Each night I heard his sweet music, and each night I found myself captivated by it, venturing to the brook where he lay. He always remained in the same place, slumped against the moss, fingers lazily wrapped around the bow as he played the beautiful fiddle. He played with such grace despite the seeming lack of effort, and the sound that emerged was unlike anything I had ever heard before. It was a sound that reached right into my ears and penetrated my very soul. A beautiful, haunting sound, one that left me paralysed.
He always noticed me, yet never uttered a word. Instead, he watched me slowly, a small smirk on his pale face and playful glint in his eye. He would laugh as I blushed and retreated back into the shadows, hiding my face from his view.
But this time, for the first time, he spoke to me, his words rolling off his tongue as sweet as honey.
“You like the way I play?”
“Yes.” I looked down. “It is beautiful. The best I’ve ever heard.”
He sat up slightly, shifting to lean on his elbow as I edged a little closer. He examined my face for a moment, his gaze unblinking, and I hesitated, unsure whether to stay or leave. I knew I should be wary, but his music, his presence was so irresistible to me.
“How would you like to play like this?” He questioned, his lip curling into that familiar grin as he dragged a long note on the instrument, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.
“Very much.” I nodded. “Very much.”
“This Thursday.” He said, leaning on his elbow once more. “Bring me something to eat, and I will teach you to play. Make sure nobody sees you.”
He looked away then, returning his attention to his beloved fiddle. I left quickly, not wanting to further disturb him, my stomach churning and my mind foggy with excitement.
The days blurred by until Thursday evening arrived, and I found myself once more by his brook, holding a hefty leg of mutton in my hand. He was nowhere to be seen, so I ventured to the edge of the water, placing the meat beside it.
The moment I did so, he appeared, his laughter ringing like golden bells and his face bearing a radiant smile.
“Very good.” He clapped his hands together, moving to take his usual seat on a raised part of the mossy bank. “Come, sit beside me.” He patted the ground behind him and held out his fiddle. Once I had sat down, he pushed the thing into my palms.
“Where is the bow?” I asked. “What shall I play with?”
The Fossegrim said nothing for a moment, tilting his head, and I noticed a subtle shift in his demeanour, a glitch in his kindness like there was something more sinister beneath it. Before I could react, he seized my hand, guiding my fingers onto the strings.
“What are you doing?” I gasped, shaken by his touch, which was bruising my right wrist.
“Teaching you.” He said calmly, dragging my fingers across.
I cried out with pain as the fine strings sliced my skin and desperately tried to pull away, but his grip was unbreakable. He continued to drag my fingers back and forth, back and forth, until they were a mangled, bloody mess, and the strings were stained red and covered with broken flesh.
I could not even tell how long he did it for, but when he finally ceased and I looked down at my broken hands, I saw that the strings had sawed the skin right down to the bone. And when I glanced up again, he was nowhere to be seen.
The Fossegrim is a European water trickster, renowned for his incredible skill with the fiddle, an instrument he is never seen without.
THE ENCHANTMENT OF A FOSSEGRIM
Though his music is beautiful, it is equally deadly to the human ear; such a melody has the power to bewitch a human into drowning or bending to the Fossegrim’s will, much like the call of a Siren. If a Fossegrim feels more lenient, however, he may be inclined to treat a human with kindness, offering healing or pleasure to those who choose to listen to his song.
In very rare circumstances, a tame Fossegrim may fall in love with a human, after which he may offer to live a normal life with her.
His fiddle, which he plays with uncanny ease, is said to have eleven distinct notes, the final note being reserved only for gods and spiritual beings of the Otherworld. Any human who happens to hear this note will fall into a state of madness, dancing until they drop dead.
APPEARANCE AND ATTRIBUTES
In most stories, a Fossegrim appears as an exceptionally beautiful young man dressed in minimal, earthy colours. However, in some instances, he may manifest in other forms, such as a fish, bird, or an impish-like creature.
His place of comfort is in rivers, waterfalls and streams, often secluded places in nature that are difficult for any passerby to stumble upon. He guards the bodies of water he inhabits, bringing life to the space that surrounds him and defending it from the intrusive touch of human activity.
FOSSEGRIM AS A TEACHER
A Fossegrim may offer to teach his skills to a human, provided he gets something in return. To win the favour of a Fossegrim, therefore, a human must make an offering.
The most appreciated of offerings are made on Thursday evenings, without the knowledge of others. Some people may choose to play a fiddle in honour of the Fossegrim’s incredible skill, but he particularly loves food, so most will leave him some meat on a bone.
If the meat is scarce, then the Fossegrim will only teach the human to tune the fiddle, not to play it. But if there is an abundance of meat on the bone, the Fossegrim will be fully satisfied and will teach the human to play the instrument.
To do so, the Fossegrim takes the right hand of the individual, dragging their fingers harshly against the fiddle strings until they all bleed profusely. Only after enduring this can the human play at the same level as a Fossegrim.
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