Folklore Weaver

On the outskirts of a forest, a brother and sister lived in a small mud hut. As their parents had died long ago, it was the brother's duty to find a suitable bridegroom for his sister. It so happened that once a young man from a distant village came hunting to their forest and got lost. At nightfall he came to their house. They gave him shelter, and the sister fell in love with him, and the two were married. The sister soon left with her new husband for his village, which was far away. Months later, the brother wanted to visit them. He gathered fruits and tubers for the journey, asked for directions to the distant village from other villagers, and set out. He had to cross several forests, hills, and valleys. He was walking through a forest when it grew dark. Though he was strong and had his bow and arrows and his pickaxe, he was still afraid of tigers and wild animals. As he sat down tired under a mahul tree (a tropical fruit tree), the tree asked him to come up and rest in its br...

Once there lived a barber who was very idle. He would do no work and devoted his time to preening himself with an old mirror and a broken comb. His old mother rebuked him all day for this, but it didn't touch him. At last, one day in a fit of anger, she struck him with her broom. The young barber felt humiliated by this and left home, determined never to return till he had amassed some wealth. He walked far till he reached a forest and thought of praying to the gods for help. But as he entered the forest, he met with a brahmarakshasa , a demon, dancing wildly. He was terrified but he kept his wits about him. So he mustered all his courage and began to dance too, keeping time with the demon. After a while, he asked the demon, 'Why are you dancing? What has made you so happy? The demon laughed and said, 'I was waiting for your question because I knew you were a fool and didn't know the reason. It's simply because I want to feast on your delicate flesh. That's why....

Today I would like to share a story about how a clever and mischievous trickster figure felt that light must be brought to the world for the benefit of all. A tale that tells us that even in darkness, cleverness and compassion can bring light. Long ago, before the world knew light, everything was swallowed by darkness. There was no sun to warm the land, no moon to guide the night, and no stars to inspire wonder. The people lived in the pitch black, groping through life, never knowing that light even existed. But light did exist, locked away in a distant lodge by a powerful and selfish chief. He possessed three sacred boxes: one held the stars, another the moon, and the last, the mighty sun. These he kept hidden deep inside his home, hoarding them like treasures, refusing to share their beauty or warmth with the world. Watching from the shadows was Raven, a shapeshifter, a trickster, and a spirit being of immense intelligence. He was moved by the people's suffering. Though Raven oft...

The Onryō is a powerful and terrifying type of yūrei (ghost) in Japanese folklore. Unlike spirits who might linger due to sadness or attachment, the Onryō is driven by intense rage, hatred, and a burning desire for revenge stemming from a deep, unresolved grievance suffered in life. Their malevolent intent can have devastating consequences for the living. In a prosperous town known for its exquisite silk weaving, lived a woman named Kiyo. She was renowned for her skill and the beauty of her creations, and she was deeply in love with a young nobleman, Lord Masaru, who often commissioned her finest work. Masaru, however, was fickle and ambitious. He courted Kiyo with passionate words and promises, but his true intention was to gain influence through a politically advantageous marriage with a woman of higher standing. When Kiyo learned of Masaru's impending wedding to another, her heart shattered. Betrayed and consumed by a furious grief, she confronted him. Masaru, cold and dismissiv...

Young Ivan was known in his village for his adventurous spirit and a touch of recklessness. One warm summer night, when the full moon cast a silvery glow upon the winding river near his home, Ivan couldn't resist the urge for a solitary walk. The air was still, save for the gentle murmur of the water flowing over smooth stones. As he strolled along the riverbank, lost in his thoughts, a melody drifted to his ears. It was unlike any song he had ever heard – hauntingly beautiful, filled with a sorrowful sweetness that tugged at his heart. The voice was ethereal, weaving through the night air like the moonbeams dancing on the water's surface. Intrigued, Ivan moved closer to the river's edge, his senses captivated by the enchanting sound. He peered through the willow branches that dipped into the dark water and saw her. She sat on a moss-covered rock that jutted out into the river, bathed in the pale moonlight. Her hair, long and the color of dark seaweed, cascaded down her bac...

Fyodor was a woodcutter known for his skill with an axe, but also for a certain arrogance and a tendency to take more from the forest than he truly needed. One crisp autumn morning, he ventured deep into the woods near his village, a place where the trees grew tall and ancient, and where whispers of the Leshy were often carried on the wind. Ignoring the quiet reverence the villagers held for this part of the forest, Fyodor began his work with gusto, felling tree after tree with a greedy efficiency. He paid no heed to the rustling leaves that seemed to watch him, nor the strange echoes that occasionally mimicked the sound of his axe. He was intent only on filling his cart to overflowing. As the day wore on, Fyodor became aware that the familiar paths had vanished. The trees, which had seemed distinct moments before, now blurred into an indistinguishable green and brown mass. The sun, once a reliable guide, seemed to play tricks, appearing in unexpected parts of the sky. Fyodor realized ...

In a quiet valley nestled among the rolling green hills of Ireland lay a small, shimmering lake known as Lochán Bháin, the White Lake. It was said to be a place of gentle magic, and sometimes, when the mist hung low and the air was still, a beautiful woman could be seen sitting on a rock at its edge, combing her long, silver hair. She was known as the Bean Chaointe an Locháin Bháin, the Weeping Woman of the White Lake. Unlike the banshee, whose wails foretold death, the Weeping Woman of the White Lake did not bring tidings of sorrow. Instead, her soft, melancholic songs were said to be a comfort to those who heard them. She wept for the sorrows of the world, for lost loves and forgotten dreams, and her tears mingled with the waters of the lake, imbuing it with a sense of peace. Many lonely travelers and heartbroken souls would seek out the shores of Lochán Bháin, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Lady and hear her gentle lament. Those who did often found a strange solace in her sorrowfu...

On the rugged coast of Scotland, where the grey sea crashed against the cliffs and the wind carried whispers of ancient magic, lived a lonely fisherman named Alistair. One day, while walking the deserted shore, he found a sealskin hidden amongst the rocks. It was sleek and dark, and seemed to pulse with a life of its own. Knowing the old tales, Alistair hid the skin in a chest in his cottage. That night, a beautiful woman with eyes the color of the deep sea appeared at his door. She wept and told him she was a selkie, a creature who could transform between human and seal form, and that her skin had been stolen. Alistair, captivated by her beauty and her sorrow, confessed that he had found the skin and hidden it. He returned it to her, and the selkie woman, whose name was Morag, was overjoyed. She stayed with Alistair for a time, and they fell deeply in love. They married and had several children, who had their mother's sea-green eyes and a longing for the ocean in their hearts. Yea...

In a remote mountain village, where winter winds howled like hungry spirits and snow piled high against every door, lived two woodcutters: old Mosaku and his young apprentice, Minokichi. One bitter night, caught in a blizzard, they sought shelter in a deserted hut high in the pass. As they slept fitfully, a chilling gust blew open the door, and a figure entered. She was tall and slender, her skin as pale as the driven snow, her long black hair cascading around a face of ethereal beauty. Her eyes, however, held a strange, unsettling coldness. She drifted towards Mosaku and breathed upon him. Instantly, the old man’s breath froze, and his life ebbed away. Then, her gaze turned to Minokichi, who lay paralyzed with terror. She bent over him, her icy breath ghosting over his face. He expected to meet the same frigid end as his master. But then, a strange sorrow flickered in her cold eyes. “I ought to kill you,” she whispered, her voice like the sigh of winter wind. “But you are young. I wil...

Long ago, in a village by the mountain’s edge, lived a skilled weaver named Anan. He was known for crafting the finest mats and cloth in the region. His designs were unlike any others—patterns that seemed to shift with the light, strange symbols no one could read, but all found mesmerizing. Anan claimed he saw the designs in his dreams, given to him by a woman cloaked in mist. He would never reveal more. His neighbors often whispered about him—some said he had dealings with spirits, others thought he was merely eccentric. But no one could deny his genius. One rainy season, Anan stopped coming to the market. His hut by the cliffs grew over with vines. Some said he’d gone mad; others, that he had finally been claimed by the spirit he served. It was many months before his cousin, Bayani, decided to seek him out. What he found shocked him. Inside the hut, the loom still stood, half-dressed in a fabric so intricate it looked alive. The air was thick with a strange scent—sweet, but sharp. An...

Long ago, in a quiet village hemmed by thick forests and winding rivers, there lived a poor old woman who earned her living by collecting firewood. One day, as she cut branches in the forest, she stumbled upon a shimmering golden snake coiled beneath a banyan tree. Startled, she stepped back, but the snake raised its head and spoke in a gentle voice. “Do not be afraid, Mother,” it said. “Take me home, and your days of suffering shall end.” Confused but drawn by something unexplainable, the woman wrapped the snake carefully in a bundle and took it back to her hut. From that day on, strange fortunes began to fall upon her — coins in her rice jar, fresh milk in a dry pot, warmthin the coldest of nights. Villagers whispered of her sudden prosperity. One day, the snake said, “Mother, I wish to marry a human maiden. Find a girl who will take me as I am.” The woman, reluctant but grateful, set out to fulfill the snake’s wish. She was laughed at and turned away from many homes until she reache...