Episode 81 – Naughty or Nice? – Myths Your Teacher Hated

Episode 81 Show Notes

Source: Slavic Folklore

This week on MYTH, it’s our annual holiday special. You’ll see that not all holiday stories are bright and cheerful, that it pays to be humble, and that abandonment can be a good thing. Then, in Gods and Monsters, it’s 13 Christmas-themed pranksters with some very gross habits. This is the Myths Your Teacher Hated podcast, where I tell the stories of cultures from around the world in all of their original, bloody, uncensored glory. Modern tellings of these stories have become dry and dusty, but I’ll be trying to breathe new life into them. This is Episode 81, “Naughty or Nice?”. As always, this episode is not safe for work.
The height of winter is upon us, which means it’s dark and cold and miserable (though maybe that’s just the seasonal depression talking). Given that, I thought it was time for a story from the frozen wastes of the Russian tundra that’s as icy as my cold, bitter heart. This one comes to us from the Russian folktale collection by Kalamatiano de Blementhal and Verra Xenophontovna. Enjoy.
Long ago and far away, there lived a woman with her daughter and her stepdaughter. As usual, there’s not a peep about what happened to the stepdaughter’s mother, so let’s assume some frozen beasty ate her. Anyway. As we’ve seen over and over in folk tales, the stepmother loved her own child dearly and was always quick to praise her for everything she did but had nothing but harsh words and cruel judgment for her stepdaughter. This was not a reflection on the poor little girl, who by all accounts was a sweet and kind child to everyone around her (even her wicked stepmother). Given the general themes running through folklore, it’s entirely possible that the real issue at hand is scarce resources – food and fuel with not enough of either to go around.
As the winter grew deeper and the nights grew shorter, the stepmother made a decision. Things were hard and getting harder, so someone needed to do the hard thing (and her soft-hearted husband definitely couldn’t be trusted to make the right call). She therefore went to him on one particularly cold, brittle day and laid down the law. “Listen up, old man. You need to take your daughter and get her the fuck out of my house. Now. And don’t try to be sneaky and leave her with some of your relatives in some cozy izba somewhere (a traditional Slavic log house). Take her out into the middle of nowhere and leave her in the vast expanse of crackling frost.”
Her husband was not thrilled about this order to say the least. He wept and begged his wife to reconsider, but she held firm in her demand. He loved his daughter, but he feared his wife and so he buckled like wet cardboard. Eyes red and heart heavy, he went to his daughter. He hitched up the sleigh and brought her out to go for a ride. On instinct, he reached for a heavy sheepskin blanket for his daughter. He saw the glint in his wife’s eyes and reconsidered the impulse. Besides, what would be the point? There was no sense in giving her false hope. As his wife watched him through the window, he rode with his daughter by his side out into the swirling winds.
The sleigh drove down the frozen paths and then beyond them to the wilderness. When they finally reached the edge of the deep, dark woods, the father stopped, helped his daughter to the snow-covered ground, and then rode away. The poor young girl hadn’t really understood where they were going or why, and she definitely hadn’t expected to be abandoned out here to die. Tears burning in her eyes, she watched her father ride away, hoping with all her might that now he would turn around and come back. He never did. He never even looked back. He loved his daughter just enough to not want to watch the life leave her tiny body.
Alone, abandoned, and utterly terrified, the poor girl stood there in the empty wilderness, shivering and sobbing. She screamed and she begged and she prayed, but no one was there to hear. She was all alone in an utterly inhospitable place without even a blanket to shelter her from the biting wind.
Or so she thought. Out of the blinding swirl of snowy white walked a towering figure clad in heavy furs. A shining crown glinted on his head above a long, snowy beard. He tromped towards this cowering young girl though his steps were strangely soundless, perhaps dampened by the thick snow. He looked quizzically at this unexpected visitor to his wild realm. “Do you know who I am, little one? They call me Father Frost.” She dropped an awkward but polite curtsy to the enormous man. “How do you do, Father Frost. It’s nice to meet you. Are you an angel sent in answer to my prayers?”
Father Frost paused to consider before answering somewhat taken aback and thoroughly charmed by her good manners. “Are you comfortable, child? It’s quite chilly out here.” The girl smiled bashfully. “Yes, Father Frost. I am very comfortable. It’s very kind of you to ask.” The faint tinge of blue around her lips said otherwise, though she was clearly trying her best to be brave. Father Frost knew all too well the weaknesses that plagued humans. Being of the wild places of the world, he had seen much of the worst that humanity had to offer and knew that very few people were truly good and kind. When the chips were down, most humans were as savage and cruel as any beast could ever hope to be. It usually mattered very little. No mere mortal could hope to win a struggle with Father Frost, king of winter.
The sweet and pleasant demeanor of this poor, frail child melted his icy heart just a little. He considered for another long moment before coming to a decision – such politeness deserved a reward. He resolved to treat her more gently than the others who stumbled into his icy kingdom. From somewhere (it was hard for the little girl to see from where exactly between the thickening snow and her own growing shivers), he pulled a large wooden trunk and opened it for her. Inside lay many beautiful and precious things, finer and more costly than anything the poor girl had ever laid eyes on in her life. Laying right on top was a fine schouba, a cloak lined with soft and expensive furs. Beneath that lay warm silk quilts, light as a feather and as warm a pleasant childhood memory. And beneath that lay a finely woven sarafan (a traditional Russian dress) decorated with pearls and silver embroidery.
The girl put all of it on, beaming at the unexpected splendor. She had never felt so special, so rich, or so beautiful in her entire life. She could have sworn that even the sun smiled at her, warming her soul. Some of the color returned to her skin and her shivering stopped thanks to the kindness of old Father Frost.
Meanwhile, back in the village, the stepmother was busy making blinis, a type of pancake or crepe that was a traditional dish at births and funerals. Having just sent her husband out to leave her despised stepdaughter to freeze to death, these blinis were going to be given to their family and friends as well as the priests after the dead little girl’s funeral service. They were getting close to being ready, so the wicked stepmother called to her husband. “Alright, she’s been out there long enough to be cold and dead. Go and fetch your daughter’s body so we can bury it and be done with her.” Heart heavy with grief, the man did as he was bid without a word.
The family dog on the other hand was not going to take this shit quietly. Able to speak for reasons that are never explained, the dog sneezed indignantly at the woman, tail wagging. “Woof! Woof! The old man’s daughter is on her way home now, beautiful and happy as never before but your daughter is still a wicked piece of shit!” The cruel stepmother was not about to take lip from a damned dog. She kicked the poor little thing in anger. “Shut up, shut up, shut up! No one cares what you think you ugly mutt!”
For reasons I can’t adequately explain (maybe she felt like a dog announcing something that ominous was bad luck), she took one of the blinis that were just finished baking and offered it to the little dog. “Here, eat this and say ‘The woman’s daughter will soon be married and the old man’s daughter will soon be buried!’” In that quick as lightning way that little dogs have, the pupper devoured the blini whole, licked its chops, and grinned a doggy grin. “Woof woof! The old man’s daughter is coming home rich and happy but the old woman’s daughter is still ugly and miserable.” The wicked stepmother was furious at the dog’s disobedience, but no amount of beating, pleading, or food bribery could convince it to stop repeating variations on that theme.
Before long, the woman heard the sound of the sleigh in the yard over her own furious attempts to kowtow the dog into submission. Looking out the window, she was shocked to see that the little dog had somehow been absolutely correct in defiance of all fucking logic. I dunno, maybe the dog was a seer. Her husband was huffing and puffing along behind his very much alive and richly dressed daughter, struggling to carry a heavy trunk full of even more expensive finery. It was so large and full of extravagant things that he could barely carry it the short distance from the sleigh to the house.
The woman looked from the old man to her despised stepdaughter to her beloved daughter and back again before coming to a decision. “Husband! Hitch up our best horses to our good sleigh. You’re taking my daughter to the same spot you took that little asshole and leaving her there in the wide fields. If she can come back laden with such baubles, just imagine what my daughter will return with!” The man opened his mouth to argue, but that cruel glint was back in his wife’s eye and he shut his trap. It wasn’t worth the fight. Besides, maybe she was right.
He quickly hitched up the other sleigh to fresh horses, loaded up his younger daughter, and rode back out towards the edge of the forest. As before, they headed out without so much as a blanket so that everything would be exactly the same. He followed his own tracks (already nearly obliterated by the thickly falling snow) to the same spot on the edge of nowhere. This daughter had not been informed of the plan any more than her older half-sister had been; no one dared disobey the cruel mistress of the house. The old man left her there all alone with only slightly less worry than before.
The little girl stood there in the snow, shivering and miserable. Soon enough, the towering form of Father Frost again appeared from the vast empty expanse of his frozen kingdom. “Are you comfortable, child? It’s quite chilly out here.” “Fuck off, dipshit. I’m freezing my ass off over here, which you’d know if you stopped asking bullshit questions and actually looked.” Father Frost shook his head sadly. It figured. After all, what were the odds that two lost humans in a row would be pleasant people? Most humans were assholes, and this little girl was no different. He asked her a few more questions out of politeness, but her answers only grew more angry and insulting. It was no use.
Meanwhile, back in the village, the calculating stepmother figured that enough time had passed for her beloved daughter to have amassed quite a fortune from wherever the other little twerp had gotten it (in all the excitement, she hadn’t actually bothered to ask). Besides, the cake she had been baking to celebrate her daughter’s new wealth was almost ready and she wanted it to be just perfect when her worthless husband came back with her. “Husband! Go and fetch my daughter, and be quick about it! Take the best horses and the good sleigh again, and make goddamned sure not to lose that trunk or I’ll make you suffer, got it?” Without a word, the much-abused old man once more hitched up the team and headed out to the middle of nowhere in the bitter cold that was growing all the more brutal as the sun began to dip towards the horizon.
As the cake came out of the oven, the little dog decided to goad the old woman again with unexplained talking. “Woof! Woof, I say! The old man’s daughter will soon be married. The old woman’s daughter will soon be buried!” She aimed another kick at the pupper, who dodged nimbly aside and kept taunting her. She switched tactics and offered the dog some of the fresh cake. “Don’t say such things! Here, take this cake and say ‘The woman’s daughter is clad in silver and gold.’” The dog snatched the cake and wolfed it down but refused to say what the wicked stepmother wanted.
As she was alternatively begging and threatening her talking dog, she heard a commotion from outside. Leaving the cake to cool, she rushed outside to greet her daughter and see what epic finery she had come back from her trek into the wilderness with. There was the sleigh and there was her husband climbing down, but there was no trunk of rich clothing to be seen. Instead, she saw the old man picking up a small, still body from the back of the sleigh. With a wail of despair, she rushed over to the cold, unmoving form of her daughter, skin blue with the terrible cold her thin dress had done nothing to stop. Hot tears fell on frozen skin, but the little girl didn’t stir and at last she realized that greed and envy had killed her beloved daughter. It was far too late.
And…that’s just how it ends. The story doesn’t say if the wicked stepmother changes her ways or what happens to the undoubtedly traumatized family after. I could absolutely see the old woman deciding to blame the surviving girl for her encounter with Father Frost (who is probably the most brutal version of Santa Claus we’ve seen yet, or maybe the worst possible version of the Ice King from Adventure time, derived from Koschei the Deathless from all the way back in Episode 18B). It’s as dark and unforgiving a tale as the heart of winter itself. I don’t know about you, but I could use a little pick-me-up after that, which means it’s time for Gods and Monsters. This is a segment where I get into a little more detail about the personalities and history of one of the gods or monsters from this week’s pantheon that was not discussed in the main story. This week’s trouble-makers are the Yule Lads.
Way back in Episode 35, we met the giantess Gryla who made a habit of munching on the flesh of naughty children for Christmas and her ferocious feline friend Jolakotturinn, or the Yule Cat. I promised then that I would come back later to talk about her children, the Yule Lads, and then I never did. Shame on me. It’s been three years, so it’s time to actually pick up that dropped thread.
The Yule Lads are the sons of Gryla and her third husband, the lazy Leppaludi. Legend has it that Gryla (who shows up in the Prose Edda of Norse mythology) has dozens of childrens by her various husbands, but none of them really make much of an impression. The 13 Yule Lads are still very much a force in Iceland, though they have chilled out (pun intended), settling into more of a trickster Santa role to their mother’s Krampus. Personally, as has been well-documented on this podcast, I love tricksters so I’m a fan of the Lads. The king of Denmark Christian VI was less fond of this cannibalistic family, especially since they were used as a disciplinary tool to threaten children into good behavior (like Krampus).
Traditionally, the Lads appear starting on December 12th (or more specifically, late the night before), with a new Lad showing up each day until Christmas Eve, and staying for 13 days each . Thus, the first Lad leaves on Christmas Day and the last leaves on January 6th, which is also the feast of the Epiphany in the Catholic tradition (which celebrates the arrival of the Magi aka the Three Wise Men). Children leave out their shoes on the windowsill for the Lads to place candy in for those who have been good and rotting potatoes for those who haven’t. Each Lad also has his own extremely colorful and evocative name and special gimmick for naughty children. They were first mentioned in the 17th century Poem of Gryla (which is the first time she was linked to Christmas), but the now-traditional number of 13 comes from an 18th century poem with their usual names coming from Jon Arnason in 1862. Prior to that, the number and names of the Yule Lads varied from place to place (with some versions only including 9 of them). It was not until Icelandic poet Johannes ur Kotlum published Jolin Koma or Christmas is Coming that they got their now-canonical personalities.
The first Yule Lad to arrive on the scene is Stekkjarstaur (or Sheep-Cote Clod) who has a habit of harassing the local sheep. And by ‘harass’, I specifically mean that he tries to suckle on the teats of the ewes to drink their milk direct from the source, which poor sheep. Fortunately for the wolly victims, this Lad is hampered in his efforts by having two wooden feet (or two peg-legs depending on the translation).
Next up is Giljagaur (or Gully Hawk) who, as his name implies, likes to hide in any gullies he can find. This isn’t because he’s the king of hide and seek but because, like his brother, he’s got a real hankering for dairy. In this case, he specifically tries to sneak into barns where the cows are sleeping to steal the foam out of the buckets. Not the cream, just the foam. He’s an odd duck, but all of the Yule lads are.
Third is Stufur (or Stubby) who is short (for an ogre at least and maybe for a person as well). For once, his thing doesn’t involve milk. Instead, he sneaks into homes and steals their pans so he can eat any leftover crusts inside them. Þvörusleikir, whose name means Spoon-Licker, is up next. He’s pretty much exactly what you think: a dude who licks people’s spoons. That may be all he eats because he’s also known for being as tall as Stufur is short and extremely thin and malnourished to boot.
On the night before December 16th comes Pottaskefill aka Pot Licker (or maybe Pot Scraper) and yeah, we’re continuing a theme here. Feeling a weird need to one-up his gross spoon-licking brother, Pottaskefill sneaks into your house to eat the leftovers from your dirty pots and lick them clean. Spoons were bad enough, right?
Two is company and three’s a crowd, which is why we’re getting another licker up next – Askasleikir the Bowl Licker. Back in the day, Icelanders used to store a wooden bowl (usually with a lid) of leftovers known as an aksur under their beds. That’s what this particular Yule Lad likes to steal and lick. A lot of this is stealing things and/or putting dirty things in their mouths.
Seventh is at last something different: Hurdaskellir the Door Slammer. This dude is just as self-evident about naming as his brothers. Indeed, this asshole is the loudest of them all with a penchant of sneaking into houses and slamming doors in the middle of the night like some petulant ghost, waking everyone up and generally ruining everyone’s sleep.
After him comes Skyrgamur the Skyr Gobbler. He is obsessed with an Icelandic type of yogurt known as skyr, which is actually pretty tasty if you’ve never tried it. Number 8 is the first one I’ve felt a kinship with, to be honest (and his diet is a lot less gross) and the thefts are going to be getting a lot more reasonable going forward. On the night before December 20th comes Bjugnakraekir the Sausage Swiper, and yes, he swipes sausages. Not only that, he has a very specific MO – the 9th Yule Lad prefers hiding in the rafters to steal sausages being hung up to smoke like some low-rent version of Mission Impossible.
On the night of the solstice, the longest night of the year, we meet Gluggagaegir, the biggest creeper of the bunch. His name means Window Peeper and yup, he’s a creeper peeper. He likes to hang around outside your window to watch you in secret. Ostensibly, it’s so he can see if you have anything worth stealing, but I think he just likes to watch. Continuing the skeevy trend is Gáttaþefur the Doorway Sniffer, but for once it’s not as bad as it sounds. This Yule Lad prefers to linger outside doors and use his very long, very sensitive nose to sniff out fresh baked goods especially Laufabraud or leaf bread.
After him comes Ketkrokur, also known as Meat Hook which sounds like a slasher movie villain and he’s only a small step away from that. He does in fact wield a long meat hook in strangers homes in the middle of the night, but instead of nubile teens having awkward sex, this Lad prefers to hook meats, especially smoked lamb. Last of all, on Christmas Eve comes Kertasnikir the Candle Stealer. Like the creeptastic terror so many of the lads are, this dude follows children through the darkness like another B horror movie villain. He’s not interested in the kids, but in the candles they carry, which he very much wants to steal and eat. This isn’t as weird as it sounds since candles were once made from animal fat and thus edible (and also fairly expensive), though it’s still a huge step down from the guy who eats fresh baked goods.
As I mentioned, there used to be plenty of other Yule Lad versions, including some from eastern Iceland that came from the ocean instead of the tall mountains. There’s also a version from a nursery rhyme that includes two female pranksters who took a page out of the last Yule Lad’s book and stole melted fat. Of course, they had to make it weird. Instead of carrying it away in any normal way, they would smuggle it out by stuffing it up their noses or shoving it in their socks. So if you’ve noticed weird things around the house this holiday season, you might have an infestation of Yule Lads.
That’s it for this episode of Myths Your Teacher Hated. Keep up with new episodes on our Facebook page, on iTunes, on Stitcher, on TuneIn, on Vurbl, and on Spotify, or you can follow us on Twitter as @HardcoreMyth and on Instagram as Myths Your Teacher Hated Pod. You can also find news and episodes on our website at myths your teacher hated dot com. If you have any questions, any gods or monsters you’d want to learn about, or any ideas for future stories that you’d like to hear, feel free to drop me a line. I’m trying to pull as much material from as many different cultures as possible, but there are all sorts of stories I’ve never heard, so suggestions are appreciated. The theme music is by Tiny Cheese Puff.
Next time, we’re headed back to Turtle Island (aka North America) for a Sioux story about how the seasons don’t get along. You’ll see that winter is a real asshole, that corn is a snappy dresser, and that eating leaves sucks. Then, in Gods and Monsters, it’s the heartwarming tale of a rabbit raising a magical blob of blood. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.