?

This outlying creature of Norwegian folklore is the topic of a book I have been wanting to produce for a long time. It has been delayed, of course, by the mountain of work that Asbjørnsen & Moe gave me. However, now that I’ve mostly finished with them (at least for now), I have time and energy to expend on such projects.

The book itself is a compendium of texts – both folkloric and literary – that deal with this enigmatic psychopomp (for I think we must be able to term it thus). A detailed introduction will not be necessary, either, for Andreas Faye has us covered (see below). I am still meditating on how to include in a paperback the information behind the links. Perhaps this one will be a hyperlinked ebook only – I haven’t yet decided.

The Draug

(From Andreas Faye. Norske Folke-sagn. 1844, p. 7f.)

The concept of the draug varies. South of the mountains¹ it is widely considered to be a white ghost [gjenferd], or a fylgje that forebodes death, and accompanies the fey wherever he goes. And sometimes it shows itself as an insect, which in the evening gives off a whistling sound. Herjus Kvalsot’s “draug” haunts the place where he was murdered, at Herjusdalen in Hvidesø, and came to his home one Christmas Eve, crying:

Better to walk at Kvalsot on a newly-swept floor
than to lie in Herjusdalen in unconsecrated ground.²

North of the mountains, on the other hand, the draug is nearly always to be found on or by the sea, and to some extent it thus replaces the neck. The fishermen from Nordland have many dealings with the draug. They often hear a fearsome scream from the draug, which sounds like: “h – a – u”, and also, “so cold!” and then they hurry to land, for the scream forebodes a storm and misfortune at sea.

The fishermen often see him, and describe him as a man of average size, who is dressed in the typical clothes of a seaman. Most folk from Nordland say that he has no head. Folk from Nordmøre, on the other hand, admit him a tin plate on his neck instead of a head, with burning embers on it for eyes. Like the neck, it can take on different forms. It prefers to haunt the boathouses, where it most often dwells. In these, and in the boats, the fishermen sometimes find a kind of foam. This is assumed to be the draug’s vomit, and the belief is that it warns of a death.

Note: In the Old Norse language, it is called the draugr. For the Icelander Thorstein Skelk, a contemporary of Olaf Tryggvason, the draugr of one of Harald Wartooth’s champions roared most gruesomely, as if from Hell, but sank down into the earth at the sound of the church bells. It is also called at that place “Dolgrimm.”³ (Fornmanna sögur, III, §200.)

Odin is praised in Ynglinga saga [§7] for being able to waken the dead from the earth, and was therefore called “draugr dróttinn” [revenant-sovereign]. In Hervarer saga [Hervarar saga ok Heiðreks] the draugar are spoken of as the ghosts [gjenferd] of the heroes that dwelled in the burial mounds (compare Hrómundar saga Gripssonar §4). The draug thus appears to be one’s fylgje, which leads the dead to the very grave.

I will diminish, and go into the West

Current events are exhausting; perhaps it is becoming cliché to point it out, but it remains true. Social media are full of current events. Social media are therefore exhausting. Now, as I withdraw from social media – for peace of mind’s sake – I shall increase my presence here, back on a personal blog, safe and free from the interference of various bad actors.

These blogposts appear on the website’s front page, are archived under their own banner (above), and are syndicated, allowing you to read them from the comfort of your own RSS reader, should you choose to do so. And as for content, all I can say is that they will reflect my interests, as abiding or as fleeting as they may be.

Here is a .pdf of a folktale published by Rikard Berge in 1914.

Download the .pdf here.