#wichtel

The rain during the night had been much heavier, a proper thunderstorm, so I kept my head down to avoid stepping on any of the assorted worms, slugs, and snails which were making their way across the wet asphalt. I practically had to play hopscotch to get past them all, which made my progress much slower than it would otherwise have been, but I have always thought of myself as a friend to the humble earthworm, and I couldn't bear the thought of harming any of those little creatures. So on I went, slowly, weaving my way across the path, until I reached a bridge that crossed the river Schwalm. And on the other side of this bridge was a sign, small and brightly colored, with an arrow pointing away from the path. A dirt track, which was now turned to mud, led towards a low hill. This hill, I already knew, was called the Dosenberg.

'Zu den Wichtelhöhlen', the sign read. This way to the Wichtel-caves.

What is a Wichtel, you ask? (The word is pronounced kind of like 'vish-tull', by the way!)

Well, you see...

Long ago, in the days before humanity chose technology over magic, the common folk of Germany lived side by side with all kinds of magical beings. Some of them - goblins, mining spirits, Nixen, and dragons - were dangerous, and enemies to humans. Other spirits were merely shy, preferring to keep to themselves. And then there were those who liked humans, and were as friendly and kind as the best of them.

Wichtel, without question, were the crown jewel of this third kind. They loved humans, loved being around them, and wherever there was a human settlement, Wichtel were sure to be near. They weren't outgoing, exactly, for only very few humans have ever been able to see a Wichtel in the flesh, but it was common knowledge in the olden days that if there was work that needed doing, and fast, then a person only needed to ask their local Wichtel for help, and they would get the work done in a single night. All they asked for in return was a bowl of milk or porridge, which would be set out for them in the evening.

Have you ever heard of the story, "The Shoemaker and the Elves"? Well, in the original German, those aren't elves - they're Wichtel!

For endless generations, humans and Wichtel lived happily side by side. Humans loved having help nearby, and occasionally being able to hear the Wichtel go about their business - it was said that they were small enough to even take up residence in barns or the shadowy corners of large houses, and if one listened very closely, it was possible to hear them walking around or playing music. Wichtel, for their part, were said to be naturally curious and to love solving problems, so they found endless fascination in the goings-on of human life.

For many years, there were Wichtel living near the village of Uttershausen. In between Uttershausen and Singlis, there is a hill called the Dosenberg. Those of you who know that 'Berg' means 'mountain' are likely confused by this; trust me, that thing is a hill. On the side of the Dosenberg which faces the river Schwalm, nature has carved two small cave entrances into the soft stone. It was here that the Wichtel were said to enter into the hill itself, where they carved a grand (miniature) city for themselves and lived more than comfortably.

But then, many years ago, the world changed. Humans changed. They became enamored with technology and industry, and thoughts of magic began to fall by the wayside.

The magical creatures of the world noticed this, and they decided to do something about it.

What follows is a translation of an old folktale, which was recorded by a folklorist named Karl Lyncker in his book "Deutsche Sagen und Sitten in Hessischen Gauen" (Kassel: Verlag von Oswald Bertram) in 1854. The text is in the public domain and the translation is my own. To the best of my knowledge, this is the very first time that this tale has been translated into a different language.

'There was a Wichtel man who often made friendly visits to the farm of farmer Tobi's grandfather in Singlis. One day, as the farmer was cutting grain, the Wichtel asked if he would be willing to provide transportation across the Schwalm that night, in return for a plentiful reward. The farmer said yes.

That evening, the Wichtel brought a sack full of wheat to the farmer's house as a pre-payment. Four horses were harnessed up, and the farmer steered them to the Dosenberg. The Wichtel loaded heavy, invisible cargo out of the caves and onto the farmer's cart, which the farmer then ferried through the water and onto the other bank of the river.

He went back and forth doing this from 10 in the evening to 4 o'clock in the morning, until the horses were finally exhausted.

Then the Wichtel said, "This is enough. Now it is time for you to see what you have been transporting."

He told the farmer to turn and look over his right shoulder, and the farmer saw that the entire wide field was filled with Wichtel.

"For many thousand years we have made our home in the Dosenberg," the Wichtel man said, "but now our time is at an end. We must go to another land. We have left much gold behind in the mountain, though, enough to go around this entire region."

He loaded Tobi's cart full of gold, and said his goodbyes. The farmer, now a rich man, brought his weighty treasure home with some difficulty; his descendants are still wealthy people, but the Wichtel have disappeared from the land forever.'

All that remains of the Wichtel in Uttershausen is their story, and a small ceramic Wichtel-figurine that someone's placed at the entrance to one of their caves. The relentless pace of modernity, and of "progress", has not only forced the Wichtel from their former home, but also forced their memory from the minds of most people. Little remains of them, just a few signs explaining who they were, but here's the thing: it remains, nevertheless. It may be hard to find and off the beaten path, but the story of the Wichtel, and the night they left our world behind, still exists.

The little things, the hidden things, they are just as important as the stories that scream to be remembered and noticed. No tale, no nook and cranny, no life or living thing is any less worth exploring and understanding than the others. Keep searching, and keep asking questions.

If you've made it this far: thank you very much for reading this! I went several dozen kilometers out of my way to visit Uttershausen, which is quite a big deal when you're travelling entirely on foot, but it was 100% worth it to me. I have several other pieces of obscure folklore that I'm already considering writing about (and yes, most of it is German, primarily because that's the only language other than English that I'm truly fluent in), but I also have a decent number of short stories and travel writings that are almost ready to go, too. Probably just a question of what strikes my fancy.