Serpents and Werewolves (6 page)

The girl made a face. “Oh yuck! I mean, oh yes, I'll remember.” She walked off, swinging the jug, drops of water flying out at every step. Leaving a trail of dark dots on the ground behind her.

She walked all the way home from the end of the world.

She helped her mother mix the oats and water, roll and cut the oatcakes, and bake them in the oven. When the oatcakes were still warm, they set the table with soft butter, crumbly cheese and hot broth.

As they sat down to eat, there was a knock at the door. A soft, squelchy knock. The girl put her head in her hands.

Her mother said, “Answer the door, please.”

“Erm... no. I really don't want to. Let's have a quiet evening, just the two of us.”

There was another soft knock.

“Answer the door, my girl.”

“
I can't, my legs are stiff after that long walk.”

“Nonsense. Answer the door, now.”

“No, I won't!”

“Then I will!” Her mother stood and walked towards the door. “Who's there?”

“It's me, the frog your daughter promised to let in if I knocked on the door tonight.”

The mother looked at the girl. “You made a promise? To a frog?”

“Erm... yes.”

“Then come here and open this door!”

The girl got up, walked slowly to the door and opened it. The shiny green frog hopped inside. The girl sighed.

The frog said, “Now let me sit on your lap and eat from your plate.”

“No! That would be too gross.”

“But you promised!”

“Did you promise?” asked her mother.

“Yes, I suppose I did promise.”

“Then keep your promise,” her mother said firmly.

So the girl sat down, the frog jumped onto her lap and she leant back, making a face,
keeping
her hands well away from the frog's glistening skin.

The frog put its front feet on the table and started to eat one of the oatcakes from her plate. It used its long tongue and soft lips, and it dribbled and drooled as it worked the oatcake into soggy lumps, then swallowed them.

The girl leant back even further, muttering, “Yuck, I'll never be able to eat another oatcake.”

Then the frog pulled itself up on the table. “There is one more thing I want you to do for me.”

The girl pushed her chair back, stood up and stared at the frog squatting in the middle of the table.

“Just one more thing,” the frog said.

The girl had read the right books and heard the right stories, so she said, “No! No way! I am not kissing you! I've seen you eat
flies
with your flicky tongue and there is no way I will ever kiss you. Not for a jug of water. Not for a jug of gold coins. Not for anything. I will never kiss you!”

The
frog shrugged. “That's fine. I don't want a kiss. I want you to hit me on the head with an iron pan. I want you to strike me with cold iron.”

“You want me to hit you on the head with a pan?” asked the girl.

The frog nodded.

“You want me to hit you
hard
with a pan?”

The frog nodded again.

“Fine. I will happily whack you with a pan.”

She picked up a frying pan and lifted it above her own head.

“No!” yelled her mother. “If you hit the frog, you'll squish it!”

“That's the idea!” said the girl as she lifted the pan higher. She brought the pan down as hard as she could. Right on top of the frog's green shiny head.

The frog vanished.

The table smashed.

And standing there, in the midst of the wrecked table, was a young man, tall and elegant in a green satin coat and a yellow velvet waistcoat.

He
smiled. “Thank you so much for freeing me from my curse. I was travelling in your land, and I met a witch who cursed me to be a frog until a girl let me eat from her plate then struck me with iron. So, thank you.”

He knelt down and took the girl's hand. “We must do this the traditional way. You've lifted my curse and returned me to my true form, so would you like to marry me?”

The girl took her hand back gently. “Not really, no. I've seen you eat flies. A fly half out of your mouth, with its wing still fluttering, is not an image I'll ever forget. So, no, I don't want to marry you. But thanks.”

The young man sighed with relief and stood up. “Then I shall continue my journey and my adventures. And I shall try not to annoy any other witches and get turned into any other animals. Thank you for your help and for the lovely oatcakes.”

He bowed to the mother and the daughter, left the cottage and walked away from the end of the world.

The girl stood at the doorway and called
after
him, “If you do annoy another witch and do get turned into another animal, you're welcome to come back here and I'll hit you with the frying pan again!”

I wonder if he ever went back... what do you think?

Fooled by Foxes

Japanese folktale

In Japan, everyone knows what kitsune are, but very few people can recognise one.

Kitsune are foxes who can turn into humans, or humans who can turn into foxes. Kitsune love to trick people, often persuading men to marry fox-women, or leading travellers down dangerous paths.

One day, a dozen young men were drinking tea under the cherry trees in their village and telling kitsune tales. One young
man
announced to his friends: “I'd never be fooled by a kitsune!”

His friends laughed. “Scholars and priests and samurai have been fooled by kitsune. Why should you be different?”

The young man grinned and stroked his long silky black hair, tied up in a fashionable topknot. “I can tell the difference between a girl and an animal. I would never be fooled!”

His friends dared him to go to the lonely lands above the village where the local kitsune stories came from, to walk there for a day and a night, and to see if he returned still convinced he'd never be fooled by a fox.

So the young man finished his tea and set off on a long walk.

The land above the village was a mixture of trees and fields, with only a few small farmhouses. The young man walked along the narrow lanes confidently, whistling and pausing to look up at the beautiful mountains.

Suddenly, from behind a slim tree, stepped a slim young woman, in a silver kimono and a white headscarf and gloves. She said,
“
A traveller! You must be tired and thirsty! Follow me to my family's house, and we will give you refreshment and rest.”

The young man laughed. “How stupid do you think I am? That tree is far too thin to hide a girl. When you were behind that tree, you were a fox, weren't you? Crouched down waiting for a foolish traveller to walk past?

“There must be pointed ears under that scarf and furry paws under those gloves! I know what you are. You're a fox! You're a kitsune! So I say ‘no' to your rest and your refreshment. This is one traveller you won't fool.”

The girl blushed. “I'm sorry if I offended you, but I assure you, it was a genuine offer. I'm sorry. I will leave you to continue your journey.”

She walked off, heading down the narrow lane. The young man, feeling quite pleased with himself, kept going up the lane.

After he took ten steps, he whirled round. The lane behind him was empty. There was no
girl
in sight. But he did see a bushy tail vanish into the trees.

“Aha! I was right! She was a kitsune. And she didn't fool me!” He grinned. “But what about all the people round here who aren't as smart as me? I'd better warn them that there's a kitsune about today.”

He strode up the path to the nearest farmhouse and knocked on the door.

When the farmer answered, the young man said, “I came to warn you that there's a kitsune about, a tricksy fox-girl. You'd better be on your guard!”

“Goodness me,” said the farmer. “You'd better come in and tell us all about it.”

The young man went into the small kitchen, and saw the farmer's wife sewing by the fire
and
a young woman sitting on a stool. The same young woman he'd met on the path.

“That's her! The fox-girl. The kitsune. She's here, ready to trick you all!”

“No, that's my niece, visiting from family far away,” said the farmer. “She's not a fox!”

“Yes she is. She absolutely is. I saw her tail, I'll prove it to you.” He stepped over to the girl.

“Here are her
ears
!” He pulled off the white scarf. Underneath were delicate human ears.

“Oh. No fox ears. She's a tricky one. But here are her
paws
!” He pulled off the white gloves. Underneath were slim human fingers.

“Oh. No fox paws either. But you're not fooling me, girl. Animals fear fire.”

He grabbed the girl's right wrist and dragged her over to the fire. “Let's
burn
the fox out!”

He thrust the girl's hand towards the flames.

The girl screamed.

The young man watched her human skin
turn
red in the heat.

“Oh no! You're not a fox! Oh no!” He pulled the girl from the fireplace, shoved her into the arms of her aunt and ran to the other side of the kitchen.

He stood with his back pressed against the wall and stared at the weeping girl.

“I'm sorry. I made a terrible mistake. I'm so sorry. What can I do to make amends? I'll go back to my village and spend all my money on the best creams the healer can offer. We'll heal the burn and your hand will be as good as new. I'm so sorry.”

“That's not good enough,” said the farmer. “You'll have to do more than that to prove how sorry you are. The priest will know how you can make amends.”

The farmer left the kitchen as his wife bandaged the girl's hand, and the young man stood still and silent. Soon the farmer returned with a priest.

“I'm so sorry!” said the young man again. “It was a mistake! What can I do to make amends?”

The
priest looked at the girl's hand, then at the young man. “You must let me shave your head. Then for as long as it takes your hair to grow back, everyone will see the evidence of your terrible mistake and everyone will know your shame.”

The young man knelt down. The priest undid his topknot, then shaved off all his hair.

The priest threw handfuls of long black hair into the fire. As the young man breathed the stink of his own hair burning, he fainted and fell face-first onto the tiled floor.

When he woke, he wasn't lying on tiles, he was lying on the earth; he wasn't in a farmhouse, he was in a field. He looked up and saw four foxes running off in the distance. One of the foxes was limping.

He walked back to the village, his shaved head gleaming. And until his hair grew long enough to be tied up in a topknot again, everyone could see how he had been fooled not by one fox, but by four foxes.