Like many gifts, this story returned to me just when I needed it the most. It struck me as the perfect metaphor for our times. As I toss and turn at night, worried and fearful for what’s to come, the story continues to haunt me.
As a storyteller, I am very careful as to how I share Native American stories. These stories are essential to their culture providing wisdom, teachings and knowledge. Many stories are told only at specific times of the year, or for specific purposes, and then only by those given permission. Stories are thought of as “medicine” and only the wisest know how to use them to their full potential. So, as a storyteller I don’t tell these stories because they are not part of my culture. But I am sharing this story now for it is included in a collection of folktales, Iroquois Stories: Heroes and Heroines, Monsters and Magic by the Native American storyteller Joseph Bruchac. I trust Joseph’s judgment in sharing this story.
I found multiple versions of this tale by the early collectors and “folklorists” of the late 1880’s including David Cusick, Jeremiah Curtin, Arthur Parker and Frederick Wilkerson Waugh. Sadly, many of these translations have lost the essence of the culture as they were made palatable for the times and for their Anglo readers. My version will be a conflation of all these stories using Joseph’s wonderful tale as the template.
The ”Vampire Corpse” or “Vampire Skeleton” story was one of the most popular Iroquois folktales. There are multiple versions of this tale which are found in most of the early collections. These stories were obviously well loved and told many times. As the title indicates, this tale is quite frightening, especially if told under the light of the full moon. It is the ultimate ghost story. It would also be considered a “pour quoi” tale, for it explains a cultural practice.
But before we begin, I think it’s best to say that these “vampires” are not the same as the ones in Europe. They don’t turn into bats (although sometimes owls!). They can’t be killed with a stake through the heart or vanish in the light of day. Mostly these are the spirits of the dead: people who in life were very evil and who could not give up their evil ways. After death, people were placed in a box and left on a shelf in a dwelling. But in this world (and in many others) the dead can be dangerous. When people stumble on the vampire’s location, these spirits feast off the bodies and blood of the living and sometimes transform themselves into birds or animals.
I share this story today for the women who walk on the razor’s edge; those who seek to keep their families and communities safe from evil. Their intuition gnaws at their stomach and prickles the hairs on the back of their necks. The wise old crones speak of times long gone. They light candles and perform ceremonies at the light of the full moon. “Remember the ancestors,” they say. “The time is now, to remember. Listen to your intuition and act before it’s too late.”
And they are right.
Long ago, a young family made their way into the depths of the forest. The husband and wife traveled through the winter snow to visit the wife’s family. The man walked ahead complaining about the journey, while the woman caried her baby on her back and held all the blankets and supplies in her arms. The man, who carried nothing, continued to complain. “I don’t know why we must go visit your family,” he said. “Is it absolutely necessary to bring them gifts? Don’t they have enough already?” The woman sighed and walked behind. Although they could have made the trip easily in one day, the man walked slowly and aimlessly, dragging his feet. When the sun set, they saw a small bark lodge ahead.
Now long ago an evil man had lived in that bark lodge. He was thought to be a sorcerer, wizard, medicine man or witch. No one knew for sure. But at night it was said that he transformed himself into an owl and went out in search of prey. When he died, he was buried in this house following the custom of the time. He was placed inside the hut in a cedar box, placed on a shelf and left there.
The young family knew nothing of this and so the husband, who was a bit lazy, insisted on staying there for the night even though they could have reached the village in short order. The woman wanted to keep traveling. She didn’t feel good about staying in the lodge. The hair on the back of her neck prickled when she moved towards it. But her husband would have none of it. He refused to go farther. The man entered the lodge, took all their bedding and laid down next to the box to sleep. The woman and her child tried to sleep on the hard floor, but the baby begin to cry. “Woman!” he said, “Quiet your child, I need to rest!”
She did her best and after some time they all began to sleep. As the moon rose, the bark lodge was filled with light. The woman stirred and heard gnawing. It sounded as if an owl was tearing and eating the flesh of a mouse. She looked toward her husband and saw a large pool of blood. Standing over his body was a figure, its hands and mouth dripping with blood. Was it a skeleton or a corpse? She couldn’t tell for sure. Either way, she immediately knew she was in the bark lodge of a monster.
So, she pretended to speak to her husband to trick the skeleton. “Husband,” she cried out. “The baby needs water; I’m going to gather some from the snow.” She took the baby in her arms, grabbed a pot and went out the door. As soon as she was free from the bark lodge, she began to run as fast as she could in the direction of the village. The moon was full, but the night was dark and cold.
It wasn’t long before the skeleton knew she was gone. It began to whoop, screech and scream after her. “Whoo whot! Whooop! Whooop! EEEEK! EEEK!” The monster she feared let out a blood curdling cry. She ran as fast as she could with the baby in her arms. She often fell in the snow but pulled herself up to move forward, each time losing precious momentum. In desperation she took off her skirt and threw it as hard as she could into the trees. The branches caught it, and the skeleton monster attacked, shredding the skirt to bits. The woman continued to run but the monster grew closer and closer. She took the blanket and threw it to her side to steer the skeleton off course. The monster attacked the blanket but after finding no blood, screeched in anger. “Whoop! Whoop! EEEK! EEEK!” it cried. The frightful chase continued. After some time, the woman and baby were naked for they had stripped off all their clothes to delay the skeleton’s attack. Exhausted, cold, and afraid, the woman was almost defeated. But just then, she saw a sign on a tree marking the boundary of the village before her. She ran into the long house and collapsed on the floor. The people were astonished to see her there and gathered to aid her. They wrapped both the woman and her baby in blankets, gave them food and something to drink.
The woman told the tribe what had happened, and the warriors went out into the darkness with torches to protect the village. They could see the skeleton monster pace around their border, but the light kept it away. In this village, an old woman was the tribal leader. She knew all the old stories and carried all the history and wisdom within her. After listening to the tale, she said, “An evil man, once lived in that bark lodge. His bones are still there. Tomorrow we must go to where he is buried and stop this monster from harming anyone again.”
And that’s what they did. The next morning, many made their way into the forest - the old woman, the young woman and her baby, along with all the warriors. Together they made their way to the bark lodge. They found the bones of the woman’s husband inside. The skeleton monster was back in his funeral box on the shelf. Its mouth and hands were covered in blood.
“The spirits of the dead can be dangerous,” the old woman said. She took out her medicine pouch and sprinkled herbs around the box. Then the men placed dried wood in a circle around the bark lodge and set it a blaze. Soon the bark lodge itself was on fire. “Whoo whot! Whooop! Whooop! EEEEK! EEEK!” the vampire skeleton howled as it encircled the lodge looking for an escape. Just as the entire building was about to be engulfed in flames, an owl flew out the door. The bark lodge burned to the ground and the vampire skeleton lived no more.
Afterwards, the women elders of the village, decided they should bury the dead underground so that evil spirits would no longer wander at night. The young woman and her child stayed in the village with her family. After some time, she married a kind and brave warrior and the three lived together happily. The village slept peacefully at night.
Two things to consider before we begin. First, this folktale was part of the Iroquois oral tradition. The story was shared over and over again by different tellers, at different times and in different contexts. It was an important story to the people which speaks to why many variants remain. In these versions, the Iroquois storyteller ends the tale by explaining their burial customs. Bodies were initially left in boxes above ground but then later that custom changed to being buried below ground. This story explains the change in practice making it a “pour quoi” tale (that is, one that answers a “why” question).
But this story also references their supernatural world. Anthony Wonderley writes in his book Oneida Iroquois Folklore, Myth, and History, “Beyond tales of creation, heroes, wonder, magic, and humor, there lurked a world of supernatural denizens autochthonous to the deep woods. Some were mostly benevolent, but the majority were dreadful most of the time. They are among the most popular characters in Iroquois folklore.” This is an incredibly scary story and would probably top many of the ghost tales told around the campfire. The dead are seen as dangerous, and they are scary. It’s a fear that transcends any one culture.
Iroquois stories usually illustrate a moral or principle. Stories are medicine. They are told for a particular purpose. Joseph Bruchac says they are “teachers that bears lessons of the right ways to live in balance with the earth.” Native American storyteller, Dovie Thomason, speaks of her grandmother’s stories. The old stories she told of beavers and wolves somehow were always engaged in the same naughty behavior that she was as a child. These stories are teaching tools, not preaching tools. They settle within us and change us from the inside out. There is never a single interpretation.
And so, it is with great reverence that I now share my thoughts about this story. I am hoping it is appropriate for this wise old crone to do so for the story strikes me as important for the days ahead.
The story begins in the forest. In Jungian symbolism, the forest is the realm of the unconscious. This is what is unknown, unexpected and denied. It is where our deepest emotions reside be it fear, anger, loneliness, or sadness. The characters are deep in this forest and soon faced with darkness. This is very much a world of the unknown and the unexpected.
A small family enters the forest to find their way home. This is the home of matriarchy. It is a home of safety, support and nurturing. It is a place of cooperation and community, where the collective is valued.
The man doesn’t want to go. He is lazy and self-centered. He doesn’t help the woman. He refuses to listen to her or help her and the baby. We might see him as the ego self or as the displaced animus. I prefer to think of him as representing the individualism of the West. This is a cultural value in which the individual is more important than society and the collective. At extremes it represents self-obsession or as some describe it as “collective narcissism.”
Thinking only of himself, the man heads into the birch lodge, not valuing the intuition of his wife or the wisdom of the feminine. Clearly their relationship is not good. Even in the matriarchal world of the Iroquois, this man sees his wife as less than himself. She has no voice and is compliant to him. She walks on eggshells. She is lonely and fearful. She longs to return home.
The family knows nothing of the birch lodge. They don’t recognize the landscape they walk upon. They haven’t heard the story of the evil sorcerer. There is no evidence in the story that they should have known. They are blindsided by what is to come. It’s only the woman who feels the prickling, who tells him they should not stay. It is her inner knowing, her intuition that cries out in warning. If the man had listened to her, everything would have been different.
If this story was a metaphor (which it is), I would say this is where we are today. The collective world is in danger. The “feminine” within all of us knows something is wrong. We are losing our voice and our freedom. We are forgetting the past, ignorant of what is to come.
When the individual forgets family and the collective, we are destined to enter the forest and experience the horrors of the unknown. Selfishness dooms a family as it dooms a society. The man doesn’t listen. He doesn’t try to understand. He doesn’t explore or study his surroundings. He doesn’t check it out. He thinks he knows better. This is the “rational” mind that only takes in what is two feet ahead. This is the patriarchy that put the hierarchical status quo first.
The man cozies up to the box. He doesn’t look inside. He doesn’t even think too. He takes all the blankets for himself. He leaves his wife and baby on the floor. The moon rises in the night sky. That is the time when magic appears. It is the time of completion. The woman sleeps fitfully. She is on edge, waiting and watching. Suddenly she hears the sound of gnawing bones. It’s the sound of an owl eating a mouse; a predator eating the weakest of its prey. She looks and sees the unthinkable. Her husband is being eaten by a monster. What was once human is now devouring what is human. What was her world, and its structure has now come to an end.
The monster represents what should be dead. It’s our darkest fears coming back to life. The destruction from the past returns to haunt us. It’s the story of bigotry, misogyny and hate. It is the history of all the dictators who sought to destroy freedom for their own individual power and gain, be it Hitler or Stalin or rulers living in this present day. These monsters rise from the dead to turn us into mindless zombies.
Quickly the woman thinks of a ruse to leave the lodge. While she pretends she is talking to her husband, she takes the baby and leaves. But instead of getting water for the child, she runs to save their lives. It's not long before the vampire corpse is after them. She hears it screeching like an owl, enraged by her deception. It seeks to take her life. It seeks to take her way of life. It seeks to take her strength, cleverness and bravery so she can no longer resist. It wants to take everything that is precious to her. This monster will suck you dry without a single thought and gnaw on your bones until there is nothing left. It’s the spirit of death cannibalizing on the living.
There is a frightening chase. It is only through the woman’s bravery and wits that they escape. She strips herself and her baby naked as she flees this world. In doing so, she almost dies from exposure and exhaustion. But she doesn’t give up. She never gives up. As they say today, “and yet she persisted.”
Finally, she makes her way into the village. She is cold, naked and scared; stripped of what she has known and become. She is a migrant. The tribe welcomes her and her child. She is a visitor but still they gather around and care for her. She is no longer alone. The warriors rush out to defend their village from the monster. They bring light into the darkness and keep guard until daylight.
The old woman is a tribal elder. She was probably a clan mother. She knows all the old stories and is the keeper of the wisdom that deserves to be kept. She knows the story of the evil sorcerer who lives in the forest. As the wise crone she knows exactly what to do in this moment. She has kept the history of the people safe within her where it cannot be rewritten or reinterpreted.
What history are we forgetting in this moment? What memories do our ancestors cry out for us to remember? There are few alive who remember the Holocaust or the dropping of the first atomic bomb. There are few who learn the history of colonialism or slavery today. What is lost when we are tricked into forgetting? Do we recognize evil when we are faced with it? What happens to our freedom when history is rewritten?
And so, at daylight, the old woman leads them to the birch lodge where they find the vampire skeleton sleeping in its box, it’s mouth and hands covered in blood. She knows what to do and sets to work with her herbs and firewood. The fire is set. This is not the fire of warmth or food. It is the white hot fire that burns out evil, for evil can never be ignored. This evil can’t be placated or explained away. It can’t be worked with or made “nice.” It can only be eradicated through the fire of rebirth and renewal. The wise crone knows that and so it is done. The vampire skeleton is transformed into an owl, only a shadow of what it once was. But the owl still lives so we don’t forget.
The story ends with the woman and her child safe within the bosom of the village. She finally finds love and family. The village lives together in peace. The collective is safe.
What does this story mean today? I leave that for you to consider. But for my women readers I give this advice. Don’t ignore your intuition. Prepare yourself for struggle. Be willing to fight against injustice. Your intuition will guide you as to what you need to do now and in the future to protect yourself, your family and your freedom.
