Ethereal Chronicles

The Washer-Women were beautiful creatures by day, radiating beauty that captivated all who beheld them. But as night descended, their former beauty deteriorated so that they were nothing more than aged crones. Yet their task, never changing, saw them continue to toil beneath the moonlight until the streams they inhabited flowed red with thick, warm blood.

A young man had been wandering through the forest in which the washer women worked at their dismal chores, though he knew little of the legend whispered among locals, having come from a distant land. So, when he stumbled across a group of beautiful, clothless women by a forlorn stream, he came forth, eager to speak with them.

His call, however, was met with no response, and as he peered beyond their movements he saw in their hands three bloodied shirts, which they were rubbing harshly in the cool water. One of the women, the darkest of the three, hummed a melody. And what a sad tune it was, unexpected from such a charming maiden.

The sadness of the song pierced his heart so much that he took another step forwards, his hand reaching out to gently touch her shoulder. As he did so, she jolted from her trance, spinning round to gaze at him as her sisters hastily fled.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He started, but she interrupted him, dropping the clothing beside her to take his hands in hers.

“What knowledge do you seek?” She asked, her eyes gleaming like polished gold, yet still empty as they bore into his own. “Do you wish to know whose death I herald?”

The man paused, his gaze drifting to the shirt, which looked rather small, like that of a child’s. “I am not sure I want to know the answer.”

“But I think you already know.” The woman replied, letting her grip fall so that she could once more seize the garment and resume her efforts to wash the blood from the fabric.

A sense of dread began to creep over the man as he rose to his feet. “It has been a pleasure, but I think I will go now.” He said, but his words were once more met with silence, for the woman had begun her haunting song, and her sisters had returned to join her.

He shrugged, and left to make his own way.

The following day, the man arrived at a crossroad, where a little boy sat in the shelter of some bushes, cradling a loaf of bread close to his chest and glancing guiltily about him. As the man drew nearer, he noticed the boy’s pale, drawn face, his breath shallow, terror etched into his gaze. Perhaps the worst thing of all was the unmistakable familiarity of his shirt.

“Hey-” The man began, hoping to bring the boy to safety, but the child, evidently traumatised, jumped at the sound of and bolted out into the road. In that instant, something shot through the air, striking him in the back and sending him sprawling into the mud.

A mass of cheering and laughter erupted as a group of men emerged from the side of the road on the left. 

“Thanks, lad.” One of them said, striding past the young man to retrieve the loaf from the dead boy’s limp arms. “Little tyke thought he could get away with it.”

As the blood from the wound spread across the boy’s shirt, the young man saw something that the others did not. Standing over the boy were the three women from before, only they were transformed, their beauty marred with age. The maiden who had previously warned me moved to touch the boy’s chest, and a ghostly hand emerged from his body. The little one stepped out from himself, and together with the women, vanished from sight.

In Scottish folklore, the Bean Nighe is a type of Banshee, and brings with her the formidable omen of death.

APPEARANCE AND ATTRIBUTES

A Bean Nighe can assume various appearances according to different stories. Though she can indeed appear beautiful, she is more commonly seen as a hag, with unusually long breasts which she drapes over her shoulders as she washes the bloodied garments of those who are doomed. Only by catching her attention before she notices them can an individual escape their own chance of death and instead gain wisdom. To do this, one should approach the Bean Nighe from behind and suckle from one of her breasts, claiming to be her child. If she is convinced, then she will impart precious knowledge to the individual. If she is not, however, then the individual risks perishing in death.

In alternative stories Bean Nighe is depicted as a little girl, who once caught must answer any question asked, provided the human answers all of her questions truthfully in return. If she does spot a human before they spot her, then she will paralyse them from the limbs down.

Bean Nighe may have other physical defects, such as a missing nostril or webbed feet.

BEAN NIGHE AS THE MESSENGER OF DEATH

A Bean Nighe is called a ‘Washer Woman’ because she is always seen washing the bloodstained clothes of those on the brink of death. She haunts forlorn streams, far from the bustle of human activity, and remains there, doomed to forever continue her task.

A Bean Nighe often sings as she washes, and though the melody she produces is addicting to the human ear it is a sorrowful one, filled with the weight of her own tragic past; a life cut short in childbirth.

If an individual successfully catches her attention, they can avert death by preventing her from washing the item of clothing, unless, of course, the garment belongs to an enemy.

Once caught, a Bean Nighe can grant three wishes or reveal the name of the person who is about to die.