Mythology of the Dark men.

There is an urban myth that has become very popular and seems to have taken on a life of its own.  Created for an internet competition by Victor Spurge in 2009 I refer of course to The Slender Man.  An evil entity that feeds upon children, it is described as being a creature of the shadows, unnaturally tall and thin.  It is said to have no face, its arms are capable of stretching to inhuman lengths so as to ensnare any child that crossed its path.

  The Slender Man was reportedly seen just before the disappearance of a child or children and favours woodland areas.  He will however, roam the streets on nights that are shrouded in fog or mist.  It is said that adults cannot see him, children can and often do see him in dreams or nightmares, particularly just before they go missing.  Once seen, The Slender Man will always be with you, just out of view, you will see him as a shadow or shape out of the corner of your eye yet when you look there is nothing there only a deep feeling of unease.

Was the Slender Man created by using bits and pieces of folklore from around Europe and the U.S.A.?  It is possible that the myth was inspired by figures such as Death or the Grim Reaper and that it has now taken on a life of its own in the imagination and fears of those who have become believers. There are a number of different myths that are associated with these dark figures. 

The Grey Man is a figure from Scotland’s folklore. Sightings have been made over hundreds of years by walkers who have seen a spectre like figure.  He is said to haunt the second highest peak in Scotland, Ben Mac dhui, in the Cairngorms.  The Grey Man has been described by those who have seen it as a huge ape like figure.  He has been seen by such eminent mountaineers as Professor Norman Collie in 1891, although he was well known to be a practical joker so this could have been a publicity stunt.  Henry Kellas was reported as spotting The Grey Man at the turn of the twentieth century but this was never verified.  Peter Densham heard his footsteps following him on the Cairngorms in 1945.  Alexander Tewnion another mountaineer and naturalist reported that in 1943 he was attacked on the mountain by a strange shape, he fired his revolver at it three times but it had no effect. Tewnion turned and fled.

A similar entity has been reported around Lough Dhu in Antrim. An account in the Ulster Journal of Archaeology in 1858 tells of two men who saw him standing on a pillar in the middle of the Bush River.  Although they tried to talk to him they were ignored and eventually overcome with a deep sense of fear they ran home.

The Fear Dubh.

This is a rare legend from Scotland concerning an entity that is said to haunt the dark footpaths and forests at night.  Was it created to scare children in order to stop them roaming at night and getting lost?

The Faceless One.

Now this one dates to the 18^th century in Wales.  It was created by ‘caring’ parents in order to stop them from being naughty, and to keep them away from the forests.  It was said that children often disappeared at night and were found the following days mutilated almost beyond recognition.  The parents even had a rhyme to go with it.

Hush, thy childe, do not stray from the path,

Or The Faceless One shall steal you away to Fairieland.

He preys on sinful and defiant souls,

And lurks within the woods.

He has hands of ebony branches,

And a touch as soft as silk.

Fear The Faceless One thy childe,

For he shall take you to a dark place.

And what shall become of thou?

No one knows, so be good, thy little one-

Alas! He is here to take thou away!'

Now isn’t that a lovely little bedtime lullaby. No wonder children suffered from the night terrors.

The Nucklavee.

This is a creature that is feared in the folklore of Orkney.  The word means Devil of the Sea and he was a creature of pure evil whose sole purpose was to plague the islanders.  Although its home was the sea the Nucklavee had no problem roaming dry land but it had a terror of fresh water, particularly rainwater.  It was while he was on land that he was seen riding a horse as monstrous as himself.

Over time Storytellers have merged the two monsters together so that the horse and rider have become one and this is now the Nucklavee true shape.  He is said to have a head shaped like that of a man but “Ten times bigger”, a wide mouth and a pig’s snout, he also has only one eye that burns with a red flame.  His body is not only hairless but also skinless, its body a mass of raw flesh, you can see its thick black blood coursing through his veins. Again his arms are long and ape-like.

The Fetch.

Also known as: doppelgänger

According to Irish folklore, a fetch is a supernatural double of a living person. They are generally regarded as a very bad omen: anybody who sees a fetch that has taken on their appearance is doomed to die, and soon. However, some folklorists claim that if a fetch first appears in the morning rather than the afternoon or evening, it’s actually a sign that whoever the fetch has imitated has a long life ahead of them.

The Sack Man.

Also known as: the Bag Man; the Bugbear

In Latin and Eastern European folklore, the Sack Man is a skinny, foul-tempered and unspeakably ugly old man who scoops up children from off the street, bundles them into his sack, then takes them back to his filthy hovel and devours them.

The Fír Gorta.

In Ireland the Fír Gorta or Man of Hunger.  He was a tall thin man dressed in black raggedy clothes. He travelled from place to place, village to village, town to town during times of famine.  It was said that when he knocked on your door you would welcomed him as you would a stranger and offer him a little food and drink even though food was extremely hard to come by during the famine.  For this reason many would hide behind closed doors, some would deny him any food or drink, some would even chase him from the door.

It was said that for these people there would be no hope and that they had sealed their fate, death by starvation.  For those who spared a small piece of potato or a drop of milk, even if that was all the family had, or those who genuinely had nothing except the offer of a welcome hand, the Fír Gorta would thank them for their generosity, politely refuse their offers and take his leave of them.  However, before he left he would say “Because of your generosity and your honest welcome today you will be truly blessed.  Neither you nor your family will ever die of the hunger, tell no others of what has passed her but from this day forth your pot will never be empty, your jug will never run dry

.

It was said that in the morning the mother of the house went to the pot and found within it a great big potato, more than enough to feed the whole family and a jug that was brimming over with fresh creamy milk.  It would be the same each morning and they survived the famine.

If like me you are interested in folklore you will find a whole host of dark slender men who wander the night looking for lost souls, children, and victims.  From the Sandman to the Candy man, to the Scare Crow and the Sack Man you will find similar spectral beings recorded in the folklore of all societies.  Old stories told by the ancients around camp fires right up to the present day with the television or silver screen replacing the fire. Dr Who and the Silence, Steven Spielberg’s IT, Hans Christian Anderson, Grimm’s Fairytales, to W.B. Yates.  All the myths and legends are there for you.  Hopefully we can continue to add to this rich tapestry and the urban myth will take its place with things that go bump in the night.

                                                              
                                                             The Man With No Luck.

Once upon a time, long, long ago.  A time when all animals and plants spoke the same language and everyone understood everyone else.

There lived a man who was very sad, but why was he sad? Well, he believed he had no luck.  Whenever he dropped his toast it landed butter side down, whenever he went for a walk it rained and he got soaking wet, but as soon as he got back home, the sun came out.  He had no friends, no wife, and no money. In fact he thought he must be the most unlucky man that ever was.

One day, he got up out of bed and decided that the only thing to do was to go and ask god why he had no luck. God lived at the edge of the world and it would take the man a few days to get there (in them days it never took you that long to get anywhere).  He packed a few sandwiches and a drink for the journey into a bag and set off.  

He hadn’t travelled far when he heard a loud groaning noise coming from behind a bush, “who or what is that?” thought the man.  He went over to have a look and there behind the bush was a big old wolf.

“Hello, why are you groaning?” asked the man,

“I don’t feel well, I’ve had an awful pain in my stomach for the past week” replied the wolf, “But where are you going with a big bag on your back?” asked the wolf,

“Oh, I’m off to see god and I’m going to ask him or her why I have no luck” replied the man, “Anyway I can’t stand here talking to you all day so goodbye”,

“Wait” said the wolf, “When you see god will you ask a question for me?”,

“Certainly, what is it?” said the man,

“Ask god why I have such an awful pain in my stomach” said the wolf.

The man carried on his journey.  The sun was shining and it was very hot and soon the man felt tired and thirsty so seeing a lovely tree he decided to sit under its branches in the shade and have a little drink and a bit of a rest. As he sat with his back to the tree he heard groaning.

“Where is that coming from”, thought the man,

He looked to the left, nothing.  He looked to the right, nothing. He heard groaning again, it seemed to come from above, he looked up and do you know where the groaning was coming from? It came from the tree.

“What is wrong, why are you groaning?” the man asked the tree.

“It’s my roots” replied the tree, “I have terrible pains in them, but where are you going with a big bag on your back?”,

“Oh, I’m off to the edge of the world to see god and to ask him or her why I have no luck” said the man, “Anyway I can’t sit here talking to you all day so goodbye”,

“Wait”, said the tree, “When you see god will you ask a question for me?”,

“Certainly”, said the man, “What should I ask”,

“Ask god why I have such awful pain in my roots” said the tree.

The man carried on his journey and soon he heard another sound but this time it was the sound of crying.  He looked around and across the fields he saw a lovely little cottage.  He walked over to see where the crying was coming from.  Stood leaning over the half door (for in them days all cottages had half doors so you could let the light in but keep the chickens out), was the most beautiful young woman the man had ever seen.

“Hello” said the man, “Why are you crying”,

“I am sad, for I am lonely and have no company” said the woman, “Who are you? I’ve never seen such a handsome man as you before, where are you going with such a big bag on your back?”,

“Oh, I’m off to the edge of the world to see god and to ask him or her why I have no luck” said the man, “Anyway I can’t stand here talking to you all day so goodbye”,

“Wait” said the young woman, “When you see god will you ask a question for me?”,

“Certainly” said the man, “What is it?”

“Ask god why I am so sad and lonely” replied the woman.

Soon the man reached the edge of the world.  He looked over the edge and jumped back, it was very deep and very scary.  He couldn’t see god anywhere so he shouted out,

“GOD, Oh GOD, Where are you?”,

God suddenly appeared out of nowhere,

“What’s all the shouting for” said god, “Who are you and what do you want”,

“Hello god, sorry to disturb you” said the man (he had been reared properly so he was very polite), “I have a question to ask you, and I hope you will give me the answer” said the man,

“Well if you ask your question and I might” said god,

“Why do I have no luck?” said the man,

“Oh that’s easy” said god, “You do have luck, you just have to open your eyes and look for it instead of always complaining”,

“Fair enough” said the man, “Thank you and now I’m off home, goodbye god”.

The man had only gone a few meters when he remembered the other questions he had to ask. He went back to god and asked the three questions and received three answers. One for the young woman, one for the tree, and one for the wolf. Happily he set off back home.

Soon he came upon the cottage with the beautiful young woman still standing at the half door, still crying.  He walked over to her.

“Hello, I’m back from the edge of the world” said the man,

“Did you ask god my question and did he or she give you an answer?” asked the young woman,

“Yes, god said the reason why you are so sad and lonely is because you need to marry. Then you’ll have company, love, and friendship” said the man,

“Well, I’m young, beautiful, modest, and I have my own house. I have loads of land, sheep and cattle, and I’m a fantastic cook. Oh and by the way did I mention that I’m very modest? So how about you and me getting married?” said the woman.

“Oh I can’t marry you; I’m going to look for my luck” said the man, “Goodbye”,

Next, he came to the tree.

“Hello, I’m back from the edge of the world” said the man,

“Did you ask my question, and get my answer?” said the tree, with a groan,

“Yes, god said the reason you have a pain in your roots is because there is a huge treasure chest buried under your trunk and your roots have become trapped.  God said that if you dig it up then you’ll have no more pain” said the man,

“Well, I have no hands so I can’t dig it up but if you dig it up for me you may keep all the treasure for yourself” said the tree,

“Oh I can’t do that” said the man, “I haven’t got the time, and I’m off to find my luck. Goodbye”.

He walked a little further and there he saw the bush and behind the bush lay the wolf, still groaning.

“Hello” said the man, “I’m back from the edge of the world”

“Did you ask my question and get my answer? asked the wolf,

“Certainly did” said the man, “God said the reason why you have such terrible pains in your stomach is because you are starving with the hunger. He said you should eat the first fool that crosses you’re.........”

That’s the end of his story and the end of this story.

So you see, no matter how bad it seems it could always be worse.

Keep smiling.

                                                 
The Miser's Coffin.

Once upon a time, just outside a small town in the west of Ireland:

There lived a family called Murphy.

Dermot Murphy was a big, strong man but he was known by the locals as ‘the poor mouth’ because of his miserly ways. However his wife Mary was a small, pretty woman who was always willing to help anyone, as was his daughter Brigit.

The land they lived on was poor, boggy and not much use for anything. The Murphy’s cottage was by the side of the road, at the bottom end of the garden there grew a small oak tree.  The cottage was small with a kitchen, living room and two small bedrooms. Their water was supplied by a well in the garden and they had no electricity as Dermot believed it to be the work of the devil.  The real reason was he didn’t want to pay the bill.

Dermot Murphy was a mean looking man; he was cruel and refused to part with a single penny for anything unless it benefited himself.  So mean in fact that when his poor wife Mary died he refused to buy her a decent coffin or even to pay for a burial plot in the local cemetery. He bought the cheapest wooden box he could find then buried her in a shallow grave at the bottom of the garden near the oak tree   His daughter Brigit was extremely upset at the way her poor mother was treated, and although she cried and begged her father to give her a decent burial it was to no avail.

Dermot wasn’t poor; in fact he had a great deal of gold coins that he kept in a leather purse that he hid behind a loose stone inside the fireplace.  Every night when his daughter went to bed he would take out the purse and count his money by candlelight.  If he heard his daughter stirring he would quickly hide the purse under his jacket and tell her to go to sleep and stop trying to spy on him.  When he was satisfied that his money was all there he would put it back behind the stone in the fireplace.

One night, about a year after her mother’s death, Dermot was sat counting his money as normal.  Brigit came into the room, she said that she wasn’t feeling very well and she asked her father to get the doctor.

Of course the first thing her father thought of was the cost,

“Arragh, don’t be worrying, it’s only a bit of a pain, go on back to bed, you’ll be fine in the morning”

Brigit was in no state to argue, she was pale and clammy.  She did as her father told her and went back to her bed.  A short while later her father heard her groaning and she came back into the room again.  This time she looked dreadful and once more begged him to get the doctor.

“Will ye go back to bed and don’t be spying on me” he said.

Once more she did as she was told, he heard her groaning for a while, and then there was silence.

Later that night Dermot was happy his money was all correct, he put it back into its hiding place and was just about to go to his bed when he thought he’d look in on his daughter.  He found her half in and half out of her little bed. She was very quiet; he felt her face...it felt cold, very cold.  It suddenly dawned on him, she was dead.

Dermot was very upset as this would be costly but then he had an idea, he would bury her next to her mother.  That way he’d save money and they could keep each other company. After the burial, Dermot was once again sat counting his money when a fierce storm began.  It was as bad as the Night of the big wind in 87.  The following morning the local townspeople were sorting out the damage to their properties.  They didn’t notice that Dermot didn’t visit the local pub to get his few ounces of tobacco and a pint.  However, when no one saw him for a few days, the locals began to wonder where he’d got to.  They decided to pay him a visit.

When they arrived at Murphy’s cottage they noticed that there was some damage caused by the storm.  At the bottom of the garden they saw that the little oak tree had been uprooted and that in the middle of the garden there was a coffin.  As they went through the gate and approached the cottage one of the locals shouted out and pointed.  Halfway in and halfway out of the front door was another coffin. They looked through the window and there they saw Dermot Murphy.  He was sat upright in his chair, he was as stiff as a board, his eyes frozen, staring horribly, and his mouth wide open as if screaming in terror.  One hand raised, as if trying to protect himself, the other seemed to be pointing at the coffin which was half open.

In the coffin lay Brigit, peaceful in death, her hands joined together as if in prayer.  It was the normal custom to bury the corpse with the hands holding a set of rosary beads.  However, the locals saw that instead of holding a rosary, Brigit was clutching a leather purse.  When they prised the purse out of her hands they found it to be full of gold coins.  They counted it out and found that there was just enough money to buy new oak coffins, one for Brigit and one for her mother Mary and to pay for a decent pair of plots in the local cemetery. 

Unfortunately, there was not enough money left to bury Dermot.  However, the locals managed to use the wood salvaged from the cheap coffins Murphy had buried his wife and daughter in.  They buried him at the end of the garden, where the oak tree used to be.

There has to be a moral there..somewhere,

Keep smiling.

The Wild Hunt.

You have read about the Dullahan who takes your life when your time comes.  You have read about the Dearg Due who will drain you of blood if she gets the chance.  Now you will read of the terror of The Wild Hunt, that which takes your soul.

On these cold winter evenings it seems an easy thing to sit by the fire with the lights out.  Shapes and shadows flicker in the darkness, and it is within these shadows that you will find The Sluagh who forms part of The Wild Hunt. They have haunted Irish folklore for as long as people have looked into the flames and allowed their imagination to take hold.  Even Death itself must defer to The Sluagh in an unholy race for the immortal souls of the living.  However, once Christianity arrived in Ireland The Sluagh was transformed into dead sinners that were once human and humans became their prey.

It has been suggested that one of the ways of dissuading the Sluagh is to sacrifice another in your place.  However, if you are willing to do that then I think you are destined to join them at some point in the future.  There are accounts of the Wild Hunt throughout Europe and they were once thought to be a prelude to war, famine, and disease. The foundations of the Wild Hunt spread back thousands of years, far back into the mist of time.  It was once believed that local heroes both of history and legend would be called to join the hunt when their time came, and it was they who would become the ghostly leaders of the pack.  The origins of the hunt embody memories of war, myth, worship and superstition.  You will find reference to it in literature and folklore that refers to the dead travelling together or where heroes of old rise up to fight the foreign invader.

In Irish folklore we can read of Fionn Mac Cumhailln who is said to sleep in a cave surrounded by the Fianna, ready to rise up again to return to defend the Irish people. Even today we see the tradition of the dead rising up in plays that take place at certain times of the year here in Ireland.  The plays, which have their origins in the ancient past, have come down to us today in the form of Mummers.  They form part of a modern take on the Wild Hunt which can also be seen  portrayed in many fantasy films such as The Lord Of The Rings/The Hobbit where the dead rise up to help in the fight.

My hide unto the Huntsman
So freely I would give,
My body to the hounds,
For I'd rather die than live:
So shoot him, whip him, strip him,
To the Huntsman let him go;
For he's neither fit to ride upon,
Nor in any team to draw.
Poor old horse! You must die!
Traditional song sung by the Mummers.

It is not surprising that stories of the Wild Hunt are prevalent in countries that have a history of being invaded or who frequently invade others.  Therefore, French, German, British, Anglo-Saxon and Germanic peoples all have strong ties to the folklore of the Hunt.  Although the Wild Hunt may be met at any time of the year, especially those times associated with the dead it is most prevalent during the long, dark nights of winter.  In some cultures Yule was a time when the dead were said to walk among the living, it was a time to honour your ancestors and food was left out for them and an extra place would be set at the table. It was believed that in this way a good harvest would result the following year. In Norway peasants would leave a sheaf of corn in the fields to feed the Huntsman’s horses and up until quite recently the young men of Norway enacted the Wild Hunt at Winter Solstice. Their task would be to punish those who violated the rural traditions.  If the riders were given food and drink, however, they usually left quiet happy and you were assured of prosperity.

There have been tales of the Wild Hunt appearing during the twentieth century.  A folklore scholar, WY Evans-Wentz while travelling through Ireland, Scotland, The Isle of Man, Cornwall and Brittany from 1908-1910 recorded firsthand accounts of peoples experiences with the Faerie folk. He wrote of them in his book The Faerie Faith in Celtic Countries.  He gave a description of a child in Barra Scotland apparently taken by the Hunt, whose lifeless body was found at the back of the house with the palms of his hand in the holes of the wall the next morning.  It was believed that the child’s lifeless body was dropped from a great height once the soul of the child had been taken by the Sluagh.  The fact that the body was returned by the Hunt would suggest that a more human hand was at work.  May be the child was murdered and left there under cover of darkness.  Sometimes the Hunt or the Sluagh were used as a convenient scapegoat.  Many disappearances of minor criminals or the less desirable (vagrants) may have also been attributed to these paranormal forces rather than the more earthly elimination processes that may have benefited the local communities.

                              The Hounds of Hell.

The calkins clinkered to a spark

The hunter called the pack;

The sheep-dogs' fells all bristled stark

                        And all their lips went back.

   

                        "Lord God," the shepherds said, "They come,

                         And see what hounds he has;

                         All dripping bluish fire and dumb,

                         And nosing to the grass.

                        "And trotting scatheless through the gorse,

                          And bristling in the fell:

  Lord, it is death upon the horse,

                          And they're the hounds of hell!"

                                                  John Masefieldfrom

Horses and dogs attend every version of the Hunt.  They are usually black, white, or gey.  They often have fire issuing from their mouths and nostrils, fiery eyes and may be missing limbs or have extra limbs.  Sometimes they may have no heads, the horses of the death coach are an example of this.  In some instances the missing of a head is a clear sign of Otherworldliness (the Dullhan).  In Irish mythology the black dog is called Cu sidhe or Coinn lotair, the faerie hound, a large fearsome creature.

"When the winter winds blow and the Yule fires are lit, it is best to stay indoors, safely shut away from the dark paths and the wild heaths. Those who wander out by themselves during the Yule-nights may hear a sudden rustling through the tops of the trees - a rustling that might be the wind, though the rest of the wood is still.

"But then the barking of dogs fills the air, and the host of wild souls sweeps down, fire flashing from the eyes of the black hounds and the hooves of the black horses"

Kveldulf Hagen Gundarsson (Mountain Thunder)

So remember if you want to avoid upsetting those of the Wild Hunt then respect the dead, acknowledge the sacrifices of your ancestors, and rejoice in the telling of the tale.

Once upon a time there was an old man in a private room in the general hospital.

The nurse entered his room and he asked her, “Nurse, are my testicles black”?

“Sir behave yourself and go to sleep” she replied.

Again he asked “Are my testicles black”?

“Look you’ll have to ask the doctor. Now go to sleep” she replied.

By now the old man was very irate and shouted, “Are my testicles black”?

The nurse decided that in order to keep him quiet she would have a look. Well what harm could it do?

She pulled back his blankets, pulled down his pyjamas, lifted the offending articles in her hands; she turned them this way and that.  She gently examined them and then pulled his pyjamas up and said,

“Sir your testicles are fine”

The old man looked at her with tears in his eyes and said,

“Thank you, you really are a wonderful nurse but will you please take the cotton wool out of your ears and listen to me. I said ARE MY TEST RESULTS BACK”

This is a true story, and if it isn’t, well it should be.

Start the New Year with a smile :)

The Dullahan.

“The Dullahan serves no master but death.”

The Irish Dullahan (also Gan Ceann.) is a type of unseelie faerie (dark faerie). He is a soul collector who roams the countryside during midnight on certain Irish festive days. He is dressed in a long black cloak and is headless, usually seen riding a black horse and carrying his head under one arm. The head's eyes are massive and constantly dart about like flies, while the mouth is constantly in a hideous grin that touches both sides of the head. In some of the stories his horse has a head too. Its head is longer than its body by 6 yards and has flaming eyes and short ears.

The flesh of the head is said to have the colour and consistency of mouldy cheese. He has a large mouth filled with razor sharp teeth filed to a point. The Dullahan whip is actually a human corpse's spine, and the wagons they sometimes use are black horse drawn hearses. When the Dullahan stops riding, it is where a person is due to die. The Dullahan calls out their name, at which point they immediately perish.

There is no way to bar the road against a Dullahan, all locks and gates open on their own when it approaches. Also, they do not appreciate being watched while on their errands, throwing a basin of blood on those who dare to do so (often a mark that they are among the next to die), or even lashing out the watchers' eyes with their whips. Nonetheless, they are frightened of gold, and even a single gold pin can drive a Dullahan away.

The Dullahan may have been the inspiration for The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

W. J. Fitzpatrick, a famous storyteller claims to have seen a Dullahan. He recounts:

“I seen the Dullahan myself, stopping on the brow of the hill between Bryansford and Moneyscalp late one evening, just as the sun was setting. It was completely headless but it held up its own head in its hand and I heard it call out a name. I put my hand across my ears in case the name was my own, so I couldn't hear what it said. When I looked again, it was gone. But shortly afterwards, there was a bad car accident on that very hill and a young man was killed. It had been his name that the Dullahan was calling”.

In other legends he sides with the legendary ghost, the Banshee, and they drive a black cart (called the Coiste Bodhar, death coach) drawn by six black horses and whips them with his whip made of a human spinal cord. When he rides out on his own he uses the whip to pluck out the eyes out mortals foolish enough to spy on him during his nightly runs. It is said that the Dullahan hates those with sharp eyesight. The only fear he has is gold, which any lonely traveller at night would be wise to have to ward off him off.

It was once believed that the Dullahan was sent by the queen of the fairies to punish mortals that had betrayed the secrets of the fairie folk.  He would visit you as you slept and one touch of his hand would cause the muscles of your arm or leg to wither and die. He would then leave as silently as he came.

Some people believe that the Dullahan is the embodied spirit of a Celtic god, Crom Dubh, who demanded human sacrifices each year. The worship of Crom Dubh continued in Ireland until the sixth century, when Christian missionaries arrived from Scotland. However, Crom Dubh still wanting souls became the Dullahan or Far dorocha ( Dark Man.)

The Unseelie Court is the opposite of The Seelie Court.  Those that fly through the night are called The Host or The Horde.  It was said that any mortal unlucky enough to cross paths with The Host would be attacked and forced to participate in their nocturnal activities. The Unseelie court comprised of the most unholy, and evil of the fairies.  It has been suggested that the early Christian church invented these stories to stop pagans from participating in fertility rites at Beltaine and other important rituals at other times of the year (Samhain, etc).

“Faeries come take me out of this dull world,

For I would ride with you upon the wind,

Run on top of the dishevelled tide,

And dance upon the mountains like a flame.”

W.B. Yeats, The Land of Heart’s Desire.

The Sandman.

The first written record appears in 1861 in tales by Hans Christian Andersen.

In his short story "The Sandman," which appeared in a book called Die Nachtstücke (The Night Pieces), E.T.A. Hoffman wrote of the Sandman: Oh! he’s a wicked man, who comes to little children when they won’t go to bed and throws handfuls of sand in their eyes, so that they jump out of their heads all bloody; and he puts them in a bag and takes them to the half-moon as food for his little ones; and they sit there in the nest and have hooked beaks like owls, and they pick naughty little boys’ and girls’ eyes out with them. (Hoffman, E.T.A., "The Sandman." Fantastic Tales, ed. Italo Calvino, Random House, Inc., 1997, p. 37).  Watch video above.

The Sandman has become a benevolent character in modern day folklore but this has not always been the case. He was traditionally seen as helping children to go to sleep by sprinkling magic dust in their eyes. It was said that he brought them happy dreams and upon waking the ‘sleep’ in the corner of their eyes would be the result of the sand/dust he had sprinkled on them.

However, there is another Sandman quiet different from the one who is now portrayed. This Sandman wears the skin of corpses, smelling of death and decay. He has long bony fingers that end in extremely sharp nails and his foul mouth is full of razor sharp fangs. Hiding in the shadows he whispers to his victim; Tic toc, tic toc” slowly lulling them to sleep.  Once they have fell into a deep sleep the Sandman will leave the shadows and feed on the victim.  There is absolutely no mention of this malignant sandman in folklore but due to peoples appetite for gore it quickly caught on.  In Hans Christian Andersen original tale   Ole Lukoje there are also two versions of the Sandman, one who brings sweet dreams, the other who brings the sleep of death.

Why some people feel it necessary to use bedtime stories to terrify children into obedient behaviour is quite beyond me but it seems to be prevalent across many tales.

Others mentioned in European folklore are  TheDustman, Billy Winker or Wee Willie Winkie, Old Shut-eye  and Nanny Button-Cap. These night time visitors are said to move from house to house making sure that children go to sleep. However, they are not restricted to children as some adults wake up in the mornings with ‘sleep’ in their eyes.

I will continue to look for information on this creature as requested (manbehindthecurtain).  It is not really found in Irish folklore, nevertheless he is an interesting character.

Above video courtesy of youtube = The Sandman edited and directed by Paul Berry, 1992.

Keep smiling. Oh and by the way...Sweet dreams.

SilentOwl.