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Favorite European Ghostly Tales or Spooky Encounters

It's my favorite time of the year! (Or it would be if I wasn't dreading the endless darkness of European winter.)

So does anyone have any close encounters of the paranormal kind from your trips to Europe? Or just learned of any fascinating ghostly tales? I have a few, but I'll share my favorite one, retold in my own words (no nitpicking, please. It's a legend!)

In the late 15th century, there was an honest and humble postman in Stuttgart by the name of Michel. One of his routes was from Stuttgart to Esslingen, 10 miles away along the banks of the Neckar river. One day on his route, Michel stopped to water his horse and saw something sparkling on the ground. It was a glorious ring, gold, with rubies and emeralds - quite possibly worth his salary for a decade.

Michel decided he'd try to find the owner of this ring, but first he had to complete his route, so he rode on to Esslingen, dismounting at the old Fischmarkt, blowing his horn so the citizens would come collect their mail. He then retired to a cozy Weinstube where he started showing the ring, hoping one of the citizens would help him locate the owner.

Of course, in a medieval city like Esslingen, a tale like this spreads like wildfire. Soon dozens of onlookers were passing the ring around when a man burst through the door. "Let me see that ring!" he demanded.

Sure enough, the initials in the ring were that of his uncle, a wealthy Stuttgart patrician who'd been found murdered 2 years prior.

"Murderer!" shouted the nephew. "You thought you could murder my uncle and lie low until the time was right, but we haven't forgotten his grisly death! Arrest that man!"

And so poor Michel was taken to the Wolfstor (Wolf's Tower, still exists) and imprisoned. Then tortured. In the middle ages, there was no presumption of innocence. They believed an innocent person could withstand torture to prove their innocence, but we know today that anyone will confess under such barbaric treatments, whether they committed the crime or not.

After days of agony, Michel falsely confessed to the murder of the wealthy Stuttgarter and was sentenced to the relatively honorable and painless execution by the sword. Sounds bad, but there were worse ways to go.

Because Michel was well-known and loved in his community, many protested his death sentence, and even the Esslingen executioner suddenly found himself ill, so the Stuttgart executioner was called in to do the deed. But on account of Michel's status, he was allowed a last request. He requested to ride his horse from the Marktplatz in Stuttgart to the execution site in Esslingen, and before he walked up the scaffold, he blew his round postman's horn one more time and declared, "I am innocent of his crime. In fact, the guilty person is here in this crowd, and neither he, nor I, will have any rest until he confesses his grievous sin."

And then he laid his head on the chopping block and it was promptly separated from his body by the sword.

As soon as this happened, an unworldly sound, not unlike that of the postman's horn, was heard by the assembled crowd. Then all was silent.

One year late, on the 29th of September, the Stuttgart executioner was roused from bed by the sound of a strange horn. He saw a ghostly figure on the Marktplatz. Rubbing his eyes in disbelief, he could see the postman blowing his horn - from a head cradled in his arm. The headless horseman then took off, riding towards Esslingen, blowing his horn all the way.

The nephew of the murdered patrician heard it too, that year, and the next, and the year after that. He left Esslingen, because he dreaded that midnight rider, traveling all over Europe in a vain attempt to escape that horn. It was no use - it followed him, every year, no matter where he was, although it also tormented the citizens of Esslingen and Stuttgart who all witnessed an innocent man being put to death.

Posted by
3050 posts

20 years after the execution, a very old man made his way through the main gate into the Free Imperial City of Esslingen. He claimed to be only 40, but he appeared to be 70, and was near death. He sought refuge in St. Catherine's Hospital (of which the wine press still exists and has an entirely separate ghost story of it's own!) and while he shivered and shook, he grabbed the arm of a nun to make his confession.

He was once a respected citizen of Esslingen. He was, in fact, the nephew of the wealthy Stuttgart man who'd been murdered. The patrician had no heirs, so he'd left his wealth to his nephew. But he couldn't stay in the area to enjoy his newfound riches, because the ghostly rider and his horn had haunted him so. Then, he finally confessed to murdering his uncle for the money. As he drew his last breath, on the 29th of September, the postman's horn blew for the last time. With his confession, both were finally at rest and the ghostly postman was never seen again.

If you visit Esslingen on the 29th of September, you can see this story performed by local children, but any time of year you can visit the Jungundstil Postmichelbrunnen, which shows parts of the story and includes a very nice statue of the postman Michel with his head still attached, thankfully.

It's hard to find a town in Germany without it's own legends and stories of the supernatural, demonic, or tragic. Some are funny, others are chilling, and they are sometimes tragic.

Happy Halloween! Please share your legends, stories, or experiences in this thread!

Posted by
10110 posts

oooh, very spooky, Sarah, and well and evocatively told!

Posted by
7107 posts

With the age of many places I’ve stayed at over the years, some or all must have some residual energy hanging about, if not being outright haunted. However, I’ve never seen or felt anything weird.

Posted by
3 posts

In Brittany, there are many legends based on the Breton version of the Grim Reaper. He is known as the Ankou, and pretty much ressembles the Grim Reaper with the addition that he rides a cart, pulled by two horses - one strong and plump, and one barely skin and bones. I don't know why. It has to be said, at this point, that Bretons are a Celtic people of France and have a lot of folklore relating to death. It's their way of dealing with it I suppose, and I am one of them.

Anyway the story goes that a blacksmith called Fanch (the Breton name for François, or Francis) was working on the eve of All Saints' Day / All Hallows Eve. His wife and children went to mass, but he was a bit late in finishing some work that needed to be done, so declined to go with them.

"As long as you stop work before the midnight bells ring", his wife told him.

"Don't worry, I'll hear the bells at quarter-to, and stop working then" he replied.

So his wife and children went to mass, to pray to the memories of their departed, and Fanch went back to work, knowing that he really needed to finish his task on time. He was a serious worker, well-liked and respected by all the locals.

As he was banging away on his forge, he thought he heard some knocking on the door of his workplace (atelier, in French). He went to check who was there, and saw a very thin, pale man, his skin drawn up against his cheekbones. The man said:

"I heard you working, and I need my scythe fixed, it just needs to be firmer at its attachment to the pole" (yes, we all know where it's going here!).

Fanch looked at the man's scythe and said "Well, for a start, it's back to front. What sort of scythe is this?"

The man replied "That is none of your business, just work on the attachments".

Fanch shrugged and said "In any case, I can't do it tonight. I promised to my family I wouldn't work on All Saint's Day, and it will be midnight soon."

"Didn't you hear the midnight bells earlier? You already have been working on All Saints' Day. Surely at this point you can do this simple task for me?".

"Very well", said Fanch, and he easily fixed the man's scythe.

Once that was done, the man said:

"I am the Ankou. You knew that you shouldn't work after midnight. I suggest that you tell your family to call a priest when they come back. Good night".

Sure enough, by the time Fanch's family came back, he had a terrible cough and he urged them to send for a priest. The priest arrived in enough time to give Fanch the last rites, after which he expired.

The moral of this story? There is none! A hard-working family guy gets caught out by the Breton Grim Reaper on a techicallity!

But this does illustrate the Breton culture and its Celtic, and Catholic, traditions (it is a traditionally very religious region), and is supposed to show both the inevitability, unpredictability, and unfairness of death. You can be a nice guy, doing the right thing, and you'll still get caught by it if that's when it happens. Even if it is by a technicallity.

By the way, this story comes from a book by a French, and Breton folkorist called Anatole Le Braz, who like the Grimm Brothers and Charles Perrault, collected traditional legends from Brittany in the 19th century. The book that he compiled is still in print, albeit in French, called "Les Légendes de la mort".

Yes, Breton legends are very death-based.

Oh, and as for the scythe being fitted the other way round, Breton legend says that it is easier for the Ankou to chop lives down that way. He obviously likes his tools tailored to his exact line of work. Vey concientious.