The Witch of Fife

Once upon a time, in the kingdom of Fife, there lived an old man and an old woman. The old man was a quiet, meek man, while the old woman was a flighty, empty-headed woman. Some of their neighbors even gave her sideways glances and whispered that she might be a witch. Even her husband feared this, because, strangely enough, she had taken to running away from home. As soon as it grew dark outside, the old woman would vanish, not returning home until morning. She would come back pale and tired, as if she had traveled far or worked herself to exhaustion. Her husband tried to follow her once to see where she went and what she did, but he couldn’t.

She always managed to slip out the door when he wasn’t looking. And once she was gone, she disappeared without a trace. No matter how hard he tried, the old man couldn’t keep track of her.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, and one day he asked her directly: "Tell me, are you a witch or not?" When he heard her answer, his blood ran cold. Without hesitation, his wife replied that yes, she was indeed a witch, and if he promised not to tell anyone, she would reveal where she had been. Well, the old man promised he wouldn’t breathe a word to anyone. He was desperate to know where his wife had been wandering off to.

He didn’t have to wait long. A week later, the new moon rose, and everyone knows that witches love to roam about during the new moon. And so, on the very first night of the new moon, the old woman disappeared again. She returned at dawn.

The old man asked her where she had been. The old woman burst into laughter and immediately told him everything that had happened.

It turned out she had met up with her four friends at an old church standing in the wilderness. There, they mounted laurel branches and bundles of hemlock, which instantly turned into horses. The witches raced over hills and valleys faster than the wind, chasing foxes, weasels, and owls. Then they crossed the River Forth and climbed Ben Lomond. There, they dismounted and began drinking beer brewed not in any human brewery. They drank from horned cups, also not made by human hands. Then, from under a huge moss-covered stone, a tiny man with a small bagpipe under his arm jumped out and began to play so merrily that even the trout leaped out of the lake below, and the stoats ran out of their burrows. Crows and herons flew in from somewhere, perched in the dark on the trees, and began to listen. The witches started dancing and danced so hard that they could barely stay on their horses when it was time to return. They had to leave early to make it home before the first rooster’s crow.

The old man listened in silence, shaking his head. When she finished her tale, he said:

"What do you need all that dancing for? You’d be better off staying home! It’s much calmer there."

But then the new moon came again, and the old woman disappeared for the whole night. When she returned in the morning, she told her husband that this time, she and her friends had sat in seashells and sailed across the stormy sea as if in boats. They sailed until they reached the shores of Norway. There, they mounted invisible horses, children of the wind, and raced over mountains, gorges, and glaciers until they arrived in Lapland, which was covered in snow. There, elves, fairies, and mermaids of the North feasted with sorcerers, house spirits, and ghosts, and even ghostly hunters appeared, whom no mortal had ever seen.

The witches from Fife also feasted with the others. They ate, drank, danced, sang, and—most importantly—learned some magical words, or incantations, from the dark forces there. All one had to do was whisper these words, and they would soar into the air, and all locks and bolts would open before them, allowing them to enter wherever they pleased. Then the witches from Fife returned home, very pleased. The old man just grumbled:

"What do you need to wander to such places for? You’d be better off lying at home in your bed—it’s much warmer there."

But after the old woman disappeared for the third time, her stories struck a nerve with the old man.

This time, she met her friends at the house of a neighboring witch. They had heard that the Bishop of Carlisle had a wine cellar with excellent wine. The witches wanted to taste it, and here’s how they got there: a witch would step onto the hook in the fireplace—the one used to hang a pot when cooking—whisper the incantation she had learned from the elves in Lapland, and… lo and behold! She would fly up the chimney, just like smoke. Then they all flew through the air like wisps of cloud and quickly reached the Bishop’s palace in Carlisle.

There, all the locks and bolts opened before them by themselves. The witches entered the wine cellar, tasted the Bishop’s wine, and returned to Fife before the first rooster’s crow—sober and composed, not a hint of drunkenness in their eyes.

When the old man heard this, he even jumped up from his chair—he loved good wine more than anything, and such wine was a rare treat for him.

"Well, with a wife like you, I can truly be proud!" exclaimed the old man. "Tell me that incantation, old woman, and I’ll fly there too—I want to taste the Bishop’s wine."

But the old woman just shook her head.

"No, no! I can’t," she said. "If I tell you, you’ll tell others, and then the whole world will turn upside down. Everyone will abandon their work and fly off to meddle in others’ affairs and steal their treats. So you’d better sit quietly, old man. You already know enough."

No matter how much the old man begged or wheedled, she refused to reveal her secret.

But the old man was cunning, and the Bishop’s wine haunted him. So night after night, he hid in the house where his wife met with her friends. He waited a long time, but finally, his patience paid off.

One evening, all five friends gathered in the house. The old women chatted quietly, giggled, and reminisced about everything that had happened to them in Lapland. After a while, they ran to the fireplace. One by one, each witch stepped onto a chair, then onto the soot-blackened hook, muttered the magical words, and… lo and behold! Before the old man could even catch his breath, the witches were gone! They flew up the chimney. And so, all the witches flew away one after another. "Well, I can do that too!" thought the old man. He stepped onto the hook, whispered the incantation, flew up the chimney, and soared through the air after the five witches—like a true sorcerer.

The witches didn’t look back as they flew, so they didn’t notice the old man following them.

But when the whole group flew to the Bishop’s palace in Carlisle and descended into the cellar, the witches finally saw that the old man had followed them. They weren’t too pleased, but there was nothing they could do! They had to let him join in.

And so, they all began tasting the wine, first from one barrel, then another. But the witches only took a sip from each, never drinking too much. They were wise old women who never lost their senses—they remembered they had to return home before the first rooster’s crow, so they couldn’t afford to get drunk.

But the old man wasn’t as wise as they were. He kept drinking and drinking the Bishop’s wine until he was overcome with drowsiness. He lay down on the floor and fell fast asleep.

His wife saw this and decided to teach him a lesson—so he wouldn’t meddle where he didn’t belong next time. When it was time for the witches to leave, she didn’t wake her husband and flew off with her friends.

The old man slept peacefully in the cellar until morning. But then two of the Bishop’s servants came down to draw wine for their master and, in the dark, nearly tripped over the sleeping old man. They were very surprised—after all, the cellar door had been locked, and they had unlocked it themselves.

The servants dragged the old man out into the light, shook him, and beat him until they finally woke him up. They demanded to know how he had gotten there. The poor man was so frightened and his head was so dizzy that he could only mutter: "I’m from Fife… I flew here on the midnight wind…"

When the servants heard this, they shouted, "A sorcerer! A sorcerer!" and dragged the old man to the Bishop. And it must be said that in those days, bishops were terrified of sorcerers and witches. So the Bishop of Carlisle ordered the old man to be burned alive.

When the poor old man heard his sentence, he deeply regretted not staying home in his bed and chasing after the Bishop’s wine. But regret or not, it was too late!

The servants dragged the old man into the courtyard, wrapped him in chains, and tied the chains to a thick iron post. They piled a large bonfire around the post and lit the wood.

Soon, the first tongues of flame licked between the logs, and the old man thought:

"Well, this is the end for me!" He had completely forgotten that his wife was a witch.

But just as the flames began to lick at his trousers, something fluttered and rustled in the air, and suddenly a large gray bird with outstretched wings appeared in the sky, swooped down into the courtyard, and landed on the old man’s shoulder. In its beak, the gray bird held a red nightcap. It placed the cap on the old man’s head, let out a fierce caw, and flew away. To the old man, that caw sounded more beautiful than the most exquisite song. For it was no ordinary bird—it was his wife whispering the incantation to him.

When he heard her whisper, he jumped for joy and loudly shouted the magical words. The chains fell off him, and he soared into the air. The people gathered in the square were struck dumb with amazement. But the old man didn’t even think to bid farewell to the people of Carlisle—he flew higher and higher, straight back to the kingdom of Fife, and soon arrived home safe and sound. And from then on, he never tried to pry into his wife’s secrets again. He left her in peace—let her do as she pleased.

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The Witch of Fife

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