Anders of Kräkånger was taken to the block; his beast followed him like a dog and we dared not touch it, not even the priest. The moment the prisoner’s head was severed from his neck, the creature let out a terrible howl, and all who heard it cowered in horror. The creature then fell over and did not move again. When evening fell, it had started to shrink, as when one pours salt on a snail. The remains were shoveled into a trough and burned along with the prisoner’s body. (Leijd, p. 258)
As Pyret constantly seeks out the company of other mammals, I suspect that sometimes it forms an attachment so strong that, like Anders of Kräkånger’s bull, it cannot survive separation. Companionship—belonging to or with someone—seems an intrinsic part of its being.
The case of Anders of Kräkånger was to be the last in the history of Pyret-related trials. The arrival of rationalism changed the face of Scandinavian faith and superstition in a way Christianity had not. Scientist Carl Linnaeus held a lecture in 1762 during which he reached the conclusion that belief in “Pyret, nixies, vittra and their ilk” is a warning sign of what happens to a people that do not concern themselves with science:
These creatures would lurk among cows and goats, haunt every nook, live with us like house cats; and superstition, witchcraft, and warding swarm around us like gnats. (Levertin, Oscar: Carl von Linné. Lectures, Albert Bonniers Boktryckeri, Stockholm, 1910, p. 50)
Pyret was officially wiped out of existence. This did not stop it from appearing.
Sjungpastorn: the Singing Pastor of Hålträsket
Accounts of Pyret assuming human shape are nearly nonexistent. There are three possible reasons:
a) It is non-sentient. Observations of dead specimens may support this, as they universally mention gelatinous bodies with nothing resembling a brain, nervous system, or inner organs (see, for example, Widerberg, Emilia: Folk Tales of the Macabre, Bragi Press, Oxford 1954);
b) It prefers non-sentient mammals (see all the above cases);
c) It is sentient and does frequently take human shape, but witnesses identify it as something else entirely, for example, a vittra, changeling or troll.
One remarkable exception is documented in an eerie account from the nineteenth century, about the entity known as Sjungpastorn.
Margareta Persson (1835—1892) was the schoolmistress of Hålträsket, a village located in the mid-north of Sweden. She kept a diary for most of her life, meticulously cataloguing events and people of the village. After her death the diaries were donated to Umeå Heritage Museum.
In late November of 1867, during the last great famine in Scandinavia, Persson documented the passing of the local priest. No replacement came, and there was no easy way to travel elsewhere for mass.
The cold deepened and the days shortened as the year drew toward its end. Two villagers killed themselves, one by hanging and one by shooting. Three died of starvation. The desperation is evident in Persson’s diary: “School is closed, because the children are too weak or sick to attend. I spend most of the day in bed. I do not quite want to die. I am just not sure that I have it in me to live.” (The Diaries of Margareta Persson, Umea Heritage Museum, book 8, p 65)
Then, early on Christmas morning, a stranger arrived. Ms. Persson writes.
We were lighting candles in the chapel. We had decided to keep our own little julotta[5] here, as going to Vargfjärda was unthinkable. As we lit the candles, I heard song, and I saw someone standing at the pulpit. It was a man, all dressed in black. I cannot describe it properly, but he was singing to us, and it was as if my head brightened.
As the villagers filed into the chapel, the strange man proceeded to hold a Mass, of sorts.
Although the chapel is quite small, I could not see his face clearly. It was as if radiance obscured his features. He opened his mouth, and a sound both like and unlike song came out. I could not make out the words, but the song reached right into my chest and unravelled an ache I had not known was there. All around me, people were crying and laughing, screaming and moaning; we reached out to him like drowning children. He stepped down from the pulpit and moved among us, embracing us and laying his hands on us. He laid his arms around me; he smelled of myrrh and roses. (Diaries, book 8, p. 73)
The priest earned the name Sjungpastorn, “the sing-pastor.” He held Mass not only on Sunday mornings, but every single morning for the better part of a year. The Masses followed the same pattern as the first on Christmas morning: Sjungpastorn would stand at the pulpit and sing his wordless song, and the villagers sang along. At the end of the Mass, he would walk among the pews and touch or even embrace the people.
Ms Persson doesn’t describe the man in great detail. What she does say is very interesting, elaborating on her observation that she “could not see his face clearly”: he was “not fully formed, like a clay doll or a new-born child.” (Diaries, book 8, p. 95) Furthermore, the man doesn’t speak, but produces other types of noise (the same type of phenomenon is described in Selma Lagerlöf’s “En historia fran Långsjö,”[6] about the appearance of a strange-looking cow who couldn’t moo). Lastly, being close to him creates an intense feeling of bliss, and he regularly touches the villagers. All these are characteristics of Pyret, and in chronicling them Ms Persson finally gives us a possible clue to Pyret’s procreation cycle.
In the autumn of 1868, Sjungpastorn began looking poorly and greyish. Ms Persson mentions that he began touching people outside of Mass, specifically men. It didn’t stop there. On the night of September 20th, someone knocked on Margareta’s door.
It was Emilia Magnusson, saying that Sjungpastorn had lain down with Olof Nilsson while Olof was sleeping. I said that Olof must have had a nightmare, but then Emilia told me that Olof’s wife had been witness to it. She had been sitting with an ailing cow, and when she came into the bedroom saw Sjungpastorn in the bed, straddling her husband. She had fetched the farmhand, who had seen it too. They were afraid to intervene but made enough noise to wake Olof up, who then started screaming, and Sjungpastorn fled out a window and disappeared into the forest. (Diaries, book 9, p 82)
Sjungpastorn was never seen again. It does seem that he was nearing the end of his life cycle and therefore tried to procreate; that he chose a man indicates that he was looking for sperm to fertilize an egg. There is no mention in Ms Persson’s diaries of Pyret—perhaps because she didn’t know of the legend, or the villagers never made the connection. After all, Sjungpastorn resembled a man and not a beast.
My Own Investigations into the Situation at “Lillbo”
5
The main Christmas church service in Sweden at the time, held at 4:00 AM on Christmas day.
6
Lagerlöf, Selma: